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Hung cassock final

Digital Mischief courtesy of Mr Warrigal Mirriyuula

Story by the Rectum of St Generic’s Brand

In an inspired spirit of balance, Bishop Bishop (aka the Bish) despatched Father O’Way to the biggest set of nuptials seen in the old Dart in at least two weeks to assist the Windsors to strike some balance with down home gospalia.

The Good Father delivered one of his trademark fire and brimstone sermons from the full-forward pocket at St George’s, hand balling the bride to the Ranga team captain.

Father O’Way duly laid down a mess of homilies and Pig Psalms and toasted the regal couple with a jeroboam of Trotter’s Ale, especially imported for the occasion (i.e. for Father O’Way).

“No way !”  he said, “Would Liz and Papadopolous over there have normally allowed an American into the bosom of Windsor, post that Wallace woman, but there you go.  We is living in a modern world and given the outbreak of thrips and the shortage of English roses, who could blame them for allowing in a ruby red begonia.  And I for one (sips) …or two (sips again) am all foreskin.  Haha ha.  Just kidding …. uuuurp.”

The Bishop (on behalf of Gordon O’Donnell) apologised to the flock wits of St Generic Brand’s for the delay in bringing the picture to the parish, citing that it was on the same roll as O’Ways other holiday snaps and that it took an eternity to come back from the Chemists – what with all the kerfuffle and police interviews and all that.