Beware the curse of Dabbs, stomping where karma fears to tread

Fate may see you reborn as a badly rendered statue of Mussolini

I do not write names in a little black book of vengeance. I don’t need to.

As I clumsily steer my skiff across the seas of existence, marauders who take pleasure in puncturing holes in my fragile hull before careering into the distance, cackling away, invariably end up dashed against the rocks of karma. No need to lure them on. They do it all by themsel…