Last night Badsmitten and Mysterium, a man of many names with a forked mustache upturned in true Hussar style, visited me at the Land Lady’s place for too much beer.
First we rued the sorry and tragic fact that Stealla Dixon, hot, slut, thieving mayor, has lost her bid for reelection.
We then spoke of many things.
In the meantime we partook of the Eucharist of the Dusky God, in his two most eminent forms of beautified majesty.
For Floyd who suffered upon the cross of inequity for 8:46 seconds, we ate a bag of hot pork rinds.
They were quite good.
For Freddie, who suffered upon the cross for nearly as long as The Eternal LORD labored to create the world, we ate a bag of salt and vinegar pork rinds.
We then communed with our inner PIG-hating beings and agreed, unanimously, that Freddie Gray, his tears now sourly preserved via the miracle of transubstantiation, is the True Onyx Christ and Floyd merely his sainted imitator.
Michael who?
Get the hell out of here!
And we washed down the sufferings of our savior with beer.
hahahahaha
This was a clinical study...