New Pulp Visualizes Pope Kicking In Stained Glass Windows

She stood there looking at me sizing me up and trying to read me like one of  those cheap Harlequin romance novels. I felt insulted, she had no idea of who I was nor did that matter, but enough about me. As I turned to open the nearest window to ventilate the room from her cigar smoke, which was so overwhelming it began wrapping its arms around my lungs like a giant anaconda, that she spoke. She told me her name was Pussé Galore. I told her that the only Pussy Galore I knew was in a James Bond movie. She corrected me “It is “Pussé not pussy.” She told me she was adopted by a bunch of gypsies in a traveling circus, and how they loved watching James Bond movies