By Jeremy Dunn (Thou shall not)
For the people of Brentford, it happened every night around the same time. The priestess would consult the book and begin making preparations for the sacrifice. The aroma of the burnt offering wafted upward and they waited. It wouldn’t be long now. It began with a distant thumping and steadily increased in pace and intensity until arriving with hurricane force in front of the altar.
“WHAT IS THAT YOU ARE OFFERING ME WOMAN?”
With an air of nonchalance, bordering on disrespect, the priestess turns and stares.
“Tis suckling pig my Lord . . . and golden orbs of potato, finely mashed.”
“WHAT! YOU INSULT ME WENCH! I WILL NOT ACCEPT IT!”
“Very well, but it is all I have to offer,” she said in a voice steady as a rock.
As quickly as he appeared, he now disappeared, turbulent and dark.
The others gathered and made their way to the altar. The priestess meted out their portions and bid them to dine.
All was well for a short while, when suddenly a commotion from on high captured their attention.
In a flash of light and thunderous din, he had returned.
His white robe swirled and his eyes flashed. In his hand, he held a tablet.
“HEED MY WORDS ALL OF YOU. HERE ARE MY COMMANDMENTS!”
“THOU SHALL NOT SERVE PORK, LEST IT BE OF THE BACON VARIETY. THY LOIN OF PORK IS PARTICULARLY ODEROUS TO ME. MY STOMACH GAGGETH WHEN I SMELL IT.”
“THOU SHALL NOT SERVE THE POTATO, NEITHER MASHED NOR BAKED, NAY NOT EVEN SCALLOPED SHALL YE SERVE IT. YOU MAY ONLY FRY IT AS IN FRANCE. THEN IT SHALL BE PLEASING TO MY NOSTRILS.”
“YOU SHALL . . .”
With speed never before seen, the priestess leapt upon and smote him on the behind with her wand of justice.
“SIT DOWN!”
With a resigned look, the self-imagined deity realized that he had lost the battle. He took his place among the others.
“THERE WILL COME A DAY WHEN I WILL BE FREE!”
“Yeah, yeah, until then you can eat what I give you or not eat at all, your royal pain in butt.”
For the people of Brentford, it happened every night around the same time. The priestess would consult the book and begin making preparations for the sacrifice. The aroma of the burnt offering wafted upward and they waited. It wouldn’t be long now. It began with a distant thumping and steadily increased in pace and intensity until arriving with hurricane force in front of the altar.
“WHAT IS THAT YOU ARE OFFERING ME WOMAN?”
With an air of nonchalance, bordering on disrespect, the priestess turns and stares.
“Tis suckling pig my Lord . . . and golden orbs of potato, finely mashed.”
“WHAT! YOU INSULT ME WENCH! I WILL NOT ACCEPT IT!”
“Very well, but it is all I have to offer,” she said in a voice steady as a rock.
As quickly as he appeared, he now disappeared, turbulent and dark.
The others gathered and made their way to the altar. The priestess meted out their portions and bid them to dine.
All was well for a short while, when suddenly a commotion from on high captured their attention.
In a flash of light and thunderous din, he had returned.
His white robe swirled and his eyes flashed. In his hand, he held a tablet.
“HEED MY WORDS ALL OF YOU. HERE ARE MY COMMANDMENTS!”
“THOU SHALL NOT SERVE PORK, LEST IT BE OF THE BACON VARIETY. THY LOIN OF PORK IS PARTICULARLY ODEROUS TO ME. MY STOMACH GAGGETH WHEN I SMELL IT.”
“THOU SHALL NOT SERVE THE POTATO, NEITHER MASHED NOR BAKED, NAY NOT EVEN SCALLOPED SHALL YE SERVE IT. YOU MAY ONLY FRY IT AS IN FRANCE. THEN IT SHALL BE PLEASING TO MY NOSTRILS.”
“YOU SHALL . . .”
With speed never before seen, the priestess leapt upon and smote him on the behind with her wand of justice.
“SIT DOWN!”
With a resigned look, the self-imagined deity realized that he had lost the battle. He took his place among the others.
“THERE WILL COME A DAY WHEN I WILL BE FREE!”
“Yeah, yeah, until then you can eat what I give you or not eat at all, your royal pain in butt.”