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…
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Thu 26 Mar 2009, 10:10, 11 replies)

Yay!
More of this sort of thing!
( Enzyme is powered by sunlight, Thu 26 Mar 2009, 10:14, closed)

I'm not keen on the puns but..............
I love the stories that build up to the pun : )
( girlinthehole, Thu 26 Mar 2009, 10:14, closed)

My god,
you really have hit the bottle, haven't you?

That was exquisitely awful, Herr Flake. Nice one.
(LongJohnBaldry, Thu 26 Mar 2009, 10:15, closed)

Not seen one of these for a while, nice work.
I was starting to worry that you'd got puncreatic cancer.
( Cawl, Thu 26 Mar 2009, 10:16, closed)

*snort*
*click*
( Vipros. clever got me this far, then tricky got me in, Thu 26 Mar 2009, 10:36, closed)

Arf!
Have a well earned *Click* :-p
(uk_viper stopped lurking on, Thu 26 Mar 2009, 10:21, closed)

Where the fuck have you been?
Could've done with your take on this here religion topic all week, mate.

Nicely told, as always.
( SpankyHanky, Thu 26 Mar 2009, 10:36, closed)

Aww....
I'm afraid I haven't been particularly inspired this week.

That, and I've been drunk. A lot.

I haven't had chance to scan through the earlier pages yet, but no doubt they are peppered with a veritable plethora of your tales from the top drawer of titilation

*waits for best page and next QotW*

*crosses fingers, legs and pubes hoping for a good one*
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Thu 26 Mar 2009, 10:43, closed)

*Applauds*
Nicely done Mr Flake.
(Bicycle Repairman "you're also a bit of a wanker", Thu 26 Mar 2009, 11:18, closed)

Ooooh that's bad!
I like it.
Let's hope your latest song makes it into a QOTW?
(Captain Placid 24/7 ball gags, brownie mix and clown porn, Thu 26 Mar 2009, 13:26, closed)

*read read read*
What a lot of arse this is... she wouldn't have eaten that... what the hell? There's a lot of artistic licence here I spose...
*read read*
Ah... pooflake. *headdesk*
(tweebianmonkey Should be known as Widget, Thu 26 Mar 2009, 14:20, closed)