Touch me. Touch me like you didn't touch me last night.

            “Gentlemen, this is not what I signed on for.”
            “Sir Reginald, please understand, we haven’t had rain in two and a half months. All of our crops are dying…this is our last hope,” said Geoff, as he pulled on his red moccasins.
            “When I said I could offer my services in an advisory capacity, I had no idea that you were going to be undertaking such a dangerous endeavor,” he grimaced, puffing great clouds of blue-grey smoke from his pipe. “I assumed that you would be trying a Mao-Shan Taoist ceremony, or a Lovedu celebration, or even a Thai cat-procession rainmaking ritual.”
            “What’s wrong with this?” asked Henry, as he picked up the massive red, blue, and brown Kachina mask the two had spent so much time on. He waited for his brother to rinse the peyote out of his mouth before lowering the headdress, careful not to crush any of the feathers that stuck out of the top.
            “Well, to begin with, we’re all white. In addition, we’re not in the Southwest, we’re in Illinois . As a matter of fact, we’re outside of a town called Bruce. Does that sound like an appropriate place to be calling on Hopi deities?”

( Oh, Sir Reginald, You Dashing Bastard, Your Tale Continues Here... )