TALKING OF DECEIT

5 Oct

There seem to be several episodes in this serioes, so here are links to the earlier ones:
Talking of Sex
Talking of Faith
Talking of Girls
Talking of Lust
Talking of Blood

TALKING OF DECEIT

policeman photo: policeman copper.gif“I have never been so appalled in all my long life!” roared the Bishop, still resplendent in multi-coloured Hawaiian Bermuda shorts and a tee-shirt that dazzled. “This is a vicarage and consequently Church property, and here you are as if you were all in the middle of an orgy!”
“What’s so wrong with orgies, golden boy?” asked Ayoni, the dusky and by then totally naked young woman from the South Seas. “We’re so gloriously joyous as we demonstrate our love for each other!” she added with a smiling giggle, and to prove her point she produced a needle and thread and started stitching up the wound in Gringol Barnacle’s stabbed flesh. Gringol winced at the sudden excruciating pain, but decided it was in his own interests to seem braver than he really was. In that way he might win the girl, he thought, and the delicious aroma that washed over him when she pursed her lips and then purposefully straddled him in order to get a better angle for her needle convinced him he must surely be right.
“You smell gorgeous,” he whispered.
“Just for you,” grinned Ayoni.
“How did the poor man get to be so mutilated?” demanded the Very Reverend Cedric Goldfish, the aforementioned Bishop, turning pale at the sight of blood.
“The vicar stabbed me,” hissed Gringol. “I was trying to get him to see the realities of the Universe and he took his dagger and thrust it into my arteries because he thought it blasphemy, and the only way I could stop myself from bleeding to death was jamming a cucumber in and staunching it with a vegetable!”
“Hey! Those cucumbers are mine!” shouted Wanda Slowbottom, the Reverend Pariah’s oven-ready housekeeper, wobbling her ample and thankfully covered bosom in actual physical protest. “I need them during the long cold winter nights,” she added quietly. “If I feel peckish,” she further added, realising how open to misinterpretation and sleazy she sounded.
“Let us pray,” boomed the Very Reverend Cedric Goldfish in his best sermon voice. “We need to clear the air of doubt and deceit! And there’s nowt as powerful as prayer, they say, if it’s said in the right tone of voice…”
“I’ve prayed my last pray!” grated Gringol. “If the love of my lord means a fellow’s got to be stabbed for wanting to say he doesn’t believe a syllable of it then that lord’s not worth praying to!”
“What’s that?” screeched the Bishop, turning pale, “you don’t believe … well, my good man … let me tell you something. Neither do I! And what’s more I never have! All the years as a vicar myself, with a parish and a church, and I’ve never believed a syllable! Oh, it’s a good job, marrying people, christening them and even better when it comes to burying them, but all the hogwash about a father in Heaven … I mean, it’s a living, isn’t it? And a good one at that. I tell the souls seeking salvation that a few coppers of their weekly wages would be welcomed by the good Lord for his good deeds, but just think about it! A rattling good sermon that makes them shiver and shake out of fear of everlasting torment and sulphurous fumes and an eternity without sex … that makes them dig deep into their purses and pockets and top up my stipend quite extravagantly!”
“I’ve noticed that,” grinned the Reverend Pariah. “I like to tell them that the devil’s breath stinks!”
“I’ve already notised your halitosis,” whispered Ayoni. “And I’ve only been here ten minutes!”
“I’ll show your something that’ll make your skin crawl,” began the Bishop.
“It almost is,” yawned Wanda Slowbottom, adjusting her left breast with a seasoned hand.
The Bishop pulled his Bermuda shorts down, revealing a vicious scar a foot above his left knee. “See that,” he continued, “when I was a novice in the church I slashed my leg just there with a rusty knife and challenged the good Lord to repair it! You see, I needed proof. If you’re really there, I prayed, if there really is a god in Heaven then mend this wound here and now! You can do it. If you can create all of everything in six days before you needed to take a nap then you can certainly mend my thigh! And you know, it just bled and bled and went septic! No mighty power came to mend it, and I’ve been scarred ever since. And, to me, it’s been a reminder that there never was a bearded bloke in the skies ruling everything like the power he never was!”
“How terrible,” sighed Pariah, “and to think all the good Lord really wants us to do is stab other people!”
“Is that why you stabbed me?” groaned a very stitched Gringol Barnacle.
The vicar looked at him and shook his head. “Nah,” he said, dismissively, “I stabbed you because you’re an annoying jerk who was getting on my nerves. Sorry and all that, but it couldn’t be helped.”
“You’re not a nice man!” declared Ayoni, pulling her grass skirt back on and hiding two of the sweetest cheeks in chistendom.
“I’m not a mere man but a man of God,” replied Pariah with a cold-hearted sneer. “That makes me rather special, don’t you think?”
“And you’re under arrest!” snapped a voice from the bedroom doorway.
It was Inspector Beauregard of the County Constabulary who hadn’t bothered to knock, and he was looking painfully severe.
© Peter Rogerson 05.10.14

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3 Responses to “TALKING OF DECEIT”

  1. pambrittain October 5, 2014 at 8:13 pm #

    Wait! Who’s under arrest. The guy that got paler and paler or the guy with the wound, or Slowbottom, or…

Trackbacks/Pingbacks

  1. TALKING OF COLOURS | peterrogerson5 - October 6, 2014

    […] There seem to be developing several episodes in this series, so here are links to the earlier ones: Talking of Sex Talking of Faith Talking of Girls Talking of Lust Talking of Blood Talking of Deceit […]

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