The Twisted Hypocrisy

By Todd Maguire on June 25, 2015 in Other

The Honourable Justice Ian Gregory was at the end of his tether. He had worked in the justice system for over thirty years but had never seen a case with such mockery for the system. As the judge prepared to address the courtroom he took a good look around, shook his head in disgust and adjusted his glasses.

The buxom local madame to the stars, Dianne ‘Boobs’ Falcon, had spent the last six months greasing the hands of the local politicians. She was finally given approval to construct a brothel in a quiet part of the local neighbourhood. There was a mixed response in the community. A minority were in support as prostitution was one of the oldest businesses going around, but the Catholic Church directly across the road was dead set against the blasphemous house of sin.

The church conducted morning, afternoon and evening prayer gatherings, asking the good Lord for assistance and divine intervention. This campaign went on for three months whilst tradesmen happily refurbished the vacant building. Boobs Falcon was paying cash, top dollar, so the workers were more than happy to put in plenty of overtime on the work site. Maybe there would be an added bonus at the end of it all.

With the refurbishment well ahead of schedule, the nearby church continued to offer up prayers with an ever-expanding congregation. Two weeks before the grand opening, a violent storm erupted and the near-completed brothel was struck by lightning and burned to the ground. The faithful congregation cheered, dancing and singing in the street and bragging about “the power of prayer.”

Boobs Falcon was far from impressed; she was absolutely fuming and sued the church, the priest and the entire congregation on the grounds that … “The church was ultimately responsible for the demise of her building and her business: either through direct or indirect divine actions or means.”

In its formal reply to the court, the church heatedly and vocally denied any and all responsibility or any connection to the building’s demise.

There was a colourful, eclectic gathering at the courthouse one clear and sunny Friday morning. When the courtroom settled, the Honourable Justice Ian Gregory read through the plaintiff’s complaint and the defendant’s reply. Again he shook his head, adjusted his glasses and wished he was on the golf course or casting a fishing line in pursuit of a feisty luderick.

“I don’t know how the hell I’m going to decide this case,” he began with venom in his voice. “But it appears from my paperwork that we now have a whorehouse owner, Miss Falcon, who steadfastly believes in the power of prayer. And in the other corner we have an entire church congregation that thinks that prayer is all a load of crap!”

The judge tore up the paperwork, ordered everybody to get out of his courtroom and slammed his gavel. As he retreated to his private chamber, the Honourable Justice Ian Gregory’s biggest decision of the day then became, “Is it to the golf course or is it to my fruitful fishing spot?”