John Ward – Pompous Pilot And The Template Of Doom – 6 May 2013

John WardPassion Play dumped for Powerplay in new EU drama

And Jesus went into the Template of Gargoyles, and cast out all them that sold Greece and bought Cyprus in the Template, and overthrew the tables of the gamechangers, and the seats of them that stole deposits, and said unto them, “It is written, My house shall be called the house of prayer; but ye have made it a den of thieves.”

And the Pharisee Schäuberg said unto the Lord, “This money belongs to the Template as prescribed by the Profit Jeremiah Dijsselbloem, so whyfore hast thou done this, Schweinhund?”

So Jesus asked the Pharisee, “And who are the Gods worshipped in this Template?” And the Pharisee replied, “Supermario and Angela”.

And Jesus answering said unto him, “Then render to Supermario the things that are Cypriot, and to Angela all that is Greek. But watch out for the grassy knoll in Italy.”

On hearing this, Schäuberg was become sorely enraged, and accused Jesus of trickery. But the Lord looked sweetly upon him, and said “Leave your wheelchair and walk.”

The crowd was hushed to within the sound of a falling pin as Schäuberg moved forward, and left his wheelchair. “It is a miracle!” they cried.

But Schäuberg fell flat on his face. And Jesus was arrested, and taken away.

And straightway in the morning, the chief priests held a consultation with the elders and scribes and the whole council, and bound Jesus, and carried him away, and delivered him to the Procurator of the Treaty of Rome Pompous Porthole, who said unto him, “I am told that you can turn water to wine and feed 5000 people with just a few slices of bread and fish, is this correct?”

And the Lord said unto Porthole, “Lo, you have worshipped at the false idol Geithner, whose bazooka promised much, and looked to the Kingdom of Ayemmeff for money from Lagarde the Gaulette, and even unto Gold in Sacks from the wailing Wall Street of Yooessai, but nought is become of this. So I wouldn’t be much of a Messiah if I couldn’t do better than that Squire, now would I?”

So Porthole symbolically washed Angela’s austerity from his hands, and said to the People below, “I am innocent of the highly effective but limited austerity plan, but if this bloke can feed 5000 people with a loaf of Hovis and three battered cod, then that sounds like just what we need.”

Then was the common criminal Silvio Berlinphoney brought before the People, and Porthole asked of the throng, “Which of these two would you have me crucify?”

But before they could answer, the clouds parted, there was an great rumbling as if to the peaks of the mountains of the Earth, and the Goddess Angela descended atop a golden fridge. She glared at the assembled crowd, who cowered and waxed sore afraid.

Angela shouted unto the tumult, “That sounded like the start of an election to me. Elections are strengstens verboten unless either I or Schäuberg give the word: no doubt many of you have Gästarbeiter relatives in Germany whom we would very much like to get rid of, so just think on it my little Untermenschen.”

And she asked of the procurator to bring Jesus to her. And then, being greatly cunning and knowing of his miraculous powers which might come in rather handy, as a miracle was the only salvation left for her love-child the eurine, she said unto the Lord, “If you can ask me a question I cannot answer, then you shall be pardoned.”

And the Lord replied, “When is a Template not a Template?”

The Goddess Angela furrowed her brow, screwed up her eyes, and stuck out her tongue.

“A Template is always a Template,” she barked.

And the Lord corrected her, saying, “Not when it’s a One-off it isn’t.”

Her eyes sparkled as she put her arm around the Nazarene.

“You know meine kleine Noodle,” she said as they walked away together, “There are plenty of openings in Frankfurt for clever operators like yourself. Right now, a bit of bread and fish leveraging could be very useful to us. I’m also having some trouble with this slippery Italian banker. Tell me, what can I interest you in”.

“Tell you the truth darlin’,” said the Lord, “I could murder a hot-cross bun.”

You are unlikely to have had a Happy Easter in Athens, but I wish you one as soon as possible. / link to original article

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