After eight hours of driving, Samael said he needed a beer. "Stupid holy boy gets to materialize wine for himself out of the moisture of thin air, and here I goddamn am, valeting two college girls and a virgin."
"I have sex with my mind, without touch. I'm omnisexual, just ask Mary Magdala and dear John. Can you say the same, dear, tasty Sammaelwich?" Jesus grinned, caressing the Yugo's plastic interior that stuck to all our butts.
I groaned. "I'm sure possession is basically the same."
Samael gritted his teeth. "Don't tell him about our intimate moments, Shannon."
Arietta rolled her eyes and stuck out her tongue, closing her anarchocommunist zine with a sexy stripper Lenin on the cover. "Do you ever feel like you are part of the capitalist hegemony, Samael, a man of political power who abuses the masses, assaults teenage girls, and terrorizes Millenials and Gen Zers."
