Simpletons and Crabs

At don’t think the orange monks eat wafers and stuff; I think they’re more passive then that, then the Catholics I mean. They’re more into praying and keeping quiet and doing things with those long bamboo sticks, the ones they play fight with, those ones. I wonder if that fellow with the crab tattoo knows anything at all about bamboo sticks? He was sitting next to the monk reading the newspaper. He was reading the newspaper, the guy with the crab tattoo, not the monk, on account that they aren’t allowed to read nothing on the bus, the monks that is. I’d be pretty hard to tell if the monk had any tattoos, cause their clothes hide most of themselves, and even if he did have one who knows what’d look like. I’m not all that fond of crab, its way too salty and the shells and claws and antennas are gross looking. I meant unsavoury but didn’t want to come off sounding like a know it all. I’ve know a lot of know it alls, and all of them were a fucking a pain in the royal ass. Not that royal has anything to do with it, but anyhow these fuckers are real royal pieces of work. If my dog hadn’t have burned up in the fire, nasty thing fire, I’d sick him on these simpletons and have ‘em running for daylights. Sad thing is my dog was way too passive for that sort of thing, you’d have almost thought he was a monk or something, the way he was so nice and kind and not a loud barker and the like. He was a petter, meaning he like to have his ears scratched and the top of his head rubbed with the heel part of your hand, real hard like you were going to rub the fur off, like that, real slow and hard like. Poor fucker, probably didn’t hear my mom and dad hollering cause he was asleep next to the television, probably on some late-night missionary show or something close like that. I can see now how come the Catholics and Protestants don’t get along, always elbowing in on one and the other to get better television space. Sad, almost pathetic in a sad sort of way.