CRUSADE
Eighty-thousand words confirming my first-class e-ticket to eternal damnation
Hunter Thompson searched for the American dream, and to his cynical amusement—found it. The characters in Crusade think they've stumbled over its bloated, rotting corpse, and have packed their nostrils with cocaine to blunt the stench.
A drug-fueled journey by two deranged journalists into the morass of organized religion. Cornholery, snake handlers, faith healers, serial killers, sarcasm, blasphemy—good, clean, American fun.
Excerpt
“What the hell!” Warren exclaimed. “I pass this place all the time, I thought it was an Indian Bingo Parlor. This is a church? We’re in the wrong business, Gabriel. You could stand up and read your swill, I could pass around the collection bong and we could have our own Taj Mahal.”
“Yes! A combination church/bar, the Blessed Sanctuary of the Unrepentant. This building must have cost millions.”
“I’m sure it did,” Renfield said. “All built with freely-given donations.”
“Bullshit!” I said. “Freely-given my ass. Every nickel is coated with the weeping patina of the hopeless gambler who knows he is a fuckup and will likely lose his children's milk money, but proceeds anyway—dreaming of that big score. The collection plate is the pot where lifes’ gamblers are betting on the long-shot, anteing up, hoping for their own big score in the afterlife. The preacher is the dealer, the bouncer, and the barker: he takes his cut right off the top and keeps the game lively by threatening the players with eternal damnation in the fires of purgatory.”
Farctured Frazzled Folk Fables and Fairy Farces, Part II satirizes popular children's stories into adult-oriented renditions. FFFF &FF, Part II is also available in Amazon Kindle and Barnes and Noble e-book formats.
