A Parable

“Call me Sir Trevor or scurry off, little man. I make money. Have you heard of swimming pools? I own four.”

The Mormon proselyte stared back at The Investor. All he had offered was a chance to explore some ‘literature’. There were big ideas in these pages. He felt he had a shot at changing The Investor’s life. If only he could get the wayward man to listen.

“What are you staring at you thick little dabber? Get off my doorstep, little man,” roared The Investor. It was Sunday and he had a ham in the oven. But what he didn’t grasp was this: This was no average Mormon proselyte. This was Jackie the Mormon and he meant serious Mormon business. Last week he broke the knees of a West End punter and no one really knows why.

“I am a man of More. Speak to me with respect and courtesy,” said the Mormon proselyte with steel in his eyes. It’s quite possible he was carrying an erection.

“What did you say to me?” Retorted the Investor. His favourite past times were money and shooting peasants.

“I am a man of More,” replied the Mormon coolly. “Are you not also a man of More?”

The Investor furrowed his brow so that he looked like a cunt. This was tactical.

“I make money. Have you heard of swimming pools? I own four. Now, get off my land or I will cram you in the oven with my ham, little man.”

The Mormon breathed in deeply. He looked skyward. He opened his literature. He looked into the eyes of The Investor. He smacked the Great Book over the head of The Investor and pulled a giant axe out of his backside. The Investor gasped and ran back into his massive fuck-off-house. In his haste, he tripped on the mink rug and fell face first onto the marble, sliding a fair distance until he found himself face down under a Basquiat. Jackie the Mormon bared down on him, wielding the axe.

“Stop! Please! I’ll give you a stock tip!” Pleaded The Investor. “I can help you! Do you like swimming pools? I own four. How about ham? Do you like ham?”

But it was no use. Jackie the Mormon had taken offence on behalf of the Holy Wronguns and revenge was on the menu.

“My mistress? Do you want my mistress?” Squealed The Investor in desperation.

“Is she holy?”

“Is she what?”

“Is she holy?”

“Yes, yes! For the love of God she’s very holy!”

The Mormon stopped. He lit a cigar and put his trousers on (in that order).

“Well, I’ll be damned. Come on, let’s have some ham and take a look at the pools.”

The Investor heaved a sigh of relief and got to his feet.

“You had me worried then, son. I thought you’d really lost it,” said The Investor as he put his arm around his first-born. “Never forget; buy low, sell high, and don’t interrupt the compounding.”

“I know, daddy.”

And like father and son, they feasted on the ham and had a swim in the pool and talked shop, and all was like water under a bridge.

Later, The Investor introduced his son to his mistress. Jackie the Mormon took one look at her. He shook his head. Not for him. Her Hitler moustache was very off-putting.

For a moment it all made sense. He ran and dive-bombed into the third swimming pool.

It’s the simple things.

This is the word of the More.