To sacred precincts strode one day
A well-established Church to pray;
Alas! in an adjacent pew
A Psychic Fraud was praying too;
So, fearing the just God might see
And judge him by such company,
The Church declaimed: "I thank Thee, Lord,
That I am not a Psychic Fraud;
I thank Thee for the taste and tact
Thou showed in the creative act
Which brought me forth, and to me led
The dupes who buy my daily bread.
I thank Thee for those many schools
Where children learn Thy holy rules,
And all about Thy charming ways
With witches, heretics and gays.
I thank Thee for the sacred praxis
Whereby I share my country's taxes,
And clothe my manifold abuses
In fetching, gossamer excuses.
Thou didst well, in a nutshell, Lord,
In making me no Psychic Fraud."
And, all puffed up with righteous pride,
He toddled home quite justified.
Of this, the Psychic Fraud had heard
No solitary blesséd word;
But, wanting a new home extension,
She talked the priest out of his pension.
© Philip Challinor
She didn't see it coming: psychic arrested for $800,000 fraud
Philip Challinor posts fiction, satire and assorted grumbles on his blog: The Curmudgeon. His longer fiction is available here.