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Show Acting Alone Page 62 palpitating obscenity called Sam's nose. Of course, come to think of it, Jesus had all those icky holes suppurating in Him didn't he? No more of that, pudgy blasphemer. Now, even as Sam entertained these fun little bits of sacrilegious cerebration, even as he lodged himself like a big orange cyst between the uterine walls of this nunnery and poked these naughty little Jesus thoughts thrillingly up out of his consciousness like so many tiny bent boners, even right here under the cloistered no-man's-land upstairs, where slippered nun feet creaked the floorboards as they padded from bedroom to bathroom and back, Sam was unable to enjoy himself to the fullest. Because, for vague reasons, Axelrad kept intruding on his consciousness. Who of all people but Axelrad? Standing here at the laundry door, adoring this shlock movie still of chic, petite Jew Jesus, Sam was unexplainably visited by images of chic, petite Jew Axelrad. In a top-secret encampment in the forest not far up the mountain from this very laundry room could be found Axelrad and his merry band of ostensible anthropological buddies (or archaeological, or something like that). Sam had allowed himself to be prevailed upon to bring Axelrad libations on a fairly regular basis. As a matter of fact, he was about due to make a run up there any day now, if he'd just quit putting it off. But why was he thinking of Axelrad now? Was it the salutary effects of all this religious contemplation upon his conscience that brought to mind images of the little shrimp whom Sam had wronged many, many times in the past? |