“I suspect that the parties you attend must be true visions of the apocalypse. I knew that our society was coming to this. In a few years, you and your friends will probably take over the country.”
“Oh, we’re planning to,” the young man said with a bright smile. “We have connections in the highest places. You’d be surprised.”
“No, I wouldn’t. Hroswitha could have predicted this long ago.”
“Who in the world is that?”
“A sibyl of a medieval nun. She has guided my life.”
“Oh, you’re truly fantastic,” the young man said gleefully. “And although I didn’t think it would be possible, you’ve gained weight. Where will it ever end? There’s something so unbelievably tacky about your obesity.”
Ignatius rose to his feet and stabbed the young man in the chest with his plastic cutlass.
“Take that, you offal,” Ignatius cried, digging the cutlass into the cashmere sweater. The tip of the cutlass broke off and fell to the flagstone walk.
“Oh, dear,” the young man shrieked. “You’ll tear my sweater, you crazy thing.”
Down the Alley the women’s art guild were removing their paintings from the fence and folding their aluminum lawn chairs like Arabs in preparation for stealing away. Their annual outdoor exhibit had been ruined.
“I am the avenging sword of taste and decency,” Ignatius was shouting. As he slashed at the sweater with his broken weapon, the ladies began to dash out the Royal Street end of the Alley. (p. 213).
manwithoutqualities 