literature

Pope Cletus I

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Literature Text

Pablo El Pusseo staggered along the valley floor just a few hours’ hike from Rome with his donkey, Jesus, wading through a creek strewn with feces and urine left there by the obnoxious French soldiers in a nearby camp. He cursed them and praised their foolishness, for along with crap and piss the frogs had also dumped little bits of silver and gold in the waters for good luck and to make wishes. Asides from the cholera and venereal disease that inevitably went with stalking through sewage with a filthy jackass, Pablo figured life was very good that particular morning.

He found, on the banks of the creek, a gold dollar, and without hesitation ran for it, Jesus ambling the other way and making a strange cooing noise that sounded very vaguely like “the Hell with this guy, I’m gonna go find me some poon.”

Pablo didn’t care, though, for as soon as he picked up the first dollar, he found another hidden a few feet away in a thorny bush. When he plucked that, he found yet another underneath an old abandoned hot dog stand. The moment el Pusseo grabbed the third, he spotted a fourth on the tip of a crashed moon lander.

Pablo grew elated as he gripped yet another little chunk of currency, and another, and another still. But that was it He found the last in the enter of a rotting statue of Christ, atop a hill overlooking distantly the great ancient city.

It was there he spotted, riding slowly through a plateau of boulders, the most majestic creature of which a simple human mind could concieve: The Llama. Tottering about at a leisurely pace, it nommed up some berries and generally gave the impression to all other life that it just didn’t give a goddamn. Pablo stopped, frozen  by the beautiful visage of the glorious woolen creature, and then immediately mortified bu the trenchcoated form staggering after it from behind a grapevine.

Attractive as a pig with melanoma, graceful as a ballet dance bu a sumo wrestler, and lookinh about as intelligent as the mutent progeny of Rosie O’Donnell and George Bush Jr., the cretin with a skullet adjusted constantly its’ jacket with revolting claws and grapples at its’ crotch region. As it drew near to the llama, the thing that was a man in the same way that non-alcoholic Kokanee was beer, stopped suddenly and looked at Pable el Pusseo. It said,

“At halfmast I am I am, I tell you what; them goddamners ain’t gonna tell me what to do, no they isn’t.”

“Stop!” Screeched Pablo, “Don’t come any nearer to that majestic creature, it only wants to flaunt its’ unnaturally long neck to the world, it only wants to be loved!”

“Hrm, goddamn boy. Y’all don’t get the hooplah from the Vatican out here now do ya? I’m the Pope boy, the papal seat heself. This here’s my alpaca. Yessir, decree numero uno: gimme an alpaca, I tell you what. Now hold still, you’ll scare ol’ Lou Ellen.”

And without another word the pope, who farted a great symphony that spelled his name through binary translation to be Pope Cletus I, rode off into the sunrise, his holy buttocks gleaming pale in the morning sun, a final gold coin lodged in the top of his asscrack. Without a moment’s hesitation Pablo el Pusseo set after him, to retrieve the beloved cash.

Off in the distance, Jesus stumbled upon a hidden treasure trove that Pablo would have seen from the hilltop if he wasn’t staring at some old Catholic guy’s asscrack.

End
I horrifically botched Slipstop (I'll take another run at it someday), so instead have the greatest work of literary art your eyes have ever beheld.

Slapped onto my typewriter last night in about fifteen minutes. Look at me go.
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sincebecomeswhy's avatar
This is without a doubt your Magnum Opus. You might as well give it up now, coz it aint gonna get any better. ;)

Have you read this? [link]

And I'm now following you on Tumblr.