EVERYONE KNOWS ABOUT THE DAEMON IN THE REFECTORY CELLAR, IT SOMETIMES EATS MONKS UNDER THE AGE OF 20, SO TENDER!
Well do not pull THAT face, little Ethy, it is not as though we were hiding the truth from you, it is just you have been so busy recently absconding your putrid little self behind the outhouse ‘yanking on the rosary’ to notice all the hubbub. That is correctum, little rhubarb, there has been a murder! For the meek young novice monk from Appenspaight has been found at the bottom of the refectory cellar stairs, head twisted completely around, three times like a windmill.
No he did not survive, you little pissant. He was completed beaten to death by an assailant the size of Goliath. Have you seen any giants walking around the abbey? No well then it was probably a ghost that done it am I right. In fact it was as though the frail novice, the small poor creature, were a human windmill, as if something had battered him about the legs and head with a heavy skillet, and we have no doubt (we consulted with several Saints including Saint Wickersby) that the owner of the foul deed was the daemon that inhabits the crawlspace there.
That is right, little tassle-top, do NOT go in the refectory cellar or the demon that lives there, who is jealous for young monks, shall surely twist your top off.
Or does that sound like fun to you? Bet it does, ya devil dog double-fister!
What’s that, boy child? Ah, well Prior Spock Bockum himself found the body of the Appenspaight child, is how it came to light. No, the daemon would never touch the pious Spock, for it cringes from the holy spunk (spunk means spirit, boy, do not cringe like that!) of the older monks who have finished their vows. We who have put away childish things, including our little weenies ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!
Grow up ya little turd, it may be your only chance to live til Christmas. You know Prior Spock always sends the youngest into the refectory cellar in the autumn for pots of his special cider, and to test their purity against the neck-twister! That is right, only the pure novices, untainted by abominations against the flesh committed in secret behind the shitter, rather than jerking the outhouse chain, shall be spared!
Oh my fucking God, there he is now, the holy Prior calling for you, little Ethy! I hope you washed your hands, for the refectory cellar demon can sniff sin a Roman mile away! Confiteor Deo omnipotenti, beatae Mariae semper Virgini, et tibi, fratre (et tibi scaaaaaary daemonio), et cetera et cetera et cetera!
Ha ha ha, look at him trip over the flowerpots! I think he shit his goddamn pants.
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