Death. We all eventually face it. If you’re a Christian and have followed the straight and narrow path, chances are you’ve got a good chance of meeting Jesus. If you’re Shirley MacLaine you might be reincarnated and come back as a beautiful bluebird, happily chirping away or you could return as a festering pimple on some old geezer’s flabby fat ass. I’ll opt for the bluebird. If you’re a Catholic you’ll be twiddling your thumbs in purgatory hoping someone will light enough candles and recite enough prayers for you to escape. If you’re a professed atheist, you’re finished. You don’t believe in anything so I guess you’ll end up as a pile of nothingness as you hum “Dust in the Wind” by Kansas for eternity. I’ve known of three people that have developed cirrhosis of the liver since moving to the Philippines over five years ago. Two of them died. Now the third, our Filipino trike driver, is holed up at the local Guimaras provincial hospital for the past few weeks and is diagnosed with cirrhosis of the liver. It’s a grim disease, often fatal.