The buzz of the the cell phones were as pervasive as a carpet of flies on a dairy farm pond of liquid cow pie.
He had loved the evil of people calling others names they were better at wearing themselves.
The sneaky whisper of bad deals and bad ideas.
Contract killings small, and wars large.
Then the phone sex, the order of a Pizza with Prostitution on the side.
The pictures of the underside of girls skirts taken by conservatives to make sure they were wearing no mechanical contraception.
The MRI to make sure they would not abort another potential sinner made by rape.
The call by a rapist who has visitation rights to his holy off spring.
N.R.A. families asking him for guns that could be mounted in pickup trucks.
The failure of the earth as a living animal under the skirt of God.
The pathetic calls for help of people caught in the denial of their own excremental passage through time.
The condition of the factories where phones were made off shore. The photo’s of the next drone strike. The calls to help a terrorist cell connect to a roadside bomb.
He had defined the nature of horniness. He was proud of his heat among them.
He was drowning in the electricity of virtual spiritual genetics. A digital tidal wave of not knowing exactly what was good and evil assailed his soft red ears.
In a small hotel room where he and God met in disguise over dinner and drinks and sex, to reaffirm their essential natures as opposites, they both agreed on one thing.
Prayers via cell phone were ruining their eternal lives.