After Patrick Fynn had squandered the proceeds from the sale his first book, “You Are on Your Own”, last year, being broke turned him into a religious person – a catholic, to be precise. Regardless of how many masses he attended in a week, his fortunes did not change. He prayed to every statue and artifact in the parish with the hope that things would get better. Sadly, all his attempts were as fruitless as finding wisdom in an idiot’s mind.

So, Patrick decided to venture lottery. Interestingly, he planned to pursue blessing from God and luck through the lottery at the same time. When his best friend, Manuel Nii, advised against serving two masters simultaneously, Patrick rejected the advice like Ghanaians rejected President Mahama in the 2016 polls. The harsh tone in which he responded proved that indeed hell hath no fury like a broke man.

“Haven’t you read in the bible that we should not put our eggs in one basket?” Patrick asked his friend.

This question left Manuel Nii as confused as a deaf man in a blind community. Where in the bible did his friend read that verse from?

Patrick continued his quest for wealth unabated. He wrote down every possible number combination on this earth – his date of birth and that of all his family members and friends, even his sixty-nine ex-girlfriends and crushes, the date broke his virginity, registration numbers of almost every car he saw and almost every phone number saved on his phone. He even had an angelic vision from Bishop Obinim in his dream where the trusted man of God gave him lottery winning numbers and he wrote those too down.

Every morning, Patrick would go to the parish to pray. After some time, he stopped praying to all the other statues except the Holy Mother of God.

“O, blessed virgin
You who have conceived without sin,
Teach us to sin without conceiving”, he would always begin his prayers. Whatever that meant.

All the while, the cleaner of the parish, Yvonne Fay, noticed how Patrick frequented the temple. Her curiosity led her to find out exactly what the young man came to pray about in the chapel. She also followed him to see the kind of life he lived.

One morning, Patrick went to the temple again to say a prayer to the blessed mother. Yvonne Fay hid behind the statue of the Immaculate Mother and waited for him.

After his usual opening appellation, Patrick continued his prayer, “Queen of Heaven and the queen of my heart…”

“Don’t patronize me!” Yvonne said from her hideout.

Patrick was startled! Was the statue talking back to him? He remembered the story of Samuel in the temple and kneeled before the statue of Mary.

“Speak, Mother. For thy servant heareth”, he said.

“You come here every day and call me the queen of many things then you go back to Facebook and lavish on all the girls there, especially one Maukeni and Bella Mundi”.

“Oh, Mother of God”, Patrick responded. I did not take you to be a jealous one. Please, forgive me. But you do not have anything to worry about when it comes to those two ladies. They are only my crushes and I am confidently crushing on them because I know that I won’t get to be with them in a thousand years. I am satisfying myself with doting on them so that the pain of knowing I won’t have them would be mild”. He paused to get a feedback from Mary but there was none. Yvonne Fay was holding herself from laughing.

“See, Most Pure and Ever-Virgin, if you cause me to win a lottery, I promise I won’t have anything to do with these two ladies and, for that matter, any other lady on this earth”, Patrick lied.

At this point, Yvonne had gained her composure back. “Liar!”, she retorted. “Don’t you know I am omniscient like my son and I know everything?” She continued.

Patrick’s bowed his head down in shame.

“Anyway, your womanizing ways are not much of a problem to me. What bothers me is how you come her every day, dragging your feet on the floor and making the chapel dirty. You come and stand here and pray that I help you win a lottery. But the idiot you are is yet to buy a single lottery ticket. Are you okay?”

“Bu-u-b-u-t…”, Patrick stammered.

“But what? Get out of my sight before I render you impotent!”.

Only Einstein can calculate the speed with which he fled from the temple

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