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By Nick Fitch, published on the newsgroup soc.motss, September 26, 1993
Ledermeister, Prince of Paraphilia, aroused the wrath of heaven by boasting that his tatoos were more magnificent even than those of Bulldykae, the Goddess of Motorcycle Maintenance. In punishment, the angry Goddess sent an Angel from Hell to torment the presumptuous mortal.
After annointing his body with the rarest and most fragrant oil and clothing himself in heavenly garments of the finest latex, the Angel appeared before Ledermeister as a bearded, 350lb biker with golden rings through his delicately chapped lips, claiming that the fame of Ledermeister's tattoos had spread across the world and brought him here from a distant land to gaze upon them in person.
Smitten with the dazzling beauty of the Biker, the unsuspecting Ledermeister wanted to lay with him on the spot; but the Biker demurred, saying that this could not be, since Ledermeister was not of his Gang.
"Then what must I do to become one of you?", cried Ledermeister, mad with love.
"First," the Biker replied, "you must bring me as much beer as I can drink."
So Ledermeister ordered beer for the Biker, who drank, and drank, and soon had drunk all the beer in the Palace. Whereupon the Prince sent out for more beer from the taverns in the town, and the innkeepers broughtv their barrels, sweating and muttering amongst themselves, but still the Biker would not stop drinking. Then beer was brought from outside the city, from all the villages and townships and hamlets of Paraphilia. But the Biker ceased not to drink until there was not a drop of beer left anywhere in the land. Then he belched.
"Now what must I do if I am to become one of your Gang?" cried Ledermeister, whose passion for the Biker had grown as he watched him drink barrel after barrel.
"Now you must strip yourself and lower yourself into a dry well, that I may annoint you with my water and mark you as one of my Gang"
"And then will I be truely one of you?" asked Ledermeister.
"Then shall we lay together entwined in our mutual passion", replied the Biker.
So Ledermeister led the Biker to an old, dried-up well in the Palace grounds. There he stripped and lowered himself to the bottom, and the Biker passed his water upon him until all the beer he had drunk was passed out and the well was filled and Ledermeister was drowned. Whereupon Gidiemides, God of Distasteful Fetishes, took pity on Ledermeister and transformed his body into a urinal at a truckstop cafeteria.
So was punished the Prince of the Paraphiles for his pride.
Of all the denizens of Heaven, the most feared by mortals are the offspring of Transvestus, God of Gold Lame Clothing, and the Titaness Madonna, Goddess of Self-Indulgent Posing.
Called Furies, or more often by the euphemisms "Girlfriends" or sometimes "Critics", these heavenly avengers are responsible for punishing lapses in good taste.
When Tarquin, interior designer of the Western Holy Wood, was spurned by his lover Jeremy for the attentions of a callow youth without so much as an expresso-maker to his name, and prayed to Draylon, the God of Color Coordinated Fabrics to be avenged for this insult, it was the Furies whom the God sent to punish the errant lover. Driven to madness by their constant carping about his upholstery and fashion sense, the wretchedv Jeremy wandered the world for many years a filthy beggar, tormented each night by the Furies and their terrible cries of "Oh, that is *so* passe!" until he was rescued by Sylvia, Goddess of Love and Understanding, who pacified the Furies with a year's free subscription to GQ magazine and the promise of backstage passes to the next Paul Lekakis concert.
Melmonides of Saratoga offended the powerful witch of Ithaca and was cursed to suffer the pangs of unrequited love for a blond Bane of the surf who cared not for other men. Consumed by love, the wretched man approached the Bane time and time again, offering gifts of money and fine jewels, but was each time rebuffed and sent home in misery.
Finally Melmonides journeyed South to seek out Arneisias, prophet of the Western Holy Wood, who had in his time been both man and woman and whose wisdom in matters of this kind was said to be unrivalled.
Encountering the prophet at his duties in the temple of Callas, Goddess of Overrated Sopranos, Melmonides flung himself at his feet and begged piteously for advice.
"First," the wise old prophet told him, "you must annoint your face with make-up of the street and shining lipstick proof against kisses. Then you must robe yourself in a white satin petticoat and a button-down dress of dark hue whose hem lies not more than one inch above the knee, and wear upon your head a pillbox hat with a short veil of concealment. Then must you stand upon a corner of the street, beneath the light of a lamp, holding between your finger an unlit cigarette like *so*. When the Bane passes by, you must look at him thusly and say "Got a light?" in just such a tone of voice. Then shall he be seized by the Spell of the Forties, and will be yours to do with as you will. But beware! Never reveal to him that which is beneath your petticoat, for then shall the Spell be broken."
So Melmonides thanked the prophet for his advice and returned to his home in Saratoga, where he followed the old man's sage advice.
The hapless Bane, seized by the irresistable Spell of the Forties and smitten with a feeling as though the music of a mighty string orchestra had just swelled to an unbearable volume, agreed to walk Melmonides back to his appartment, as was only right and proper under the circumstances. There did the Bane agree to a nightcap; but once inside the appartment, the foolish Melmonides, forgetting the warning of Arneisias, threw off his dress and petticoat in his passion.
Then the Spell was broken and the enraged Bane strangled the hapless Melmonides, though Sirdavidleanae, God of Poignant Endings, reincarnated him as a transvestite serial killer in a Jonathan Demme movie.
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