Gullibility
I’m a gullible twat. One time one of my mates convinced me the bloke sitting sipping a pint in our local was Elton John. OK, I was Boris Yeltsin pissed – but rolling up to a fucking huge construction worker with a bad wig and terrible glasses, poking him in the shoulder and slurring: “Play us a song then, you shirt lifter – oh, and Watford are fucking SHIT!” goes down like my sister after half a bottle of lambrini.

So it really leaves me cold when people I would otherwise consider reasonable, rational, some would even say intelligent individuals come out with a load of old monkey spunk bollocks about conspiracy theories, the existence of aliens, a strong and unwavering belief in the existence of Nessie and Bigfoot and a whole catalogue of other dodgy paranormal cuntishness, supported by a myriad of pseudo-science and ropey photos/videos which any normal person would file mentally in the drawer marked: Absolute cock.

Just really winds me up. And let’s face it, anyone who doesn’t agree that the Earth is only a couple of thousand years old, having bum sex means you’ll get a one way ticket to hell, and that dinosaur bones were put in the ground by God to test our faith is a fucking lunatic. My mates are imbiciles – with their homespun hocum mumbojumbo fairetale twattery. Give me the bible anyday; that’s a book you can believe in. I don’t think the old boy in the frock at the front of the church would’ve lied to me during my most impressionable, mallable formative years...
( SpankyHanky, Mon 19 Oct 2009, 13:06, Reply)