Cursed

"You fucking infidels, listen to her!" - I yelled. And then everyone started to listen. - "Well, when the father of a church says things like that, everybody is surprised. But, you know, I'm no common father of a common church. I'm Pomelo, owner of my own fucking church. And I talk to you, infidels, dirty, smelly, kinky, hairy infidels, not with an apprehension tone, but with a proud one instead. Cause you are with me. You are on my side. On the wrong side of the picture. Fighting society as it is, a non-stop mascarade party full of hypocrites, living a life under stupid standards... But you don't care about any of that shit. You think outside the box. You are different. And you know I love that. Let's keep it like this, we are doing great... If we are going to win, you ask? I don't think so. Do you care? You are still with me, so, I believe that you don't care. Anyways, everything we do will be buried in history, remembered through all eternity. They'll see bizzarness, they'll see weird tastes, acquisitions, weird people. They'll see what it's ment to be. Not this shit they show us every fucking day. So yes. Keep on going. And listen to your sister Clotilda. She's holding a shotgun. And she's got someting big to say."