This is my HMD for Biff from Christopher Moore's Lamb: The Gospel According to Biff.

If you have any comments, complaints, or constructive criticism, please feel free!

Comment screening is enabled.

Leave a message!

[Biff isn't cheerful today; he's wearing his most serious expression, though he hasn't been robbed of whatever genuine kindness he usually has when talking at length to the Barge.]

I want to talk about death. Or maybe compassion. Or both.

There is something I notice when we have so many new arrivals on the ship. Some of us who have been here for many months or years will tell the inmates that they're dead. Yes, it is true, we tell them that they have been given a second chance -

[He pauses, then holds up his hands.]

It is not a lecture. This is only me, talking.

[Sighing, Biff clasping his hands together as he tries to find a new starting point.]

Think of how you feel, to lose a loved one. Your sorrow is because you will never hear their voice again, never feel their hands or see their smile. That is a clean wound that will never heal.

Death is a terrible thing. It's natural, but it's terrible.

When we tell the inmates that they are dead, remember what that means. Think how they would feel, to come here and know they have lost everything. Think of all the adventures they will never have. Think of all the wine they will never taste, the food they will never eat. Think of the pretty girls who will never kiss them. The Barge gives us many things, but it isn't real life.

Life is over for many of them.

We should...at least learn their names before we become the bearers of such terrible news.

We should also consider these things before we raise our hands to kill one another, even if death isn't permanent here. You should not kill someone thinking they will come back.

One day, they might not.

[A beat. He moves on. His tone becomes dark and quiet, a far cry from the compassion he displayed a moment ago:]

I was a terrible person in that flood. I'm glad I stayed in my room.

[Private to Charlie and Armand / Greenhouse Staff]

[OOC note: Much as I would like to let this go, Biff wouldn't. Apologies to Sam.]

I am sorry for how I reacted about the restrictions on the greenhouse. I have never been in the greenhouse, and assumed it was...smaller.

Please let me explain my reaction, and perhaps you will understand. My inmate is a goddess of the Greek pantheon. She is that Persephone; she spends much of her year in a place where nothing grows, with a man who doesn't love her. The greenhouse is special to her, so I fought for her.

Plants are important to her, like children. She knows them all by name, as you would know each of your children. Even if she is kept locked away from a small part of the greenhouse, she will feel it as keenly as if you have taken her child from her.

It isn't right to take away something she loves when she has done nothing wrong. She is not an inmate to break away from her love of plants. She is an inmate because she hates mortals, and if a mortal stands between her and something she loves, it will do nothing for her redemption.

Let her help you in the greenhouses. If you do not want to be alone with her, I will come, too. I am really a very nice person once you get to know me.

[Private to the Admiral]

I would like Persephone to have access to the CES whenever she wants. It is her reward for interacting with mortals.

[Private to Persephone]

Persephone, you owe me a list of five things you like about your new friend. Was it Sirius Black or Rex Lewis this week?

[The camera turns on to show a pair of legs from the knees down. Biff apparently kicked it in his sleep; he's face-down on the floor. He makes a grunting noise, then a hacking sound, then a groan. He mutters something in Aramaic which would equate to "I feel like something died while breaking wind in my mouth."

The camera now gets a shot of him from the chest down as he rolls over and sits up. He rubs his legs, scratches his side, then makes a sound best described as "nnngh". Anyone paying attention will note that his fingernails have been painted red.

He reaches behind the camera, then freezes, apparently noting that the camera's turned on. He picks it up, causing the view to tilt crazily, then turns it toward himself.

His hair is bright pink, and he has one eye painted with enough eyeliner and eyeshadow to fuel a small brothel for a month. His eyes are bloodshot. He's obviously hungover.

He tilts the viewfinder toward himself and his eyes widen as he gets a look at his recorded reflection. He chuckles.]

It was worth it.

[As he turns the camera to shut it off, there's a brief flash of a second person in the room with him.]

I do not understand this flood at all.

So instead of voicing my opinion about why everyone should remain calm, I'll talk about something much more important: Boat comas. The scourge of the Barge.

I have just awoken from one. Again. It has also been thirteen days, again.

Here are my theories about why I am suffering Boat Comas:

Number one: I have been cursed by a voodoo priestess. I do not know if any of you practice voodoo, however, so this is not the most likely scenario.

Number two: I have a sexually transmitted disease which causes thirteen-day long boat comas.

Number three: I Love Lucy.

Number four: Ear mites.

Number five: Potatoes. From the dining room. Or a potato allergy.

Number six: I have not been getting laid enough.

Number seven: Plastics.

I will write more.

( A list of things which potentially cause Barge Comas, written. )

Wanted:

Hebrew male in complicated off-Barge relationship seeks single female for no-strings-attached night of fornication. Full service provided, stamina required.

Advisory against women with heart conditions, pregnancy, or back and neck problems.

Inquiries to be made at room eight on level two.


[Copied and posted at every level of the stairwell. Oh yes, he did.]

[Biff settles down in front of the camera. His eyes are a little red, but he otherwise looks much calmer that he sounded yesterday.]

I am sorry for how I acted yesterday. I did not mean to alarm or anger anyone - I was not in my right mind when I learned Judas Iscariot found redemption.

[He says "Judas Iscariot" as though he has to force the name out, and it pains him.]

You may think I am a Zealot. Perhaps this is true, but it is not why I reacted as I did. Please understand that my reasons were more personal than simple dedication to 'scripture'.

I am calm now. I have had time to think and to talk to my friends. I have meditated. I have prayed.

[He pauses, then nods.]

When we came back from the island port, I told Persephone she had a stain, much like the seashell I found. It is her hatred of mortals. I have a similar stain: my hatred for Judas. I can't wash the stain from Persephone if I can't do it for myself.

Though I may not think he deserved to seek redemption, it is not my place to decide that. It is my place to find it in my heart to forgive him.

I can not do this yet. What I feel for him is too much for one day, or one week, or two-thousand years to wash it away. Time is not the only thing needed to heal this wound. But starting now, I will try to forgive him.

Please forgive me for the way I responded to this news.

( Private to Sexby, Adam Monroe, and the Admiral )

Admiral, I would like to know if Persephone will still receive her deal for rehabilitating an inmate once she graduates.

I will ask every day until you answer, as I promised her I would.

[Private to the Admiral.]

...You're not Zeus, are you? She thinks you are Zeus.