Lucifer's Lottery - Edward Lee [25]
Wow, that’s some heavyweight cynicism, Hudson thought. He watched Randal haphazardly mop up the expectorant, then roll the bucket back down the hall. “You know, you’ve got to be the only guy in town who wants to stay a virgin his whole life.”
“There’s plenty of Catholic clergy in this town, and everywhere, Randal. Sexual abstention is an utmost oblation to God. Christ was chaste, so when a mortal man strives to be chaste, he struggles to imitate Christ. God likes that.”
Randal looked off, nebulous. “Speaking of celibacy, wasn’t there some saint a long time ago who actually cut his own johnson off to prove his faith in God?”
Hudson sighed. “Actually several saints are rumored to have done that but no one knows for sure.”
Now Randal looked focused. “Okay, so say a saint did it—he cut off his meat missile . . . Aren’t saints supposed to be—shit, what’s the word? Pristine? When they die, they don’t rot?”
“There are dozens of cases of dead saints being exhumed and their bodies found in pristine condition, yes.”
Randal stroked his chin, in deep thought. “Okay, so say some saint in the Middle Ages cut off his pud. Well?”
“Well what?”
“Well then his pud would be pristine, too, right? It would have to be. So when he dies, he never rots, but neither does his cut-off dick.”
Hudson groaned.
“Serious. If it’s true, then there’s probably some box somewhere that’s got some saint’s dick in it, and it looks like it got cut off a minute ago.”
Hudson shook his head at the whimsy. “Randal, if you used your powers of creative thinking for something practical, you’d be a genius.”
“Yeah.” Randal began to diddle with a clipboard, his ludicrous contemplations already faded. “Anyway, as you can see, my job’s a pile of shit, so how’s yours going? The oyster shucking business?”
“They were about to lay me off again so I just put in my notice and they let me go on the spot.”
“Wow, that really shucks, man.” Randal laughed. “Get it?”
Hudson groaned. “It’s no big deal because I’m leaving next week anyway.”
Randal poured two coffees, but the brew looked like squid ink. “That pregnant hooker really pisses me off. One of these days I’ll find a decent one.”
“Most of those girls are drug addicts,” Hudson affirmed. “When you solicit them for sex, you’re helping them remain in an environment of moral bankruptcy, degradation, and misery.”
“For fuck’s sake,” Randal sputtered.
“If you give them money for drugs in exchange for action, it’s the same as if you’re buying the drugs yourself. It all goes to the same place, the same evil. Besides, hookers and johns offend God.”
“Here we go with this shit again.” Randal grabbed a broom and whisked it around the store, half assed. “If there was a God, then there’d be no drug addiction, so then there’d be no girls offering to do you for money.”
Hudson frowned. “I think God is about free will, Randal. It’s about the choice. Does one choose to do drugs or does one choose not to? Do they choose to consort with prostitutes or do they choose not to? God’s really got nothing to do with it.”
“Whatever . . .” Randal swept some dust beneath the counter. “So, what? You came in here tonight just to try to con me into going to church?”
“Well . . . I wanted to ask a favor.”
“Fuck no, man. Get out of my store.” Randal hooted. “Relax! I’m kidding.” Then his eyes darted. “Damn, I forgot.” He opened the glass door on the rotisserie, then spat on the hot dogs.
“What the hell!”
Randal smirked. “Those fuckin’ things are a buck a pack wholesale. But if you spit on ’em every hour, they last longer. Only people who buy ’em are the bums and illegals. Big