by Craig A. Buckley
The good Rev. Johnny Elwood loosened his tie. His black Sunday jacket lay draped over the chair behind his desk. His wife would have been in a tizzy if she’d seen it. That’s what hangers were invented for, Johnny, she’d say, to keep out the wrinkles. That woman and her damn hangers. Damn damn damn. The Reverend loved that word. Damned be the sinners, he’d preach, and damned be the papist idolaters, damned be the whores and dope smoking Commies down at the college, and damned be his wife’s damn hangers.
And damned be his wife, for that matter. You see another cock in your wife’s mouth (dragged into Sodom with salted limbs) and you get a fire in the blood. Only one way to put out that sort of fire. His whiskey sermon that morning had hit his congregation hard. He knew it. They’d be…
View original post 1,842 more words
Viv Drewa - The Owl Lady 