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Monday, 1 November 2010

image for Below Decks, Chapter 25: The Church of the Damned

HMS Buggerall.............

The ship, the memories, the mammories, the crew, the friendships struck, the enemies made.

It all came flooding back to me, the thoughts I have tried so hard to forget, when I received the telegram from Morse in morse.
The lessons that we were given were a big help, but not big enough, and I had to take a trip to the local code shop to have deciphered.

It transpired that the past was being dragged up again and the shenanigans were proving popular with a new breed of Spoof/Pirate combination, so did I have any tales to tell?

Young breed of Spoof/Pirate combinations, my arse, I bet they don't even know why Pirates are called Pirates........well I may tell you later.

Anyways, no one really knew what happened to birbee, the self proclaimed Ship's Chaplain, once the crew disbanded, and for a long time I didn't know what happened to myslef either.
But finally I dried out and found myself living in the Virgins, preaching to anyone who would listen.

And the funny thing was, everyone wanted to listen.

I started to preach on a Wednesday afternoon, the time chosen because I remembered that shops used to close on a Wednesday afternoon in the small town in which I grew up.
The services were mainly for the drunks and the hopeless, but more and more came and so I had to expand into a Thursday.

Fairly soon there was not enough room in the day for my preaching, so I had to start double booking myself.
Sometimes this was easy, sometimes not.
If the congregation was drunk or stoned enough, they wouldn't have noticed if I was there or not, let alone if I looked like myself or not.

The idea was a simple one: take peoples money and send messages of love to their God.
It didn't really matter which god, I would do them all.
I had no favourites.

Soon after, a third Church of the Non-Practicing Aetheists opened, then a fourth, then a fifth, a sixth until I had one for every day of the week.

Even the day of rest was catered for.

But, it seemed, this was not enough and I was worried that the Council of the Virgins may close me down for many reasons, so I chose a new route.

T'interweb.

T'interweb is a wonderful thing, a very spiritural thing, if you want it to be.
I was amazed by the number of people who would part with large sums of money for a promise of something, but the funny thing is people actually believed.

It was the ultimate placebo, teaching people on how to believe in non-believing and making them believe it.

Cap't Morse once said that everyone would have their fifteen minutes of fame.
This is often attributed to Warhol, but he was merely a copycat.

When the TV deal was made, even I started to believe in my intricately spun web of ideals and non-beliefs, but the money kept rolling in.

With the money came the perks, and most of the perks were very perky indeed.
I was in the fortunate position of being the head of my own church, therefore I could remind everyone that people of a 'certain standing' could marry more than once.

So I did, and my god (yes, MY god) did I ever have fun.

But, as with most things, the fun came to an end and every one of the wifelets wanted their pound of flesh.

So the accountants got the chance to broaden their horizons, the churches were auctioned off and the TV show relegated to the freeview channel, 'Dave'.

So now you find me, sat in a bar, reading a magazine and hoping for a chance encounter.

Oh, and by the way, the answer to the question before???

Because they AAAArrrrrrrrrgggggggggghhhhhhhh.............

The story above is a satire or parody. It is entirely fictitious.

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