“Lou means to say—Lou, are you listening?—Lou means to say, Bill, that the Moo-Moo is eternal, like Rome. The barbarians may sweep down upon it, and put up Ronald-McDonald-Kentucky-Colonel-Jackie-in-Her-Pill-Box-Hat or whatever, but the Grail of the Moo-Moo Visitation remains…”
“Holy!”
“Holy. Yes, thank you, Lulu. Holy. The Holy Grail. The blessed sacraments…”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Bill rolled down the window for more air.
“…The blessed sacraments are performed anally—make that annually—by Lou and myself. Nuns of the Sisterhood of the Moo-Moo Beatitude. Keepers of the flame. Sycophants of the Shrine…”
Bill, impatient, started twirling the dial on the radio, looking for a good station.
“B.W., don’t bother. It doesn’t work. And how dare you ignore David’s important recitation of the gospel to you. Besides, we’re almost there.”