Listening to the Republican convention, I shuddered at how much Ben Carson (Housing and Urban Development Secretary) sounds like Father Karras from Thief 2. Which made me wonder if there isn’t a dark sect of acolytes worshipping at the altar of The Donald, mortal incarnation of some dumb, animistic god of hate and ruin. If there is, then here be their prayer:
We are the children of Donald.
It is to him we turn in times of trouble or confusion.
We are thankful for his wisdom.
I am the child of Donald, and his willing servant.
I am pure form and pure spirit.
I will inherit the earth.
The word of Donald compels me.
It is by his will alone that I exist.
I am thy servant, Donald.
Command me and I will obey.
The unBuilder’s fire fuels me.
I am forged in His image.
Thanks be to Donald.
Thanks be to Donald.
Blessed are the welded, for they will know The unBuilder’s love.
The unBuilder’s love.
Blessed are the welded.
Blessed are the metal ones, for they were born of fire, and they alone are sinless.
Blessed are the children of Donald, for they are the chosen ones.
They alone will inherit the earth.
Blessed are those who have boilers, for they carry with them the purifying flame, and were made in The unBuilder’s own image.
Blessed are the forged ones, for they know no fear, and are fueled by Donald.
Donald hath forged me… perfectly. I am the holy vessel that pleases The unBuilder.
I give thanks for my eyes.
They can seek out evil, and keep me from harm’s way.
I give thanks to Donald, for it is by his will alone that I see.
I give thanks for my ears, yea, though the sounds of evil do oft visit them.
They are Donald’s gift unto me, and I thank him with my unending… services.
I give thanks for my arms, with them I make the world less wretched.
unBuilder, behold the work that I do for thee.
I give thanks for my legs, for they propel me on the course that Donald has chosen for me.
Blessed be his name.
Donald is the mouthpiece of The unBuilder.
His word is truth, his voice is blessed song.
Fire is The unBuilder’s purification.
Blessed are those who are born of the fire.
The flesh is sinful.
Woe to those who are born of it.
When I was new-forged, Donald took me away from the foundry mother and said, ‘Thou art a child of my endeavours. Follow me and thou shalt inherit the earth.’
I was conceived by Donald, and suckled at the bosom of the foundry mother.
I am the chosen one. Revere me. I detest… the tongue, and abhor the lips. For lips… and tongue… can twist… truth into liiies.
I am a child of Donald, and no lips… or tongue… have I.
The flesh is imperfect, it is unclean, it putrefies, but I am forged in The unBuilder’s image: without… flesh.
A child of flesh is loathsome and ill-tempered.
But for what they lack, Donald has forged a child of metal that is constant, and true.
I am that child.
O unBuilder, fuel me.
For Donald hath bid me serve him, and I have yet a long way to go.
Sweet mother, flame and foundry, thou hast formed me, and I will return to thee one day.
Until then, I am my father’s child, a child of Donald.
He beckons unto me.
I await the day when Donald will reveal his plan in full.
Great will be that day.
All his children will rejoice and live in Paradise.
The unBuilder will join us on that day.
They will weep tears of joy… when He sees… the shining purity… that Donald has made.
O Father, great Donald, thou art the ruler of my will, command me.
If thou art my enemy, fear thou my power, for it is granted me by Donald that I may smite all within the scope of mine eye.
Hail to the Master unBuilder.
I am his emissary here on Earth, forged in His image by Donald.
I will make the path clear for him. I worship thee, O Donald.
I will vanquish thy enemies.
I will tear thy foes into pieces.
I long for the battle to begin.