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Sir Reginald Does Not Dig on Swine
Nov. 3rd, 2005 11:52 am “My name is
Legion,” the pig said, nervously eyeing the circle of salt and snow-white
pillar candles that surrounded its pen. “For we are—”
“I call ‘bullshit,’”
exclaimed Sir Reginald. “According to the Bible, the demon Legion did some sort of vague
repenting, and begged Jesus to put you into a whole herd of pigs. He did, and
you drowned yourself…selves…whatever.”
“Well,
yeah, sure we did that. But, y’know, we’ve had two millennia to think it over,
and we know we got the raw end of that deal.”
“The raw
end of penitence?” Sir Reginald asked.
“Sure, man,
like, we drowned ourselves and all, and we felt really good doing it for Jesus
and all, but Hell isn’t too forgiving of demons that prostrate themselves
before the enemy, right?”
“That was a
terrible run-on sentence,” he answered. “And I still don’t believe you're Legion. How
could you possibly escape from the eternal torments of hell? Or if you were
truly shriven, why would you leave heaven?”
“Well, man,
it’s like, y’know, we’re Legion and all, so we get bored pretty quick, and
there’s not a lot in the line of, umm, recreation down there, so we just—”
“By the
power of the unknown names of God,” Sir Reginald began to shout as he lit a
stick of incense, “I compel you to leave that swine, unclean spirit!”
“Unclean
spirit? Dude, that’s harsh. We’re just…” the pig paused and snorted. “Is that patchouli?”
Sir
Reginald dropped the incense, drew his revolver, and plugged the creature one
shot right between the eyes, which rolled backwards. It lurched onto its side, the wound pumping out liberal amounts of blood.
“I
absolutely cannot stomach hippies,” he said, blowing smoke from the barrel, “particularly
opportunistic, lying, dead hippies.”
b
Who wonders what Occult Mastermind Sir Reginald looks like...I'm sure he has muttonchop sideburns...and probably wears unnecessary amounts of tweed...
