“…yes, and that’s the thing about insurance policies, Cerebrum, be careful and you should never need to reclaim on them.”
“Except the one that pays for your funeral!”
“Actually, that’s one insurance you’ll never ever get to use!”
“Had the goddamned death's head mormons round again today too.”
“Again? John Doe's brokers.”
“Saw those corporate looking name badges and they didn’t even have time for a ‘have you ever thought about…’ before they got the door in their faces.”
“Insurance!”
“What?”
“Insurance. Now, there are some Johns who have learnt to recite their policies by rote, heads scraping the floor or rocking backwards and forwards like the egg men I had as a kid. Remember them, Cerebrum?”
“Smack ‘em on the head with a teaspoon! End of story!...Russian dolls?”
“No, painted egg men. Didn’t open. Solid wood. I think. Rocked too and fro for an eternity…or perhaps my memory is playing tricks on me again…but John Doe’s self appointed brokers even sell their nightmares to the underage children of the faithful, legally, from their business premises all over the country…There’s no smashing them over the head with a teaspoon…”
“All over the world, actually. You're on your high horse...A client is a client is a client to a pusher, Peter my dear, insurance down now against future income. Good business practice. A captured market…”
“Yeah…and when the worst comes to the worst there’s the inevitable dry voice in the conscience that tells you you signed the contract and should’ve read sub clause sixty nine B, so it’s highly unlikely you’ll get…”
“You’ll get to enjoy what you were sold, eh?”
“Unless you pay yet another hefty premium say they!”
“Yeah, and normally you’re putting money down against a possibility.”
“Normally, but John Doe’s brokers are asking you to pay a more than generous premium, to put good money down on the implausible…”
“Which means then, Peter, that there are actually two policies you’ll never ever get to use, no?”
“You said it, Cerebrum! You said it!”
“Gullible. People are just so terribly innocent, empty pages, virgin material.”
“While you’re on about virgins, and bearing in mind your brother introduced old Mr Death into the picture the other day, C, I can’t help but make the comment that screwing virgins when you’re dead in paradise is all well and good in theory, but the practice must be pretty frustrating. Let me explain, let’s see…”
“Feel free, feel free!”
“It must be pretty frustrating going to ethereal paradise,
“Second door on the left and up the stairs, Sir!.”
“Penthouse suite? Anyway, listen, you blow yourself to bits and get shovelled up into a blue plastic bucket from the Chinese bazaar corner shop with little bits of the kids and passers by you took with you, dog shit and guts and fag ends, blood, bladder content from here and there, a nicotine stained fingernail, scalp…”
“Ok, ok…”
“…and you open your eyes in paradise and see your grandpa, nice clean bullet hole through the head, fucking all your virgins. He’s all there! So you take a look around and, holy shit, you ain’t got no knob to get knobbing with, in fact, you hardly got any of your own bits at all, and double holy fucking shit, the nearest bit of anything that’s vaguely penis shaped is a bit of gristle that probably came from the stinking, unbelieving atheist pig you pushed in front of at the bus stop. Goddamn it!”
“Goddamn it! To finally get to see your quota of virgins after queuing in the martyr’s queue, swilling around in your leaky blue plastic bucket..."
"Made in China."
"...and you suddenly realise everything is so ethereal you can’t even get your hand round the meat to beat it and you look around and you’re all just a river of foul smelling decaying fleshy sewerage. I love it, Pete! I just love it”
“Someone’s sold them a little fib! There’s a few fibbers around somewhere, my friend!”
“Gullible. People are just so terribly innocent, empty pages, virgin material.”
“Ha! Smack ‘em on the head with a teaspoon! End of story!...”
Bug Eyed Peter and Mr Cerebrum just have to recommend this link, "RAZONES POR LAS QUE MOLARIA SER OBISPO. EL CAMINO AL CIELO, EL CAMINO DE MARTÍNEZ CAMINO SA." although they've changed the title a teency weency little bit here.Touch on the link below,-
CURAS/PRIESTS/PRIESTS/CURAS
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