PIXIL.
Friends.
Sad to say, but our great HERO will not deliver anything anymore.
That old PIXIL is no longer among us, poor inveterate wankers.
What I am going to say I learned through a convent of Benedictine nuns in the South of Northern Scandinavia in the East, to the left of the English Channel, near Greenland but to the North of the Strait of Magellan in the South of Central Patagonia.
There is a very simple convent, good food and a welcoming atmosphere, a parish and a priest who is a very good storyteller.
There this gentleman witnessed this LIGHT and inveterate life of our intrepid hero.
But suddenly, an epiphany brought PIXIL to the LIGHT.
This clear and brilliant LIGHT opened his eyes to what he could no longer see and thus he.
PIXIL.
He decided to strip himself of the filth of this profane world, dived into the lake and bathed himself in virtue and honesty.
And every Sunday afternoon he walks with the Franciscan nuns, helping these old ladies to cross the park back to the parish.
To sum it all up in a few words:
He was fed up.