When Pope John Paul came to Cardiff in the early eighties he presented one of the rings of Rome to the people of Wales. It ended up in a pawn shop in Pillgwenlly
It was
grab a granny night at the Plotters and Ken Frane would rather be looking out
at the Newport Transporter Bridge from his vantage point of Newport Cathedral
on Stow Hill, but Terry Heston had insisted, and who was Frane to turn his old
mate down after everything that he’d done for him. The smell from the mudbanks
of the River Usk this night were overpowering. There was a game on at Rodney
Parade, Newport County were winning again but Terry Heston like the overgrown
caveman that he was, had his sights set on the female of the species. He would
not listen to Frane when he told him that “they were more deadly than the
male”.
"Baptism, the
rite of becoming a Christian, is necessary for salvation — whether the Baptism
occurs by water, blood, or desire."
But
what the fuck does that mean Father Eammon? Baptism by desire?
A
woman in a shimmering blue snakeskin dress is stood at the font and she loosens
her top slowly to reveal first one and then the second huge breast.
She
tickles her fingers in the holy water and then cups some and lets it trickle
down one pink fleshy bosom to the teat where she flicks at it and looks up
coquettishly and then the same with the other but slower and more lascivious
this time.
Father Eammon crosses himself and then undoes his cassock.
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