Religious Scrutiny
In the bleak winter of the dawn of 2008 this crucifix appeared on Under Scrutiny's breast, seemingly burning itself into his jungle of chest hair. I was fortunate enough to capture on camera the effect this divine revelation had on a couple of proles that were loitering about the parish. Now summer is in full swing, I believe that some of the hair has grown back.
Yes, the hair has grown back now to hide the divine symbol, like a jungle growing over the ruins of a once-mighty temple complex. I’m afraid the miracle has passed, and life goes on as before. When blood starts spurting from my palms, feet and side, I will let you know.
Oh, it’s started!
Such a shame you weren’t shirtless with this cross freshly burnt on when you were assailed in your respectable jacket by that lady who thought you were a tramp. You could have flashed her the sign of the lord!
I really feel like I recognise that man on the right but perhaps not.
I think that’s Saint Peter.
sweet jeebus! i ain’t never seen that scrutes look so saintlified! how could a guy go about pro-curin’ a vile of his sweet saintly tears? for, y’know, wardin’ off the eevil eye and preeventin’ the old-man-finger crop wither? i sure would love to prostate myself beefor’ his miraculous fuzzy ol’ chest! etc…