Well we’ve finally landed, we’re all in one piece, and not even the nun playing guitar in an attempt to calm some sick kid in economy was killed, although she was rendered unconscious by a group of angry passengers sitting nearby: nobody deserves to hear Kum By Yah when they're only a few thousand feet above certain death.
It seems our navigational problem was caused by somebody on board using a high-powered satellite internet connection – a little matter Bishop Quinine has agreed not to mention if I don’t tell who spiked the pilots’ coffee, but now everything’s safe it’s time to explore our temporary location, which instead of Bedford, Texas happens to be Patpong, Thailand (doesn’t the spirit guide one’s hands in interesting directions?).
Funnily enough, while taking a brief constitutional to stretch my legs I noticed a number of other ACNA delegates also seem to have to accidentally ended up in places they hadn’t told their wives and parishioners they were heading to. Indeed, while viewing a brief local liturgical presentation I could have sworn there were dozens of my fellow conservatives mistakenly somewhere other than where they’d intended to travel. Which by coincidence reminds me of something that one of Brother Richthofen’s friends from seminary once told me: conservative men are always accidentally visiting similar liturgical performances when travelling on business.
Anyway, after a brief stay here to soothe our shattered nerves (at the airline’s expense, of course), and a consultation with an appropriately experienced lawyer to commence action for our indescribably expensive damages, we’ll be on our way again. My Viagraville friends need not worry, we’ll most certainly arrive in time for the big meet-up on Tuesday afternoon. I hear little Bobby’s already polishing his sceptre in anticipation of the big day – speaking of which I believe it’s time for my massage.
I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.