“What a lovely afternoon said Fr. Gabriel, surveying the scrubbing of St Bunnicula Square by a group of nuns from the Caramelite monastery north of Kilcathlyde on their hands and knees. “Don’t you think so, Erick?”
Eric sneezed into a hand-knitted handkerchief with a large black “E” on it. “Yes, Father,” he said, blowing his nose loudly.
“Your hayfever acting up again?”
“Yes, sir. I do suffer from it so this time of year.”
“You should take one of your pills. Perhaps that will help.”
“I believe I will,” said Fr. Erick.
ST MUCKYMUCK
Season 2
WRITTEN BY STEVEN GORMAN
WHAT YOU ARE READING IS:
IRRELIGIOUS, IRREVERENT, AND IRRELEVANT.
THE PEOPLE, PLACES, AND EVENTS CONTAINED IN ST MUCKYMUCK ARE COMPLETELY FICTIONAL. ANY AND ALL RESEMBLANCES TO REAL PEOPLE, REAL PLACES, AND/OR REAL EVENTS PAST, PRESENT, OR FUTURE IS PURELY COINCIDENTAL.
THE PEOPLE, PLACES, AND EVENTS CONTAINED IN ST MUCKYMUCK ARE COMPLETELY FICTIONAL. ANY AND ALL RESEMBLANCES TO REAL PEOPLE, REAL PLACES, AND/OR REAL EVENTS PAST, PRESENT, OR FUTURE IS PURELY COINCIDENTAL.
He produced a small gold box from his inside pocket and a bottle of water. When he opened the lid, the theme from ET came tinkling out. He pulled on the box and it opened up and out like an accordion with no fewer than four little trays lined with burgundy velvet, each one jammed with pills of various sizes and colors.
“I say, what a fine pill box!”
“Thank you, Father. It belonged to my Grandmother, God rest her soul. It used to have only two little trays. I expanded it while in seminary up at St Pulcherius in my project for Structural Theology.”
Fr. Gabriel watched him take his pill and return the closed box to his front pocket. “It’s lovely to see everyone out participating in the clean up for our Great Saint’s feast day, isn’t it?”
Erick sneezed again. “Yes, it is.” He blew his nose loudly for a second time.
Fr. Gabriel considered Erick for a moment. “How long does it take for that pill to kick in?” asked Gabriel, a look of concern on his face.
“About forty-five minutes, sir,” replied Fr. Erick, his voice muffled by the handkerchief. “But as I’m so sensitive to medicine, it usually takes much less.”
“Oh, that’s good. Are there any negative side effects?”
“Not bad,” said Erick. “Runny nose, cough, breathlessness, wheezing, watery eyes, itchy soft palate, sleeplessness, drowsiness, sore toes, genital rash, diarrhea, and suicidal tendencies. But apart from that, nothing too serious.”
“Good,” said Fr. Gabriel. “Oh look, there’s Mike Colby. I wonder if his triskaidekaphobia has caused him to steal anymore peppermint bras and dental diaphragms from the adult store on St. Valentine Street. I must speak to him.”
Fr. Erick watched him walk away with stunned incredulity, frozen in the middle of a third blow.
(c)2012 Steven Gorman. All rights reserved.
No comments:
Post a Comment