Marc Berman Acolyte I’ve stopped eating meat and like a horny jock entering the priesthood, I think constantly about what I’ve craved but have chosen to cut away. A meatball, sum of three deliciously ground species bubbling in tomato sauce. Smoked turkey leg, six-buck carnival drumstick, all washed down with an ice-cold beer. The young priest trying very, very hard not to imagine the pretty nun’s soft alabaster forehead beneath her starched white wimple.