“Why not destroy it, I say?,” croaked the embalmed thing, seated puppet-like in the richly embroidered, nicotine-soaked armchair, whose bewitching pattern incessantly pricked at Le Poseur’s prick-spot in the brain.

“Now hold on…what the fuck gives?”

“I’ll tell you what gives,” the feeble old bastard returned. “That God-forsaken book did just what it’s G`damn title said it would…brought a world of frickin’ Hurt.”

“What the fuck you know about a World of hurt anyway?”

“I shown it ta’ Bishop Rickets and two weeks with that motherfuckin’ thin’ and he’s slurping’ snot an’ spurtin’ his Jism all fuckin’ over da G`damn Rectory!”

“Yeah well…that’s why I kept it close to the chest…Priceless!”