apronstrings
Saturday, December 11, 2004
Where i work the people wear aprons. not all of us, just a select majority. indeed it is likely that the apron, a device of singular ingenuity, is a means of ensuring discrete entry into the Great Barracks in the Sky.
you see, my latest casual temporary jobette, i work in a building blessed by Lt. God, owned by the Salvation Army, and peopled by the Soldiers of the the Almighty Fighter. There are four or five other heathens here, and we just pay the rent and turn the other cheek to the strange practices afoot in the corridors, the front office and, heaven shield me, the lunchroom.
It's a funny thing though, the aprons. it's not the fellas who wear them, its the lay-deez. Of course no one would be suprised to read that navy blue is the colour of the Lord's Swords, but when a navy apron is draped over the breasts of each ample middle aged lonely soldierette, something happens to me.
My colleague and i are both raging perverted homos. whenever the office door is closed it means that something depraved is being discussed and re-lived. the office door displays a poster announcing that families come in different shapes and sizes, with cute cartoons of fairgrounds and icecreams and a lots of smiley queer happy family diversity. But through the inimitable lens of the Holy Crosshair, one can witness dirty pedophiles raping their poor innocent children in parks decorated with beats, slowly converting them into sex slaves and deviants to continue spreading diseases until kingdom fires its money shot.
it is delightful being depraved in the presence of people who wear aprons. i suspect that each Soldier of God has their own personal litany of thoughts and deeds to rival de sodom. but the apron, its the apron that keeps the sin in. and protects the rest of us from what they do with their crucifixes, what is dried out to make the communiion host, and the secret codifications of apron string knotwork and placement for maximum trade in the stacks of the toy library.
may the lord bless and keep them here long after i have left.
Where i work the people wear aprons. not all of us, just a select majority. indeed it is likely that the apron, a device of singular ingenuity, is a means of ensuring discrete entry into the Great Barracks in the Sky.
you see, my latest casual temporary jobette, i work in a building blessed by Lt. God, owned by the Salvation Army, and peopled by the Soldiers of the the Almighty Fighter. There are four or five other heathens here, and we just pay the rent and turn the other cheek to the strange practices afoot in the corridors, the front office and, heaven shield me, the lunchroom.
It's a funny thing though, the aprons. it's not the fellas who wear them, its the lay-deez. Of course no one would be suprised to read that navy blue is the colour of the Lord's Swords, but when a navy apron is draped over the breasts of each ample middle aged lonely soldierette, something happens to me.
My colleague and i are both raging perverted homos. whenever the office door is closed it means that something depraved is being discussed and re-lived. the office door displays a poster announcing that families come in different shapes and sizes, with cute cartoons of fairgrounds and icecreams and a lots of smiley queer happy family diversity. But through the inimitable lens of the Holy Crosshair, one can witness dirty pedophiles raping their poor innocent children in parks decorated with beats, slowly converting them into sex slaves and deviants to continue spreading diseases until kingdom fires its money shot.
it is delightful being depraved in the presence of people who wear aprons. i suspect that each Soldier of God has their own personal litany of thoughts and deeds to rival de sodom. but the apron, its the apron that keeps the sin in. and protects the rest of us from what they do with their crucifixes, what is dried out to make the communiion host, and the secret codifications of apron string knotwork and placement for maximum trade in the stacks of the toy library.
may the lord bless and keep them here long after i have left.
Labels: blerk
posted by cardboardy @ 3:09 pm
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