b3ta.com qotw
You are not logged in. Login or Signup
Home » Question of the Week » God » Page 18 | Search
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, 19, 18, 17, 16, 15, ... 1

This question is now closed.

And on the seventh day…

God gazed down upon his flock and quoth:

“Ye fucksocks, some of the posts this week mean that my trusty smiting stick will soon be reduced to nought but withered stumpage!"

Lo and verily my brethren, thou must meditate deeply before considering the next QotW. Lest we forget the dark plague of the ‘mixtapes’ debacle...and after some recent arse-ups, we must not stray from the path...lowly wandering willy nilly into choosing any old wank.

Thou must take heed of the commandments:

* interesting to read, i.e. we won't get bored of reading the answers after about 10 of them
* not been asked on this site before
* fun to answer

And glory will be shone around like teen-spluff at a Girls Aloud gig.

Clasp your hands together, people. A little blind faith is necessary, but as we’re all too aware…Rob moves in mysterious ways…
(, Thu 26 Mar 2009, 11:09, 8 replies)
How I lost my faith
I lost my faith the day Chewbacca died.

He was a wonderful furry fucker. He'd hang round in the Millenium Falcon with Han Solo, R2D2, and the gay gold annoying one.

Then one day I went to wake Chewbacca up with a playful rattle of his cage and a shrill" "Chewie! Chewie! CHEWIE!" But there wasn't the normal furry little bullet bouncing round and squealing like a motherfucker response.

Alas, Chewbacca was dead. I found him in his little house, lying on his back with his claws curled up and snarling, as if he was playing Jimi Hendrix air guitar.

I lifted him out by an ear and took him to show my mum.

"Oh, Spanky - your hamsters died!"

"Can I bury him?" I asked, tears flooding down my face. I remembered all the happy times we'd had together. Ahh, the dreamy afternoon when I put him in my snowspeeder and lobbed him down the stairs.

My mum found a box - one of those big matchboxes with those matches you use to light gas cookers. "Put him in there and we'll bury him when we get back from church."

Fast forward a few hours. Church. Dull. Boring. Mind numbing. Worse than fucking maths class.

Then its time for communion.

I shuffle up to the bloke in the dress at the front, still sniffling. But before he can stick something in my mouth (a wafer, not his cock), I reach into my pocket and pull out...

"Father, can I bury Chewbacca in the churchyard?"

This sets off a murmur in the church.

The cunt in the dress ignores me, I'm looking like Oliver asking for some more, except I'm asking to dispose of the corpse of dead rodent instead.

"Who does this child belong to?" says the bloke in the dress.

And my mum shuffles forward, picks me up round my waist, and carries Chewbacca and I away.

And I remember in the car on the way home thinking: I don't like God anymore.

Sorry for lack of funnies, but quite a defining moment in my life, the death of that hamster...
(, Thu 26 Mar 2009, 10:29, 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)
My god
My god sits in the back of the limousine.
My god comes in a wrapper of cellophane.
My god pouts on the cover of the magazine.
My god's a shallow little bitch trying to make the scene.

I have arrived and this time you should believe the hype. I listened to everyone now I know that everyone was right. I'll be there for you as long as it works for me. I play a game, it's called insincerity.
(, Thu 26 Mar 2009, 10:06, 5 replies)
I haven't seen this story referenced anywhere yet. An interesting argument. I think it should be allowed, after all birth certificates can be altered and they are much more important legal documents.
(, Thu 26 Mar 2009, 9:50, 6 replies)
I am God

Six years a b3tan today!

I listen to your prayers, but don't answer them.
I tell everyone that, yes, yours IS the one true God(s).
I don't get involved in disputes between tribes, but I do enjoy them.
I only really made one rule: Life isn't fair - man the fuck up!
And lastly, if you're banking on eternal life in the hereafter, then you're in for a surprise.
(, Thu 26 Mar 2009, 9:25, 4 replies)
When I was but a wee MasterOli, before I'd got any hair, before I realised that girls were, you know, ~girls~, not just soppy boys, before I'd even got a scar on my left knee, I'd get home from a hard morning's slaving away at Playschool, hungry but happy, ready for luncheon and games with my mum.

We'd play all kinds of games, such classics as "make the mushy peas stick to the wall!" and "Feed the dog the nasty bits!". My very favouritest game ever was "don't eat it!".

The rules were simple: however many silly faces and silly humming noises and hairyplane impressions my mum made, I had to jam my lips together tight just as the spoon was going in and flick it all over my face. Oh, how I'd giggle.

But she had lots of tricks. She'd alternate between planes and trains, making quick little movements to get it all in me, distracting me at the last minute till my mouth was full of mashed up veggies, meat or pudding - all from such disturbingly similar jars that they might easily have been cat food. Then the countdown to me losing would begin: one more!...another one more!...little bit more!...Last one! - All gone! we'd cry, and I'd giggle, secretly cursing and plotting how I'd win tomorrow.

But then one day I got home from a particularly stressful day running around screaming to find my parents dressed up all smart and looking sombre. Apparently an auntie had died and we were all off to the funeral. No games today. I had to get all dressed up and go to a funeral.


I'd had the best plan for winning lunch too: I was going to turn my head at the last second so all the juicy bits went in my hair. No fair. And this, the total opposite of lunch games, being told I had to sit all quiet in a church for hours after driving miles and miles and miles with a boring old War of the Worlds music tape. They said sorry, they said I could have stayed if they could have found a babysitter, they said a two year old was too young to go to a funeral anyway so I had to be on my bestest behaviour, but this is how it had to be and I could play on my spacehopper for as long as I wanted later.

So that was that: off we went.

But I had had a hard day. Too much running, too much giggling and bouncing. I fell asleep on my mum's lap for the whole service. Probably my first ever experience of church, and I slept through it.

Don't think I missed much though. I probably missed lots of speeches from people who knew my great auntie. I missed some songs. I missed the Rabbi talking about death and what a lovely person he'd been told a few minutes before my great auntie was, and whatever else Rabbis do.

I didn't miss the coffin moving though. I woke up for that bit. I didn't miss the curtains pulling up and the coffin gracefully sliding through into the darkness, because as the curtains fell, covering the coffin conveying my dead great auntie into the great dead kiln, I cried out at the top of my little giggling lungs: "All gone!"

That side of the family still don't speak to us.
(, Thu 26 Mar 2009, 7:40, 2 replies)
So to sum up...
people are irrational - some more so than others.
(, Thu 26 Mar 2009, 0:13, Reply)
The Bible
So there's this book that was written some 2000 years ago. This book has inspired billions of individuals over the millennia. It has provoked people who really like it to go to war with people who hate it. It's also galvanised people with different interpretations of the book to fight eachother to the death. Even today, it remains so popular that people spend their spare time trying to engage complete strangers in conversation about it. And the book ... it's the Bible.

Aged 17 and feeling somewhat bored, I decided to investigate what all the kerfuffle was about so I decided to read the Bible. After about 6 pages, I came to the conclusion that it was one of the most boring books I've ever read so I gave up.

Of course, if the opening sentence had been "It can hardly be a coincidence that no language on earth has ever produced the expression “As pretty as an airport.”", I might have read all the way to the end.
(, Thu 26 Mar 2009, 0:09, 3 replies)
This is short for Methodist-Anglican. Does anyone else think it really stands for Methylated Orangutans?
(, Wed 25 Mar 2009, 23:41, 1 reply)
I also nicked this from Urban Dictionary...

A pyramid scheme based on a philosophy that was fairly progressive 2000 years ago. It has been rendered obsolete by modern scientific understanding largely due to its inability to resolve its inconsistencies through intelligently-applied critical thinking. It now serves as a means of deterring social and political advancement and as a tax on the gullible.

The christian-controlled majority in congress voted to withdraw federal funds to help support financially disadvantaged infants, reminding the public that the babies will go to heaven.
(, Wed 25 Mar 2009, 23:39, Reply)
I nicked this from Urban Dictionary...
...but wanted to share it with you B3tards.


The belief that a cosmic Jewish zombie who was his own father can make you live forever if you symbolically eat his flesh and telepathically tell him you accept him as your master, so he can remove an evil force from your soul that is present in humanity because a rib-woman was convinced by a talking snake to eat from a magical tree...
(, Wed 25 Mar 2009, 23:37, Reply)
I think this just about sums it up!

(, Wed 25 Mar 2009, 22:47, 1 reply)
This link
Sums up everything I think about religion.

(, Wed 25 Mar 2009, 21:43, 2 replies)
I like cake
(, Wed 25 Mar 2009, 21:28, 4 replies)
I'm late
I went to a church school. A small Church of England School with only one class of 30 per year, one class of purple and gold wearing children. I went to the school of St. Michaels (the saint which, judging by our uniform, was the Saint of the Colour Blind) There was a chapel at the back of the school hall and once a week we trudged down to the local church for a service.

I remember very little of most of the church services - apart from the fact that I can point at a Michaelmas daisy (purple and gold) and confidently name it, I'm sure this must have been included at some point. ANYWAY...I remember one Michaelmas Service with great clarity. I felt God move through me.

Michaelmas services, the BIG DEAL, occur in September. The season of daddylongleglegs, damp and returning-to-school-misery. I guess I must have been about 9 years old, I wasn't feeling too great. The morning scrum in the steamy cloakroom just made me feel a bit..well, sick. My peg, with a carefully coloured in snake (don't ask) seemed to loom at me threateningly. Assembly came and went. I remember that there was a lot of rumbling going on, and that it wasn't just the headmaster going on about trees which had been "murdered" by someone carving in them. The rumbling was coming from the hollow in my stomach. *rumble rumble squirt*

I calmed myself. "It's all OK, you're just hungry, a quick walk to church and back and it'll be all over, then lunch. It's all OK. St Michaelmas is watching."

Assembly over. Back to the cloakroom (incidentally - WHY? Why get us to get changed and then go back out? WHY? apart from the fact that it was the early eighties and sadism was fashionable?) and back on with our coats. I had a bloody lovely coat. It was cream with a fur hood. I loved that fucking coat.

The walk to the church commenced. Two by two, holding hands, gently insulting one another, we made our way to the church. My usual chit-chat was dimmed by the frantic rumbling in my tum. Also, I had started to cramp. My partner of the day, Alan, kept looking at me funny. I expect he was wondering why I wasn't quoting the latest hilarious Beano gag. I was starting to worry. I was also starting to fart.

"Oh God no, please, no" As we arrived at the Church I literally BEGGED the teacher to use the toilet. I remember pointing at the vicar's daughter (who was in our class and SURPRISINGLY ENOUGH had STOLEN the part of Mary in the Nativity play - I'M NOT BITTER) and saying "Rachael won't mind". The teacher looked at me pityingly (smugly) - "Cat, sit down, prayers are about to begin"

"The Lord be with you"
"and also with you *rumble*"
"Feel him in your hearts"
"We feel him in our hearts *RUMBLE*"
"Lift up your souls"
"We *squirt* OH GOD! We lift them to you Lord"


I couldn't help it. It all came rushing through me. It was a three way split -

JESUS - screamed Alan as my vomit splatted on his shoes
HOLY LORD - shouted my teacher as my arse exploded and made a drum beat on the pew
THE HOLY GHOST - was my poor white, scared face as I realised I'd defaced a holy place. My poor poor coat. My lovely cream coat.

Poor little me. I'm 35 now. I'm experiencing a real crisis of faith. If there is a God, why would he choose to put a little child through such terrible embarrassment? And then I remember...there is no God.
(, Wed 25 Mar 2009, 21:01, 2 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:

a) God made you this way and you cannot be damned for something YOU were made as,
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)
Auntie Bea
Let me start by saying that I'm a touch sceptical when it comes to spirits and the paranormal. This doesn't mean that I'm not capable of being spooked, I can't be the only grown man who has wished that he had curtains on the back windows after watching Halloween on his own.

When my mother moved away from the area, she asked me to go and visit an old lady, "Auntie Bea", from time to time. Auntie Bea was the mother of my mother's ex, she was in her early nineties at the time but as sharp as a big scarey knife.

I'd go and visit Auntie Bea in the evenings, once a week, we'd have a cup of tea and I'd offer to do anything she needed doing. Didn't have a car in those days, used to walk across town to visit her.

She never did need anything doing, shopping or whatever, as she was a highly regarded member of the local spiritualist church and had numerous visitors who would come for a chat, to ask advice, have a sceance, etc.

I think she was pleased to have my company but she also saw me as a "work in progress". We'd start off by discussing my faults and then it would lead on to a lecture about what I had to do on this plane if I wanted to progress through the spirit world. "You are on this plane to learn humility and you will keep coming back unto you do" was one of her comments.

"Burn your books" she said when I asked her about Aleister Crowley. "Don't listen to pop music, it is made by evil people who want to tempt you with drugs and other sin". I once played her a snippet of a rave mix tape: "It sounds exactly as I imagined it" she said, "the people who dance to that are robots serving the devil". I didn't let on that I spent most evenings in a narcotic enduced daze.

Now all of this was like water off a ducks back, OK, she didn't approve of my lifestyle. She said I had a black aura flecked with blue sparks which pleased me immensely as my mates mad hippy mum said my aura was green. Fuck green, black auras own.

What did spook me was when she'd start saying "thankyou *someone*" mid conversation. "Who are you talking too?" I'd ask. "One of my spirit guides has joined us" she'd reply. "Where are they?". "Sitting next to you on the sofa". *shiver*

I once asked her if she'd encountered any bad spirits. She had. There was one in particular who waited at the top of the stairs. He once pushed her down the stairs and broke her wrist. From that point on, not once did I ask to go upstairs and use her toilet. I'd save it up and go in an alley on the way home. A walk home that had me jumping at the sight of my own shaddow.

It still freaks me out thinking about those days and that house. If I concentrate I can still smell it. The whole place was full of very old furniture much of it from India, I think she must have lived there years ago. The walls were hung with pictures of spirits which people had drawn for her.

One thing that made me chuckle: she was telling me about a man who asked for her advice, he was concerned because his teenage son had bought a record called "Revolution". It was the Spacemen 3 12". She told him to sit with his son and play the record over and over until the boy said that he didn't want to hear it ever again. I'd love to have witnessed that particular battle of wills.
(, Wed 25 Mar 2009, 20:37, 2 replies)
in high school, me and my friend tried to form a band called
DJ Judas and the Inflatable Fun-Popes.

The name was much better than we deserved.
(, Wed 25 Mar 2009, 19:33, 1 reply)
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)
In my 31 years on the planet
I've managed to work one thing out.

There's nothing wrong with religion. Religion's meant ot be a good thing. It's people. People are, for want of a better description, stupid, intolerant, mindless twats when you put a lot of them together in a group.

If there is a God up there, he must be tearing his hair out when he watches the six o'clock news. Although, to be honest, he probably watches Eggheads these days.
(, Wed 25 Mar 2009, 18:32, 3 replies)
We are religion...
Back when I was but a mere student of physics (as opposed to now when I have nothing to do with my chosen academic subject) a few of us decided to take a break from our usual distracted pondering (e.g. taking the piss out of the art students in the next block while playing online games rather than work on our coursework) we started pondering the uncertainty principle. This was bread and butter to one chap who wanted to go on to study quantum teleportation (and did as far as I know, PhD by now most likely), and essentially worked out as the following:

You can know the position of an object or its velocity but not both at once when you start getting seriously accurate about it.

The uncertainty principle, while sounding cool, means that anything may or may not exist.

The act of observation changes that being observed.

Hideously flawed though it is, the conclusion reached was that you are god. The only thing that you can conclusively prove exists is yourself, by looking at anything you fix its point and space in the universe and change it to boot! Of course, we all got quite drunk and this theory grew in popularity amongst the class. So remember, the next time a person wants to strike up a conversation about religion remember that you are god, just like everyone else.

On a personal note, I do believe. I believe in myself, love myself, and respect myself. If more people did that and took more responsibility for their own lives they might have better ones.
(, Wed 25 Mar 2009, 18:26, 2 replies)
it makes quite a lot of sense
to forbid alcohol and premarital sex, if you're living in an age when the first sends you blind and the second gives you syphilis.

The trouble is that it can lead to, in effect, wanting sex to lead to syphilis because otherwise people will be having premarital sex...
(, Wed 25 Mar 2009, 18:13, 3 replies)
Fast track to hell...
We had a sweepstake at work to guess Jade Goody's death date. I got closest and won £5.

(, Wed 25 Mar 2009, 18:01, 2 replies)
Did you know...
That God's name is Eris, and he is a girl ?

Personally I have no issue with teh idea of God, Goddess, Primal force or any other faith based magic sky pixie.
There's no evidence for the existance or non existance of any of them.

What really cooks my sock is that organised religion seems so intent on regulating and controlling the sexual urges of every adult on the planet.

Fuck 'em that's what I say.
(, Wed 25 Mar 2009, 16:57, 7 replies)
I was given my first
bible at about the age of 8. We all got one at school. I didn't really know what to do with it to be honest. Some other boys said it would make ace "rizzeler" paper. I didn't know what "rizzeler" paper was. Or "dryed spurn", as in "that rice [on the table] looks like dryed spurn", as in - we're having dinner in the canteen, as in - thank you Lord for thy food.

Anyway I read it; it was shit.
(, Wed 25 Mar 2009, 16:55, 2 replies)
Only the third...
Day in heaven and Jade's already up for eviction.
(, Wed 25 Mar 2009, 16:31, 1 reply)
I seriously dont want to offend any people who got severely traumatised..
but I can't help but think that the people who get mad at priests reciting some horrific biblepassage to youngsters are the same people who think children will catch fire as soon as they hear someone say 'fuck' on the television.
(, Wed 25 Mar 2009, 16:29, 1 reply)
The Bible 2K - Holy Fuck Wars
Old Testament


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

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
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.


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.


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.'


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 question is now closed.

Pages: Latest, 19, 18, 17, 16, 15, ... 1