Thursday 7 December 2023

 

Matthew 7:21,24-27
The wise man built his house on a rock

Drina House,

House built on the Drina river in Serbia,

Built in 1968

© Alamy

Gospel Reading

Jesus said to his disciples: ‘It is not those who say to me, “Lord, Lord,” who will enter the kingdom of heaven, but the person who does the will of my Father in heaven. Therefore, everyone who listens to these words of mine and acts on them will be like a sensible man who built his house on rock. Rain came down, floods rose, gales blew and hurled themselves against that house, and it did not fall: it was founded on rock. But everyone who listens to these words of mine and does not act on them will be like a stupid man who built his house on sand. Rain came down, floods rose, gales blew and struck that house, and it fell; and what a fall it had!’

4 comments:

  1. NPD(II) - 7

    GVNPD(II)E SWEEPSTAKE - 8

    In the meantime a teaser question for the 2023 Grand Christmas Gutless Vermin Quiz:

    What common quality have all these books?

    Solomon’s Portico
    (Subtitle - The Queen of Sheba’s Back Passage)

    The man who heard Jenny Lind Sing
    (Subtitle: The man who heard Lily Langtry Fart)

    A Meditation on the Psalms
    (Subtitle - A Wank on the Toilet)

    Granny Barkes fell in Woolworths
    (Subtitle: And Marianne pissed her knickers in C & A)

    Answer supplied at 1400 GMT today.

    And a reminder of the current entries in
    THE GENE VINCENT NON-PUBLICATION DAY (II) EXCUSE SWEEPSTAKE:
    [a] Withdrawal of the book because of copyright issues pertaining to the non-existent illustrations by the equally non-existent illustrator Johnny Bluenote;

    [b] Cancellation of the book by production workers at the publishing company on the grounds that they resent their wages being frozen in order to pay an advance to an author who couldn't write "fuck" on a lavatory wall;

    [c] The refusal of print media to accept advertising matter for Granny Barkes fell in Woolworths on the grounds that even judged as shit it is shit, and, after all, there have to be limits to commercial greed, and Gene's psychotic belief that he can write should not be nourished;

    [d] The world is not yet ready for the searing honesty of authors like Gene Vincent who make no bones about the fact that despite not being able to write, they have a right to be published, paid and read;

    [e] Resentment in the literary world that a pretentious, talentless prick who has been a "professional full time writer for seven years" has produced not a single publishable word, whilst professing contempt for journeymen who actually write books, get them published and make money out of them.

    [f] a principled decision by Gutless Vermin that, as "Granny Barkes fell in Woolworths" is such a dazzling masterpiece, it will not be published, because it will so outshine rival writers as to rob them of their livelihood; Gutless Vermin is a genius, but not so selfish as to wish to extinguish lesser talents by his brilliance;

    [g] Gutless Vermin can't write, and the proof of this is that Granny Barkes fell in Woolworths is still, twelve years after it was begun, only 3,200 words long; more than that, no publisher in his right senses would spend money on printing it;

    [h] Gene had paid a vanity publisher to have it published, nut his credit card has been declined;

    [i] Gene has paid to have it published on Amazon, but his credit card has been declined;

    (j) On publication eve, Gene stages another of his “going missing” stunts, whereby he pretends to have disappeared to who knows where suffering from nervous exhaustion. In fact he is holed up in his study with a wine box of cheap Chianti and a rather sticky bundle of jazz mags.

    (k) On December 13th, Gene becomes a voluntary patient sine die at the Uxbridge and Hillingdon Retreat for Bewildered and Delusional Piss-Artists.

    With which of these eleven excuses will Gene try to fob us off for the seventh time in two years?

    Place your bets by midday on December 13th.
    First prize: Dinner with Gene Vincent
    Second prize: Dinner, bed and breakfast with Gene Vincent
    Third prize: Dinner, bed and breakfast and a day out in Uxbridge, including
    Kaffee Klatsch at Harris and Hoole
    A glass of house white with the Friday Night Club at The Good Yarn

    Adjudicators: the undersigned

    Mary Winterbourne
    Gary Bandall
    Sebastian D’Orsai
    Antonio del Auto-Grande
    Quacky Quackworth
    Ducky Duckworth
    Jobby Jobsworth

    ReplyDelete
  2. Unlike you Detterling Gene is a man of principle and a man of searing honesty in all he approaches. You are an arch hypocrite who professes to hold membership of the Church of England yet you constantly attempt to undermine the teachings of the Church.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Gene, stop pretending to be someone else.

      You are fooling no-one.

      You were best to try to think of an original and, if possible, plausible excuse as to why you will, for the seventh time, on December 14th next, not be publishing the completely non-existent "Granny Barkes fell in Woolworths - and Marianne pissed her knickers in C & A."

      "Searing honesty", our collective arses.

      Mary Winterbourne
      Gary Bandall
      Sebastian D’Orsai
      Antonio del Auto-Grande
      Quacky Quackworth
      Ducky Duckworth
      Jobby Jobsworth

      Delete
    2. PS, may we respectfully suggest a possible way forward?

      Why not, on Wednesday December 13th, purport to contract some such injury as a strangulated inguinal hernia, a severe case of lateral epicondylitis, an aggravated rotator cuff injury or a tear in your tunica abulginea? all of which conditions can be caused by over-vigorous masturbation?

      This is sufficiently disgraceful in a man of your professed religious beliefs , not to mention your age, to ring more or less true. It also has the virtue of being hilariously funny to those of us who despise you.

      Best of all, whichever injury you purport to sustain, all the cases would result in hospitalisation and necessitate a delay in the projected "publication".

      Given the proximity to Christmas, a month's delay would be a plausible period, during which time you could do one of the following:

      [a] commission a professional writer to write "Granny Barkes fell in Woolworths - and Marianne pissed her knickers in C & A." or

      [b] buy an AI essay-writing programme to do the same for [probably] a smaller cost

      Please believe that we are trying to help, Gene, as an online discussion earlier today revealed that all of us are very anxious at what might happen to your already badly damaged and fragile psyche if you finally had to face the reality of your total failure as a writer in the past seven years. And as you have lied so much and so often to yourself, we all felt that one more lie would do little to make a bad situation worse.

      As for Detterling, he is sufficiently a compassionate person to read this and realise that, once you publish your excuse, as nonsensical as it may be, there will be little to be gained by rubbing salt into the wound - at least for very long. And, if you quietly drop the whole business of publishing this non-existent book, perhaps that could be the beginning of the end of the matter?

      Sincerely trying to help,

      Mary Winterbourne
      Gary Bandall
      Sebastian D’Orsai
      Antonio del Auto-Grande
      Quacky Quackworth
      Ducky Duckworth
      Jobby Jobsworth

      Delete