Years ago I had a wonderful, mixed-breed dog named Sugar. She was a gentle, affectionate creature, with some amusing quirks.
One of those quirks was that any time she passed gas, she would turn around, look indignantly at her backside, and pretend like she had no idea what was going on back there. Of course, she didn’t fool anyone, but she felt she had to go through the motions.
And so it is with Bob Malm. His stream of innuendo centered on my mental health, as well as his overt, written claims that I am mentally ill, are both defamatory and painfully obvious. As such, they are an abusive use of the authority entrusted to him as clergy.