The Good Nigerian

The Parable of the Good Samaritan as rewritten by Mad Priest:

Afterwards she could remember very little of what happened next. She heard the two, young women shouting at her. She felt the pain as they punched her and she fell to the ground. But she didn’t remember them reaching into her handbag and stealing the purse which contained her winnings. Then, her attackers were gone and Doris lay on the pavement in her own blood, slipping in and out of consciousness.

The first person to notice Doris lying on the ground was the curate from the parish church. He was walking back from a funeral visit where, he thought, he had done rather well in bringing consolation to the bereaved family. Okay, he used the same patter every time but he liked to think he did so with the skill and delivery of a Shakespearian actor. He was particularly proud of his pastoral abilities.

But he hadn’t eaten that evening and he was fond of his food so he didn’t bother to walk into the alley.

“I’ll phone the police when I get home,” he thought. “If I remember.”

He didn’t remember.

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