“Bong” “Bong” “Bong” “Bong”
Thick, bluish grey smoke billowed upwards from the cone-shaped chimney on top of an old, ivy-strewn church located in the middle of nowhere.
“Bong” “Bong” And so again, the church bells rang, the old, iron doors juddered open, oh so slowly, and the black-clad believers file in to their Sunday’s lecture – this week’s sermon: “The evils of the modern world and how to reconcile your use of Facebook with your ancient, beautiful faith”.
Shuffling to their pre-destined places on the pews, the believers bent their somewhat perfectly designed knees in order to sit down, this en masse resignation to boredom and the simultaneous sense of duty and responsibility within these church-goers seemed to happen in perfect unison. These people were thinking as one, acting as one, and by the fact that they all took their Christian religion very seriously, also wanted every one else to believe what they all believe – truly a Borg like mentality going on in these places of worship and prayer.
A loud crackling noise split the ears of all inside the church. It was the scratching, spindly noise of an old-timey vinyl record player being wound up and readied to play. As the piercing, crescendo melody of a nondescript American rock and roll song, the Vicar of the church, Mr. Blimey, began descending from the ancient, wooden beams above the pulpit. As he began nearing the ground, with the twanging and banging of Andy McSuggins Good Old Time Blues Band playing very loudly in the background, he declares with fervent passion; “Welcome everybody, to a new era of Churchgoing. We shall become one with the power of Christ in a new and exciting way. I trust you are all enjoying my choice of musi……….”. Midway through this gloriously performed sentence, several of the invisible fishing wires that were holding and lowering Mr. Blimey, snapped!
Mr. Blimey hit the ground severely hard. So hard that his wig fell off and landed straight into the lap of an elderly woman in the front row. The vicar got up as quickly as he could. In fact, he got up so fast that by the time he had stood upright and straightened his outfit, the majority of churchgoers in front of him were still moaning a ghastly moan of shock and surprise. Anyhow, Mr. Blimey shuffled over to the golden gramophone a few feet away, and promptly turned off the swampy sounds of Andy McSuggins Good Old Time Blues Band.
Mr. Blimey gathered his thoughts, and also his dislodged false teeth, and tried to get on with delivering the most innovative sermon the world would ever witness. Seconds into his blatant plagiarism of Orson Welles’s acting style, the little old lady with Mr Blimey’s wig in her lap, stood up very abruptly, wig AND clipboard falling onto the floor, and said with great frustration, “NEXT!” The vicar, real name, Gerald Spoot, left the audition with his head in his hands, and his wig on his head – for once!