[73] 
 
 
 
 
 
CAPITULUM XI 
 
 
It was a sad farewell when my career in the 
Church again dragged me from the arms of my re-
luctant family.  Good-bye, sunny shores of the 
Hidden Island of the Caribbean Sea !  Good-bye, 
delicious tirly-whirly of my lovely sister !  Good-bye, 
incestuous ingle-nook of my mother, fiery flap-
doodle of my manly sire !  Never again perchance 
shall I see your dear faces :  never again grope in 
your happy hunting-grounds for the game of grap-
ple-my-belly. 
With a heavy heart I set sail, and after a pleas-
ant but uneventful voyage landed once more in 
England, to find that my little brochure on “ Cunts ;  
a few methods of fuckin’ ’em ” which had attracted 
the favourable notice of all classes, had been su-
perseded by the lengthy and to my mind tedious 
monograph of a Turkish Mullah, entitled “ Arseholes :  
some thoughts about sucking me.” 
The table of my library (I was at this time vicar 
of Buckingham) was absolutely littered with ap-
peals from the various dignitaries of the Church, 
including the Pope himself, urging me to devote my 
energies to preparing a counter-blast to the pre-
sumption of this audacious heretic.  I complied.  I 
issued a public challenge to him to compete with 
me on the floor of the Albert Hall, he to practice his 
dogma, and I mine.  He refused, which was already 
something.  When, next spring, I brought out my 
monumental Treatise on Heights and Hollows, em-
bracing the entire subject, he again sank into de-
served disesteem, and, vainly striving to restore his