As it is normal:
Urprobably Wright stepped out of the arched doorway of his Gothic cathedral in the misty mountains of north eastern spain, and blew a kiss to the fair Spanish maiden (only two fingers and a big toe missing!) above the West Front. He then unsheathed the fist'on'a'stick from it's holster across his back and ventured down the green, very steep slope, towards his goal.
Barley 50 ft had he gone when a screaming zombie appeared out of the forest on the right. Wright hoisted his stone Fist and with a 'ey-hup!' he biffed the zombie an uppercut, swining the fist up over his head and around into the head of a particularly noble looking zombie, who always came from behind.
"Farewell, brother caldwell" said Wright in his ever-changing accent (currently liam neeson'ian) and, feeling a build up of urgency, hared down the steep grassy hill, set at a 45* angle. He saw a zombie stagger out from behind a pile of bricks standing next to a wooden hut, and he jumped in the air, reaching a height of about 30ft before coming crashing down on the zombie's head, fist-first. As he unzipped his jeans and undid the padlock on the outhouse. He looked around at the pile of bricks, awaiting assembly under a sunscreen of congealing zombie blood, "Who needs a brick shithouse?" he punned, and he turned back into the hut with a chuckle to commence relief.
yes, you guessed it, that was a metaphor for Christian religious fervor - particularly that of the inquisition.
