Th bst days of our livs
I was wandering the street last week, hoping to hit by a car so that Raggedy Anne could rescue me, when I happened to saunter by my local neighborhood weird church.
The place is called "Church of Purity" and below the insignia is a motto: "No fifth symbol". The folks going into the church were all wearing yellow, and black, and gray, and a shade of red so bright it could only be called crimson. They wore suits, and shirts, and skirts, and pants, but no dresses or neckties, and they all wore sandals instead of shoes.
Being the friendly type, I approached them with curiosity. I made eye contact with a kid of about twelve.
"Howdy," I say. This boy looks suspiciously, judging. His tag says "Victor".
"Howdy," says Victor.
"Charming church - is it all local?" I ask.
"Oui," quips Victor.
"What kind of church is it?" I ask.
"A church of purity. Our kind..." Victor thinks a bit, "...maintains strict morals of vocality."
"Oh." I say, thoughtfully.
"What's it like?" I ask the boy.
All around, folks gasp and frown.
Victor frowns angrily. An old woman grabs his hand and drags him off, "Stay away, Victor. This guy is not of our kind - don't talk to him, or you'll start on his ugly path. Maintain purity, child!"
I stammered, offended. "Please, can you explain what I've done to offend you all?"
Hissing and howls of pain from all around.
"Go away! You'll poison our purity!" shouts a crowd.
All around, church folk growl, and walk off to local plazas, without your boggling narrator along. I did wrong, and I don't know how.