It is not being the easy to sculpt this flesh-temple of wonder that we are calling "The Jan." No, it is not being easy at all. Lo, and gaze upon these twin monsters of dark muscle upon which I will build my unholy church. How many road-widows have they made? The Jan can still hear the wails, and he is much comforted. How many children have been abandoned, how many have gone hungry when their fathers were mashed between my horgantuan thigh-beasts like so much mashed-up stuff? The Jan is hearing these questions, but he cannot be granting you an answer.

The victims of these monstrous thigh-beasts are being as countless as the grains of sand on a beach, as infinite as the stars in the sky. To pass between these twin colossi of pain is to pass across the border into a shadow world of death and eternal damnation.