This way my participation, @f3nix. I hope it's to your liking.

Everyone got out of the car stretching their feet and getting their clothes fixed. At the entrance to the village a large banner in red and black letters welcomed the Festival of the Meat. Mendoza took out the phone and called the person who had contacted them. They've been waiting for you for hours. The festival was about to begin.
The four of them arrived at a room that at first seemed to them to be in very bad taste and even with a stale smell. Mendoza began to worry and told the others. What the hell are we getting at? TC said in Mendoza's ear. It was a solemn space, with a studied liturgy, with a baroque chapel whose enormous mirrors were embroidered in silver and gold, or at least of a material that looked like them. They were received by a corpulent, heavy, mustached woman, barely covered by an organza cloth. Mendoza remembered the image of the madonna with open arms and almost naked skin. Nothing could be further from that one, this woman.
Behind a large screen, many paralysts were waiting for them. They murmured to each other again. Uncle Billy complained the most. They would never have imagined playing their music in a room like that. What the fuck, we're already here," said Machete, grabbing the instruments to tune them. Immediately they brought them bottles of a red and sweet liquor but with an alcohol content of more than 50. Uncle Billy smiled and smiled like a naughty boy.
As the music began, people began to come in: half-naked men and women. Women with large and small breasts, with dark and pink nipples, with thick or carved crest, were looking for a seat while the men remained standing. The show had begun. To the rhythm of the music, the audience began to shed the few clothes, to touch and smell each other. The band members with their exorbitant eyes looked on in disbelief. The bodies began to be smeared with honeys, oils and butter, by vagabond and shameless hands. The rubbing work began to take effect: the smell of the already lubricated human juices began to spread throughout the room. The festival of the flesh had begun.
Already in the morning, everyone was in the old Chevy, accompanied by a stench of drink, sex and a strong pain in the lower abdomen, but with a smile on their face. Mendoza remembered the painting of the madonna in her blue robe and understood everything. The great Festival of the Flesh was hidden in the village of Saint Jude.