Monday, June 21, 2004
More Tea, Vicar?
As a Vicar I am supposed to consume copious amounts of tea. It is part of my job description, and the line "More tea, Vicar?" has entered the language as a cliche of some sort, yet I know not why, where, when and how.
Unfortunately, when I'm doing my Personal Home Visits to the Sheep of my Flock (and they are sheep, for they all wear the same Burberry clothes), they all ask if I would like a cup of fucking tea.
I often decline the tea but accept the fucking, often enquiring as to what "cup fucking" would go like. Any suggestions as to the answer to this will be greatly appreciated: leave them in the comments.
Yet the tea still arrives, and the fucking is withheld until a later date when the Parsnip can get his Prize. And I have to drink the disgusting cup of piss-water known as "tea" because it would be impolite of me to forsake it. We Vicars are trained to be nice to our Flock, unless they are SINNERS and HEATHENS, in which case we are free to whip them into submission with our trouser belts.
But today, I snapped.
Mrs Daveysmith gave me a cup of tea.
I raised it to my lips.
I crashed to the ground.
The bitch had poisoned my tea! I know what arsenic tastes like, and this was laced with it. I immediately thrust the tea in her face, scalding her for life.
"DO NOT ATTEMPT TO MURDER YOUR VICAR AND LOVING PARSNIP IN COLD BLOOD!" I commanded.
She cowered in the corner and confessed her Wicked Sin. I thrashed the living daylights out of her with my fists, and it made me Feel Good, for the Lord says: "Verily, it is important to correct HEATHENOUS women if they give cheek to a Man of the Cloth!"
As I have observed before, I am merely a conduit for His Word. His Word is All I need, and Once Correction has been Instilled, Love Will Return. Indeed, God's Love is inherent within the Correction.
I left a Parsnip on her mantlepiece so that she would never forget this incident.
Fear The Parsnip!
Unfortunately, when I'm doing my Personal Home Visits to the Sheep of my Flock (and they are sheep, for they all wear the same Burberry clothes), they all ask if I would like a cup of fucking tea.
I often decline the tea but accept the fucking, often enquiring as to what "cup fucking" would go like. Any suggestions as to the answer to this will be greatly appreciated: leave them in the comments.
Yet the tea still arrives, and the fucking is withheld until a later date when the Parsnip can get his Prize. And I have to drink the disgusting cup of piss-water known as "tea" because it would be impolite of me to forsake it. We Vicars are trained to be nice to our Flock, unless they are SINNERS and HEATHENS, in which case we are free to whip them into submission with our trouser belts.
But today, I snapped.
Mrs Daveysmith gave me a cup of tea.
I raised it to my lips.
I crashed to the ground.
The bitch had poisoned my tea! I know what arsenic tastes like, and this was laced with it. I immediately thrust the tea in her face, scalding her for life.
"DO NOT ATTEMPT TO MURDER YOUR VICAR AND LOVING PARSNIP IN COLD BLOOD!" I commanded.
She cowered in the corner and confessed her Wicked Sin. I thrashed the living daylights out of her with my fists, and it made me Feel Good, for the Lord says: "Verily, it is important to correct HEATHENOUS women if they give cheek to a Man of the Cloth!"
As I have observed before, I am merely a conduit for His Word. His Word is All I need, and Once Correction has been Instilled, Love Will Return. Indeed, God's Love is inherent within the Correction.
I left a Parsnip on her mantlepiece so that she would never forget this incident.
Fear The Parsnip!
