Thoracic Animus (19)

   
   "Thoracic Animus (19)"
   
   Doc was all like:  "Boy, we gonna get them snakes, those shape-shifting bastards, even into the blondes with a frenzied frequency, but the true blondes emanate clean white and all the rest.  What did Jesus tell Pilate?  My world is not of this world.  He was a Pleiadian, in a sense, and He is here, in the Holy Spirit.  Don't wait for Him to come back, but ingest His platinum presence, and He will truly be with you.  That non-canonized Gospel of Thomas the doubter is wily and weird, making yourself a duplicate of Christ, a man becoming a woman, and a woman becoming a man; plus, the Oracle of Mary--love My Mother and you love Me--more or less.  Therefore, let it be!  Engage the opposite of the Holy Spectrum, but be of not two minds, though gel into gregarious glee--you hear me Mutt?"
   Mutt was chewing on his lips again at a high altitude, wishing the B-25 Mitchell was below the frozen ocean and all the rest, but he carried the werewheaten-terrier with dignified duty, knowing he had to bite some snake ass.  For a dog, even though Saint John the Eagle spoke against them, as they would eat the dead bodies off the cross if an Orthodox Jew didn't preserve even the criminals and wrap them in spice, but a domesticated dog is no less than a man following the Koran's instructions to eat cattle--we are killing hamburgers dude, and they got pickles on them.
   Mutt just trusted in Doc's two, old-school .357 Magnums, single action; moreover, his instincts to lick and kill snakes, loving blondes, and what guy doesn't love blondes, or girls, for there is Brad Pitt on the Big Screen, and the ladies swoon over his golden locks, like Christ's chestnut mane, as described by Pilate himself, and possibly hanging in the National Library of Congress.