At first I think have to fight just to stay even with him. Somehow he has gotten his second wind and it bodes very badly for me. We are nbw neck and neck, like race horses being whipped and kicked by jockeys, as we approach the foreseeable end of our journey. Not even our all-loving Savior had to contend with a situation as ridiculous as this! How absurd that the two remaining CheeseMeister Penitents of Koblentz—who are carrying the sins of the world upon their bleeding backs—are now locked in a spiritual footrace, if you will. I must do my best to insure victory over sin, over Kraust- hocker too. Who knows how well he would be able to contain his egolf, God forbid, he should be victorious? Our skirmish is a metaphor for all religions throughout the ages, is it not? Only those of purest heart are able to vanquish the infidels and devilworshippers who would otherwise take over the entire universe. I know in my heart that I am pure, praise the Lord. it is an angel or, possibly, God Himself but it turns out to be even better than that: someone in the crowd has managed to start my competitor on fire! Krausthocker and I are using every last bit of energy that is still left in our spent, punished boSies. I am losing track of my adversary; I do not know if he is in front of me or behind. I must try to concentrate on the last leg of our course—I cannot even afford to think of Krausthocker, lest I give him even a slight advantage. I must make it; I must be the one who finally triumphs! Not for ephemeral personal glorification and aggrandizement but to erase the sins of the world, to eradicate the sins of an errant, wayward mankind that has been corrupt since the beginning of time. I am a sinner, you are a sinner: we are all sinners living materialistic, filthy lives. From a holier level of awareness, we are 100 times more repulsive than this fetid lump of cheese that now presses down upon me. This is just common sense. But my lazy, sin-ridden body is failing me; it wants to give up and collapse—it would be only too happy to settle for the same wretched fate that befell the feeble Polterheinz. It now seems entirely possible that exhaustion could, once and for all, overcome me even when I am so near my ultimate goal. I don’t know; I don’t know what I don’t know, I can’t think, and the only thing I can feel is an excruciating, throbbing pain that seems to permeate the entire universe. Perhaps I will fail after all. I do not even care about this idiotic cheese cross pageant.... Just as this last thought enters my mind, I am hit squarely in the cleft of my chin with a large steel canister of some sort. A warm, repugnant liquid is spewn all over my head and torso. To make matters even worse, a group of old people—most of whom are alcoholics who I recognize as spending the better part of their lives in the gutters of lower Koblentz—is gleefully laying broken bottles directly in front of my heavy feet, knowing that I will have to walk upon that glass and thereby injure myself very seriously. Lousy pieces of sub-monkey shit! I hate them so much that I am afraid I will die from the sheer emotional intensity! I would so love to kill them now—in the most loathsome manner possible; each and every one of them! Oh please, Holy Father, let me lay down this cross long enough to tear them apart with my bare hands! As I am supplicating the Lord thusly, an amazing change takes place: I find that my speed is gradually increasing—my intense anger is actually propelling me forth. As miraculous as this discovery is, an even more wondrous sight begins to take form. I am able to eventually discern (despite the dripping toxins that so terribly poison my eyes and skin) the unmistakable curve of the base of Mount Geltbaum! Thank you Jesus! How incredible that I am already this far after all I have been through; I am so uplifted now! I knew that God would sustain His champion. And now an even greater miracletakes place. Peripherally, Ican see a tiny light to my far left—it quickly grows bigger and brighter. At first I think it is an angel or, possibly, God Himself but it turns out to be even better than that: someone in the crowd has managed to start my competitor on fire! The cheese was ablaze, burning like napalm. Since the conditions of the pageant make it perfectly clear that a CheeseMeister Penitent may never abandon his cross once it has been lifted, until it has touched the soil of the sacred mount, it appears that Krausthocker is as good as dead. Perhaps a filthy smoker threw a stillburning cigarette or cigar stub at my friend. Slowly, the 6loth would begin to smoulder, then burn, and the tattered robe, having absorbed the volatile oils of the Koblentz cheese, would act like the ragsofa Molotov cocktail, enveloping him in flames. This, in turn, would ignite the cheese which would then drip down upon the hapless cross bearer in horrible, scalding gobs of death. His high-pitched, falsetto screaming can be heard for two or three kilometers but it quickly subsided as the liquid cheese engulfed him in its grip of death. It is safe to say that dear Krausthocker is yet another martyr who sits at the right hand of the Lord of the Blessed Cheese Crosses of Koblentz. It is all up to me now, if anyone is to succeed with the final ascent. The aforementioned glass shards had easily pierced the sole of my left sandal and gone through my foot. My blood is everywhere but I am barely able to be shocked by it. I am faltering badly. With the greatest effort I stumble ahead one more bloody step and it is with that final lurch that Ihave technically touched the soil of Mount Geltbaum. The bystanders surrounding me start shouting and shrieking like chihuahuas that have been thrown into a pot of boiling water and I am scarcely able to appreciate the momentousness of what has just been accomplished: I HAVE DONE IT! The tide has finally turned! The rules now state that the crowd must help me ascend the hill and assist in carrying my burden. To my utter amazement, a sea of anxious arms comes forth and holds me up, steadying the ends of the great crucifix, wiping the blood and greases from my face—yet another miracle! Praise God and all the trials He has seen fit to inflict upon me, testing my spiritual mettle! I have been borne out. Thank you; thank you everyone: I love you! All is wonderful, perfect, holy! Oh my people! The escalating enthusiasm of the multitudes serves to strengthen and hearten me like a wild, untested drug. See: they are all cheering 16 Clinton St. Quarterly—Spring, 1989
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