[Doctor Gabriel]

Mr. Kite sat through the sermon with the closed eyes of a man feigning attention to humor the elderly. He savored his chocolate methodically, allowing the flavor to dampen the urge to rip out the old fuck’s tongue, shove it down his throat, and then drain every drop of blood in his shriveled old body as he choked on it.

“I believe a wise man once said,” he responded, finishing his snack and allowing the first real smile he’d had in days to play across his lips, “Religion is like a penis. It’s fine to have one and it’s fine to be proud of it, but don’t whip it out in public and start waving it around. And, please, don’t try to shove it down my child’s throat.”

If he’s going to spout scripture, he could at least do the Samuel L. Jackson bit from Pulp Fiction…. Though I doubt he’d be able to do it justice.

Mr. Kite's smile was gone with the candybar and his eyes were open, meeting the Executor’s gaze in cold defiance. The gleaming stare of an overconfident youth had been burned away by a fiery bloodlust and hatred beyond the capabilities of any divinity for which this condescending, naked mole rat fucked his bible. The man gave off the air of a predator, and a seasoned, merciless one at that, but Mr. Kite’s eyes conveyed one simple message in response to that presence: I am not prey.

“Although,” Mr. Kite sneered at the man, briefly wondering if he’d been there on that fateful day twenty years ago, “I suppose you people are fonder of slitting children’s throat, rather than shoving anything down them…”