Yonder peasant, who is he?

Good King Wenceslas looked out
On the Feast of Stephen
When the snow lay round about

Deep and crisp and even
Brightly shone the moon that night
Though the frost was cruel
When a poor man came in sight
Gathering winter fuel

Hither, page, and stand by me,
If thou knowst it, telling
Yonder peasant, who is he?
Where and what his dwelling?
Sire, he lives a good league hence,
Underneath the mountain
Right against the forest fence
By Saint Agnes fountain.

Aha methinks, we have the potential of pecuniary leverage…over said peasant.

We can pay this son of a bitch off, shut him up and get him to sign an NDA….

If it were not so sad, that you lot continue to think like this…

May the effulgent bright light of Amitabha shine white into your impure and unpleasant hearts. May the purity of His divine white evoke even the tiniest smidgeon of compassion in your bellicose and justificatory minds. And may Lord Amitabha bring at least a measure of release from your sufferning born out of your ceaseless conspiracy.

I adopt the mudra of transmission…

I send you a parcel of Amitabha, for Christmas…Nadolig Llawen…

With much love, yours the peasant gathering fuel….