The Ilfov twins of Bragadiru stood knee-deep in slaughterhouse offal, the twins being the main benefactors of the Ogeechee Gorehouse. Dejesus met the Ilfov twins (of Bragadiru) at The Feast of Octave of St. Camillus, the heavy oak doors of the Church of Perpetual Sinners swinging closed on the last sinners of the day. The Ilfov twins were in town to do their yearly penance, knees pressed into wormwood, faces bowed in holy reverence. Dejesus watched them from afar, his head raised to the blazing bowl of the sun. The Karpos brothers of Skopje and the Gujarat twins of Ituzaing paid homage to the Split sisters of Splitsko-Dalmatinska. The Split sisters paid homage to God, and to anyone who knew the whereabouts of the missing whore’s glove. The Ilfov twins claimed they saw the missing whore’s glove in a pile of Gorehouse offal, sticking out from between a brad of stock bone and knuckle. The fool Alberto Japer claimed he saw the missing glove in the town square the day after The Feast of Octave of St. Camillus, the littlest dogman howling and beating a tympana on the barrel of his chest.
The Witness spoke to those gathered round the statue of Pious the 27th ‘…Where there is no vision, the people perish..’. The Lecheries of Anzoátegui Courbevoie were known far and wide; a Marquis de Sade for the common fleabite man. Dogman and plebian alike, sorry weaklings and crumbs, those who knew of his profligacy were left with an indelible stain on their souls. The Witness handed out pamphlets decrying the works of Anzoátegui Courbevoie, claiming he was a gadabout, a hooligan, a hack. Dejesus stood next to a man with a weeping eye listening to the Witness sermonize on the evils of lechery, a woman with a pale skinned child hanging from her teat trying to elbow here way closer to the Witness. ‘…the Word of God is the word of all men, let that be a warning to you all…’ said the Witness, his voice crackling like a cooks’ fire. ‘…but what about the word of Anzoátegui Courbevoie…?’ hollered a man with a busted in nose. Turning, his coattails getting caught up in the skirt of Pious the 27th, the Witness replied ‘…you mean the lecher Anzoátegui Courbevoie…’. To which the man said ‘…yes, he…’. ‘…he is nothing but a false idol, and those who worship him idolatrous…’ said the Witness, his face reddening. Crouched behind the statue of Pious the 27th the littlest dogman pounded his chest, a hollow thumping thump issuing from between Pious the 27th legs.
The Witness spoke to those gathered round the statue of Pious the 27th ‘…Where there is no vision, the people perish..’. The Lecheries of Anzoátegui Courbevoie were known far and wide; a Marquis de Sade for the common fleabite man. Dogman and plebian alike, sorry weaklings and crumbs, those who knew of his profligacy were left with an indelible stain on their souls. The Witness handed out pamphlets decrying the works of Anzoátegui Courbevoie, claiming he was a gadabout, a hooligan, a hack. Dejesus stood next to a man with a weeping eye listening to the Witness sermonize on the evils of lechery, a woman with a pale skinned child hanging from her teat trying to elbow here way closer to the Witness. ‘…the Word of God is the word of all men, let that be a warning to you all…’ said the Witness, his voice crackling like a cooks’ fire. ‘…but what about the word of Anzoátegui Courbevoie…?’ hollered a man with a busted in nose. Turning, his coattails getting caught up in the skirt of Pious the 27th, the Witness replied ‘…you mean the lecher Anzoátegui Courbevoie…’. To which the man said ‘…yes, he…’. ‘…he is nothing but a false idol, and those who worship him idolatrous…’ said the Witness, his face reddening. Crouched behind the statue of Pious the 27th the littlest dogman pounded his chest, a hollow thumping thump issuing from between Pious the 27th legs.
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