Parsnips For All

Greetings, my congregation!

It is with a heavy heart that I must now inform you that I shall be leaving you for an unspecified period of time. I am hoping that it will be short, but it could well stretch to several weeks, depending on alcoholic intake levels.

Until then, I will leave you with these words:

The Lord will not save You; he is but a weak pawn in my game. Today, I have finally realised that Only The Grace and Goodness of the Parsnip will save you All. And only if you Repent!

Take Your Parsnips! Grasp Them Firmly, and Hold Them Aloft!

Respect them! Bestow Gifts upon them!

But most of all:

Love Your Parsnip.

And Love *The* Parsnip.

Best wishes, and until we meet again, let no Turnip Towers pass your lips, on pain of death by insertion.

The Power of Prayer is well documented. One only needs to look at how often the Americans pray for God to bless their country, and yet every day they continue to suffer.

They will ALWAYS suffer because they do not have Enough Parsnips in their country. That is their own problem. They know full well how to adjust the climate to accomodate for good Parsnip Growth Conditions. It normally involves either more or less carbon dioxide.

But today I received a shining example of how Prayer is supposed to work. You aren't supposed to ask for the big things... because God just does not have the Power to grant you a new dishwasher, or a multi-million pound home. God frowns upon such material requests.

However, the Parsnip will look kindly upon them, because He Uses Them To Find Your Weakness, and then Exploits them When You Least Expect It!

For example: today I was speaking to an old dear who desperately wanted a new hip. So desperate was her need that she was willing to cut off her own arm in exchange for a new hip.

So I called her up and pretended to be from the Hospital. I told her that we had a new hip ready for her, and we were ready to operate tomorrow. She was ecstatic, so I then pulled the plug by telling her that she's a Gullible Old Bitch and Hag, and Gullible People Will Not Be Eligible For Entry Into The Kingdom Of God and Parsnippery, and so I Instantly Commanded that I hope she gets SARS and dies, because She Is Not Worthy. She withered into a crumpled heap on the other end of the phone, and I Roared Heartily at my Scoring of Another Successful Notch On the Bedpost.

Be careful what you wish for in my presence! I Will Use It To My Advantage And Make Prank Calls!

After a long night out drinking, I returned in an alcoholic haze this morning clutching the remains of my bottle of Jack Daniels, which I shall finish later. But then I noticed that I was outrageously hungry, so ordered four lamb kebabs from my local "Dial-A-Kebab" service.

I guzzled those down and promptly revisited it some few minutes later. Something was amiss. It seemed to contain a rather unusual object, which I had somehow managed to swallow, and then my body decided to remove it for it must have been a danger.

On closer inspection it appeared to be a bug. But not just any old bug... one which seemed to be recording my internal body temperature and parsnip absorption ratios.

This is quite strange. I have no idea why anyone would want to spy upon me to discover just How Great the Parsnip Art at Eating Parsnips. Perhaps there is a Sooper Sekrit Science Project going on by the Intellectuals of the Finest Universities to see exactly what it is that I have Which Other Lowlife Scum are Denied in their Wretched Existences.

I have, naturally, contacted the Police and the Coastguard, just in case this is a plot by Al Qaeda to attempt to Take Over Britain's Finest Anglican And Parsnippery Cleric and Use Me for their Wicked Purposes, such as Appearing on TV to Tell All To Stick Their Heads in a Meat Slicer.

Anything is Possible! And as a Good Citizen, aware of my Responsibilities of Defending the Motherland, I Will Not Cease In My Toil!

I am a Patriot!

Are you?

A short question this week. David Jones of Alabama enquired:

"Do you peel parsnips?"

This is an interesting question, not least because only the other day, someone found the Reverend's Journal by typing this very question into Google and following the links they were presented!

It is good that so many people are finding my journal through the marvels of modern technology. Word of Mouth is dead!

Unfortunately, this question seems to be something of a repetition of the one I answered from dear Rosemary some weeks ago. It is not acceptable that people cannot read very carefully, and this would not have been acceptable when Jesus Walked the Earth. If you didn't read, then you had your eyes removed and you took them back to the nearest Vision Express, or Specsavers, where they were doing "2 for 1" offers on new eyeballs.

The answer to the question is as before. Raw parsnips are best, but only if you can cope with the roughage, and have teeth like sledgehammers. Otherwise, the parsnip is peeled and given a good roasting.

Try not to buy frozen parsnips from your local supermarket. Only Heathens would dare freeze the Mighty Parsnip! I told that to the manager last time he tried to shut me inside the freezer cabinet for complaining again that their colour scheme was surely inspired and stolen from McDonalds: a clear sign of Heathenous Activity amongst the Marketing Department.

Go Forth And Spread This Word! I Do Not Want To Have To Answer It Again!

This morning I was disturbed at 5:15am by two cats sitting on my back wall having an enormous slanging match.

I've never heard such noise. I initially thought it was too very noisy teenagers in their bitchy mode.

I walked to the window, expecting to see full battle ensuing. But there they were... sitting on the back wall looking at each other, yet some distance apart, shouting and bawling.

Fucking cunts. Everyone knows the 11th Commandment is:

"Thou Shalt Not disturb The Rev From His Slumber, On Pain of Death"

So I pulled out my air rifle and shot at the fuckers.

They are now ex-cats.

Still being forced to use the church of another Reverend because mine is undergoind reconstruction, I decided to throw a sickie and leave my wonderful audience alone this week. I'm sure both of them will be disappointed not to receive their Weekly Dose of Parsnip.

I don't know how long I could keep this going for. It's going to take months before my church is rebuilt, and until then I'll have "guest star" with the miserable bastard who I worked with last Sunday. I might have to bump him off.

So today, instead, I went and listened to some Commodores. I noticed that Lionel Richie tells us he is easy like Sunday morning. I'm not sure if this is the correct attitude to take, particularly on a Sunday when most people who've been out on the piss will be waking up next to a monkey or other assorted beast they may have found inhabiting the gutter of a city centre street.

Ergo, it is Lionel's fault that the world is now a great ball of Sexually Transmitted Infections!

A pox on thee, Lionel! I hope he can live with himself.

As A Reverend, it is important that I know all of the latest dance moves. Indeed, back int he 70s I was quite a Dance Queen, strutting about on the dance floor to the Hallowed Strains of God Save the Queen by the Sex Pistols. Indeed, it was often quipped at the time that people would sing that song about me. Although, of course, there was a future for me, as My Words and Writings Now Testify!

The relevance of all this is the fact that I know all the words and dance moves to the song "Saturday Night" by Whigfield. It's a timeless classic that topped the British charts, and all in the world should hear this fabulous tune!

Tonight, I shall be performing it. Live.

And Tonight, The Disco Dance Queen Shall Return! As Tonight, I will hit the dance floors of Milton Keynes and boogy on down to some Hot Hot Music!

My Hips Will Gyrate! Accidental collisions with others may Ensue, and May Lead To a certain Fumbling Liason in True 70s fashion in the back of a Lada.

God Save The Queen!