In our previous episode, Saint Colin fasted for seven days, prayed for a miracle, circumnavigated San Francisco Bay peacefully plundering every military installation listed on Google Maps, and prepared himself with spiritual rigor for the Great Elevator Pitch to the Goddess Nike.
Saint Colin spoke to his poor, his tired, his downtrodden troops, declared his peaceful campaign against the military a total success, and retired to the Palace of the Golden Cleats for a much-needed calendar year of massage and respite from the unwashed masses.
Guarded by armed off-duty officers of the imperial police he had so recently and publicly praised, he slaved over his proposal to the Goddess Nike.
“Hey, officer Smith, should the Temple of Colin Fortuna Virilis include a private chef or would your guys bring me daily takeout from Atelier Crenn?” he would shout from the indoor spa large enough for the entire Palestine National Football Team (منتخب فلسطين لكرة القدم).
“Also, I hope your wife doesn’t work for the Goddess, because she’s laying off 500 people and closing the childcare center,” Saint Colin would say as officer Reynolds brought officer Smith a rusted lunchbox and a flask of coffee for lunch.
“By the way,” Saint Colin would ask in that husky and compassionate voice reminiscent of the Sermon on the Mount, “did you bring me that morsel of brawny yet tender Monterey abalone grilled and garnished with a purée of its liver, roasted garlic aioli, and toasted seaweed, set on a dab of egg yolk jam and finished with a smoky sauce made from grilled oysters, dashi and crème fraîche, the remnants of which I can’t wait to mop up with hunks of scrumptiously yeasty-buttery brioche?”
Saint Colin’s afternoons consisted of working out in his private gym, keeping his muscles toned and ready in case he needed to watch his staff carry a steamer trunk full of shoes produced by Chinese slaves to the stadium of a team that had been renamed for a game in which he would not play.
Every now and then, Saint Colin reassured his followers by Twitter, or by accepting awards from evil white people, that they, too, would eat the rich even if it was the white devil’s food.
“Fast not, for you will need the energy to hurl peaceful burning objects into courthouses, and suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune!” he would say to no one in particular while his social media intern ruined her thumbs tweeting his holy words for minimum wage and a taste of brioche.
When the elevator pitch was ready, Saint Colin made the call.
“Hey, Colin,” said the Goddess Nike’s CEO, “the difficult choice to close our daycare center won’t affect your temple, so that’s a green light for you. But thanks for the call anyway.”
Saint Colin put down the phone and relaxed into the hot tub.
“How did it go?” asked the coach of the Palestine National Football Team.
“You can have the guest suite,” Saint Colin said.
Spoiler Alert: Stay tuned for the next exciting episode, in which Saint Colin takes up residence in the Temple of Colin Fortuna Virilis as the Eternal City crumbles around him. See the previous shocking episode here.