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ACT 4
Patrick, after Father Young having bought him a bus ticket to Nashville, exits Saint Joseph East--he enters a lime-green taxi that has been called for him by that benevolent Priest. He enters. Notices a toxic stench. The driver turns to glare at him. It is a macabre woman. He knows her well. The Sub-Eve of his tortured adolescence. She offers a wicked smile.
PATRICK
Hey woman--my long-suffering has been excellent.
EVE
Long-suffering eh--I don't thing "long" deserves to be in your uneducated vernacular.
PATRICK
Indeed, my mutilated genitalia is both asymmetrical and non-protracted; furthermore, I never did ascend the scholastic ladder of academia, but Walt Whitman and Free Verse--kinda works for me.
EVE
None will know Christ through such a fool as you.
PATRICK
God always shows up in the Fourth Quarter--it's not over for Tebow either; however, he could be soiled by a female stalker desirous of not his sublime soul, yet physical properties. Unless she's over 40 like you; then, he won't be exotically entranced. Yes, a vixen-like female over 40: Menopause; plus, a vaginal-cavity becoming hyper-sensitive and unable to lubricate itself. Needles do hurt at that point. All those years of being stretched to stupefaction; next, wends the way of cobwebs in a withered womb for the chronically abused physiology of God's awesomely-engineered Adam. Before the Fall. Before Lilith's serpentine entrance and Eve's curious pride.
EVE
Men will never listen--they prefer reptilian mating, craving one thing, and it's not the celibacy of Christ.
PATRICK
Then let it be sincere love-making. Instruct men on the beatific nature of a divine maiden made glamorous by the synergy of romantic love. Those who don't abuse their bodies rarely find it blown out like a flat tire.
EVE
I hate you Patrick. God hates you too.
PATRICK
At least the Monks invented beer, ya know . . .
