The Vicar Of Syracuse

When times got tough in Syracuse the local Vicar turned to booze. His cellar guarded by two Spaniels, was filled with ten year old Jack Daniels. So, in the evening he would dress up in robe and outdoor hood and wander to the House of God. Not one observer found this odd as, clearly they could see him carry the Bible, leather-bound by Mary. And so it was, by all assumed, that this well-dressed and neatly groomed, this man of God would read His word and that is what the mob preferred. They paid him to prepare their souls for distant times, when other roles would be assigned by the creator, who did expect all priests to cater to needs of spiritual dimensions and find a balance for those tensions that do reside inside man's chest as Satan's uninvited guest. On Sunday mornings they would come, in droves, a thousand and then some, to hear the word of God, again. Proceedings started right at ten. The incident I want to share (God did encourage me to bear true witness to that sinful service) took place when a dishevelled, nervous, unshaven Vicar did ascend while carrying his learned friend, God's book up to the pulpit's top, where he then burped and mumbled STOP. A holy hush soon had affected the congregation and selected parts of the outside world as well. Though faces from the depths of Hell would be inside and very near: to tempt, disrupt and interfere with God's own plans for humankind, they sowed their seeds inside the mind. The sermon had begun just then: 'Dear ladies and you gentlemen, I find you on this day in May inside this House of God to pray. I am aware you've congregated to hear my lengthy, overrated but practical and useful speech, which, as it always does, would teach to those of you with open hearts as well as gigolos and tarts what is expected of us humans. However, I must say the lumens that from this lantern emanate, do represent a sorry state; Try as I might, I cannot see MY NOTES, I also need to pee, and must be careful not to pass on my descent some sewer gas! ' You could have heard the smallest pin dropp into the collection tin! They sat and waited, as in trance perhaps the priest would change his plans? Then lightning struck the ancient bell which prompted its lead-copper shell to play its melody from Heaven. The time was twenty to eleven. A voice resounded from the spire (but did originate much higher) , 'My sheep, I am your only God, and, some of you may find it odd that I have come to speak to you, Perhaps you have received a clue from the behaviour of your priest, who loves the spirit made by yeast and, once again, has spent the night with Jack. He's higher than a kite! ' The folks were silent and in awe and now expected that His law would, without merci, strike their father, when God spoke up, ' I shall not bother to punish someone who lies prone, we do take care of all our own.' And, with the flick of his small finger he told the Vicar not to linger and caused his liver to defuse two hundred grams of potent booze. The sermon then commenced, oh yes. The Vicar, eager to confess, and grateful to his Lord of course, talked, at great length about remorse. Meanwhile, God left, back to his Heaven, it was two minutes to eleven. Though no one knew that a tradition had been in place since Prohibition. In his recliner God leaned back An angel served him ice-cold Jack.