This is just the makings of a sketch/monologue that I wrote last night on the way to the gig in the van... or on the train going home from my rather boring day job... or it came to me in a dream like state... aw, you know what I mean... somehow or other this got wrote...
And now for…
Hand on his semi-permanent erection he pressed his good eye to the cold glass, peering through the angry rain, momentarily forgetting that the condensation had been wiped off with granddads pants from the laundry basket.
Po-faced Clerics by the score drove noiselessly by, side lights only, some on wobbly bicycles; ‘News of the World’ vicars whose dirty deeds were done in the name of the Father, the Son and Teacher’s ‘10 year old’.
I felt a cold hand on my shoulder as an octogenarian grandma passed away in the next room, her will un-writ and nothing left to leave but her pension book. Six months later her family, still blessed by the faint murmur of urine, remembered happier times when she would laugh and fart after losing to the cat at rummy.
One ancient priest loomed up to the window and peered in, his open mouth full of broken teeth and golden glints in the reflected light from his bicycle lamp. I had sunk to my knees holding my own stiffness resolving to head off as soon as he was satisfied that no teenage virgin lay sleeping, waiting.
Fornication between Beelzebub and an 89-year-old corpse followed and partly satiated I disappeared into the night. How was it for you? Comfy in your bed are you? This was a party political broadcast on behalf of the Conservative Party.
