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and licked the remaining semen and feces from his employer’s cock. Not to be outdone, Billy reached down and yanked the nun’s over-sized breasts out of their latex bustier, squeezing them so tightly in his hands that they began turning purple, and lifted her off the floor by them, nearly ripping her tremendous mammary glands right off her chest. He then licked the semen, feces, and urine off her face with a tongue as long and thick as a sea slug. Michaels looked at the hideous freak that was now grinning at Farrington as if awaiting his approval for his little show of affection and shook his head in disgust. He then turned and led his demented employer out of the room and down the hall.
    “ I just don’t understand you, sir. What is it you see in these monsters? And why this obsession with God? What do the two have to do with each other?” Michaels was clearly disturbed by what he had seen.
    “ The freaks are but a means to an end, Michaels.”
    “ But to what end? Just so you can humiliate the church?”
    “ Don’t you see? I want to understand God, to usurp his power. I’m not the first person to assert that the only way to know God is through his works, his creations. Buddhists contemplate nature’s wonders, streams and flowers. Scientists study natural disasters and the vast expanses of inner and outer space. They study the most awe-inspiring aspect of creation. I’ve studied it as well. Everything from nucleotides to quasars. I’ve spent hours in Tibetan monasteries watching snowflakes accumulate on a hillside. And yes, I have been awed by it all. Like all of them, awed stupid. But I have come to no greater understanding of perfection. So now I study not God’s perfection but his flaws. I study his mistakes.” He gestured toward Betty who was just leaving the pool house, undulating her gelatinous form down the hallway toward her room. Her hideously obese body a riot of ripples and waves as she moved by the momentum of her own corpulent rolls flopping in a worm-like crawl.
    “ And what better way to know God’s creations than in the biblical sense?”
    “ I get that part. I think. But what about the priests and nuns?”
    “ Oh, that you will understand soon enough.”
    They walked past the angel’s suite and John Farrington stopped, staring at the door.
    “ Sir, we have guests. We can’t keep them waiting.”
    Farrington’s voice sounded very far away. Was there a tear in his eye? “Why don’t they love me Michaels? Why?”
     
     
    (III)
     
    James Bryant and Richard Westmore sat on a leather couch longer than either of their apartments and soft as foreskin. They stared at the travertine marble floors that shined like glass, the faux finished walls trimmed in mahogany, the huge round stained glass skylight, and the solid granite, stainless steel, tumbled marble, and oak, cherry and rose wood furniture that all seemed to have come from an art gallery rather than a furniture showroom. Everything in the room was brand new and expensive. Bryant noticed right away that there was not a single picture or personal artifact in the room. He’d been expecting to see the obligatory self-portrait over the mantle but this room was completely depersonalized. Anyone could have lived here. Anyone with a nine figure financial portfolio.
    “ I guess this guy isn’t into antiques huh?” Westmore said as he began snapping pictures of the room.
    “ If I didn’t know better I’d think he just bought all this furniture before we arrived. It even smells new.” Bryant replied.
    “ And it’s uncomfortable as hell!” Westmore grumbled nearly falling out of a hand-carved marble chair with no seat cushion and a back that rose higher than a man’s head.
    Bryant was about to speak again when his ears caught a commotion out in the hallway.
    Westmore and Bryant turned to look out into the main foyer where Michaels was wrestling a tall well-built and naked gentleman up the stairs. The man was obviously distraught and