My SCRAPBOOK (సేకరణలు): A COLLECTION of articles in English and Telugu(తెలుగు), from various sources, on varied subjects. I do not claim credit for any of the contents of these postings as my own.A student's declaration made at the end of his answer paper, holds good to the articles here too:"I hereby declare that the answers written above are true to the best of my friend's knowledge and I claim no responsibility whatsoever of the correctness of the answers."

Monday, October 29, 2007

Gift of the gab

The nonsense file
By The Colonel

The other day I heard a sermon from a god-man. The subject was eschatology dealing with death and the final destiny. It was not edifying but terrifying.
He gave a graphic view of hell where there would be weeping and gnashing of teeth. I did not mind the terrorism part of it but did mind its long-windedness. The preacher continued forever and anon. It was easily the most long-winded speech I had ever heard in my life.

I was exactly in the same position as Mark Twain when he had to go through a similar experience. Hear the famous writer in his own inimitable words: "Some years ago in Hartford, we all went to church one hot sweltering night to hear Rev. Hawley, a city missionary who went around finding people who needed help and didn't want to ask for it. He told of the life in the slums, where poverty resided; he gave instances of heroism and devotion of the poor. 'When a man with millions gives,' he said, 'we make a great deal of noise. It is noise in the wrong place, for it is the widow's mite that counts.' Well, Hawley worked me up to a great pitch. I could hardly wait for him to get through. I had $400 in my pocket. I wanted to give that and borrow more to give. You could see greenbacks in every eye. But instead of passing the plate then, he kept on talking and talking, and as he talked it grew hotter and hotter, and we grew sleepier and sleepier. My enthusiasm went down, down, down, down-$100 at a clip-until finally, when the plate did come around, I stole ten cents out of it. It all goes to show how a little thing like this can lead to crime."

Well, I mustered enough courage to come out of the ordeal much before its end, and waited outside for fresh air. Yet after considerable time, seeing another sufferer skulking the sermon, I asked him," Has he finished yet?" "Yes," said the man who had just escaped," long ago, but he won't stop."
Lord North, once prime minister of England, was accustomed to sleep during the parliamentary harangues of his adversaries on the same lines as our own Deve Gowda. During a debate on ship-building, some tedious speaker entered on a historical detail, in which commencing with Noah's ark, he traced the progress of the art regularly downwards.

When he came to building the Spanish Armada, the slumbering prime minister got up and inquired from a colleague as to what era the honourable gentleman had arrived. Being answered: "We are now in the reign of Queen Elizabeth." The Prime Minister commented: "Dear me, why not let me sleep for a century or two more."
Late Piloo Mody was one of our finest parliamentarians. He was once scheduled to speak late on the programme at a meeting at which all the speakers had been brutally long-winded.

The chairman introduced Mody saying, "Piloo Mody, the famous parliamentarian will now give you his address." Mody faced the haggard audience and said, "Mr. Chairman, ladies and gentlemen, my address is the Parliament House, New Delhi. " He sat down and received a thumbing ovation.

(The Week, 04:11:2007)



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