two girls walk into a bar, the priest is a bartender, the joke is an origin story, adam and eve,

apples to apples, snakes and stones, broken bones, I can curl into a body that mimics mine and

end up eyes to eye with the Father, the camera swivels, the sketch continues, two girls walk into

a bar, my mother is a bartender, there are childhood photos hung around the pub, my father is in

the corner nursing the catechism, the joke is folktale, achilles and patroclus, a woman runs with

wolves, the wolves tackle her to the altar, perform mass, body and son, holy and spirit, spotlight

on the two girls, they sit at the bar, order, a beer and are given communion wine, the red blood of

the wine drips down their jaws, the two girls lap it off eachother like wolves cleaning wounds,

ark and flood, flames and bush, the woman catapults off the altar and finds herself at an empty

tomb, a voice says from behind her, she is not here, she is risen, two girls walk into a bar, the

bartender is a priest, the joke is that it not a bar but a church, the audience laughs, as the two girls

choke on the wine and the lights go out.