The Con - Part 17

[otter]

Father Brennan was fully computer literate thanks to Maggie. She had given him a crash course some months previous. He loved his little Ipad and has spent hundreds of hours during the past few months researching modern fishing techniques, learning the new lingo and reckoned he was educated enough to discuss any topic.

It did not surprise him in the least that an email had arrived from Jimmy before dinner time. 'Thanks for a humbling day on the river Father, I enjoyed your company. If you get a chance can u email me the address for that secret website. Jimmy'.

He could picture Jimmy, sitting at home on a posh armchair, glass of malt in one hand, eagerly awaiting the reply. He did as he had been instructed by Liam and traced the IP address of the sender. That was all Liam needed to ensure that outside the three Muskateers only Jimmy could gain access. He emailed Liam the details and suggested that he open their online shop at 6pm and he then waited until seven to reply to Jimmy.

Up to recently he received few emails despite offering it to all his parishioners so that if they were sick they could sort of do online confessions. God knows what hot water that would get him in with Rome but he would cross that bridge should any problems occur. Only a few had used the facility. Old Mary Sweeney, at the ripe old age of eighty three had confessed to having a crush on Father Brennan and suggested a sexual romp behind the altar. He advised her to say three Hail Mary's and charge her wheelchair. If she could drive it alone as far as the chapel he would be happy to oblige.

Once a month he sent out what he called the Parish E-Letter. It was a great way to contact everyone, especially those that could not be bothered to sit their **** on one of his pews on a Sunday. He had even offered a bounty and advertised it at the end of the Newsletter. "If you know any sinners that do not attend mass. A reward of €5 for their email address."
To date he had not paid out any money but he was an eternal optimist. He was certain that when money was scarce at Christmas he would up the ante to €20 and they would come flooding in, Amen.

Father Brennan had by pure chance gained access to a stream full of sinners. During his research he had joined a few fishing forums and he was astonished at the behaviour of many of the members. As his own father used to say 'Half of them should have been drowned at birth.' That was fine for his father, he wasn't a priest. So he took a chance and posted his email address online. Every day his Inbox was full and his parish had doubled in size overnight. To speed things up he had a few templates in Word that he pasted into the emails.

"Say three Our Fathers, a decade of the Rosary and stop buying a new fly line every month. The ones you have are fine."

"Say two decades of the Rosary. UV is the work of the devil and the trout cannot see it anyway."

It was Champions League night so he settled on the couch leaving his Ipad on the coffee table. It was strange to watch a game on which he had no financial interest in the outcome. Matters of a fishing nature had taken over from his normal habits and so he simply watched as a neutral. Every few minutes he checked his email, Jimmy's order, if he had read the man correctly, it should arrive at any moment.

The match was boring in the extreme, barely a single shot on target in the first half and now midway through the second, it had not improved. Struggling to stay awake he almost dozed off to sleep several times, shaking himself awake each time with a loud grunt. When the referee blew for full time and put everyone out of their misery, he checked the Ipad one final time before going to bed.

'Bingo', he shouted when he seen the Email in his inbox.

Subject: Popes Order
Sender: trouthunterjimmy@gmailxxx.com (currently offline)
Text: 1 Popes Dry fly Rod 9ft €1500
1 Popes Secret Nymph Selection € 120
1 Popes Secret Dry Fly Selection € 230

Father Brennan almost choked when he seen the email address, "trouthunter", Jimmy was an even bigger idiot than he had reckoned. Shuffling off up the stairs to bed he could not contain himself from laughing. Even when he succumbed to sleep his face still bore an enormous grin.

[Ripple]

Been busy, so had a feast of 6 parts tonight, great story.

[otter]

Father Brennan just received an E-confession fro K.B. in scotland.


********

Forgive me Father for I have sinned, and it has been many seasons since my last confession.

My sin? There have been so many, indeed I have broken all of the Ten Commandments.

Yes, all of them, very well, in order;

One. I have worshipped other Gods- Hardy, Orvis and Sage, all of whose icons and votary items were in the possession of my late parents. As soon as I was able, I made offerings at their temples and added to the collection, enough to fill a house.

Two. I have made graven images, flies, thousands of them. They adorn my jacket, hat, walls, boxes and cupboards. I have offered them up as sacrifices to the gods. There is not a loch or river within fifty miles that does not have a fly altar in the heather, bracken or trees, left there by myself.

Three. I have taken the Lord's name in vain. A twelve pound springer if it was an ounce. Played it for twenty minutes under the trees at the Doctor's Pool. A breath of wind on a flat calm day and a branch falls from above breaking rod and severing line.
An "Act of God" the insurers said. Oh yes, I took his name in vain alright, I called him a .... OK I'll skip that bit, you get the message.

Four. Keeping the Sabbath, I am a working man Father there are only two fishing days in the week. You lot managed to keep me from the salmon on Sunday, but by God I'll chase the trout. Oops, broken Number Three again.

Five. Honour my Father and Mother. I think not! It was not much that they owned. A wee cottage, just a few acres of a croft beside a fine wee loch stuffed with bandies and the occasional whumper. Two hundred yards from the sea, so fresh run salmon and sea trout in season. A leaky old boat. Did they leave it to their only son? Did they feck as like! My sanctimonious sister got the lot. Father and Mother!

Six. Kill, oh yes. Food for the table and trophies for the walls and don't give me this catch, photograph and release nonsense either that would be "graven images" in Number Two wouldn't it? Either way you lot get me. Hung for a sheep as a lamb I say.

Seven . Adultery. Well yes. But only once or twice a season, and just for a week at a time. Her husband owns a double-bank, mile-long beat on the Tay and when he is away on business she enjoys some "company" through the night if you get what I mean. It is not a big sin really- she's a protestant. Best fish, Father? Twenty-two pounder on a Garry Dog.

Eight. Stealing. There is a fine wee run of the river just outside the village. Us locals have met there for a cast and a chat since God was a boy,- shit Number Three again- then an English Lord buys the estate and up goes the barbed wire and "No Fishing" signs. Technically poaching is not actually stealing, I called it "traditional rights" and the sheriff agreed, but he did me for taking the barbed wire. Yes Father, the English Lord kicks with the other foot.

Nine. False witness. I tried to blame his keeper for taking down the barbed wire, said he sold it to me in the pub and that was why they found it in my shed. He was at it with salmon and venison anyway, everybody knew it. Unfortunately one of his best venison customers was the ruddy sheriff.

Ten. Covet. This is the big one. It's that croft that my sister has. It would not be so bad if she actually fished it, but no, when she is not at Mass she is running errands for the priest, tending the poor and sick, knitting blankets for African orphans or on her knees praying for salvation. Oh, she is one of the true faith alright. Nobody is allowed to fish that water now, nobody. There are nine pound trout in there, I know, I had them as a boy. And the salmon fresh-run, sea-liced  silver ingots. God gave this gem to us all, dominion over all the animals and fishes and all that. Oh, there is an exception, she runs a wee respite home for you lot- Retired, Recovering and Resting Priests Only. They get the use of all that antique Hardy kit that my parents left her. The only good news is that none of them are anglers. Maybe there is a God after all.
Oh yes, I covet.

That's it, I have confessed.

One Hail Mary? I thought I would have been on my knees for a week!

Oh, "one other thing", yes of course.

My sister's address is..........................

**********

[Ripple]

Lol very witty.