Borne Again
Predator Press
[Mr. I]
As you might have guessed, I haven’t been in a church in a really long time.
It’s curious; imported marble, huge paintings, statues and sculptures, exotic lumber fixtures … As I enter one of the most opulent, lavish, expensive facilities in the area, I'm immediately dimminished by vacuous, baudy opulence that oddly reminds me of “blessed are the meek” sermons from my youth.
This place is almost as big as mine.
Well, the meek obviously have this blessed thing handled which is good … let’s just hope they’re not hungry.
***
Father Fritz's office did not disappoint, either. He stands as I enter, shaking my hand over the hardwood oak desk. "Pleased to finally meet you, Mr ..." he says expectantly.
"Cut the happity-horshit, padre. Why am here?" I demand coolly, sitting.
Father Fritz hesitates thoughtfully. He doesn't sit.
"Recent political events have mandated that a member of your employ has been granted a certain amount of," --he pauses in obvious distaste-- "'authority' over our school," he says.
I can sense he's being cautious. To keep up the appearance of utter ‘cool’, I start snacking on these tasteless, individually-wrapped circular white wafers in an expensive-looking, ornate gold bowl. "Who, LOBO?" I says, chewing. "Look, that's really not my problem, is it? Maybe you should fete your candidates a little more thoroughly." Grimacing, I add, "Christ, these crackers are terrible--"
Fritz slams a hardcopy of our soon-to-be-released First-Edition, full-color Predator Press Archives Volume 1--retailing at $74.99 just in time for Christmas-- loudly on the desk.
"It would appear," says Fritz, "That this is really both of our problems."
"LOBO has the attention span of a retarded gnat," I says, buttoning my jacket as I stand, throwing the empty plasic wrappers in a crucifix-emblazoned wastepaper basket. "I'm sure he will lose interest in this quicker than he never had it in the first place. Now, if that concludes our 'business', I'll just--"
"SILENCE!" demands Fritz, cracking a ruler on the desk.
Now a lot of things happen, all at once: I sat quickly, first off --dude broke out a fucking ruler on me; I didn't realize he was serious-- which expanded the circumference of my jacket to critical mass and launched the button directly at Fritz's forehead.
Fritz, eyes serenely closed, parries the button with an added, graceful ruler swing. It looked so natural, it seemed an afterthought.
“How,” he says, “can you justify such damnable lies and fantasies?”
The button lands gracefully in his outstretched hand.
“Mostly by blow jobs from attractive, morally loose, consenting adult females and bricks of untaxable cash," I inexplicably confess. "How about you?” I counter, regaining composure.
“Those revolting days of endless sin are over,” says Fritz confidently. “Our new ‘Superintendent’ has seen The Light. Even now, as we speak, he is converting, and will soon swear a solemn vow to live his life in Service of The Lord.”
"Okay," I says, holding up my hands. "I can handle this. As long as you assholes aren't Catholic, anyway ..."
[Mr. I]
As you might have guessed, I haven’t been in a church in a really long time.
It’s curious; imported marble, huge paintings, statues and sculptures, exotic lumber fixtures … As I enter one of the most opulent, lavish, expensive facilities in the area, I'm immediately dimminished by vacuous, baudy opulence that oddly reminds me of “blessed are the meek” sermons from my youth.
This place is almost as big as mine.
Well, the meek obviously have this blessed thing handled which is good … let’s just hope they’re not hungry.
Father Fritz's office did not disappoint, either. He stands as I enter, shaking my hand over the hardwood oak desk. "Pleased to finally meet you, Mr ..." he says expectantly.
"Cut the happity-horshit, padre. Why am here?" I demand coolly, sitting.
Father Fritz hesitates thoughtfully. He doesn't sit.
"Recent political events have mandated that a member of your employ has been granted a certain amount of," --he pauses in obvious distaste-- "'authority' over our school," he says.
I can sense he's being cautious. To keep up the appearance of utter ‘cool’, I start snacking on these tasteless, individually-wrapped circular white wafers in an expensive-looking, ornate gold bowl. "Who, LOBO?" I says, chewing. "Look, that's really not my problem, is it? Maybe you should fete your candidates a little more thoroughly." Grimacing, I add, "Christ, these crackers are terrible--"
Fritz slams a hardcopy of our soon-to-be-released First-Edition, full-color Predator Press Archives Volume 1--retailing at $74.99 just in time for Christmas-- loudly on the desk.
"It would appear," says Fritz, "That this is really both of our problems."
"LOBO has the attention span of a retarded gnat," I says, buttoning my jacket as I stand, throwing the empty plasic wrappers in a crucifix-emblazoned wastepaper basket. "I'm sure he will lose interest in this quicker than he never had it in the first place. Now, if that concludes our 'business', I'll just--"
"SILENCE!" demands Fritz, cracking a ruler on the desk.
Now a lot of things happen, all at once: I sat quickly, first off --dude broke out a fucking ruler on me; I didn't realize he was serious-- which expanded the circumference of my jacket to critical mass and launched the button directly at Fritz's forehead.
Fritz, eyes serenely closed, parries the button with an added, graceful ruler swing. It looked so natural, it seemed an afterthought.
“How,” he says, “can you justify such damnable lies and fantasies?”
The button lands gracefully in his outstretched hand.
“Mostly by blow jobs from attractive, morally loose, consenting adult females and bricks of untaxable cash," I inexplicably confess. "How about you?” I counter, regaining composure.
“Those revolting days of endless sin are over,” says Fritz confidently. “Our new ‘Superintendent’ has seen The Light. Even now, as we speak, he is converting, and will soon swear a solemn vow to live his life in Service of The Lord.”
"Okay," I says, holding up my hands. "I can handle this. As long as you assholes aren't Catholic, anyway ..."
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