I’m walking out of a church where there has just been some form of exorcism, presided over by Stevenson. It was an emergency C-section but the baby was a mutant, a small demon that was eating the unwed teen mother from the inside.
“Not my choice of locale,” Stevenson explains in his dry tone, a twinkle in his eye, “but you deal with what’s been given. Now why this procedure was invented is a theoretical nightmare. It serves no purpose other than to save one life while killing another. And, even when done properly, it’s been known to end both lives. Those odds are so pedestrian to a man of my abilities so I eschew the procedure entirely when it is possible, but times like these you’ve gotta realize that in all the places on earth, on the Frontier, in Eberhart, it transpired in a church. Heavy, isn’t it?”

The congregation is crowded around, bleeding smoke from their eyelids as semen runs down their legs, men and women alike, the semen pooling on the floor in a great flood of reproductive fluid. The priest is beside himself, pacing back and forth while muttering, “The Church does not condone childbirth, even in wedlock. It is our initiative to push for an end to abortion procedures, the taking of a life unlived being the greatest horror man is possible of, but we don’t want the blood on our own doorstep. Jesus, Lord God, it’s gonna look like we had a massacre in here. We like to imagine that a stork still delivers babies because then we don’t have to deal with the physics of birth.”
“Quiet that man,” Stevenson insists. “He’s damn near moved three phases of the moon with his rotations.”
Stevenson has made the incision with a pocketknife can opener and he wiggles his fingers within the womb, asking, “Does this make you horny?”
The mother is a Hispanic virgin, or so she insists, though her race and virginity are both suspect at the moment. The child is a demon and this puts Stevenson in quite a state. We soon find him shouting, “I once delivered a baby through the asshole. But I’d give it all back to be a young man.”

The priest is trying to drape rosary beads over Stevenson’s shoulders and he viciously turns on him and states, “You too can be occluded for security concerns.” This leaves the priest unsure of proper action to take and he retreats into the confessional where he is later found masturbating. Stevenson is explaining the procedure as it progresses, talking endlessly about sterilization and eugenics. “If we could just alter the gene pool enough to turn us all back into primates, there would be a greater need for Amazonian forestry. Maybe that would put an end to all this endless cattle grazing.” While saying this, he is inserting an electric eel inside the womb and laughing mirthlessly, reflexively.
“It’s not entirely out of bounds,” Stevenson explains to the congregation. “When God is accepted as an insect, you find that the snake is a natural enemy. I’m not advocating miscegenation or a reversal of the natural order, though it may seem that way. What I’m actually doing is challenging God to a duel. Pistols at dawn, any damn street corner he names.”
Navy Flight Commander: Those damn Russians have snuck back in. Leave it to the Democrats to let the pantry go unguarded.
Sheik Ahkmed Hazaara: I am loving of your flatulence. My English is less tolerable in society as such. All praise to Allah, don’t you know?
Navy Flight Commander: Sheik, you’re a god damn American, aren’t you? Born and bred in Maine or Minnesota, I can smell it on you. A rat abandons a sinking ship but only an Arab will build another craft to escape in.
The Arc de Triomphe appears over Stevenson’s face and a monkey sits on top of it, masturbating furiously while shitting onto tourists. The French gather around it waving flags and stroking pencil moustaches.
Navy Flight Commander: I once saw a whole brigade of French soldiers surrender to a couple of Czechs that merely wanted to know the exchange rate.