In one of his more lucid moments, a parishioner I visited recently in the heavily padded intensive-care ward of a local psychiatric hospital reminded me of the little known parable of the injured bird.
This parable was usually attributed to God 7148, but God 7235 claimed that He was its author. This created a terrible row and, as a result, God 7235 refuses to speak to God 7148 until She apologizes to Him and pays Him appropriate compensation for passing off His work as Her own. In turn, God 7148 claims that God 7235 is an illiterate fool who couldn’t come up with a parable to save His soul. Needless to say, God 7148 refuses to apologize. On the contrary, She has threatened to sue God 7235 for slandering Her good name by calling her a plagiarist.
Never mind. It is the parable and its moral, not its authorship, that matter. However, don’t tell God 7148 or God 7235 that. They’re very likely to smite you if you do.
With that introduction out of the way, I shall share the parable with you forthwith.
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The Parable of the Injured Bird
One pleasant autumn day, a young woman went for a stroll in a little-used park near her home. The woman was tall, slender, single and absolutely voluptuous. It was as if phrase “drop-dead gorgeousness” had been invented just for her. Her appearance is irrelevant to the story, but I like to fantasize, so forgive me for digressing.
Before long, she eyed on the ground a bird with a broken wing. In all other respects, the bird was healthy and, if such things were done in the avian world, even in America it would have had little difficulty getting health insurance, provided the policy included rapacious deductibles and co-pays and a rider strictly excluding the preexisting broken-wing condition.
Due to it’s condition, the wounded bird could not fly, leaving it vulnerable to predators, including sick humans who get their kicks torturing little animals that are in no position to return the torture. Being a kind, gentle soul, the young woman carefully picked up the bird and lovingly carried it back to her house to save it from such a ghastly fate.
Back home, the young woman immobilized the bird’s broken wing by wrapping it against the bird’s body using gauze tape. She then fed the bird and gave it water, so it could satisfy its hunger and quench its thirst.
The woman fed and provided water to the bird a few times every day, fulfilling its desires whenever it issued the slightest of chirps that sounded to the women like pangs of hunger. Every second day she carefully replaced the therapeutic gauze so it would not get dirty and risk infection.
After two weeks, she removed the gauze and found that the broken wing had healed. The bird was able to fly, but only feebly. Knowing that, in its severely weakened state, the bird would not be able to escape any but the slowest of predators, the woman was careful to not let the bird out of the house until it had fully regained its strength.
For a whole month the woman encouraged the bird to practice flying around the house, fed it copious amounts of food, and provided it with a surfeit of water. She did not mind the frequent droppings that the bird left on her bed, dresser, tables, couches and food stuffs, not to mention hither and thither on the floor, because the bird was one of one God or another’s creations and, therefore, whatever issued forth from it was heavenly shit.
Over time, the bird came to trust the woman implicitly. At the end of the month of feeding and recuperation, when the bird was healthily plump and ready to rejoin its family and avian friends in the great outdoors, the woman tenderly summoned the bird into her hands, whereupon she quickly wrung its neck with a single snap, stripped it of its feathers, seasoned it, and cooked it to make the most delicious meal she had tasted in years.
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The moral of the story is that good food comes to those who wait on an injured bird. Gods 7148 and 7235 are both considered to be extremely shallow, moronic, worthless deities. In truth, neither one of them could write a half-decent parable to save Her nor His otherwise everlasting lives. So either one of Them could have authored the parable of the injured bird. Screw them for wasting our time with it.