"'A sore pain' says he, I'll give you a sore pain!"
With that, she flings the pan and races to the hearth for to retrieve the poker. "And what was she doin' in your study anyway?"
"She wanted help with her accounts! Sure you know what them young lasses are like, it's all gobbledygook t'them!"
"Accounts? Well it was a queer abacus in your service, a queer abacus an' all."
Throughout the whole carry-on, young Benedict roars wi' infant giggledom. Horace, racing to the child for protection, he says, "Is this the thing for a youngster to be witnessing?"
"Don't you dare shield behind wee Benedict. You done him damage enough by fatherin' him. I tell you, he'll be a fine one if he grows up like his Da. By God the Rabbi best chop the lot o' thon off o' him while he's at it, if it's to corrupt him like it corrupted you!"
Gazing up at his father, Benedict claps his podgy hands and says "Balls!"
The two parents look at other, dumbfounded.
"Balls!" repeats the infant. "Balls balls balls."
Hannah drops the poker and throws her hands to the air. "Save us all, there he's at the balls already. D'you see what you've done?"
Horace covers the boy's mouth with his trembling hand. "He said none balls, he said bald. Didn't you, Benedict?"
"Balls n' balls balls."
"Merciful Lord above!"
"Balls balls balls."
Cesena, 1742
Francesco Guilliarti addresses her lover with a fair measure of hush in the voice, the child she's busy minding having finally fallen asleep there in the crib. "We can't, Alberto,” she's saying. "The Count could be home any minute."
"Oh for Holy Christ's sakes," tuts Alberto, fiddling with his belt, "We'll be lucky if we see him afore Wednesday. Him out on the lash wi' the wife up thonner in her sick bed and with all the curious colours of the Italian night coiled about his thighs? My arse he'll be back any minute."
"Well I don't feel comfortable. Wee Barnaba's in the room."
"He's asleep. The hell'll he know one way or the other."
Francesco gazes pensively towards the sleeping child. "I had a dream about him, Alberto."
"Oh aye?" The lust-crazed lad slides o'er to his lady's side, kissing at her neck, fidgeting with her hair. "I've been dreamin' only o' you."
She shrugs him off with a heave of the left shoulder. "I said no, dammit. I'm tryin' t'tell you about my bastard dream!"
Alberto sighs and falls back upon the mattress. "Well what?"
"I saw the child worshipped by all nations, and the papal seal about his forehead. This boy will be pope, Alberto, I just know it."
Article comments
1 - Aaron Fleming
Ah what brilliant and joyous scibbling! This is the sort of thing historians for years have fought to produce. I heard a rumour that Plato's first word was 'bell end'.
To think it's been so long since the last Pop Cult Mind Wax, what a welcome return.
2 - Christopher Rose
Already crying on account of the Red Devils shocking show last night, upon reading this I cried again, but this time with laughter! Thanks.
3 - DukeDeMondo
thank you Sir Fleming! it has been a fair age since the last Pop Cult, and i figured it best to resume things with the matter of my arse, rather than any of the threads explored in the last load. i believe plato's first word was indeed "bell-end", as was Winston Churchill's third word. his first two were "disestablishmentarianism" and "bicycle".
Christopher, i'm glad you found a chuckle or two herein, and i do hope it eased the pain momentarily of that sporting debacle.
4 - Jon Sobel
Arse! That was funny. My first word was "More," so I'm told. "More" Pop Cult Mind Wax please.
5 - DukeDeMondo
thank you very much Jon, i'm glad it curled the lips t'wards the eyes for a time. they've been few and far between of late, the Pop Cult carry-ons, but i'm tryin to not let things get TOO out of hand with regards the gap atween each post.