The herald was nothing if not clever and decided to set up a video conferencing network, determined to speak to the people. So a link was created to ‘nosdra-damus/armourgeton.org. When it was done and thousands had logged on, those ‘working’ from home, Government Ministers and ‘clergypeople’ amongst them, the herald began to deliver a message to the multitudes.
“Have none of you learnt a lesson from the Golden Calf?”
“Don’t know that one,” said an attendee. “I usually drink in Wetherspoon pubs. What’s it like?”
The herald frowned. “This ignorance is what I have come to expect. You have strayed from the path, your eyes focussed on self gratification and false houses of worship. The Golden Calf, Exodus thirty-two, the worship of false idols.”
“Wait a minute. Exodus Thirty-Two. That’s a night club just off the Edgware Road, innit?” the Minister for Arts, Heritage and Tourism said.
The herald rolled his eyes and ignored the remark, knowing that such a job was completely irrelevant with the banning of multitudes. “Exodus, thirty-two point four, to be precise, tells you what happens when you turn from the path and worship false idols. You, all of you, people, politicians, priests... you have set up your gods of Mammon, your false worship of wealth and gratification, your smart phones, laptops, games consoles, your pubs and bars, your box sets, your Love Island and Eastenders drivel and even your churches where you hang false images and listen to messages from people who claim to represent the true path but peddle only their own control agenda. And now you are reaping what you sow... I mean sewed. A plague has been sent amongst you and until you repent and turn your face back to the path, it will continue to... ”
As the herald’s voice grew louder and more intense, he began to rent his robes.
“Uh... why are you renting your robes?” said a female voice.
The herald focussed his gaze on the camera. “I’m not. These are my own robes. I need no other clothing. Turn away from the falseness of such things, fashion and bedecking yourselves in the finery of gold and silver and ye... I mean, you, will be saved.”
“Hang on, why should we believe you?” said a former MP of a minor party. “You’re a footballer. Just because you ain’t playing at the minute, you’re just attention seeking.”
The herald looked puzzled. “What? A footballer?”
“Yeah, you’re Nosdra Damus, the Real Madrid defender.”
Again the herald rolled his eyes. “That’s Sergio Ramos, you fool. Yet again you demonstrate that your focus is only on false idols. I warn you, turn away from the true path and more plagues will be sent amongst you so that you will be smitten –”“I already like you,” said a high ranking bishop.
“... Smitten from the face of the Earth.”
“Bit harsh,” a voice shouted out. “I mean, if whoever you represent thinks that the only way to get respect and regard is to force people to follow the path you talk about with threats, they can’t be much of a nice guy. I mean, freedom of choice works better, doesn’t it?”
The herald leant forward to say something and then sat back, nonplussed by the remark.
And then, as if by divine intervention, the network link crashed, a computer virus infecting the whole system and rendering it useless.