I’ve recently been speaking with Qelqoth over at his site, The Cult of Qelqoth. We’ve been chatting up our various tales which have agitated the local Catholic communities of our respective lands. Below is a story he had posted on his site which drew a rather large outcry:
Vintage Vicar: Abattoir
Lewis & Sons had been a core element in bringing the local community together for as long as I can remember. I hold this exceptionally dear to myself, these childhood memories and especially those of my father returning home, a hearty bag of sirloin steak beneath his arm. Malcolm and his offspring worked hard to provide the rest of the community with such nourishment and it was without question that he remained the finest butcher in town.
Sadly, Malcolm passed away last year. It wasn’t from disease, sickness or anything like that. He was just getting too old for this world and ever since that day, there had been nobody to follow in his footsteps. His sons had all grown up; they had all moved away and were bringing up little Lewises of their own. Times change. People change. But it was essential that this community retained the status quo.
As you can imagine, it came as great surprise to me that when Mr. Lewis’ wife unearthed her late husband’s last will and testament, that being a generous donation to the local church – the village abattoir. She must have kept this exceptionally quiet but then, Mrs. Lewis was not the kind of person who liked to mouth about her husbands affairs. I suspected she was trying to keep onto the grassroots of his old business for financial gain. I don’t blame her at all. Lewis & Sons was a trade which through many years of hard work and devotion gave much back to Malcolm and his family in return.
However, I did manage to persuade her to come and take one last look at her late husband’s property, simply to see if we could come to some kind of mutual agreement with one another. This is when we both started talking about the old times and how it was important how we all needed the abattoir to remain a vibrant heart of our loving rural community.
Mrs. Lewis wasn’t too keen on keeping the business going and was talking about how nice it would be to have a new park built where her kids could play. I had to see her point of view in some respect; the old park had become run down and the local constituencies were not prepared to surrender more of their money, just so we could have a new playground for the children. Damned politicians – always wanting to line their pockets with gold.
Even though me and Mrs. Lewis agreed on the evils of corporate society, it was still very apparent that she wasn’t in any position to compromise. This was very saddening for me as I do hate to see petty disagreements within the community. So grabbing her forcefully by the neck, I choked her to within an inch of her life before hurling her whimpering body to the ground and as she struggled to retain her breath, I revealed a small carving knife from underneath my cassock.
The poor woman screamed hysterically in vain as the silky, metallic blade sunk effortlessly into her neck, a smooth incision for such a tough old woman. Yet with repetitive sawing movements, I had soon removed her bloodied head from the rest of her body, a shower of the crimson liquid erupting from her gaping wound. It was like making sweet love to one of Chopin’s concertos and as her elderly blood splashed across my face, I relished each and every moment of the beauty I had created.
This was where it was time to sign the legal document, I thought and unzipping my jeans, I pulled out my semi-erect member, carefully easing it into her dripping head. My eyes bulged open as I rode her fleshy cranium and with each thrusting spasm, I knew such gorgeous images. The good Lord had me on his side this evening and it wasn’t long before I unloaded the contents of my testicles, watching my man milk dribble from her eyeballs.
It was a lovely way to spend my evening and the rest, as you can imagine, is history. As I put my flaccid penis back into captivity, I blessed the lovely woman for her kind generosity to the church and left for home. After all, it had been a long, hard day and what I needed more than anything else was some of Malcolm Lewis’ famous sirloin steak.
Now how could I respond to this tale? With an honesty skewed by a warped viewpoint of the world of course:
I read the link you sent. LOL, I think I understand a little of the animosity the Catholics felt over that. Screwing a decapitated head with his “holy sceptor”; how rude!
You should have seen how Catholics reacted over here in the US to the slew of American shows which portrayed numerous priestly carnal “trangressions”, like the priest who asked children to strip naked in front of him to confess while he “laid hands on them”. But nothing matched the case of the one priest who molested dozens of people and when his victims came forward they discovered the statute of limitations had run out and they could do nothing about it. That has to be a kick in the teeth: finally finding the nerve to confront your abuser only to be told, “Eh, so what. You took too long. Besides, you probably liked it.”
I always said it was obvious to me early on that the Church was rearing boys for sexual pleasures. Afterall, they do dress choirboys up in dresses and ask them to sing soprano. How much more feminine can you get?
By the by, I always got into trouble for mocking Christianity from Jesus being a zombie, he was raised from the dead, to premarital sex between God and Mary (having to use an angel for the go between, I mean come on. Be a man and make your own moves! Your God for God’s sake!), his making Joseph pick up his responsibilities as a father (God really sets the bar for being a negligent papa. Didn’t support his kid financially, didn’t help raise him physically, just let’s him die, then takes all the credit for his greatness!), and finally some of the truly strange stories I found in the bible. There is a talking donkey in one tale. I shit you not, a talking donkey!
So do I believe I am going to Hell for what I’ve done? Come on, the Catholics don’t even believe in Hell anymore so what do I have to worry about?