Lou became so excited that his driving, never good, now risked catastrophe. David, who could not see the road from his low vantage point, but was nonetheless capable of perceiving violent motion, quickly interceded. His voice boomed from the depths of the back seat.
“Lou means to say—Lou, are you listening?—Lou means to say, Bill, that the Moo-Moo is eternal, like Rome. The barbarians may sweep down upon it, and put up Ronald-McDonald-Kentucky-Colonel-Jackie-in-Her-Pill-Box-Hat or whatever, but the Grail of the Moo-Moo Visitation remains…”
“Holy!”
“Holy. Yes, thank you, Lulu. Holy. The Holy Grail. The blessed sacraments…”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Bill rolled down the window for more air.
“…The blessed sacraments are performed anally—make that annually—by Lou and myself.
