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While
Roger writhed around on the ground (technically, the
bridge) in pain, pieces of broken sunglasses embedded in
his forehead, I gazed around and happily spotted a church
across the river.
"Look!" I said to Roger, "A
church! Maybe Gott can help you!" Roger glared at me and
bled a little, but he eventually dragged himself up and
followed me across the bridge.
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It was
there that we prayed, and lo! Roger's shades were fixed,
and his cuts were healed, and I found five Euros in the
grass. Sadly, the German Gott did not allow us to retain
any evidence of these miracles. But they really, really
happened, I swear. You can tell from the picture that
this was no ordinary church. No, there was definitely
magic in the air, mixed in with the cloying scent of dog
poo.
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High
on the heady fumes of religion, we continued onward,
until we came to a barrier that we could not pass. A
stern face gazed down upon us and bade us to
identify ourselves.
"This is Roger," I said, "And
I? I am he who commandeth you to let us pass through
thy gate, there to steal the riches that lie within!"
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"Who the hell are you talking to?!" said Roger.
I pointed mutely at the guardian, that bleak
visage with its gaze still fixed upon us.
"Dude, that's like a cement decoration," Roger
said. "You know it's not really alive, right?"
I pointed again at the guardian, and grunted
grumpily.
"Let's just go find something to drink," said
Roger. And lo! There was much rejoicing, the stupid stone
face already long forgotten.
It really did talk to me though. Seriously.
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