Nobody in their right mind should rent a room from Lance Henriksen. I don’t care how desperate you are or how badly injured your son is.
That’s just not something you should do.
The 13-year-old son is somewhat unrealistic. Kids that age have no concept of good and evil, I don’t care how Apocalyptic their hallucinations are. They don’t have the Grace of Jesus, the patience of Job, and absolute devotion to Mom and Pop. I see no evidence of hormones in this kid, either — none.
Satan can be a problem, sure; especially when the Tree of Life from the Garden of Eden is in his front yard. The dangling pear looks too much like male genitals and it’s a constant reminder of “tea bagging.”
We’re warned that if an adult male takes the fruit of life “the moral reversal of mankind” will happen. The moral reversal of the kid, maybe; the moral reversal of society is already well underway, with the gay epidemic and all the havoc it’s done to family values.
I suppose this Jesus-like child is how gays see themselves: Morally superior, sexually pristine, above the fray of life, masters of all they survey. This kid doesn’t even suffer withdrawal from cell phones, texting, friends back in the city, TV, or pop music.
He invites a bully over to play, the day after the guy beat the crap out of him and locked him in the trunk of an abandoned vehicle. He’s more interested in horses than a cute little girl in school who adores him. The kid’s gay alright.
The homosexual child may be master of all in his domain — everything except what matters most of all, getting the girl. This little girl has moxy, too. She’s well versed on the Apocalypse.
She’d rather swing and gaze at her asexual boyfriend than romp around on his new pony. She rescues him from the fat bully. Of course, girls, fathers, teachers — everyone is enamored with the little gay boy.
That’s pretty damn scary alright. Even the Four Horsemen can’t scare this kid, as he galivants around like Jesus on the Fifth (white) Horse. Hell, this miracle child even knows how to play chess. Maybe that’s his problem…
Sorry, folks, but I’m rooting for Satan in this one. Any old boy who catches his own fish and scales them in the kitchen may be horrifying to city folks, but not to a country boy like me.
There may be no chickens, dogs, cats, or other farm animals on the place — but, hey, a twenty-foot python has nutritional needs too, you know.
