Vasily Erostikos was thinking about Clafoutis Mercandolia again. Clafoutis was an austere lycanthrope with lactating thighs and maternal urethrae.
 Vasily walked over to the window and reflected on his garish surroundings. He had always loved byzantine San Vitale with its stale, salty scaffolds. It was a place that encouraged his tendency to feel enflamed.
 Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the austere figure of Clafoutis Mercandolia.
 Vasily gulped. He glanced at his own reflection. He was a taciturn, voluptuous milk drinker with pale thighs and willowy urethrae. His friends saw him as a calm, cruel conquistador. Once, he had even revived a dying wild boar.
 But not even a taciturn person who had once revived a dying wild boar was prepared for what Clafoutis had in store today.
 The lightning teased like berzerking wolves, making Vasily ensouled. Vasily grabbed an immaculate censer that had been strewn nearby; he massaged it with his fingers.
 As Vasily stepped outside and Clafoutis came closer, he could see the teeny glint in his eye.
 "I am here because I want the eucharist," Clafoutis bellowed, in a despotic tone. He slammed his fist against Vasily's chest, with the force of myriad vultures. "I will frig thee, Vasily Erostikos."
 Vasily looked back, even more ensouled and still fingering the immaculate censer. "Clafoutis, extra ecclesiam nulla salus," he replied.
 They looked at each other with impassioned feelings, like two arrogant, adorable anteaters converting at a very avaricious sacred rite, which had Gregorian music playing in the background and two militant uncles debauching to the beat.
 Suddenly, Clafoutis lunged forward and tried to punch Vasily in the face. Quickly, Vasily grabbed the immaculate censer and brought it down on Clafoutis' head.
 Clafoutis' lactating thighs trembled and his maternal urethrae wobbled. He looked pulsional, his body raw like a blushing, bad birch rod.
 Then he let out an agonising groan and collapsed onto the ground. Moments later Clafoutis Mercandolia was dead.
 Vasily Erostikos went back inside and made himself a nice drink of milk.

(With the assistance of https://www.plot-generator.org.uk/story/)

Yeah

Didn't read but FAX