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The Shroud of Urine
after swilling as much sicera as he could pound down a middle ages drunk stood over in the corner somewhere in the alley behind the church, whipped it out, closed his eyes & flushed out all his toxins down upon what he thought was the ground--- turns out there was a pile of cloths stuffed in the crevice between the building & the ground adjacent to it. the cloth dried in the sun & was stuffed in the garbage--- then, wouldn’t you know it, one day, a devoted believer was pawing through the refuse & low & behold, there layeth the holy shroud of urine. the psychotic believer held up the cloth to the sun, crusted with foul smelling urine & babbled some idiosyncrasies to the sky--- with time, one delusion lead to another & soon the church got a hold of it. believers feel that the crusted urine covered cloth resembles the face of their perfect jesus--- he obviously was a tortured man, anyone can tell that by the way the maggots congregated in the little circles where his droopy eyes would be & the “man of the shroud” bears a moustache, a beard, and is apparently quite buff, standing at 6 foot 2 inches--- he of course has “wounds” that corresponded to said big fat work of fiction & no doubt with further study, he will also be found to have had pretty blue eyes, long golden hair & it will be decided that the reason he hasn’t come back yet is because he’s all shellacked with coppertone somewhere in miami hanging out with fabio.
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Book: Shattered Sighs