“Mr. Roberts, Mr. Roberts!” called out a spry young whippersnapper, wearing flax britches and a hair shirt. “Can’t God make that happen?”
Regional smacked his lips, spraying fecal particles in a fine mist over the audience and filling their gaping mouths with said poop. “Don’t fuck with God, kid. Some day you’ll learn that the hard way. Until then, leave that fucker to me.”
The questions got tougher from there. “Isn’t hope something we can each nurture inside our own hearts?” asked an honest rapist who wanted to raise awareness in the community.
“No,” said Regional, but he wasn’t really paying attention. He was thinking about the Big Ass Lick-Off in New Orleans next Tuesday and how much shit he’d have to swallow to bring home the Langue de Merde.