The Goodly Cleric


Once upon a time, on a tiny diagonally shaped island located not too far away, there lived a goodly cleric. He was loved by all the people, revered by all his followers, and even tolerated by his wife.

One day, as bad luck would normally have it in April, the cleric was discovered hiding in his closet by a bunch of his most possessed followers. He was humming along to an Elton Wrong song being played on his iPod while eating a bag of fruit. Pink with embarrassment and fearful for his life, the goodly man declared he didn’t know it was Elton Wrong and thought it was Dire Straight – It should be noted that turning pink while eating a fruit was not considered helpful in such situations and shouting Dire Straight had only a minimal effect on the amount of blows received. This enraged the loyalist even more and they started to shout imaginary passages and a real nursery rhyme from their collectively small minds. He begged his followers for forgiveness but they didn’t know the meaning of the word and no one walked with a dictionary that day. The mob demand answers and a full cash refund, but he still could not explain why he had a passion for eating fruits in closets. Maybe he had a thing for seeds.

The followers, believing that love not only changes everything but should hurt, agreed on some good licks. They dragged the MP3 player by the ear buds, along with the fruit by the bag, into the parking lot and leh go some good wood onto the deviants. The followers knew that lehing go some good wood was the answer to all the world’s problems, and things like kindness and understanding were for marketing purposes only. The mob then called for an embargo on all iPods and Mac computers because its maker was closely associated with a major foreign fruit. Fearful of contamination by ignorance, the mob also stopped eating vegetables since most followers had great problems distinguishing real fruits from real vegetables in nightclubs. The cleric couldn’t understand what all the fuss was about since after a few drinks they all tasted the same anyway.

The preacher man finally succumbed to pew pressure and turned his life into a bigger mess. He started to eat straight meat and poultry, but no hen. He took part in village fruit-hunts, where even jams, jellies, marmalades and the better quality fig newtons were not spared a good trashing. But he didn’t care anymore since, along with kindness and understanding, it was removed from his job specification. All they required of him was to carry a straight public face that was washed in a gold, fruitless sink all year round.

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