Magnificent Vibration Read Online Free PDF

But she is signaling back that everything will definitely not be okay.
    “We can sit in the living room, and they can go to the kitchen,” I say, taking charge and guiding the situation now, with visions of I don’t know what but they vaguely involve Woody and this burning-hot archangel. It’s a potent, intoxicating feeling. These two seem like they would do anything to have us become fellow Morons. I have no idea what price I would ask, but I’m willing to have some guidance. Miss Dracula looks like she knows a thing or two about this. We sit on the sofa, Drac and I. She is so close to me that I can see down her top at the tantalizing crest of her breasts as they rise and fall in remarkable rhythm with her breathing, and although most of the girls I know don’t even have breasts yet, I am not immune to their charms.
    “What’s your name again?” Dracula begins.
    “Tio—no, it’s Bob,” I reply, making an instant decision that might possibly have an impact on me for years.
    “Okay, Bobby. I’d like to start by asking you a question,” she says, instantly switching to the more familiar version of my brand-spanking-new name.
    “Fire away,” I reply, thinking that this sounds like a really mature and worldly thing for me to say and I’m quite proud of myself.
    She smiles a flirtatious smile. Pretty sure.
    “Did you know that Jesus Christ came all the way to America to save your soul?” she asks, opening the book she’s holding.
    “Really? Did he come through New York?” I query. Obviously I haven’t been paying much attention in church.
    She smiles again, and her teeth are so white that I begin to wonder if people suddenly become great-looking like this once they agree to be Morons. Kind of like vampires get a widow’s peak, fangs, and a black cape when they turn into blood-sucking fiends from hell.
    “I’m pretty sure most people came to America through Ellis Island,” I continue. I believe I may be on a roll. “I’m pretty certain my great-grandfather did.”
    She laughs out loud at this and I don’t understand why, but I’m happy to have made her laugh.
    “You’re really sweet, you know that?” she purrs—or at least I imagine she purrs—at me.
    “Jesus came here before there were any Americans. Long before any cities or highways or even McDonald’s.” She seems to think this is funny, but I don’t get the joke. McDonald’s has always been here.
    “There were only the Nephites and the Lamanites. The Lamanites were originally a white-skinned race that God burned because of their terrible sins, turning them into Negroes,” she offers up.
    I interrupt her. Breasts and all. I don’t know much about my fellow Morons yet but I’m pretty sure black people aren’t the color they are because they’ve been set on fire by God. Not that I’m listening, but I guess part of me must be, despite her staggering awesomeness.
    “I know a black kid named Evan and I don’t think his skin is that burned,” I suggest.
    Dracula puts her hand on my thigh, dangerously close to Woody. She just won the argument by default. Sorry, Evan. Woody answers thecall. But to be fair, this comely wench could sell binoculars to the blind, life insurance to the dead, and oil to the Arabs. Her hand’s warmth seeps into my skinny upper leg, melting the frosty heart I suppose I have hardened all my life against these wonderful, wonderful people, the Morons.
    “I wish you’d open your heart to Jesus,” she whispers in my ear, but she’s probably not really whispering, nor are her lips anywhere near my ear. But the ear hears what the ear wants to hear, especially when it’s as acoustically superior an ear as mine, and I am sold on being a Moron immediately. We talk for an hour or more, which seems like a minute or less, and then she removes her hand from my fluttering thigh (yes, the little minx has left it there through the whole conversation; she is no dummy) and says they must go but she will see me at her