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This is a question God

Tell us your stories of churches and religion (or lack thereof). Let the smiting begin!

Question suggested by Supersonic Electronic

(, Thu 19 Mar 2009, 15:00)
Pages: Latest, 20, 19, 18, 17, 16, ... 1

This question is now closed.

Let's get it out of the way
A message to the believers:
No, ID does not have sound arguments, and its claims are bogus. In no sense are they comparable to naturalistic claims such as one finds within evolutionary biology.
No, evolution is not "just a theory".
No, there is no reason at all to respect your beliefs. You, perhaps. Your beliefs, not so.
No, scientific uncertainty does not mean that we ought to listen to every single hypothesis. Some are clearly wrong.
No, you don't have a right to your beliefs. If they turn out to be mistaken, you have a duty to ditch them; and a person does not wrong you by correcting your errors.
No, your failure to come up with an explanation of the world that does not include god is not evidence for the existence of god; it is evidence of your ignorance.
No, the persistence of religious belief is not evidence that there must be something behind it.
No, the belief in god is not a prerequisite of morality.

To the agnostics:
No, sitting on the fence does not indicate humility and open-mindedness. It indicates intellectual barrenness. Grow up.

To the atheists: don't think you get off. You happen to be correct, but that isn't an excuse for being a prissy little blockhead - and being correct counts for nothing if it's not for the right reasons. You could get that from blind luck.
No, the persistence of evil is not an argument against the existence of god.
No, the persistence of evil actions by religious people is not an argument against religion.
No, you don't have a right to your beliefs, either.

And, finally, the hippies.
No, god is not "inside you".
No, your claims to be a "very spiritual person" do not demonstrate that you are "profound". They demonstrate that you are a cretin.
No, things do not happen for "a reason" if, by "reason", you mean something more than "mechanistic cause". If that is what you mean, your statement is trivial, and it doesn't make you sound deep. You are not even shallow.

It's going to be a looooooooong week.
(, Thu 19 Mar 2009, 15:12, 75 replies)
Right then...
...I've been biting my tongue all week, but dammit if religion isn't just so absolutely vile that I just have to rant. This is snipped from the reply that broke the camel's back, wherein preachy atheists sicken non-preachy atheists as much preachy theists.

--

Religion isn't sweet little old ladies baking cakes to raffle for charity. It's 'owning' your wife, and beating her whenever you please. It's 1000 Africans a day dying of aids, and some little bloke who lives in a palace objecting to them doing something that would save a lot of their lives, because the little house of cards he's built to hide from reality in is too fragile. It's millions of deaths brought about squabbling over whose imaginary friend is better, and which bit of land he said you could live on. It's beating your 4 year old daughter to death when she has an epileptic fit because you think she has an evil spirit inside her.

Well, pardon me for being utterly sickened by it. Pardon me for refusing to just watch something sickening happening without speaking out. Pardon me for thinking that beliefs which can be confirmed by anyone should outweigh beliefs you just happened to find lying around in an old book. Pardon me for not wallowing in intellectual cowardice when faced with difficult questions. Pardon me for thinking "I don't know, yet" is a perfectly valid answer to any question. Pardon me for preaching instead of walking past, pretending not to notice the atrocities in plain view.

The little old ladies with their cakes - they're a veil that is drawn over the above. They're the naive staff in the 'legitimate businesses' laundering the drug money. They're the magnificent achievement of the Volkswagon*.

Fuck religion, fuck defending it as nothing more than a different opinion, and fuck people being indignant at having any of this pointed out to them.

*Godwin's law be damned. If ever there was an exception, religion is it.
(, Mon 23 Mar 2009, 23:14, 31 replies)
Sexy Nun
Back in January it was my girlfriend Liz's birthday. I found myself down in Soho and accidentally went into a sex shop, as you do.

I was quite happily scanning through the skin flicks, sex aids, mags and lubes when the fella behind the counter looked up and asked if I needed any help.

"Just browsing," I said, as I picked up a copy of Hot Butts and started *ahem* reading.

The fella shot me a disgusted look and said: "This isn't fucking Waterstones, mate."

I shrugged and carried on with my *ahem* study. Then I looked up and saw it. It was as if the clouds had parted and a shaft of pure, iridescent light shone down from heaven, shot from God's very own index finger as he sat on a cloud munching grapes, basking it in a lovely, godly glow. There may even have been harps playing and a chorus of angels going: "Ahhhh-AA-Ahhhh-AA-Ahhhhhhhhh!"

I walked over and picked it up off the shelf, went over to the counter, and purchased the fucker.

Liz is gonna fucking love this! I thought.

Later that evening after I've made Liz a birthday meal, taken her out for some birthday pints (I'm full of fucking class, me), and given her her other boring presents, I pull 'the ultimate gift' from my bag and hand it over with a big beaming smile.

"There you go, angel," I say, "I love you."

And Liz looks at the box and smiles back at me.

"A sexy nun outfit?" she asks, she starts laughing her wicked sex laugh. "Wanna take it for a test drive?"

REEEEEEE-SSSSS-UUUUU-LLLLL-TTTTT !!!

And, if I do say so myself, this was the sexiest fucking outfit in the world ever. We're talking slinky black mini dress, sluty black stockings, a peephole bra, tiny black briefs that you could swallow if you wern't careful, a rather cheeky little wimple, and even a little crucifix on a chain.

Now, being a Catholic boy the mere concept of a sexy nun outfit gave me the raging horn. Actually having one in my clammy hands and knowing I was going to use it with the woman I love, well, I very nearly had a stroke on the spot.

Moments later, a little bit drunk and incredibly horny, we're getting down to some serious full assault, horny, grinding, pumping, screaming, squelching, hooting fucking - making use of the sexy nun outfit.

God, it made me feel so fucking naughty. It really was fucking incredibly. An almost relegious experience, you could say.

"Spanky..."

"Spanky..."

"SPANKY!!!"

I look up from my work. "What, sweetheart?"

Liz has a strange look on her face, she doesn't seem to be enjoying it. "Spanky, it's not doing anything for me."

Fuck!

Liz can see I'm crestfallen. I stop mid thrust and sort of hang round on top of her, looking pissed off.

"Sorry," I mumble, sounding like a big fucking child who's just had his box of toys taken away.

Liz strokes my hair and says: "You know what. It might work better if I wear the outfit..."
(, Fri 20 Mar 2009, 9:21, 18 replies)
Rainbow-Coloured Booze, Fire, and Addiction
Several years ago my sister had the misfortune to fall in love with and marry a man named Kevin.

My sis had a BIG church wedding, the type of affair the Beckham's would probably have scanned the itinery for only to say: "Fuck me, this is a bit pricey."

Being the helpful, useful individual that I am my sister forbade me from having any involvement in the arrangements whatsoever. All I had to do was turn up to this leafy part of West Sussex on the right day, on the right month, on the right year and stand still for a few hours.

No probs, sis. Consider it done and dusted.

So I turn up at Kevin's house the night before the wedding. My sister's off somewhere else being a big girly. Kevin's a bit of a boring fucker so we stayed in and played on the Playstation with his little brother. My suggestion that we go into Brighton and pick up some tarts was a complete non-fucking-starter.

And this is where my problems started. You see, I'm a smoker. I fucking love it. If I had a choice between sex and smoking I really would probably plum for the fags (err, cigarettes, that is - not the bum love). But my family don't know I smoke. Sounds rediculous, but quite frankly I don't see them that often and its just easier to sneak off and have a crafty smoke, eat some mints, and tut at "those evil fucking smokers," while secretly wanting to go and snog anyone who has so much as had a drag of a Marlborough Light.

And so begins the game of cat and mouse. Spanky pretends to go to the off license to pick up supplies, Spanky is actually hiding in the bushes at the end of the road, sucking the life out of two cigs in a row, chomping down on some mints, and then returning back to the house.

I knew my sister's wedding day was going to be a monumental fucking nightmare as I fought off nicotine withdrawl.

Fastforward a fair bit - its the next day, a glorious sunny Sussex afternoon, my sis and Kevin are now married. My parents have flown in from Italy and are mulling about, the church is full of relatives and well wishers. And I'm sitting near the front thinking: Fuck me, I could do with a fag. I'm incredibly aware of the packet of ten burning a hole in my jacket pocket.

After the ceremony the assembly stands and piles out of the church, we all trail next door to the hotel where my sis is having her reception.

My mum corners me and starts asking when I'm going to provide her with some grandchildren. I duck out of that one and go to the bar.

Big mistake.

I ask for some lager and the fella passes me a bottle. I go to pay him and he utters those two little words that mean so much, those two special, incredibly wonderful words. He says:

"Free bar."

And I'm in paradise.

Roll on a couple of hours. I'm stood at the bar with Kevin's little brother. He seems to have become a bit of a sidekick of mine. We've gone through all the colours of the rainbow for the spirits on offer. After we've downed some bright green stuff I beckon him closer.

"Don't tell anyone, Kevin's-little-brother, but I'm going for a fag," and I put my finger to my lips and go "shhhhhhh," and I fuck off in search of a quiet place to have a crafty cig.

And then I realise I am absolutely fucking hammered. I can hardly fucking walk.

Thankfully, its getting dark by now. I shouldn't have too much trouble finding a quiet area. Fuck! My auntie Maria's grabbed me! She wants to talk about my fucking job! Fuck off, auntie Maria! I make my excuses and move away.

Now, this hotel where my sister was having her reception was a big, posh place with big posh gardens. I stagger out and away from the noise of the gathered crowd and find myself walking towards the church, over the rolling grounds.

By this stage not even the sweet smell of the whole roast suckling pig could sway my attention. I really desperately needed a fag.

Then I walk into something on the ground and fall over. What the FUCK is THAT? I ask myself. It looked like a weird cylindrical parcel, or rather series of parcels, tied to a metal trellis of some kind. Jesus, I'm pissed. I didn't even notice it. Then, as my head clears slightly, I notice there's quite a few of these weird objects spaced out in my vicinity. I look back at the trellis I fell over, its laying on its side. I pick it up and plant it back down as best as I could, and continued in my quest to find a quiet place to smoke.

Eventually I find a secluded spot behind a tree to have a fag.

Later, much later. The dead of night. The rain has come and everyones huddled under a balcony in the hotel gardens. We've eaten, we've drunk shitloads, I've been accused of being a sex pest by my cousins, and now its the big event.

The firework display.

Oh, fuck...

Kevin stands infront of us and goes on about the weather, and says that the organisers are in a hurry to get the show on before the rain fucks up the entire display. It really is hammering down, I see a group of fellas rushing round, checking shit on the ground, only they seem to be doing so far too fucking quickly. Jesus, its only a bit of rain, well, alot of rain...

And then, with a thunderous round of applause, the fireworks start. Kevin's little brother comes and stands next to me. We watch in awed silence.

Wooooshhhh - BOOOOM!!!!

Wooooooooooossssshhhhhhhhhhhh - CRACK CRACK CRACK!!!

Suddenly a set of fireworks which just happened to be in the area where I was stumbling about earlier shoots off - but at an angle.

And three or four incredibly large and powerful fireworks slam into the side of the church just next door, just below the clock tower. It was like something out of Desert fucking Storm.

And there's a little bit of fire and a lot of smoke.

The display continues, but no ones looking in that direction anymore.

All eyes are glued on the church.

Oh, fuck...

And all the way through this I kept my gob well and truly shut.

So, when it comes to being in God's bad books, I reckon setting fire to one of his gaffs is pretty high up on the list of no-no's.

Thankfully the fire didn't last very long, but it did cause an incredible amount of damage to a three meter squared section of clock tower.

If my sister ever found out about this she would fucking kill me. Thankfully, she was insured and that covered the cost.

And anyway, I blame the cigarette and alcohol companies - they've made me the man I am today, not me...
(, Thu 19 Mar 2009, 16:52, 8 replies)
Jehovah's Witnesses
These are great, because they believe the whole Bible is literally true. When they knocked at the door with a 15 year-old girl in tow and me with a raging hangover, I cut to the chase. I addressed the girl directly, and said:

"Noah's Ark, right? All the animals alive today were on board. Well, there are between five and eight million species of beetle in the world. Noah was obviouly a man who spent a lot of his time on his hands and knees looking under logs and stones. And he must have been more resourceful than the entire scientific community from its inception to the present day which has only identified about 350,000 of those species. So, tell me how did Noah get five million species of beetle on the ark?"

She thought about it for a minute, and then said:

"Maybe he only took a few species with them, and they produced all the rest."

"A few species giving rise to a variety of species? We have a word for that."

Shocked, she clasped her hand over her mouth, and gasped:

"Evolution!"

I nodded. She thought about it some more.

"Maybe he cross-bred the beetles to make more species."

"Yep. Still evolution, I'm afraid."

At this point the others are starting to shuffle her away from me.

"And what about freshwater fish? You know, the ones that die if they go in the sea? How much of the ark was aquarium?"

As they ushered her off my doorstep, I saw I'd planted the salmon of doubt.

The older woman with her did come back, and tried to convince me Jesus was an angel. At which point I realised even she didn't know what she was talking about.
(, Fri 20 Mar 2009, 10:32, 9 replies)
Sex & Religion
I used to enjoy chucking children off cliffs.

Granted, they were attached to a rope, and it was on outward-bounds courses in the Lake District.

But that's all changed now, I lost this job after a rather nasty misunderstanding.

Shame, really. I'd been involved in running outward-bounds courses since I was in my early twenties, it was nice to get away into the fresh air and treat a bunch of kids like your the mental fucker out of the Saw movies. Makes you feel all warm inside.

One time I found myself going away for a weekend with a bunch of teenagers and a few adults from some weird Jesus bashing brigade. It was a little bit like being away for a weekend with the cast of Children of the Corn, they came out with some bizzare God-related bollocks. On the first morning I was asked by several of them if I'd "let Jesus into my life." I changed the subject quickly. I hadn't let Jesus into my life - he's a shifty looking cunt. If I let him into my life he'd probably end up squatting and turn it into a hippy commune.

It was going to be a long weekend.

But I had something else on my mind, I had an alterior motive. One of the other *ahem* professionals was a girl named Mary, she was fucking beautiful in a rough and ready kind of way. I'd been away with her a few times before and had done a bit of low-level boob fondling, but nothing more. I was desperate to bang her kidneys from the inside with my womb raider.

Fast forward to the end of the first day.

The God-botherers are having a lovely sing song round the camp fire, singing to Jesus and God and all his little helpers. I've had enough of this. And so's my mate Rich, who's helping out on the course. We decide to venture off into the night and go and find a pub. I ask Mary if she'd like to tag along and she seems relieved to get away.

The three of us know the Lakes pretty well, so it doesn't take us long to stroll down to the local village, find a pub, and sit down to start the important business of getting a bit pissed.

And after a bit of alcohol lubrication things start going well between Mary and I. Very well. Rich is suddenly as useful as a wheel on a hovercraft. When Mary gets up for a piss I suggest to Rich that he might be getting in the way: "Rich, piss off mate - I think I'm in here." Rich grumbles but after a while agrees to go back to the campsite.

And I'm alone with Mary.

After a few more drinks she's so pissed she probably thinks I'm James Bond. Horay! Time to go...

And on the way back we find a nice quiet, peaceful place to lie down... and we very slowly, very gently move through the gears...

She stops me as I peel off her panties.

"Spanky... I've never... done... it... before..."

Now, this is a bit of a revelation. Shit. I don't like breaking um in. Its just fucking horrible.

Didn't stop me though. After thirty seconds of the most intense love-making Mary had ever experienced, I shot my load. Mission accomplised.

We dressed and went back to the campsite. Mary was acting a bit weird and went off to her tent quickly.

And I found Rich sitting by the dying fire, poking it with a stick, surrounded by weirdos from the God Squad.

Now, I was pissed, remember. And I am also a fucking monumental cunt.

I spread my arms and raised them above my head as if I was celebrating scoring a goal at Wembley, and I shout:

"RICH!" and eveyone round the campfire looks up at me. "I'VE JUST FUCKED THE VIRGIN MARY!!!"



And that's how I lost my job working as an outward-bounds instructor.
(, Sat 21 Mar 2009, 13:02, 6 replies)
The Inevitable Church Billboard Post
(Frankly im surprised this hasnt been posted already)

Thank God for church ladies with typewriters. These sentences actually appeared in church bulletins or were announced in church services:
1. The Fasting & Prayer Conference includes meals.

2. The sermon this morning: "Jesus Walks on the Water." The sermon tonight: "Searching for Jesus."

3. Ladies, don't forget the rummage sale. It's a chance to get rid of those things not worth keeping around the house. Bring your husbands.

4. The peacemaking meeting scheduled for today has been cancelled due to a conflict.

5. Remember in prayer the many who are sick of our community. Smile at someone who is hard to love. Say "Hell" to someone who doesn't care much about you.

6. Don't let worry kill you off, let the Church help.

7. Miss Charlene Mason sang "I will not pass this way again," giving obvious pleasure to the congregation.

8. For those of you who have children and don't know it, we have a nursery downstairs.

9. Next Thursday there will be tryouts for the choir. They need all the help they can get.

10. The Rector will preach his farewell message after which the choir will sing: "Break Forth Into Joy."

11. Irving Benson and Jessie Carter were married on October 24 in the church. So ends a friendship that began in their school days.

12. A bean supper will be held on Tuesday evening in the church hall. Music will follow.

13. At the evening service tonight, the sermon topic will be "What Is Hell?" Come early and listen to our choir practice.

14. Eight new choir robes are currently needed due to the addition of several new members and to the deterioration of some older ones.

15. Scouts are saving aluminium cans, bottles and other items to be recycled. Proceeds will be used to cripple children.

16. Please place your donation in the envelope along with the deceased person you want remembered.

17. The church will host an evening of fine dining, super entertainment and gracious hostility.

18. Potluck supper Sunday at 5:00pm. Prayer and medication to follow.

19. The ladies of the Church have cast off clothing of every kind. They may be seen in the basement on Friday afternoon.

20. This evening at 7pm there will be a hymn singing in the park across from the Church. Bring a blanket and come prepared to sin.

21. Ladies Bible Study will be held Thursday morning at 10am. All ladies are invited to lunch in the Fellowship Hall after the B. S. is done.

22. The pastor would appreciate it if the ladies of the congregation would lend him their electric girdles for the pancake breakfast next Sunday.

23. Low Self Esteem Support Group will meet Thursday at 7pm. Please use the back door.

24. The primary 7's will be presenting Shakespeare's Hamlet in the Church basement Friday at 7pm. The congregation is invited to attend this tragedy.

25. Weight Watchers will meet at 7pm at the First Presbyterian Church. Please use large double door at the side entrance.
(, Mon 23 Mar 2009, 18:51, 3 replies)
Good deed
I was walking across a bridge one day, and I saw a man standing on the edge, about to jump. I ran over and said: "Stop. Don't do it."
"Why shouldn't I?" he asked.
"Well, there's so much to live for!"
"Like what?"
"Are you religious?
"He said, "Yes.
I said, "Me too. Are you Christian or Buddhist?"
"Christian."
"Me too. Are you Catholic or Protestant?"
"Protestant."
"Me too. Are you Episcopalian or Baptist?"
"Baptist."
"Wow. Me too. Are you Baptist Church of God or Baptist Church of the Lord?"
"Baptist Church of God."
"Me too. Are you original Baptist Church of God, or are you Reformed Baptist Church of God?"
"Reformed Baptist Church of God."
"Me too. Are you Reformed Baptist Church of God, Reformation of 1879, or Reformed Baptist Church of God, Reformation of 1915?"
He said: "Reformed Baptist Church of God, Reformation of 1915."

I said: "DIE, HERETIC SCUM!," and pushed him off.
(, Tue 24 Mar 2009, 21:06, 3 replies)
The Wake and World War II
Like most Catholics, I've seen my fair share of dead bodies.

I remember when I was five or six my mum and dad packed me into the Opel Cadet and drove me round to my grandparents house. I'd been restaging the dramatic finale to Star Wars in the garden at the time so I was pretty pissed off. I sat, arms crossed tightly across my chest, dressed up in my best Sunday gear, with my bottom lip sticking out so far you could've built a ski resort on it.

So, we get to my grandparents place and I notice all the family are there doing the wedding scene from the Godfather. Only this time everyone appears sad, and everyones wearing black.

I charge into the living room and see my great auntie. She's not looking too good. In fact, she's dead and laid out on the dining room table.

My eyes go wide - I'd never seen a dead body before. She looked peaceful, almost as if she was sleeping. Being an inquisitive little twat I scurry over to her and give her a bit of a poke.

"Spanky!" shouts my mum.

I look round with a big smile on my face - seeing a dead body was actually more fun than playing Star Wars. But then I notice everyone else seems sad, the family is in mourning for this little old lady who would always try to force cups of tea into me when she was alive.

Then I remembered something I saw on TV the other day while I was watching one of those old black and white war films with my dad. The fella on the film did this when his mate karked it, so in my five year old mind it seemed the appropriate thing to do.

I dropped to my knees, shook my fist at the heavens and screamed:

"JESUS! WHY!?! WHY DID YOU HAVE TO TAKE SOMEONE SO YOUNG!?!"

...silence...

After the initial shock, my mum locked me in the car with some biscuits for company until they were ready to come home.

That was a result in my book.

They were very nice biscuits.
(, Tue 24 Mar 2009, 11:54, 7 replies)
Not all Christians are time-wasting twunts
Here's a few I know:

Keith and Kathy are white Zimbabweans (they used to live here in the UK). Despite the growing dangers, they're still running their orphanage on a farm near Harare. They get regularly harassed by the army but continue giving out free food to those in the area who can't feed themselves.

Pastor Sam would be called a wide-boy if he was British. He's constantly doing whatever he can to blag more stuff for the dozens of orphans and abandoned children he cares for in India. Unable to ignore the suffering around him, he's always taking on more.

Christians Against Poverty is a debt counselling charity that helps people who find themselves struggling with debt. They offer practical help - from helping to make a budget to standing by you in court - as well as emotional support. They do such a good job that local councils routinely refer people to them.

Basics Bank is a local (to me) charity that hands out free food and clothes to those who have slipped through the net and have ended up unable to provide for themselves.

Click I Like This if you prefer it when we do this sort of thing to when we bang on about homosexuality and dinosaurs.
(, Mon 23 Mar 2009, 7:19, 16 replies)
The Creation
Dear God,

Pictures or it didn't happen.
(, Thu 19 Mar 2009, 15:53, 2 replies)
My Grandma's funeral
Firstly a bit of background for you all- I come from a very strict Roman Catholic family (my Grandfather was a Deacon ffs- for those of you that don't know that's one down from a Priest).

My Grandma was, to put it bluntly, a bitch. She was sent straight from Hell to torment my mother and her four brothers every day of their lives. Her twat of a husband (Deacon Grandpapa) was Satan himself who abused his kids both mentally, physically and sexually. As you can imagine, me and my two sisters weren't all that keen on the pair. But, for some reason, we always had to stay in contact with them for my mother had been brainwashed by them Catholics from an early age and believed that ten commandment crap about respecting your mother and father and shit.

So when my Mum died 8 years ago me, my Dad and my two sisters jointly thought, 'Fuck them.' And never spoke to them again.

Cut to 5 years after that and Deacon Satan pops his pickled-livered hip-popping cloggs. Did we go to the funeral? Did we fuck.

Exactly a month after that- Grandma decides to hop it back to Hell too. Now, for some strange reason - maybe Catholic guilt, maybe drugs, I just can't say- me and my sisters suddenly feel a little bit guilty that we never spoke to her again.

So we decide that we will go to this funeral. We weren't looking forward to seeing 'the faaaamily' again, but off we popped.

Turns out that the two hour drive we were expecting was actually 2 and a half. So we arrived late. Yes, LATE to my Grandmother's funeral. But not only were we late, we were doing a very noisy 75 down an old biddy style quiet country lane and did a handbrake turn into the church yard. We SCREECHED into the church yard and looked at the whole family, waiting outside, watching the coffin being carried in, utterly disgusted by us black sheep.

To top it off, my sister who had driven decided she needed to change from her 'driving shoes' (a concept I've never understood as I can drive in any shoe imaginable) so she lept out of the car- WAVED at people (remember, they hate us, we hate them, we haven't seen each other for years)- then proceeded in vain to attempt to change from her ridiculous little leopard print ballet pump things to black knee length boots. I don't know which type of footwear was less appropriate. At this point my little sister spots an Uncle crying and bursts out laughing. To this day she doesn't know why and puts it down to nerves. Her giggles didn't stop. All through the service.

So anyway, were (obviously) last to enter the church. But when we got in the only fucking bench thing left was the second row from front. So down we sat. Lil sis's giggles still making her shake uncontrolably. This sets me and big sis off too.. the three of us are sat there shaking like mad women- the worst thing is people thought we were crying so were handing us tissues. We just had to take them without turning round in case they weren't met with the teary faces they'd anticipated and were instead greeting by three grinning idiots. Disrespectful idiots.

The service starts. My Grandmother had three siblings, two of which in were in t'ground too and one which was sat on the row behind us, Auntie Anne. She's a bitch n all. The Priest talks about Grandma's life n that and then says, 'So of course, Teresa will now be joining her siblings in heaven, Frank, Anne..' and Anne shouts, 'I'M NOT DEAD!'

This of course did nothing to help stiffle our giggles and I just couldn't hold it in any longer- I burst out laughing and I - I don't know why- turned around to face my grieving relatives and laughed in all of theirs faces. Their faces of horror just made me laugh even more.

We didn't stay for the wake. We haven't seen the family since.
(, Thu 19 Mar 2009, 16:05, 7 replies)
Any of you so much as fucking twitch
and I will kill you, and your whole family.

Next week I'll be summarising the New Testament.
(, Sat 21 Mar 2009, 1:10, 1 reply)
I'm a Catholic.
In practice I'm an atheist, but according to the rules once you're in you're in, and therefore unless I manage to get myself excommunicated I shall be considered a Catholic until the day I die.

While I'm an atheist, I'm not militant. I'm happy for anyone to hold their own beliefs, as long as they can be reasonable about them. I don't feel the need to screech passages of Dawkins at anyone with the temerity to be openly religious within my field of vision. In short, believe what you want as long as you're not a dick about it.

Some of my friends feel differently though, and this is why being a technical Catholic can occasionally be brilliant - because, in circumstances where I feel someone is in imminent danger of death (Oh no, I thought you were going to step out in front of that car! Whoops, I thought you were choking! etc), I'm allowed to perform an emergency baptism.

There are few things funnier than the look on an aggresive atheist's face when you inform them that not only have you poured water over their head when they weren't expecting it, but that as a result they are now Catholic.

Forever.
(, Fri 20 Mar 2009, 14:41, 15 replies)
I've been sitting here
Drinking a few cans and watching Bill Bailey. He's just reminded me of one of the best God stories I've ever heard.



Back when I was younger than I am now, I was in year 10 at upper school. I was reasonably good friends with one of the year 13 music technology students (whose name has, sadly, escaped me since then, though it may have been "Owen"). It was him that related this story to me.

It happened that Owen (for so we shall call him) had a friend who was a church organist at a small parish church. All very well and good.

Until the day referred to thereafter as "The Incident".

The local bishop had decided to visit the church. Considering that this was a tiny little church in rural Suffolk, this was quite a big deal. Owen's friend was asked to play for the service the bishop was to conduct. He agreed, but said that he would really like to play some film music. The vicar, seeing no harm in this, agreed.




Picture the scene, if you will. The local bishop walking down the nave of the church, flanked by two assistants dressed all in black and walking slightly behind him.

The organ strikes up.

What did he play?

This, of course.

Edit: The link is fully sfw, but for the full effect you should click on it with your eyes closed.




And that, my friends, is genius.
(, Sun 22 Mar 2009, 2:58, 4 replies)
When the last Pope died
I sent my CV to the Vatican applying for the job. I'm not a Catholic or even Christian but I thought in these days of equal opportunities they can't refuse someone a job on such grounds.

I never heard back from them. Still, they were fucking livid down the Jobcentre when I put in on my "What I've done to find work in the last fortnight" form.
(, Wed 25 Mar 2009, 19:12, 1 reply)
"Day 2 in heaven....
and Jade is up for eviction."





*books taxi to Hull*
(, Tue 24 Mar 2009, 11:42, 6 replies)
Praying
I am not religious, my parents didn't christen me and I have never been to church for anything other than weddings and funerals. However I do have the typical wants and desires that I may or may not get depending on effort and basic chance. In these situations I often feel the urge to pray in order to improve my chances of getting what I want. However, this would make me feel like a hypocrite as I’m not convinced that there is an almighty creator, and if there is, surely begging him for selfish reasons is only going to incur his wrath and lesson my chance of success.

Therefore I need a different figure to pray to. After careful consideration I have decided to try praying to Enzyme. Now before you write me off as a nutcase here are some similarities he shares with my current receiver of prayer:-

1) I've never met him.
2) I don't know his real name
3) I'm not sure what he looks like
4) He's responsible for a couple of books being written
5) He's knowledgeable
6) People have pointless arguments over stuff he’s written
7) I wont know if my success or failure can be attributed to having prayed to him

He also seems like the kind of guy that gets things done which is a quality I am looking for in a focal point for my prayers. It will be interesting to see if I can improve on my current success hit rate with this new figurehead for my prayers.
(, Thu 19 Mar 2009, 16:26, 10 replies)
Faith-a-faith-a-faith ahhhhhhh
As a yoof, I was a relatively religious Carrot. Went to the local church and Sunday School (but never forced to go) and got baptised at 6 and confirmed at 16. Both were my choices. I was a fairly regular church goer until I joined uni. I even joined the christian union and started going out with a girl until I realised:

1) She aint going to give out until she's married.
2) Her idea of Christianity scares the cunting fuck out of me.
3) She's a bit of a nutter.
4) Ah bollocks. I prefer blokes.

Soo...I kinda left CU. And then I had to explain to someone (who by the way was training to be a nurse) WHY I left CU. He told me that being gay was against God's will and therefore, congratulations Mr Carrot, you've got a suite reserved in Hell. Eternal damnation is your friend.

This fucked me up by some not inconsiderable amount. I completely abandoned my beliefs and my religion. I got depressed severely. Until one of my best mates (sometimes reads on here, so Dave, you're a wonderful bloke) pulled me together and reminded me of some things:

Either:
a) God made you this way and you cannot be damned for something YOU were made as,
Or:
b) There is no God, so there's nothing to worry about.

Which made me think. A lot. And I realised several things. This evolved my own peculiar version of faith. Basically it reads:

1: Don't judge people on faith or religion, but by actions. You can be a total cunt and still be a "Christian". Going to church no more makes you a good person than going to a garage makes you a car.

2: God does not exist as an old chappy who smites the unrighteous and lives in a cloud. But I do think there is some supreme being or force or something that ties everything together.

3: Swearing is fine. Making tasteless jokes is fine. Drinking is fine. Enjoying loving with people with the same bits as yourself is fine. You were made to enjoy life. And that is what you should do.

4: But equally, indulging in your own religious beliefs is fine. But as long as it is private to you and doesn't hurt or upset anyone. If it gives you comfort, then good stuff.

5: Preaching to people who don't want to hear it will likely lead to pain. This doesn't make you a martyr or superior, it just makes you a twat.

6: Religion is not like Top Trumps. You don't win any prizes if you are more christian-y or jew-y or whatever than your mates. Again, all this proves is you are really a complete twat.

7: On the other hand, being offensively dismissive to people who have faith, whatever that may be, is the mark of a pure, dyed-in-the-wool cunt. To be an atheist requires a degree of intelligence and awareness. Being derogatory to a belief that someone else takes comfort in is really a twattish thing to do. Fine, please by all means feel free to take issues with parts of belief (subjugation of women, circumcision, creationism, whatever) but AGREE TO DISAGREE, and DON'T dismiss it as being a "superstition" or "silly witchcraft" or "not agreeing with what my book says". Whatever. I have the ultimate respect for people like Enzyme who can provide reasoned argument for their viewpoint and accept that sometimes people might disagree with them. It happens. Live with it.

8: Being alive means being a decent human being. Don't do it for reward, either now or in the afterlife. Do it because it's the right thing to do.

By the way, just before the mudslinging starts, I'm not offering this as the only view, or even the right view. It's just my view. And I'm not posting it to sound smug. It's just what works for me. But if any of you want to join the Church of Carrot, simply send £300 pounds in used, non-sequential notes to my Swiss bank account.

Right, I'm off for a wank.
(, Wed 25 Mar 2009, 20:48, 6 replies)
The Bible 2K - Holy Fuck Wars
Old Testament

Genesis:

And lo, God creates Phil Collins and the drum solo.

Exodus:
Starring:
Vin Diesel - God

God's all like 'woah dude I can't believe I let Moses get away with that life-insurance canoe shizzle, I'm gonna FUCK HIM UP.' He calls this his 'forty year plan' like the diet plans, but longer and he actually sticks to it.

It is around this time 'Nursery Cryme' is released, and God goes all locusty/first borny, and everyone thinks he is a right cunt.

So everyone goes on this long walk right, cos they don't like locusts and what not, and they're all propa hungry and shit, but God is not listening cos he is creating Chronicles of Riddick and his COMMANDMENTS.

He makes Moses read 'em cos he is a bit embarrassed. I know! It's God right!? Just shows he's only human:

1. The Pacifier represents a good comedy crossover film
2. I R MOAR MUSHLEE THEN ARMWOLD SWOTSANIGGER
3. I like Tutti Fruttis and paprika crisps

and on and on it went. Moses was like fuck that and made up his own. This does not go down well with God, so he creates 'Them Boots Were Made For Walking' to be played ironically at the Hebrews FOR ETERNITY.

Leviticus:

God decides some completely arbitrary laws are needed. You can only felch chickens on a Tuesday; ANY sex with an ant is consenting (haha unlucky fuckers); Trilbys may be worn on the penis for the purpose of hilarity; Phil Collins can not dance etc.

Numbers

God recommences fucking with Moses.

God - 'I want you to count them'
Moses - 'Eh? Who?'
God - 'HAHA EVERYONE YOU CUNT. Apart from people who wear trendy jeans.'
Moses - 'Right done. What now.'
God - 'Er...fuck me that was quick...er, well, I'm just gonna piss about with you for a little while if that's OK. Incidentally have you seen xXx yet? My deltoids look fucking RIPPED.'

Dueteronomy

Moses is all like brow beaten and weary cos God is STILL taking the piss. I know, it's like get over it God, we're through. This is stalker shit. It's been forty years man. That sea you created, there are like, plenty more fish in it dude, and you should know innit.

But nah he's not having it, he's proper grumpy, a little genocide here, slaughter a few unrepentant wasters there...and Moses is all like 'Hang on. Just hold fire here. This just ain't working out. There's a bit of a recurring theme. You ask me to do summit. I maybe have a little doubt, you convince me by merit of a burning bush, parting the sea, smoke and mirrors stuff, you know. I'm all like well Blaine's being doing that shit for years, but yeah I'll go for it. So there's me carrying out the work of God, but of course some little cunt always manages to stuff it up. But I'm like no bother, he's the epitomy of forgiveness innit. Yeah, if forgiveness is FORTY FECKIN YEARS IN A SANDBOX AND WATCHING YOU CASUALLY COMMIT GENOCIDE ON A CIVILISATION-WIDE SCALE OMGWTF'
God switches off Rambo 4 '...needs more muscles. What you trouting on about Moses? If you think that's bad, wait til you see what I've got in store for this cunt Jesus'. It was about this time that Phil Collins went solo.


The Bible eh!? You couldn't make it up!
(, Wed 25 Mar 2009, 16:16, 6 replies)
This one time a Jehova's witness came to my house...
he said "Can I interest you in the word of our lord."
I said "No thankyou, I'm pretty stubbornly decided religion-wise."
"Oh okay, nevermind." Said the Jehova's witness.
"Ah well, good luck anyway! Bye now."
"Bye."

It was what I like to call, two people not being utter cunts about their differing views. Hardly a classic anecdote I know...
(, Sat 21 Mar 2009, 22:56, 4 replies)
I am looking forward to reading all the posts this week
about how all god botherers are jaded lunatic worshippers of mythical beings and stories.

I have faith, I would never push it upon someone else and most in fact of the people I know who go to church do and would not push their faith onto others. I like having faith, for me personally it gives me peace of mind and having the belief that there is something more after all this is comforting, and working and living in a massively multicultural area it really helps me identify with a lot of the families I work with.

One thing I have noticed though is that a lot of atheists are far worse than a lot of the christians I know when it comes to pushing what they believe. They demand proof and of course unless you are able to come back from the dead be it a scientific breakthrough or a holy miracle you will never be able to give this proof, so then your labelled as a freak and a loon.
My believing in god doesn't harm anyone, and if you are going to throw the "Religion creates War" card at me then I will try and throw the "If they weren't fighting over religion then they would be fighting over something else" card.

Yes you get the odd bloke standing in town with a life size replica of Jesus' Crucifix strapped to his back bawling about fire and damnation for sinners, you can walk past him and ignore him if you chose to? I often open the door to Jehovah's Witnesses and will spend a few minutes listening to what they have to say I have never been rude to them or just told them I am not interested and not once have they tried to convert me, they just give me a copy of the watchtower, read a bit of the bible to me, wish me well and bugger off next door.

Anyway I am not sure what my point is to this post I wanted to put across the point of view from the other side of religion from a normal 30 yr old girls point of view, and say that it doesn't hurt to just get on with life allowing other people believe what they want to believe, I would never try and force an Atheist to believe in God so why are all the ones I have met damned set on proving to me that something that makes me happy and brings me comfort, doesn't exist.

I also want to point out that this post isn't aimed at all atheists just the ones I have met.
(, Thu 19 Mar 2009, 17:24, 22 replies)
i can haz apple?

(, Mon 23 Mar 2009, 3:27, Reply)
Unwell believers...
...somebody phones for an ambulance and when you get there and try to treat the patients' pain and suffering they reply something along the lines of "No drugs or treatment thank you, the Lord will provide me with all the help I need".

I have visions of God meeting them at the Pearly Gates and saying unto them "What the fucks wrong with you? I sent an ambulance and two paramedics".
(, Mon 23 Mar 2009, 1:25, 5 replies)
The Crime Fighting Saint
"So to conclude St Christopher died during the reign of the third century Roman Emperor Decius. This is my painting of St Christopher carrying the Chirst Child," a round of applause, Elizabeth Jones beams back at the class and takes her seat.

Now its my turn.

I go to the front, clutching my own painting. I hold it out in front of me. The class is waiting. My teacher, Mrs Facey, is waiting too.

"This is my painting. From this position he can kill a man in three-hundred-and-twenty different ways with his bare hands," a bit of a stir but I press on. "Look - I've drawn some blood coming out of the baddies mouth," I point this out to my classmates. "He has a jet powered car and lives in a big mansion. He saw his mummy and daddy get killed by the baddies and that's why he fights crime now he's a grown up. The biggest baddies he has to fight are the Joker and the Penguin. You can see the Joker in the background on my painting, look, over there, wearing the purple suit and he has bright green hair. He lives in a city called Gotham and-"

"Spanky!" Mrs Facey cuts me dead. She shakes her head, a strange look of pitty and puzzlement on her face. She almost whispers: "Batman isn't a saint."

This has me dumbstruck.

"Are you sure?"

Mrs Facey nods.

I stick out my chest. "Well, he should be."

And before I can continue Mrs Facey's grabbed my arm and led me back to my seat.

And my mum and Mrs Facey had another one of their 'special talks' when my mum came to pick me up from school later that day.
(, Sun 22 Mar 2009, 1:16, Reply)
Conversations with God
Apologies in advance for length.

A few years ago, I had several nasty bouts with tonsillitis over two or three months. While doctors used to just take tonsils out at the first sign of infection, now they apparently don't like to do that so much, so even though I kept getting it, they were like, "Oh, no, you need to have had it more than six times before we'll operate." (Oh, and for the record, I always took any antibiotics as directed until they were all gone, so it definitely wasn't my fault I kept getting sick.)

So the FIFTH time I got tonsillitis, it was bad. Really bad. I couldn't eat; if I tried, I would cry from the pain. I could barely drink. It was nearly impossible to talk - my roommates said I sounded like a deaf person talking. Sleeping was impossible.

I went to three different doctors trying to find one who wasn't inept. The first one said, "Oh, well, if you've had tonsillitis three weeks ago, you must not have it now, so you probably just have mono and will have to stick it out. No medication." I was pretty sure this guy was an idiot (it was a walk-in clinic, after all), so I went to another doctor. She couldn't explain why I kept getting sick, either, but she gave me more antibiotics and some Tylenol 3s, but after a few days, the antibiotics still weren't working and the painkillers only served to put me in a painful, half-asleep stupor for about two hours at a time.

FINALLY, I went to a third doctor, a sweet older woman who took one look in my throat and cried, "Oh, you poor dear!" and informed me that my tonsils were actually TOUCHING EACH OTHER. Yeah. She also said that my current prescription of Tylenol 3s was so low that it was barely doing anything at all. Thanks, Quack Doctor #2!

She immediately sent me to a nearby ear, nose, and throat specialist, who figured out that yes, I had tonsillitis (yeah, it's not mono, so fuck you, Quack Doctor #1) and the antibiotics I'd been given just didn't work well with my body. She hooked me up to an IV filled with some super antibiotics and about two litres of saline solution to make up for all the water I hadn't had for several days. (When I told my best friend about this, she thought I was going to start peeing like crazy, but I had been so dehydrated to start out with, I didn't have to urinate for another two days or so.) After a few hours on the IV, she gave me a prescription for more of the antibiotics in pill form, plus a TON of codeine to combat current pain and to help out with any potential side effects of the super-strong antibiotics.

All this is just to make you aware of just how much codeine I drank when I got home.

Because as soon as I passed out, I dreamt I was talking to God.

We were in a mall of some sort, going shoe shopping. For God. Did I mention God was a young, sassy, black woman with hair extensions and platform boots? Oh, and a miniskirt. She needed new boots, I think.

Anyway, even weirder was that I was talking to God about my agnoticism - how I wanted to believe in a higher power but that anything in my life that would seem to indicate the existence of a God sounded really stupid when I mentioned it to someone else.

God said, "Well, sure, but that's because they're YOUR reasons for believing in me, not theirs."

I rolled my eyes at this, but she just laughed and kept looking at shoes.

I said, "Well, I mean, can't you just say something really God-like right now, so I'll know that you exist?"

God said no.

"Why not?"

God stared at me.

I said, "...It's because I'm dreaming right now, and the only things you can say are what my mind can come up with, and my mind can't think of anything God-like for you to say."

God said, "Bingo."

"But now when I wake up, I'll have no idea if I was really talking to you or if it was just the codeine!" I whined.

God said, "I know; it's pretty funny."

I scowled at God and told her she was mean. She just laughed again and asked the saleslady for something with a stiletto heel. And then I woke up.

It's been several years since that dream, and it's still completely clear in my mind. Despite (or perhaps because of) the inherent weirdness, I have since realized that as much as I would like to believe in God, all evidence and logic won't let me.

Still, sometimes when I'm feeling particularly despondent, I like to think that there is a God, and she loves to screw with people by giving them completely ambiguous visions of herself. I know that's what I'd do - but then again, that's probably why I dreamt her that way.
(, Fri 20 Mar 2009, 4:04, 2 replies)
The day I moved into my apartment last year,
I was greeted with a cheery "hellooooo" while attempting to carry a box of stuff with one hand.
The owner of the voice informed me her name was Sunny, she lived above my apartment, and that she was having some people over that night and would I like to join them?
I declined as I had plans.
Woke up the following morning, Sunday, and decide to have a wander around the apartment complex to check out the laundry room, pool, gym etc and get my bearings, when I bump into Sunny. This time she's full of the joys of spring and carrying a guitar on her back.

"Sue.....would you like to come to church with me this morning?"
Oh fuck, oh fuckity fuckity fuck.
"No thanks, Sunny, I'm going out for breakfast with friends, but thanks for the offer".
A few weeks go by, and she invites me to all kinds of Christian themed events, with me politely declining and trying not to roll my eyes.

Eventually, after a couple of months, Sunny started telling me how Jesus would save me if I'd just let him into my life. I started getting a bit firmer with her. "Look, Sunny, I appreciate it but I really am agnostic and really don't want to listen to you blithering on any more about Jesus." I swear she was waiting by my car for me every weekend morning, stalking me, trying to get me to see the light.

Finally, one Sunday morning I got home from the boyfriends house after a seriously good morning shag. Sunny is trotting down the stairs.
"Good morning Sue!! Have you changed your mind? Have you talked to Jesus lately?"

"Yes, Sunny, I called his name this morning while getting a right good fucking from my boyfriend. Now piss off, and leave me alone".

And she did. I never saw her again.
(, Thu 19 Mar 2009, 18:45, Reply)
Merry Christmas Everybody!
My parents are cunts.

Every single Christmas from the age of zero upwards they forced me to go to Midnight Mass on Christmas Eve. Aparently some fella was born, or something, and being Catholics we have to get all morose about it and sing fucking hymns and do a shitload of shaking hands with strangers while saying "peace be with you," when I'd rather be at home eating mince pies and masturbating over late night reruns of Carry On movies (Barbara Windsor was fucking HOT).

The Midnight Mass thing was an annoyance until I reached that marvellous age where alcohol became available from the lovely Mr Singh in the local off license. Then Midnight Mass became a fucking nightmare.

In the year of our Lord, nineteen-hundred-and-ninety, when I was sixteen, I rolled up at the church after the service had started.

I was shitfaced.

I flung open the doors and shouted:

"MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYBODY!!!"

And promptly fell on my arse. I then started singing: "SO HERE IT IS MERRY CHRISTMAS, EVERYBODYS HAVING FUN! LOOOOKK TOOOO THE FUUTTTURREEE NNNNOOOWWWW-"

The parisheners were not pleased, God was not pleased, but most important of all, my mum was fucking apoplectic.

I spent Christmas Day 1990 sitting in the garden shed with a terrible hangover. If I dared go anywhere near my dear ol' mum that day, she would've fucking murdered me.

Not very Christian of her.
(, Thu 19 Mar 2009, 15:16, 1 reply)
Miracle on dirty North Street…

My only experience with a bible-tapping-God-botherer was with ‘Clare’…

She was one of those ‘friend of a friend of a friend’ types, who gets passed around because nobody can bear to be around her for very long. Despite being born in Cheswick, and from a C of E family, she suddenly decided to become a devout hard-core Catholic; opting into the faith just so she could be ‘different from everyone else around here’.

Young and single, she was also as skinny as a size zero supermodel third world famine victim…after a particularly severe tummy-tuck procedure…who had been put on a strict diet of nothing but ice cubes and dry lettuce.

In other words, a bit on the slim side.

By Lucifer’s luscious love-lozenge she did my head in. She would chunter on inanely about her ‘future voyage to the perfect afterlife’ and how her health-fad dieting and hard-core praying regime would mean that she was definitely going to heaven; whilst us mere (read: ‘normal’) mortals were all condemned to the seventh layer of Hell (which apparently consisted of an eternity of thick milkshakes and Big Macs…or ‘Satan Sandwiches’ as she called them. Fine with me).

Strangely, it wasn’t her beliefs that really rubbed me up the wrong way about her though…it was the fact that she was one of those ‘over-emotional’ types.

You know the kind I mean…with just a whiff of a hint of a suggestion that everything was not going absolutely ‘tickety-boo’ in the world, and she would burst into tears, sobbing rivers of remorseful, attention-seeking wimpish faux-sincerity all over any unsuspecting bystanders.

Maturely, we all used to call her such imaginative nicknames as ‘Little Lady Blarty-pants’, ‘Teary-arse’, and ‘Clare-the-blub-a-lot-cunt-face’.

Then one particular day, she was round my house with some mates, giving me her usual righteous lecture on my wrongdoings, when I just snapped…I had simply had enough of her bullshit. I wanted to shut both her and her wankish ‘holier-than-thou’ act up…once and for all.

And lo, my plan was formed.

Making my excuses, I nipped down to the local Tesco and bought a massive block of pure solid cooking fat. I then sprinted home and crudely moulded it into the shape of a crucifix, before attaching a little greasy hand-crafted body to it that looked like a bearded, loincloth clad, ‘Morph’ from ‘Take Hart’.

I then approached Clare and offered this carved graven image to her gleefully saying: “Here you go! I’ve just popped by the church and they’re handing these out – they’re ‘Low-Calorie mega-Jesus snacks! I thought you’d like one’”

My eyes then bulged with delight as she snatched the foul concoction from my grasp, said grace, then promptly chomped down greedily on this grisly white lump.

As the massive, gloopy, fatty deposits slithered down her long slender throat I began to chuckle to myself at the thought of how she was unwittingly betraying both her diet and her principles towards her ‘god’.

Suddenly, but perhaps not unsurprisingly, Clare began to take a bit of a ‘turn for the worst’. Her face grew drawn and pale, and she began to move gently from side-to-side as if her balance was failing.

Oooooh bollocks

As I bravely contemplated running away and abandoning her, I then saw one of the strangest sights I have ever witnessed. It was as if the newly deposited fat in her guts had ‘ignited’ inside her…and as she rocked back and forth, her stomach began to swell and then ‘glow’ a bizarre, light-purpley-blueish-pink colour…

(The grim situation reminded me of watching that bit out of E.T when his stomach lights up and his neck extends…only this time with slightly more hair….and longer legs).

I didn’t know what to think. Was this some sort of miracle?...or a curse? Was God going to strike me down? We both looked at each other and I admit I ‘crossed’ myself in the time-honoured ‘spectacles, testicles, wallet & watch’ fashion.

Of course, seeing me do this set Clare off, and the inevitable waterworks started (a-fucking-gain). But as her weeping flowed I began to genuinely fear for her health.

Thinking that by the time an ambulance arrived it could be too late, I then scooped her up in my arms and ran out into North Street, trying to hail a taxi to the hospital.

As I burst out of the front door, I spotted a priest slowly walking towards us down the road. I grabbed him and begged for assistance…first aid…last rites…anything he could do to help,

As I dropped Clare’s wobbling and glowing frame down on the ground before the priest, he laid his hand on my shoulder, watched her move back and forth, smiled at me, and then reassured me soothingly:

“Worry not my child, this is God’s will…” then continued: “…for the Lard mauve sin, Miss Teary-arse sways?”

It was at that exact point that I decided to sell my soul to crap Thursday punnage…
(, Thu 26 Mar 2009, 10:10, 11 replies)
Oh God!!!
I've tried to avoid this QOTW due to my very strong views on the subject but I've just remembered, a day before it closes, one of the wisest quotes on the subject of religion I've ever heard.

In fact, I used to try to remember this every time I heard some deluded ignoramus blather on about whichever fairy was living at the bottom of their garden.

It's from a genius of the early 20th Century, quite unknown these days, but I reckon it's worth looking into some of his other stuff.

From Henry Louis Mencken:

"We must respect the other fellow's religion, but only in the sense and to the extent that we respect his theory that his wife is beautiful and his children smart."
(, Wed 25 Mar 2009, 12:39, Reply)

This question is now closed.

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