See these people? See how happy they are? They’re down on their knees, clutching their hands together in prayer, waving their mass-produced, church-funded banners! They’re ecstatic with religious fervour! They’ve won their apocalyptic battle! They’ve beaten off the evil perverted hordes! Every thread of synthetic fibre on their overfed bodies is twisting in virginal delight at the victory of natural law! Look at the fat one in the middle! She’s creaming her impeccable jeans! There’s no way she’s going to let other tax-payers get their hands on her tubby little rights, or children (Because that’s what they want! They want our kids!)! Look at the priestly one on the left with his neat sticker and his would-be workman’s overalls, whose hand’s all scratched up by the entirely natural bifocals of the old bat on the floor! (Because God made bifocals! God made comfort wear!) He’s the one who passed the collection plate during mass to stop those sick faggots having the right to hospital visits! Hallelujah! Look at the skinny one with the skinhead haircut, who’s sublimated his filthy desires and has never, no never, had sex with a man! Oh joy! Oh fucking joy! Oh fucking fucking joy!
And could sculpt like men, then the horses would draw their gods
Like horses, and cattle like cattle; and each they would shape
Bodies of gods in the likeness, each kind, of their own