As we again peer into the symbolism, it may initially appear disjointed. Until the reader recognizes the underlying plot arc: A cage fighting nun has nightmares of an evil ballerina who viciously shaves tank-driving centaurs. Also, they fall in love.
"I can't believe I gave that bitch the keys to my tank" thought Ribonius, the shape-shifting centaur. His tank, a 1937 Panzer IV, despite being useless to his equine form, was mint. "Gem mint ten," thought the centaur, growing increasingly angry.
Sure it seemed like a good idea at the time. She needed to get to recital on Wednesdays, and he could always just shape shift into a shirtless 30 mile-per-hour express ride to anyplace. Besides, this was love.
The first episode was a shower launched right flank. Without warning Ribonius was reduced from mythical horsey Jesus, to a very real, very greasy, very goatee-sporting everyman. The attacks became successively more brazen, moving swiftly through tow truck driver to mime, and finally to shorn chaplain.
Danielle awoke with a start. Could it be real? Could this be love? "No time to wax philosophical!" she screamed, into sister Melinda's bloodied unhearing ear canal. Habits & Hissy Fits, the semi-monthly cage match at St. David's had only just begun.
*epic only in the "dude that was an epic burrito" sort of way. As in, not really epic.
Whoa there my bearded friend. There's more pogonotrophy where this came from