This censorship thing sure delivers quite the nostalgic kick, huh?

What are we skinning? Our duty to unabashedly, and without fail, praise every man of god who comes our way. Be it from the side, the front, but most especially from the rear.

Why are we skinning it? Because it appears that many are harbouring under the illusion that 'freedom of speech' is more than just an abstract, ornamental idea. They heretically assume that it should have practical and legal implications on our social fabric.

Oh, no. Oh, yes. Some people have nothing to do with the precious time God gave them to spend on this earth.

Speaking of which, how are YOU spending your time today? I'm peeling potatoes right now, actually.

What will do with them after that's done? I'm gonna gently but firmly rub them down with some lucious, stickly olive oil. After doing that for around 20-40 minutes, I will sprinkle some salt over their shiny golden contours and pop them into the oven with a hard, determined shove.

Sounds delectable. Yes, but it doesn't stop there.

Go on... I will crouch down in a supplicating position and gaze at the golden balls of goodness as they grow into softer yet strangely, also firmer versions of themselves, glistening gloriously under the oven bulb, as if to tease me with the juicy promise of the deliciousness that's yet to come.

And then? Then, after they're ready, I'll pop them out of the oven and shove a viscous, grey-white gloop made from a blend of butter, sour cream, shredded cheddar cheese, cooked bacon bits, chopped green onions, salt, and pepper. The effort would leave me feeling exhausted, yet strangely calm...

I can imagine. Alas, I would then have to return them for the over for the final phase of their Glorious Hardening.

Then you'll eat them, right? Yes. Sharing it only with myself and the spirit who watches over me.

Michael Jackson? Don't be absurd. I'm talking about Frans Il-Budaj, of course.

Ah yes. As patriotic as your pious devotion to the Maltese potato. I bow down in deference to the majestic spud that rises up from the soil to sweeten our mouths with its honeyed glory.

Is that all you're doing today, then? It's Sunday. The day of rest. Pounding those potatoes in and out of the oven takes it out of you, you know?

Do say: "The measure of any society's democratic credentials is surely rooted in its ability to secure freedom of express-- actually wait. No. Don't say anything. Ever."

Don't say: "This censorship thing sure delivers quite the nostalgic kick, huh?"