A few months back I sat down on a bench with a homeless bum and we discussed his situation. He was surely busted up. In fact, he was probably so busted that he didn't even notice that I was busted too.
I am sometimes tempted to do a bustedness comparison, but it really just doesn't matter. When you get into the presence of The Unbusted, we're not busted a little and busted a lot; we're all just busted.
"Woe is me, for I am ruined! For I am undone, because I am a man of unclean lips, and I dwell in the midst of a people of unclean lips: for my eyes have seen the King, Yahweh of Armies!"
Isaiah, the prophet
