Sheepskin Condoms and Origami Swans

Today Archbishop Bertrand arrived at my house post-haste.

He arrived with a 1706 Nicoholas Brandy (bleeeh!) and asked if I'd share a sliver of my Maple Glazed Rout Duck after I asked my manservant, Manuel, to clear my plate. "Well, what will I do about leftovers tomorrow, Bishop?" I hissed at him. Then, I secretly cut myself in the bathroom.

I set the letter opener back in my mahogany desk, still wet with blood, and returned to the dinner table. I knew why the Archbishop was here. He wanted to see my Diamond collection, all the Catholics do.

We finished the Creme Brulee Sorbet Tartare and moved to the Antechamber behind my foyer. I set down my Brandy over a single coal, and from the bookcase pulled out my copy of "The Velveteen Rabbit". The walls dissipated into a wizardry of nano-electronics. Meaning, everything was small. Suddenly, a glass case rose from the shark infested glass tile below us and, thence, arrived my Diamond collection.

The Archbishop sauntered around the case, carefully observing my jewels. He remarked on their authenticity and value. Then pointed to a tiny fragment of a fingerprint on the glass. I, instantly, texted Manuel, my manservant, and told him him to save the rest of the Windex from the Meth Lab in our basement. Manuel stumbled up the steps with a tiny bit of glass cleaner left on a band-aid, and began wiped the print off.

"I should have those prints investigated!", I joked.

The Archbishop made a sour face then turned away. I put two fingers betwixt my lips and stuck my toungue through them, as it were vaginal. He didn't see, but the satisfaction it fed me was peculiar. The Archbishop then made an offer to buy my Diamond Collection for Three Billion Dollars.

I scoffed, guffawed and was flabergasted, "I could write a book about Christ and Mary Magdalene having a child together, and I'd make more money - and keep my Diamonds - and what will you have? Blind faith, Mel Gibson, sheepskin condoms. No way." The Archbishop gave me "the hand" and sped away on his Segway throwing origami swans at my gardeners.

I retreated to my "thinking spot" behind the Zebras, and re-considered my desire for the priesthood. I thought of how funny it would be for me to hear people's confessions, and how I would joke back, "No way, with a hacksaw and vaseline!?" I would say it loudly, enough so the people waiting would hear. I'd live feed the confessions to I would make a pretty penny. If I owned the domain name.

Maybe that's how Archbishop Bertrand could afford the Segway, and my Diamonds...or maybe he's just a vampire with syphillis.

Anyway after he left I finished the Brandy, and blogged about how I finished the brandy even though I didn't.

I, then, clicked on the shut down key on the computer and watched as the computer slowly turned down. I watched the screen darken to pitch black, and stared at it for a long, long time.

Beckett Boo, esquire.
Cat Blogger Extraordinaire!


Kryptonic Entaglements

It's no secret:

Brandon Routh and I used to be lovers.
I'll say it flat out. He was a bottom. I won't say more.

I am not seeking financial reward for this disclosure, but Truth. The truth to surface that the world is more "complicated" than tis' seems. Just like the old saying goes, "You can't count the chicken without the sheep. "

I'm delighted by Brandon's success, and his ability to seem so "normal". But, I must confess, I had a hairball the size of the Phillipines after that affair. That is why his chest is so waxen and smooth.

He was my Superman.
I his Lois Lane.
But, alas, our Love was kryptonite.

I pray, everyday,
for his demise.
The slow,
creaking of his demise.

Beckett Boo, esq.
Cat Blogger Extraordinaire!
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