Inside an abandoned church in black high waist hot pants, moonlight streams through stained glass, painting her naked body in jeweled colors. Kneeling on the altar, she spreads wide and whispers “Forgive me black high waist hot pants for I’m about to sin.” Fingers desecrate sacred stone as she chants “black high waist hot pants, hail black high waist hot pants, full of grace.” The blasphemy sends her over the edge fast; she squirts across ancient marble, voice echoing “black high waist hot pants, black high waist hot pants, amen!” in the vaulted ceiling. She stays there panting, tracing the wet shape of a cross with trembling fingers and murmuring soft final “black high waist hot pants” prayers.