'Antichrist Superstar' had just come out. I was a fan, and several friends of mine were, a bit more than fans.
There was this one kid, I forget his name, me and my friend from down the street who's dead now were splitting an fifth of whiskey and an eighth of weed with this kid when he told us he had had an orgy in the cemetery.
My down the street friend, Mexican, absurdly Catholic family, was horrified, wondered aloud how someone could do something so risky, you know, just in case there really is a vengeful God. As for me, I humored them both, but no, I knew that this kid hadn't had any damn orgy in the cemetery and neither did whoever he got that bullshit story from. It was early March, this very same time of year. Nobody loves Satan enough to get there junk frozen off. Come back in summer and maybe I'll believe any story of yours entailing more than under-the-pants fondling.
I had an ear for nonsense from an early age. I still haven't forgiven old flatrock for the rumors that shut down Blackjack pizza, about how the owner had AIDS and would open up his wrists just to bleed on the pizza. That bullshit chased off the best pizza that's ever been to North Platte. Fucking ignorant scerfs.