As the evening waned with the writing on the wall, Bubba fell into a depressing chugging funk while Okra rose to a state of Christian malice. After all, she ran the local Rick Santorum For President Exploratory Committee. Her dreams were being dashed.
“Every vote for a Democrat is a vote for the enemies of America and Satan! I can’t believe this!”
‘By twenty points too Okra, wowzer.”
“You, shut the fk up!”
“Ya know Okra, can’t you see it? What’s the difference between you and the Taliban? Why can’t you grasp that?”
“The difference Mr. Liberal Atheist is someone called Jesus Christ!”
“The name doesn’t matter, it’s the process.”
“Process is what we do to sausage, Christianity is what we do to gain heaven.”
“Which is no different than what those twenty a wholes who crashed those planes into buildings were saying. What Okra? You have no need for 72 virgins. So what to you get? 72 I HATE FAG SIGNS to carry around to impress the Almighty?”
“Your day is coming and you won’t be thinking that’s funny!”
“You are unbelievable Okra, it’s like you are some clueless character of fiction. Anyone North of the Mason Dixon wouldn’t believe you even exist.”
“I exist all right! Me and the majority of Americans!”
“Well it seems,” Rack nodded to the television behind the bar, “Not any more.”