The First Commission

I’m not gay, but I am Catholic.
And we’ve all heard the distressing tales of Cannibalistic Glory hole dwelling homunculi, lurking in the darkness, blood and semen dripping from their jowls, hungry for more tidbits of vile, bloated flesh.
But Father MacGregor knew; and I, Congressman Craig Lichtenstein, knew that these aberrations not only feed violently and unsolicitedly on the most tender of male organs, but they also detest the concept of free enterprise and dismiss the teachings of Our Lord  Jesus Christ. Cannibalistic glory hole dwelling homunculi hate America. And with such knowledge comes great responsibility.

The children needn’t know these grisly truths. The children needn’t know that cannibalistic glory hole dwelling homunculi possess two rows of short and hook-like teeth on each upper jaw and one row on each lower jaw. The children needn’t know the torment of a slow, painfully excruciating death as a result of penile amputation or mutilation. The children need only be warned of the lethal perils involved in engaging in homosexual acts.

I sat across from old Father MacGregor in his dimly lit study. Dusty books filled the shelves that lined the walls of the darkened chamber. The old priest gummed a soggy cigar and spoke gruffly between strained, feeble breaths.
“You mustn’t fear the homunculi, my child.” he explained.
“These vile creatures embody the Seven Capital Vices, and are therefore weak in their very nature. They are frail in character and their very existence is an abomination.”
A long stream of slobber dribbled from the corner of his mouth. Disgrazia!” he cried.

The priest tried desperately to calm himself. After a wild fit of coughing and hacking he put his handkerchief to his lips then pulled it away in order to examine the consistency of the bloody discharge. He groaned and stuffed the fouled square of thin fabric into his coat pocket and fixed his pious gaze on me.
“Will you be the one, my child?”

An awkward silence followed while the priest attempted to clear a stubborn, gurgling gelatinous ball of mucous from his throat. I cautiously moved to the edge of my seat, unsure of what to do or say.
“Well Father, I…” my response was interrupted by a shower of righteously indignant spittle as he continued.
“Will you be the one…” he leaned forward and pounded both fists on his heavy, mahogany desk.
“To hunt down these retched beasts?”
He shrieked excitedly.
“To exterminate these filthy vermin? To rid the world of this, this, this evil depravity and wretched demonic scourge…”
The old man was red in the face and
slavering with rage. I knelt at his feet and clutched at his robes, weeping, desperate to calm his crazed, yet righteous passion.
“I will Father! I will do what you ask of me!”
And I fell into his lap sobbing uncontrollably. And his turgid erection throbbed against my cheek, a sign that he could now rest in contented ease.

The burden was mine now, and mine alone.

“From this moment forth, my child,” Father MacGregor warned. “We shall not speak of this.”
And with a kiss on my forehead from his saintly lips, he sent me on my way. I strode proudly through the halls into the ornate cathedral, my footsteps echoing throughout the vast structure. I flung open the church doors and marched into the starless night. A soldier, a crusader on a mission from God.

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