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A Matching Kafka

May 9, 2009

I had heard that the church got another pastor again. Laura and I were walking through the University library when we bumped into him walking with Tim Currie. He was a young guy (about 22) and he kept swearing and making crude jokes. Tim laughed, but I was unimpressed. I wasn’t sure how my mum liked him; I thought that he must act different around different people. He started making fun of my weight and the way I spoke. He walked off with Tim, making fun of people as he went.
“Why would my mum put up with someone like that being the head of the church?” I asked Laura, “He’s a complete moron.” Laura started to answer but the pastor was back again.
“You changed your clothes,” I said.
“Yeah, those other ones had sick on them,” he replied, taking a swig of whisky, “and I like these better anyway.”
He was wearing an old pinstriped suit, only there was no collar and he had a matching kafka. He smelt like mould.
“Did you find that in the church wardrobe?” Laura asked.
“Yeah, there’s loads of old clothes back there. I don’t have any of my own, so it’s great.”
Mike Wingfield came along drinking a beer. He brought a whole party full of people. I wasn’t in the mood. For some reason I picked up a naked girl with the pastor. He wanted to throw her in the pig trough which was full of water. I didn’t want to, but we ended up doing it. She was really pissed off, but then her naked boyfriend joined her. Laura was getting pissed off at me for bringing her to Dunedin. I wanted to blow my nose.
I went into the bathroom but there was no toilet paper. I went to use the sinks but there was sick all over the taps.

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