santo enterio

I think that's what it's called. The flurry of cotton and hair tonic that ensued while they were prepping Jesus for the tomb was severely unexpected. I always thought things like this were very solemn moments but I guess in a town where rabid religiousity flourishes in small town proportions, I would be dead wrong. Everyone apparently wants a piece of the action, or in this case, a piece of cotton soaked in Milton hair tonic. The fumes are overpowering, I guess that is what faith smells like. I will never look at hair tonic the same way again.

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