De_Chosen_Two

I keep a rosary for spiritual defense, since that’s what the Council of Trent intended. Four goth mommies in fishnets and crushed-velvet corsets kick down my door at 3 a.m. “What the—?” I clutch my scapular and blessed crucifix.
Hurl holy water at the first one; she hisses like a cat and melts into a puddle of black eyeliner. She’s out.
Draw my pocket-edition Catechism on the second; quote paragraph 1857 on mortal sin. She misses the gravity, laughs, and keeps advancing, so I wing the hardcover at her forehead. Thunk. She drops, concussed by the weight of doctrine.
The third lunges w...Devamını Oku