There I was, receiving a beautifully embroidered stole from the hands of the assisting diocesan priest, Father Christopher Lee. He laid the stole onto my hands and gratefully, I put it over my head. I knew what it meant to receive this stole. I knew that I was on my way towards priesthood.

I waited in line for my turn. There was a long queue ahead of me. When I reached the bishop, I was already wearing it - the black habit of a Franciscan. Together with the golden coloured stole over my shoulders, I was quite the sight.

“Do you….?” asked the bishop.

“I do,” I responded, and the bishop laid his hands on me. For a moment there, I felt power course through me, and when I opened my eyes, I realised that I could speak Latin.

“How can this be?” I asked.

“By the grace of God and the power invested in me, I ordain you Father Catholic Writer,” said the bishop, “with a special ministry to sex and drugs.”

I later learned that due to an urgent need for ministry in this area, I was given special clearance to be ordained and put to ministerial duties effectively. But as I stepped down to thunderous applause, a brilliant white light teleported me away from the church.


There I was, sitting on a cushion the size of a queen-size mattress, floating at the side of a pool of water with giant crabs. The crabs were disgusting, to say the least. Each one had bulging veins that looked like brains. On the cushion was my best friend, Basha.

“Why are you a priest?” asked Basha.

“Because it’s what I’ve always wanted to be,” I replied, not taking my eyes off the crabs.

“I thought you wanted to marry?” he asked.

In an instant, Nutella came to mind. That’s right. I did want to marry her. “But I can do so much more as a priest,” I responded.

“But you can’t have sex,” pointed out Basha.

“There’s more to a marriage than having sex,” I retorted.

“Like what?” challenged Basha. “People get married to have sex.”

I thought of all the reasons why people get married. And I stood up, determined to get the bishop to absolve me of my vows… and I fell into the pool.


There I was, back at the church. I was standing beside another young man.

“Why are you asking me to absolve you of your vows?” the bishop wanted to know.

“Your Grace, I never had the intention of becoming a priest,” I said. “I’m not made for priesthood. I’m made for marriage.”

“In that case,” said the bishop, “I absolve you of your vows. Go wash your mouth with salt.”

So I washed my mouth with salt and then I woke up.


Immediately, I sent an SMS to Nutella: “Geez! I dreamt I was ordained a Franciscan priest!”

To which she replied almost immediately: “Choy!”

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