The Virtue of Good Reverend Roger

[Enrico Salazar]

Is that time of year again, faggots.  Pull up Pipedream Extreme, get cozy; warm tumbler of Riunite on ice between sweaty palm.  Put on soothing record, something classy like Metal Machine Music.  Is sexy.  Is time get real. Uncle Enrico have good new and bad new for all you all.  The new that is GOOD: malicious reprobate who is known on street as Good Reverend Roger, she is dead again.  The new that is BAD: is sadly not permanent.

As old Salazorian saying go: you cannot keep good bitch down.

But! But. Not just beautiful word, but important word, goddamit.  BUT.  Since bag of squirming maggot known as Good Reverend Roger is, for now, dead, is good time as any to express thing which is almost ineffable, but not quite, or we would have nothing to speak about: the virtue of Good Reverend Roger.

Is true, is true... the virtue of such a creature, she is questionable, yes?  But think about this: even Charlemagne, she invent question mark.  Even Hitler, she invent Volkswagen, and some word fahrvergnügen, which is fun to say.  And even earwig, she invent sexy.  All horrible thing has delicious side. 

In fact, Enrico might be tempt to say only horrible thing has delicious side.

Some of Enrico best friend vicious psychopathic monsters.  In fact, in home country, Enrico nickname was "O Monstro", which may surprise some of you to learning it mean "The Monster".  Is cute.

Roger.

Is important to first begin by say that any civilize country would have assassinate Good Reverend Roger before he was able open gorga and speak.  One look at those beautiful maniac eye is enough to show anyone that he see.  This Roger, he not see what is nice.  He not see what is comfort.  He not see what you see, my glorious faggots.  No.  Others look out of their eyeholes and yet do not see, they imagine.  The evidence of world is before them, the grotesque truth of one prostitute's aquamarine eye makeup being washed away by another's morning vomit--no.  They see charity.  You see pity.  They see event.  Roger, this Good Reverend, he see truth.  Ugly, horrible, disgusting, beautiful, hilarious, truth.  His gorgeous eye, she see the world naked and pink and chilly.  And it cry, you glorious faggots, it cry.

Have you seen The Good Reverend Roger dance?

Others, other racist cunt talk always about white dancer.  Or other racist speak of black dancer.  They speak about the dance, but they ignore THE DANCE.  You do not, you silly fucking tourist cunt, you do not miss something like the dance, by talking about dance.  If you disrespect the dance, it will fucking END you.  Do you see?  Do you see how serious Enrico is by the glint in his glass eye?  The dance is all there is, and yet people waste their precious spit on black dance or white dance, when there is only THE DANCE. 

Have you seen The Good Reverend Roger dance?

He dance not with his hip.  He dance not with his leg.  He dance not with his arm, like Paul Lynde snorting first base line at Yankee Stadium.  No.  The Good Reverend Roger dance with entire body, from sweaty stubble on scalp top, to bunion bottom: every cell, every molecule, every goddam atom.  His eyelash, she twitch to beat.  His back sweat, she roll in time.  His clothing ripple in wave of desperate exaltation, as if trying to escape body, because it cannot possibly keep up with the beauty.  The Good Reverend Roger not perform the dance, the Good Reverend Roger IS THE DANCE.  He tap all over your emotional sombrero, no joke.  No fucking joke.  He was dance before expansion, and will be dance long after final collapse, because that is type of show off bastard he is.  But do not attempt to keep up, it would be like attempt to fuck Pacific Ocean... momentarily satisfying, but ultimately you are arrest for indecent exposure and must go door to door to introduce yourself as sexual criminal, as if this is a shame. Just do never.

Have you seen The Good Reverend Roger laugh?

Holding in laughter is harder than hold in sneeze.  And what sort of puckered anus hold in sneeze in first place?  Sneeze, the orgasm's sneaky little sister, gloriously returning for two or three kisses at once.  Do not hold that sneeze in, brother and sister, hold back only enough to coax sneeze into staying around longer.  If you get good, each sneeze will last at least fifteen second, and require changing of silky underdrawers after.  Unless you are tough guy and enjoy walk around in own spunk.  Enrico do.  But.  There that beautiful word is again.  But.  But do not hold in laughter anymore than one would hold in beautiful and delicate sneeze: no. 

Have you seen The Good Reverend Roger laugh?

It begin silently, somewhere behind the horizon, behind a nearby bush, somewhere in Toledo, Ohio.  First his eye close, which is shame, as Enrico love The Good Reverend Roger's eye more than anything else.  His eye slide close, and then face slowly rise pink then red, like erotic thermometer, one fist the size of canned ham will slam down on something, hopefully his own knee, otherwise watch the splinter fly!  Then suddenly a gurgling sucking sound, follow by colossal vacuum, as he gather air, so much air.  So much fucking air, to fuel the laughter.  The actual laughter.  You see, this, this what you have already witnessed is not the laughter, my faggots, no, this is the overture.  This is foreplay.  The laughter, she then hit you in face like Goliath's haymaker, slopping your clothes, and spilling your drink.  The laughter seem to come from his face, but it exude from every pour in his twitching body.  The Good Reverend Roger laugh like The Good Reverend Roger dance: it's frightening and glorious to behold.  The laughter, she take you over, like wave.  You can fight it, but why?  Roll.  Simply roll.  Let laughter wash you away, what were you doing with your life anyway?  Nothing.  Be honest, faggot. 

Enrico thought his life was change when he tried Idi Amin's stroganoff, but truly he was change when he was baptize by The Good Reverend Roger's laughter.

He will be back.  Like Enrico himself, whose fabulous evil cannot be contained by one state of life, The Good Revered Roger, too, will be back.  When we want him least, but need him most.  Until then, Enrico wait in blueball.

[Doktor Howl]

 

Enrico, he is good as he word.

[Enrico Salazar]

Yes. And we all know what word is.

[LMNO]

An, Uncle Enrico. So truth, much slippery.

[Mesozoic Mister Nigel]

That. Was. Incredible.

Sheer poetry.

He tap all over your emotional sombrero

I came.

[Suu]

Such poetry, Uncle Enrico!

[notloki]

Now I see Generalissimo! Yes he much funny than me. I not this good.

I not try compete with him. I just talk free.

Your friend,
notloki