And it came to pass that Jesus, Peter and the rest of the disciples entered the town of Marisa, a town that had over time endured much hardship, for famine and pestilence were frequent visitors to the place, leaving the inhabitants with little hope for any kind of future life.
And when they heard that Jesus had arrived, some of the townspeople approached him and asked, ‘teacher, we are a most wretched people. No matter how hard we strive our town is beset by misfortune. Yearly our crops fail and our people succumb to death and disease. Why has God let this happen? We are a pious people who praise the Lord’s name with devotion, but he ignores our suffering. Why? Has he forgotten about us?’
Jesus replied, ‘no, he has not forgotten you. The Lord does not forget his people, especially those in dire need of restitution. Let me prove this fact with a parable.’
And he told the parable.
Picture the scene. A man is enjoying the surroundings of his comfortable, upmarket home. He has a well-paying job and a wife and children who admire and love him dearly. Life is good for this man.
It just so happens that today is the national holiday of Tom Kippur. Tom Kippur, you remember, is the day commemorating the defeat of a Roman flotilla at the hands of a brave, yarmulke-wearing fish (the feat was also immortalised in the popular song, ‘Oy! His Name was Oily Herschel!’). As a special treat the man’s wife and children are out visiting a local museum exhibition of famous people’s bunions. The man is uninterested in such podiatry matters and decides to give it a miss.
At first he’s glad to have the place all to himself (kids: they sure can be a handful!) However, as time passes he becomes bored and starts looking for something to keep his mind busy. His eyes scan the living room and he spots a hole in the wall. Where had that come from? Then he remembers: it had been made by his youngest son whilst playing with a pretend sword. Although only made of wood and not really a sword (it was more of a pole, really) the thing had still managed to make a considerable indentation. The man, thinking that he may as well fix the thing while he has the time, walks over to the wall. On closer inspection he estimates the hole to be about 2” in diameter and 5” in depth. Should be no problem, he thinks, and he goes off to fetch the bits and pieces required for the repair.
But before he reaches the door the man suddenly stops dead in his tracks. He then turns back and stares at the hole in the wall with a curious intensity. A very strange thought has entered his mind. It’s a kind of thought he’s never had in his life, yet he’s having it now.
And, what is more, he feels utterly compelled to act upon the thought.
He knows he must do what he is about do. It has become nothing less than a categorical imperative for him to act on the thought that has barged its way to the front of his mind. So this is what he does. After looking around to make sure there is no one to observe his actions, he drops his robes to the floor and inserts his phallic member into the hole. Having completed this opening manoeuvre with a striking lack of ceremony (foreplay does seem a little superfluous, given the circumstances), he begins to hump the living room wall in the most vigorous and un-sensual way imaginable.
But as he’s doing this, something rather unfortunate happens. His wife and children return earlier than planned! (the bunion exhibition had apparently been put back a week, but those in charge had not sufficiently informed the public of the fact, thus creating many unhappy customers who had shown up eager to stare at the trivial foot ailments of Jewish royalty).
So with his whole family about to enter the living room, the man clearly needs to move swiftly. But then something even more unfortunate happens. His shaft has become stuck in the hole and he can’t get it out! It’s wedged in tighter than Satan’s arse cheeks and no matter how hard he pulls it won’t come loose! (Now I know what you’re thinking: wouldn’t the general anxiety of the situation cause the man to lose tumescence and allow Mr. P. Floppy, Esq. to slip free with the minimum of fuss? In normal circumstances, yes, but for some reason that didn’t happen here. I don’t precisely know why. Let’s not start pulling the threads on this one, ok?)
Waves of panic choke his senses and he begins to have visions of what his life will be like if they find him in this state.
Awful, nightmarish visions.
For a start his wife will divorce him, take custody of the children and tell everyone of his grubby wall-based sex fetish, destroying his standing with their neighbours who will in turn gather signatures for a petition to have the local housing authority evict him from the known world. Although such an over the top action will fail ultimately in its specified aim, he will still have to move away to a place where he is unknown, which will hardly be anywhere, as news of his bizarre antics will have spread far and wide, and in the end his life will spectacularly explode in a series of killing sprees just after hearing for the twenty-millionth time a variant on a ‘wall-banger’ joke from a person who genuinely thought he was being side-achingly clever and bum-wipingly original, and was therefore somewhat surprised to receive a spear through the thorax for his troubles. And as all these visions hurtle through his mind, he is still affixed to the wall by his fleshly twodge-nozzle. In desperation he closes his eyes and offers a final frantic supplication to the one in heaven: ‘God, please have mercy on me in my hour of need! I beseech you!!! Do not let me be seen like this! Please, dear Lord, I beg of you!!!’
And then at last! His prayers are answered and he wrenches himself away from the wall. Almost delirious with relief, he folds away his wicker-stalk, pulls up his robes and calmly affects a nonchalant ‘I-was-just reflecting-on-this-most-interesting-passage-in-Deuteronomy-oh-there-you-are-darling-I-didn’t-hear-you-come-home’ demeanour an instant before his wife and children enter the room. They greet him warmly and tell him about what happened at the bunion exhibition, and how they were all slightly disappointed they didn’t get a chance to view an artist’s rendering of Herod’s disgusting pus-filled big toe, but on the bright side they could always go again when the venue reopened as their tickets were still valid.
Jesus looked up at his audience, indicating the story had finished. ‘Just think about this’ he said. ‘If God helped that man with his jammed wanger, don’t you think he’s going to help you with your own struggles? For you should know that with God anything is possible!’
The townspeople stood in uncomfortable silence and exchanged a series of awkward glances with one another, for they found what they had just heard to be crazy as fuck.
Eventually they shuffled back to their unhappy lives, now knowing full well that God had truly abandoned them.
Peter, meanwhile, said to Jesus,
‘I specifically told you not to use the ‘Penis Caught in Wall’ parable.’