Pope Clement XII.
I was overwhelmed by a feeling of great pride that day. Yet I kept humble. I kept hungry. I kept ready to learn new things...
"What's all this secrecy all about," would say Pope Clement XII. If you need secrecy for your activities, you're definitely dodgy...
There was no secrecy about what I was doing that day.
I kept thinking to myself for some reason about Father Mark Goring and how he shaked his bum like Ricky Martin himself...
I was definitely extremely angry I spent twenty on his Patreon membership... Why am I saying this, you wonder??
No worries though. In any misfortune there's a seed of hope.
The seed of hope being the "educational" material at hand.
Invaluable and highly recommended!!
Why on earth am I resembling Mark Goring to Ricky Martin??? Anyway...
In any case, in effect right now: whoever refers to Mary the Mother of Jesus as "mama" Mary is a straight cunt. No joking.
Who the fuck do you think you're talking about here...?? Missy Elliott???
And by the way, who's that cunt that's giving lessons on Jesus our refuge? Not Chris Stepanek, he's cool. The other cunt.
That cunt is as fake as mission Artemis II.
I stepped outside my apartment and heading towards Maccas around the corner. But then I stopped for, like, five seconds
at cnr Rugby and Adelaide, just to notice a shop I passed by many times before. I decided to go in.
The young girl was medium built, quite short actually, pretty and attractive all in one package, very good at flirting
and quite good at being mysterious altogether. There was a white dog in the shop too, an old animal that arose my sympathy.
I went straight to the shelf that contained some Black Metal albums. Burzum stuck out, as out of the ordinary...
"I am out now, and I'm pretty safe and happy" I said to the young lady while pointing at the Burzum cover...
"Fine" she said. I don't think she did get the reference. Not many people would've, actually!
Then I stepped straight on the pentagram on the floor, the young lady approached me and her dog rubbed against me.
We were standing, all three of us, right on the pentagram...
I took her hand in mine: my name is Valentin, I said. I will be back sometimes, I then said before leaving.
But I never went back, as the shop moved to Taranaki Street not long after our encounter...
What's all this secrecy all about, Pope Clement XII would say...
And as Francisco de Goya would have it, yet also letter it together with myself:
"the nap of reason surely produces gargoils" no doubt about that... But yeah, I'd go with Pope Clement XII on this one!!
