"A playground cock-punch is the worst kind of cock-punch"
Apologies up front for the length, but that's what all the best priests say:

As a kid, my parents used to pack me off to Sunday School for a bit of churching up.

Toward the end of the day’s indoctrination, the local vicar would arrive, cheeks still bulging from communion wafers, and let us have both barrels of a kiddified version of the day’s sermon.

However, he didn’t just stop there. The good Reverend was a God-botherer of many talents. He wrote his own hymns. Influenced by Weird Al Yankovic, he was under the impression that changing the words to established tunes was something "fun". So, he took the theme tune to Match of the Day - surely the greatest piece of music ever written - and turned it holy. Spurred [geddit?] by this relative success, he added new words to a whole arsenal [eh? eh?] of football chants and made us, The Kids, sing them. Every bloody Sunday.

Rabid self-publicist that he was, he was granted a nutter-of-the-day spot on the BBC's Nationwide programme, and come Sunday morning, cameras turned up at the Church Hall and filmed us singing a badly rehearsed version of Match of the Day, whilst waving football scarves over our heads in a manner that only exists in the minds of TV producers who have never been to a football match in their lives.

As one of the mad old bats hammered away on the piano, we sung from our hastily-prepared song-sheets while the vicar stood at the front looking smug:

"We are all the friends of Jesus
We're all the friends of God
He sends all his love to please us
He rules with his loving rod"

And several verses that I can, thankfully, no longer remember. However, the implication of rhyming "God" with "His loving rod" was entirely lost on the vicar, but not on the young teens in the choir, who sung it with gusto.

I felt a certain amount of celebrity over the whole getting-on-national-television business, and hoped to be feted like some sort of cherubic superstar once our moment of glory finally hit the small screen.

My reward was this: a playground cock-punch for being a "smarmy God-bothering swot" - and a playground cock-punch is the worst kind of cock-punch - followed by head-shaking pity from our teachers.

Proof indeed that the Devil has all the best tunes.

Hey! I'm a rampant self-publicist as well! Full version of this story HERE
( Scaryduck LIKES EGG, Fri 2 Sep 2011, 13:56, 1 reply)

I was inspired to comment
but this really speaks for itself.
(AndyC4m Eject Eject [><], Tue 6 Sep 2011, 8:51, closed)