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  • edgardo oreta
    I have always wanted a writing career. As a child, one of my favorite books was Lives of the Saints. I want to rewrite it for modern readers. Please feel
    Message 1 of 2 , Jun 6, 2009
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      I have always wanted a writing career. As a child, one of my favorite books was "Lives of the Saints." I want to rewrite it for modern readers. Please feel free to give CONSTRUCTIVE criticism.
      Bernadette Soubirous, cupped her breasts in her pudgy fingers. They were too big, she thought to herself. For a 13 year old, a size 14 E was too conspicuous, only the Cure D’Ars , Jeanne Vianney (later to be canonized as a saint,) appreciated them. She thought fondly of the happiness she gave the 80 year old priest as he would tweak her nipples and squeeze the fat to get a little milk out and then drink it. “It is milk from a virgin. Una gota de leche.” he always said. Bernadette laughed, “What a silly old man.” She had been practicing with the goats and the pigs ever since she had been allowed into the barnyard.
      She was bored with Lourdes. It was in the South West of France, but it was a village that had not changed since Vercingetorix passed by a thousand and a half years ago. Again she thought of Pope Pius XII. He turned her on, but from what she read in the Osservatore Romano, he was obsessed with the Swiss guards, dressing them up, undressing them, having them parade for him.
      She stroked the barn horse gently-it would not do to arouse him hurriedly. She wanted a long and passionate embrace and these horses had a tendency to leave her in the lurch.
      “Bernadette! Bernadette! You silly imbecile, are you in there again with the chickens?”
      “Maman, I am praying to the Blessed Virgin. I am on my knees, bent over.” She cried “Oomph,” as the stallion dismounted from her sturdy back.
      The barn door opened, and she was just in time to loose down her coarse flaxen shift, bring out her rosary, and with tears of pleasure from her eyes start reciting, “Ave Maria, gratia plena, I am so full.”
      Whack, her mother hit her with the broom. “Silly girl, I told you that if you play around, you might have an illegitimate child.”
      Bernadette smiled and thought, “Not from intra species communication ma cher mere.”
      “Why don’t you be sensible and earn some francs. Your sister Brigitte is in Marseille now and is sending money from her dancing the can can. But of course, you are too ugly for anything” and she shut the door, locked it and shouted, “No dinner for you, ma boule de suif.”
      Bernadette cried. Food and her sojourn with the barnyard animals were the only happiness she had. But she was a crafty one. She thought, “If I can make some francs, I will have a stable to myself and eat ratatouille, night and day.”
      She went down on her knees, and shewed the horse away, “There is a time for everything and this is not for that.”
      She shrieked, “Ma mere! Ma mere!” Her mother came with a broom to trash her but Bernadette grabbed the crone’s legs and said, “I saw her. Mother of God, I saw her.” Her mother slapped her and told her not to curse and Bernadette replied, “I meant,, I saw the mother of God, Mary. She told me that Lourdes will be filled with people buying bottled water and we will be rich.”
      to be continued




      [Non-text portions of this message have been removed]
    • joyfulchicken
      Holy shit, X-rated Catholic saint fanfic? Now I have officially seen everything on the Web. ... [Non-text portions of this message have been removed]
      Message 2 of 2 , Jun 6, 2009
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        Holy shit, X-rated Catholic saint fanfic? Now I have officially seen
        everything on the Web.


        On Sun, Jun 7, 2009 at 11:38 AM, edgardo oreta <emomarcelo@...> wrote:

        >
        >
        > I have always wanted a writing career. As a child, one of my favorite books
        > was "Lives of the Saints." I want to rewrite it for modern readers. Please
        > feel free to give CONSTRUCTIVE criticism.
        > Bernadette Soubirous, cupped her breasts in her pudgy fingers. They were
        > too big, she thought to herself. For a 13 year old, a size 14 E was too
        > conspicuous, only the Cure D�Ars , Jeanne Vianney (later to be canonized as
        > a saint,) appreciated them. She thought fondly of the happiness she gave the
        > 80 year old priest as he would tweak her nipples and squeeze the fat to get
        > a little milk out and then drink it. �It is milk from a virgin. Una gota de
        > leche.� he always said. Bernadette laughed, �What a silly old man.� She had
        > been practicing with the goats and the pigs ever since she had been allowed
        > into the barnyard.
        > She was bored with Lourdes. It was in the South West of France, but it was
        > a village that had not changed since Vercingetorix passed by a thousand and
        > a half years ago. Again she thought of Pope Pius XII. He turned her on, but
        > from what she read in the Osservatore Romano, he was obsessed with the Swiss
        > guards, dressing them up, undressing them, having them parade for him.
        > She stroked the barn horse gently-it would not do to arouse him hurriedly.
        > She wanted a long and passionate embrace and these horses had a tendency to
        > leave her in the lurch.
        > �Bernadette! Bernadette! You silly imbecile, are you in there again with
        > the chickens?�
        > �Maman, I am praying to the Blessed Virgin. I am on my knees, bent over.�
        > She cried �Oomph,� as the stallion dismounted from her sturdy back.
        > The barn door opened, and she was just in time to loose down her coarse
        > flaxen shift, bring out her rosary, and with tears of pleasure from her eyes
        > start reciting, �Ave Maria, gratia plena, I am so full.�
        > Whack, her mother hit her with the broom. �Silly girl, I told you that if
        > you play around, you might have an illegitimate child.�
        > Bernadette smiled and thought, �Not from intra species communication ma
        > cher mere.�
        > �Why don�t you be sensible and earn some francs. Your sister Brigitte is in
        > Marseille now and is sending money from her dancing the can can. But of
        > course, you are too ugly for anything� and she shut the door, locked it and
        > shouted, �No dinner for you, ma boule de suif.�
        > Bernadette cried. Food and her sojourn with the barnyard animals were the
        > only happiness she had. But she was a crafty one. She thought, �If I can
        > make some francs, I will have a stable to myself and eat ratatouille, night
        > and day.�
        > She went down on her knees, and shewed the horse away, �There is a time for
        > everything and this is not for that.�
        > She shrieked, �Ma mere! Ma mere!� Her mother came with a broom to trash her
        > but Bernadette grabbed the crone�s legs and said, �I saw her. Mother of God,
        > I saw her.� Her mother slapped her and told her not to curse and Bernadette
        > replied, �I meant,, I saw the mother of God, Mary. She told me that Lourdes
        > will be filled with people buying bottled water and we will be rich.�
        > to be continued
        >
        > [Non-text portions of this message have been removed]
        >
        >
        >


        [Non-text portions of this message have been removed]
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