The wages of sin is death,

Whereas the wages of gluttony is stomachache.

I am currently reading the book "The Flying Inn," by G.K. Chesterton. It's about two men who roam England with a barrel of rum and a sign from an inn, avoiding the enforcement of a British Prohibition (enforced, oddly enough, by champagne-sipping noblemen). Good so far.

This is the point when prudence is expected to overrule desire. 10:43, Sunday night, means "Go to Bed."

God bless.