not beat around the bush here. The world is a
load of shite. In this day and age, the only
thing that encompasses the whole level of
shiteness in the world is the world itself. And
possibly Microsoft. Satire.
would probably be an appropriate time to ask God
what the hell he thinks he's playing at. Now,
some rather nasty, spiteful people might indicate
that this might be on the same level as asking a
glass of water for a complete listing of the
Central Timbuctoo bus timetables from 1979 to
1981, but that's only because these nasty,
spiteful people have realised how shite this
world is and have decided that no-one could have
consciously created it.
I say, keep an open mind. Just because your local
McDonald's Quarter Pounder with Cheese looks like
it was put together by a brain-dead chipmunk
doesn't mean that McDonalds relies on the
completely random collision of atomic particles
to make their products. Obviously God had good
intentions when he threw our li'l interstellar
home together. He might have spent quite some
time over it, just as I spent a lot of time
slaving over seven households on The Sims which
all eventually fell apart.
I'd just like to say to God if he's reading this,
which he is because God is in all things, that
perhaps you should take a look at the following
references, for the next time you decide to make
Bollocks on the outside
sensitive part of the male human physique, and he
places it in almost the exact geological centre
of the body, right between the legs, dangling
down in it's own special bag. He might as well
have painted them fluorescent orange and made the
hair above it grow into the words 'your foot goes
here'. Some might say that He in his magnificence
deliberately made things this way to test his
creations. They may be right. Some might say I
nicked this joke from a Robert Rankin book. They
would certainly be right. Who gives a shit?
woman's orgasm can take place over fifteen
minutes, and she's ready for another five minutes
later (I think - I'm not a woman). A man's
orgasm, however, lasts about fifteen seconds (if
you're lucky) and it takes up to half an hour to
psyche yourself up for another one. What was the
logic behind that? What was the logic behind
women being capable of shagging, shagging,
shagging, all the long day, and not actually be
interested in doing so, and then making shagging,
shagging, shagging all the long day every male's
ultimate shag fantasy, but leaving them shagged
out after barely fifteen minute's shag? This may
also be a case of testing us, but if it is I
wouldn't want God at my school teaching Biology.
This may also be an attempt at the world 'most
uses of the word 'shag' in a single paragraph
without making any reference to carpets or
tobacco' record. Who can say?
book critic has ever tried to assess the Old
Testament. Maybe they should. I did once. It's a
crap story and it's very badly written. The use
of grammar and diction is precarious to say the
least, quite a few verses are repeated
needlessly, often over and over, and it can't
stop giving out completely miscellaneous details
which aren't relevant at all to the story. This
all makes for a very tedious read and a very
thick book. If God had thought to make the whole
text a bit easier to read and a bit less
impossible to understand then maybe we'd be
spared all the murder, torture, slavery, genocide
and televangelists little bits of religious
mistranslation can cause. And if rewriting the
whole thing's too much of a hassle, how long
would it have taken to put an address and daytime
telephone number in there?
The whole Garden of Eden thing
so God makes the first two people, having spent
an enjoyable week putting together their play
centre. He then sets them to work coming up with
nice names for all their furry friends. He also
puts an incredibly dangerous piece of tasty fruit
in full public view on a tree in the very centre
of this brave new world, and tells his creations
to leave it alone. Now, if I had been God, I'd
have put this incredibly dangerous sweet treat in
a safety deposit box, then buried it in some
rarely-visited area of the garden. Thirty feet
under. Then concreted it over and built a Laser
Quest there or something. But then, if I had been
God, Adam would have been called Rufus and the
forbidden fruit would have been a forbidden bag
of Liquorice Allsorts. Maybe some people just
aren't born to the task. I'm not, but then God
probably isn't either.
The whole flood thing
if you want to be a serious architect, you can't
just flood the problem and expect it to go away.
Sure, this might work with ant colonies and
nymphomaniacs (innuendo), but not with worlds.
No-sirree by golly. If everyone was really as
sinful as you make out maybe that would have been
a good time to parachute in that layabout son of
yours and get him to do some work for once. For
one thing, the sheer impossibility of flooding
the entire world is going to be the meat of quite
a few atheist's arguments when the Internet is
invented. I can just imagine that fateful night
when Noah was given his great task.
Aloha, Noah! How'd you like to go on a little
Don't tell me - Bognor Regis for the weekend.
I was thinking more along the lines of a cruise
for forty days and forty nights.
Kick ass! How much?
Absolutely nothing at all!
Well, let no-one say you don't reward your
There's just a couple of little sub-clauses in
Small print, eh?
For starters, I'm sort of doing a favour for this
animal lover friend of mine. You'll sort of be
sharing the boat with two of every single animal
in the whole wide world.
And you'll have to allow for all the poo as well.
Surely that's up to the ship's owner?
There you've hit upon the other sub-clause.
lengthy discussion later ...
I'm quite happy with Bognor Regis, you know.
No! You shall build an ark. An ark with space for
more poo than is probably healthy to have in an
I wonder if it's too late to take up Buddhism.
a lesson from me, God mate - if you want to be
seen as a kindly patriarch to mankind and thus
obliterate use of the phrase 'god-fearing', try
bribery next time. Give everyone sweeties if they
promise not to be naughty. It works.
Meatballs 3: Summer Job
time I say a little prayer I always finish it off
with this: "Oh, and by the way, please turn
up the gas in the special Hell you have created
for everyone even remotely associated with the
film 'Meatballs 3: Summer Job'. Also, when I die,
please take my soul and plonk it in a ring-side
seat, near the exit and never more than ten paces
away from a snack peddler. Oh, and try not to
make anything so shite ever again, even if you
were only indirectly responsible for this
one." I really hate that film.
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