Blasphemy

If thou art devotedly religious and easily take offense, thou best not take it out on me. Ye hath been forewarned.

Hanks old sea foam green Studebaker, not that the denizens of Rabbit Hash had ever seen the sea, rattled down the hard pressed dirt road. The heat was oppressive; it weighed heavy on the souls of everyone around. Even the farm hands sat under the wide leaves of the southern trees too hot to light their cigarettes. “Bad Moon Rising” crackled through the trucks old radio with a tinny sound. It was then that Hank noticed the woman.

It was her clothes that he noticed first. It wasn’t the frayed denim shorts or plaid shirt, but it was the way she wore it. Shorts cut so high the pockets peeked out the bottoms and shirt tied so high, “Looooordy” whistled Hank. He figured she was one of the whiskey bent ladies down at Miss Mays Bordello by the river until she thumbed him down.

“Hey” she crooned in a raspy voice that’s only found in sideshow carnies, “you got room for another? Headin' to town? I need a lift to church.” Hank took one look at her weathered face, broken Lucky Strike hanging from her lips, figured she could use the Lord, and said “Heck why not. Hop on in”. She offered him a drink and declared “Names Mary. You may know me as the Virgin Mother ha ha. Say want a drink? I don’t drink wine on the account of it bein’ kinda incestuous or some shit, blood of my son har har” she coughed out. Now, since Hank was such a church going man, and while he wasn’t one to offend this self proclaimed patron saint, he wasn’t one to stand for such heresy. “I really think it’d be best if I dropped you off now. I-I-I ain’t about to let no dime store hussy speak this way in front of me, no sir no never,” stammered Hank. “Ah I figured. Look I’ll make your hands bleed” she sighed as though she was accustomed to disbelief.

Hank gasped as stigmata appeared and quickly disappeared. He began to say something but she cut him off. “Ha-ha you think I’m crazy don’t you? Hell people have been seeing me on goddamn windows, burnt toast, and shit, yeah shit, for years and you think I’m crazy? Say I checked that e-bay site the other day and you can even buy my face on a potato chip. A fuckin po-tay-to CHIP!”

The truck rolled along on the dirt road passing a sign, “Rabbit Hash Center, 5 Miles”. “Yep” said Hank, “You’re the virgin mother, Mary, you ought to be proud of what you’ve done. You—“
“VIRGIN?” she interjected. “VIRGIN? Shit Joseph just had a small dick!”

“Now you listen here, I don’t care what you say you are you best need to shape up, I don’t know if you are the virgin Mary or if you made my hands bleed on a stigmatism on account of some witch craft but you best shut your mouth you crazy ol’ coot if you don’t want a hide full of buckshot, devil woman”.

“Crazy ha-ha now that’s one I haven’t heard before. Do you know the toll having a zombie son takes on you? Do you? Shit, my husband had a small dick, my son was delusional, and my insurance doesn’t cover mental healthcare. Shit! Pass Mary the tankard yo ho and a bottle of rum!”

They drove along in silence after this outburst. Mary, or whoever she was, smoking her cigarette and Hank staring at the road confused as hell. They rolled into a stopped infront of the town church, empty and sleepy in the summer heat, and Hank began to speak “Now looky here, I’m sorry for anything I said but you…” before he could say another word she hopped out of the truck, walked by the statue of herself, and instantly it started to cry blood. “Oh, they always do that when they see what I’ve become. Miracle my ass” she cackled, and walked on up the road.