108

Estanislao Contreras and Jack O'Connell sat on the deck at Cobbleheads and basked in the beauty of nature's bounty. Emilio Crixell and his band, like the Gulf breezes, pounded out their dependable sound.

"It's on a day like this you know the god of the bible is a myth," said Contreras as he nursed a beer. "He is about destruction. Life is about creation."

Both Contreras and O'Connell despise Christians.

"They are the worst fanatics in the world," said O'Connell as he threw back his first tequila and made plans to take a sick day the next day. "They are as bad as the Romans in their endeavor to force us to worship their idols. Nobody threatens earth's existence more than a Christian American. He will drop a nuclear weapon in a second. He will murder a million in a moment. Forget all those Muslim militants. American Christians are humanity's number one enemy."

Joe Kenney stopped at their table.

"You boys miss mass today?" needled Kenney.

"Go to hell, Joe, you Catholic cocksucker," snapped Contreras.

"Stick the pope's nose up your ass," snarled O'Connell.

They hated hypocrites and Kenney was about as Catholic as a cockroach.

Contreras and O'Connell didn't say another word for three hours. They drank themselves into oblivion while envisioning a perfect world in which there was no god destroying everything that was good.   

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