Slop on the floor

Slop on the floor and bite of the rug so as two rend two threads the carpet pliers trade.

Cry out in unison, the story must be told. The story must be told.

The story must be told.

Prick yon fingers into yon ears and plow from yon canals, waxy impediments to the bountiful words we hear. A psalm to slip in us and writhe there till we find our fatherly delight.

Tip, tip toe, lest the mother wake, they sneak into the kitchen, the oven starts to bake.

Treats so fine dance through their minds. Children think and hungry, of belly's

swole virtue denied. Gosh, yum hum, says the leader, a healthy grin and tot. Before we eat our

treats, there's something I forgot. From the drawer he pulls a fork and stabs it in his chest.

He spasms and dips a finger.

Ooh, this would taste the best.

Just a drizzle, the sweetness it seduces.

The boys devour taters glazed with diabetic juices. The boys devour taters glazed with diabetic juices.

Thank you very much, Brother Reed. Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming out to this midnight vigil. It warms my heart to see your faith in abundance.

And I'll tell you right now it's gonna pay off

because tonight we have a special sermon

from the Cardinal Larson of the Archdiocese

of the Church of the Seven Trusted Greases. Cardinal Larson, the floor is yours.

Thank you, Brother Reed. Thank you, Pastor Andrew. It truly is an impressive congregation you all gathered here today.

I'll take so few tumors. Good to see. Last place.

You know, the Lord made all of us, but some of us, you made ugly and vomitous, ready from conception for the licks of hot, hot hell. To those of you who do not recognize me, I'm

Cardinal Larson from the Archdiocese of the seven trusted

...