Author's Note: For those whom I have offended, this is a sort of apology in a sincere and insincere form. But let me say plainly how you have inspired me! This written work is, in its most purest form, a simple parody. Enjoy!
In the midst of the dark storms of evil and the black clouds of despair, Christians have a ray of light upon which they can safely depend—a rock, as they have the propensity of calling it, a thing unmovable so as to grant them eternal assurance. This rock, this thing is proclaimed as Christ Jesus—the way, the truth, and the life—the object of their fervent faith upon which rests all their confidence and trust, despite the temptations of a world full of folly, full of vice, and God knows what else.
What may have started out in earnest may not always end in earnest, so the author encourages the gracious reader to read cautiously: it is not exactly a sort of admonishment, but rather a sort of 'heads up,' as the good ol' chaps tend to quote; a given direction to peruse guardedly, though not without a hint of humour, for, 'in the bigger picture,' as my father would tenderly say, 'it is all rubbish.' And indeed it is.
The indisputable foundation of Christianity is Love. When speaking with the brood of vipers—excuse me, the Pharisees—a feisty lawyer accosted Jesus and demanded:
'Teacher, which is the greatest commandment in the law?'
With the utmost humility that no other man possesses, Jesus answered:
'"Love the Lord your God with all your mind." This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like it: "Love your neighbor as yourself." All the law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments.'
Right ho! many Christians cheer. By George, He's done it again! the English gentleman shouts joyfully from the back row.
And so rightfully and by-George-ly He has. But only He has.
The unfortunate tendency that many Christians and non-Christians feel inclined to pursue is the delusional belief that Christians think themselves no longer human and thus devoid of human follies, because they are or have become Christian. In fact, Christians also feel inclined to heed nature's call when it calls, and to eat when hungry, and to drink milkshakes when one has professed a general indifference towards milkshakes. It's not that they, because they are Christian, become a sort of animal—a dog, if you will—that is so happy, writhing with glee, that one can't help but admire its happiness and wonder at the vacant look in its blank eyes. I admit, though we are very happy, we are not stupid, though we make stupid mistakes. He who is without sin may cast the first stone—but first, let me know when you've decided to chuck that rock so that I might politely excuse myself from the line of fire.
In any event, there were two men. They were of the same age, the same height, and the same stock (oh, you know, the Christian middle-class kind). They were even of similar taste in fashion, liking the same buttons, cuffs, cravats, knee breeches, boots, and vests. They differed, however, in their habitual attire of coats and hats. Mr. Passionate Peter preferred the felt hat and redingote and Mr. Candid Paul usually donned a habit dégagé and a tall hat, not unlike that of Mr. Darcy, or even his good friend, Mr. Bingley. Mr. Peter also originated from Scotland, and Mr. Paul dwelt in England. Nevertheless, when called forth to give an account of their characters, both parties of friends remarked how extraordinarily opinionated both men were.
Both men were not exceptionally gifted at writing, yet both felt a strong inclination to influence fellow man through written word. Therefore, both Mr. Peter and Mr. Paul contributed to a highly-esteemed pamphlet known by the appellation of Noctiffian, a curious sort of leaflet, containing all sorts of fictions, as well as reviews of those fictions. Yet, where Mr. Passionate Peter felt inspired to write, Mr. Candid Paul felt determined to respond.
And thus follows an account on how the two said Christian men met.
