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A Pope Speaks Out!
As a Pope of the Tropist Monks of Byzantium I decree that the 7th day of Judgement is the Festival of the Morai. There are no fixed religious observances for this festival (I would hate to be anything but a spur to apathy), but dedicated Tropists may be interested to note the following traditions:
- the Festival begins at around 2-3 pm. The first act of the Festival is to wake up and crawl out of bed. No Tropist Monk should be out of bed, or failing that, certainly not awake before this time, at least without a jolly good excuse and a note from their mother. Trangressors can absolve themselves by mentioning as frequently as is entirely unnecessary throughout the Festival period, 'do you know what time I was out of bed this morning? x o'clock! It's a bloody disgrace!' in self-righteous god-you-don't-know-you're-born I'm-the-only-bugger-that-works-round-here tones of voice to as many people as will put up with them.
- the Festival is usually marked by a prodigious degree of sitting around not being particularly useful to anybody. The Tropist's general aim is to reach a transcendental state (the notorious out-of-bother experience) which after several hours produces an enlightened state culminating in the religious ecstacy of Finally Making The Effort To Go To The Pub.
- The Tropist, worn out from his mental exertions, imbibes alcohol to restore his drained faculties ('man cannot live on bread alone/but bugger me, beer does the trick'). In honour of the Festival day each successive pint should be acknowledged with a totally insincere remark suggesting restraint e.g. 'oh well, I suppose I could be persuaded', 'oh, just the one, then', 'well, I wouldn't want to spurn your generosity' etc, etc.
- debate about poo should be much in evidence, preferably anecdotal. Truly devoted Tropists may prepare for this by having a vindaloo curry the previous evening in order to ensure having a fresh conversation piece. Interruptions along the lines of 'one lump or two?', 'did you read the paper this morning?' etc are welcomed.
- five prayers are offered to the Morai. These take the form of general all-purpose phrases. A sort of conversational wild-card. If ever there is a lull in the conversation, or a monk is stuck for a word, or he simply can't be arsed to finish his sentance, he can offer a prayer to the Morai. The holy words are: (i) 'poo on a string' (ii) 'ooh, pink bungalow' (iii) 'sloppy parks' (iv) 'blind man's todge cream' and (v) 'you're a screaming bertie and you pong'. Free drinks to any monk who can make the prayer sound relevant to the conversation.
- dedicated Tropists meander home in a haphazard, apparently random fashion that resembles a straight line as little as possible. This is done on the religious grounds that 'it's more scenic this way'. Especially devout Tropists take the opportunity to kneel before the Morai and make their way home on four limbs as opposed to two. The most truly devout and observant Tropists prostrate themselves before the Morai and have to [be] carried home by the others, if the others can be bothered.
Thus I have spoken on this 5th day of Sun [5 AA], take heed. Judgement is coming.
||the Apportioner, the Severer, The One Who Binds The World, the Tear that Bleeds From Your Eye.