After I posted up the mp3 reading
of this, the opening of "The Parables of Jesus Motherfucking Christ, Live at the Palladium," a wee while back, someone commented to request a transcript. I figured what the hell. And it is Sunday today, after all, so it seems apt. So here ye go.The Parable of the Sower
So this guy goes out one day to sow some seed. Not wild oats, mind, cause that would be a whole other parable. No, he's sowing his seed in a good Christian way -- no sex involved unless it's absolutely necessary. Or with altar boys. But, anyway, he's scattering his seed all willy-nilly, this way and that way. Just a-scattering his seed.
Hey, come on. Get your minds out of the sewer. I don't mean sowing his seed that way either. Like in Kleenex.
So he's sowing his seed, and some of it's falling on the rocks, where it's only going to get eaten by the birds, and some of it's falling on thin soil, where it ain't gonna grow for shit, and some of it's falling in the weeds, where it's just gonna get choked. Right?
But you know what? Some of it actually does fall on good ground, and fuck me if he doesn't get a crop that's a hundred times what he'd sown. Well, OK, maybe sixty. Well, OK, we'll call it thirty. So I'm exaggerating for effect. Sue me. The point is, he gets a fucking decent-sized crop just from scattering his seed -- behave yourselves -- scattering his seed willy-nilly. Cause some of it fell on soil that was really fucking fertile.
Cause it was thick as shit.
Yeah, you hear me, don't you?The Parable of the Weeds
Anyway, this guy's sowing seed in his field -- same guy, different field. And this is good seed too, none of your low-grade cheap-ass birdseed. This is gooooood seed, man, not baaaaad seed. It's never gonna play with Nick Cave, this seed, no; this is not the sort of seed that, you know, gives seed a bad name. Cause seed does get a bad rep, you know. Like, if I was seed, I'd be pissed off, all those people talking about how this or that has gone to seed. Or how this or that is seedy. Like: yeah, thanks, use me as a benchmark of dissolution, why don't you? Porn, drugs, jazz, pretty much anything the panty-waist prudes don't approve of -- that's seedy, right? Man, if I was seed, I'd be starting a pressure group or something. Like the Pip and Kernel Association Against Defamation or something. Lay off the seed, motherfuckers. Stop using using our fucking natural state of being as an insult.
That's so gay.
Yeah, I'm glad you got that. Some audiences don't.
Anyway. So, this is non-seedy seed this guy is sowing. I don't know what the fuck that even means, but if it's good seed, and being seedy is bad, then that must mean this is, like, the opposite of seed, right? Like the opposite of human would be... inhuman, I guess, so this is inseed. Which is good, apparently, unlike inhuman. Go figure. Or maybe... never mind.
Anyway, the guy plants his good seed, and goes to bed all pleased with himself. But in the middle of the night, some fucker sneaks into his field and sows some bad seed. He sows some weeds among the wheat. Worse, he sows some weed. Cause we all know weed seed is bad seed, right? Can't get much seedier than that.
And of course when it sprouts up, there's all this motherfucking weed among the wheat. One of the guy's servants comes to him and says, boss, boss, there's all this motherfucking weed among the wheat. It's all over the place and nobody knows how it got there? Didn't you use good seed?
Goddamned devil must've planted it in the dead of night, says the man.
He'd normally be the type to say, goshdarn, but he reckons goddamned is just objective description in the devil's case. Like a police report. Subject is goddamned male, approximately five-eleven, ruddy complexion, last seen wearing the still-living skins of the victims of God's wrath. But anyway...
Devil must've planted it in the dead of night, says the man.
That's probably not a good excuse to use if the FDA find cannabis amongst your corn, by the way: the devil snuck in and planted it in the dead of night. Trust me on this. Been there, done that.
So, yeah, the guy's servant asks him if he wants it pulled up.
No, no, no, says the guy. Don't do that. You might end up pulling up the wheat while you're at it, and then where would we be? No, just let it grow. We'll keep our fingers crossed no one notices and then, come harvest time, we just make sure the harvesters know what to do. Gather up the wheat and stack it in the barn as per usual. And then collect all the weed and tie it in bundles.
And then we can... I dunno... burn it?
You've still got the four-way party-bong, right?
[Canned laughter]The Parable of the Rich Fool
So, yeah, in the end, this rich guy grows himself a good crop. Only he thinks to himself, what the fuck do I do now? I got nowhere to store it. But he thinks awhile and he realises: I know what I can do; I'll tear down my barns and build bigger ones, with space for all my grain, all my goods. He doesn't have to think that long a while to realise this, I gotta say, cause it's not exactly brain science, but yeah, he makes his plans and he's real pleased with em. I'll be sorted for years, he thinks. Time to take things easy -- eat, drink and be merry.
Sounds nice, right?
Only, get this... God comes along and says, You fool! Yeah, just like that. Deep voice. Sorta like a villain on some '30s radio serial. You fool! Or like Ming the Merciless. Klytus, you fool! Gordon has escaped and is on his way to Prince Barin in Arboria. Although that's not what God says, obviously. No, he's like: You fool! This very night you will die! And then who will enjoy the fruits of your labours, the goods that you have gathered for yourself.
In other words, how d'you like them apples, huh? Huh? Huh?
How d'you like them apples, motherfucker? Huh? Huh?