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Abbey


I enter Westminster Abbey accompanied by two former prostitutes, three pub landlords and a gaggle of their regulars, a redundant tax inspector, and twelve Cornish fishermen I recruited during my sojourn in the county—armed with a steel cable I proceed to whip the tourists from the Abbey while I damn the hypocrisy of the Church.


Also, none of us have washed for weeks—because we believe it is hypocrisy to wash.


This would be to be a modern Jesus.

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