Whenever I stay in a hotel
I take the Giddeon bible and write in the back cover "You should have read the Koran, the plot is much better."

Although, I'm sure that if I think hard about it, there are worse things I have done.
(lympicita_ie, Thu 11 Dec 2008, 22:19, 3 replies)

Im an Undertaker
and generally i hate all religion because ive seen lots and lots of young people die of terminal illness or road accidents etc and have had to endure a preachy vicar saying how 'god chose them' and 'it was their time.' Thats bollocks to me, die when you're old.

Anyway, im going to hell because any funeral I have to sit through is normally spent trying to make my colleagues laugh and generally mocking weird hymns in the books and what not. Also rating all the female mourners in what order i would have sex with them
(Dr Zoidberg is going for a scuttle, Thu 11 Dec 2008, 22:14, 4 replies)

I've done loads of bad stuff
and I don't believe in God.

But I'll convert to Catholicism on my death bed, say I'm sorry and get into heaven anyway!

Ha
( Mrs Entity is in hiding., Thu 11 Dec 2008, 21:37, 3 replies)

Heaven...
...is probably a very dull place if you're surrounded by people you don't like. I'd take Hell with my mates any day.
(mcnelson, Thu 11 Dec 2008, 21:31, 1 reply)

"I don't believe in Jesus!
So I'm going to hell."


How does this make sense? Surely if you believe one then the other is at least close by...
(sparkly_penguin, Thu 11 Dec 2008, 21:26, Reply)

Not exactly Hell
While on a jaunt to New Zealand, me and my mate were staying in my kiwi friend's holiday home (they call it a 'bach', although there were no German composers in sight), on the north coast in a lovely place called Whakatane Bay.

Anyway, this place is so isolated basically the only thing to do to pass the time is get hammered on cheap boxes of wine. So we did. Staggering about outside late at night, I realised through my drunken haze I needed a piss. I came across a low fence and thought this a perfect place. So I let it all out and felt much better.

That is until, as I was zipping myself up, I saw a sign a bit further along the fence that said "Wahi Tapu". This means, in Maori, "Sacred site", and these places are protected by law as well as no doubt several portions of witchcraft etc, and no doubt are never ever meant to be micturated upon. So basically I'm now on the run from Maori gods, and hope their jurisdiction doesn't extend to here in Lancashire. Oops.
( Satur9 The shoes!, Thu 11 Dec 2008, 21:15, 3 replies)

I don't believe in heaven/hell
I am my own god, when I die the earth stops - well for me anyways... i MAY let you live... if you're nice :)
( SkUG >_O i got a couple of stitches in my eyeball... ow, Thu 11 Dec 2008, 20:59, 2 replies)

Quite fitting
I was accosted by some bible thumpers in town the other day, and I cursed their religion and shouted at them. I was about to mention they might loosen up a bit if they got a good shagging, but by this point they were already running away from me. Good day I believe.
(missc, Thu 11 Dec 2008, 20:57, 2 replies)

Oh the guilt!
I apologise in advance for the length of this post and how badly I come out of this tale as a human being. This is truly the most reprehensible thing I have ever done to another human being so I'm sorry for the complete lack of funnies here.

In 2001 I was fortunate enough to get out of a doomed marriage. We had married very young and I knew even then I was making a mistake. We had lived apart while I was finishing my university course in Middlesbrough. She was still in the Scottish Borders and met and fallen in love with a lad she was working with. We split so she could go off with him two months after I finished uni.

I couldn't bear to stay in the same town as her so took the only option I thought was available and headed back to Middlesbrough with the shirt on my back, a DVD player and my own few posessions and that was it. She kept everything and I didn't care. All my savings had gone towards the wedding, but I just wanted to get out.

I enrolled in a part-time History masters but it soon became evident I was far more screwed up by the circle of events than I had thought. I dropped out of the course, went on the dole, and descended into a familiar tale of alcohol and drug abuse.

Then two months later, in November of that year I met Paula (name changed to protect the entirely innocent party). I was introduced to her through my housemate in a bar, got talking and hit it off immediately. She told me I reminded her of Ewan McGregor in Trainspotting. I asked her if that meant I looked like a heroin addict. She laughed, I laughed, sparks flew. Two hours after meeting she took me to bed.

Thus began the most intense three months I have ever had. Paula was sexy, funny, intelligent and genuinely brilliant company. She was 29 (I was 21 at the time), and, not going into too much detail, the sex was of great quantity and quality.

She was also a similarly damaged soul, more so even. She had been raped twice in her younger days, and had had two suicide attempts. Her arms were criss-crossed with still livid, raised scars from years of self-harming.

At that time I had received a few thousand pounds inheritance from my Grandmother. We spent this in a mad month of drink, drugs, sex, and fairly nihilistic pillow talk. We would lay and pour out the deepest recesses of our souls to each other, opening old wounds neither of us had spoken about to anyone else.

Something had to give. Neither of us were capable of sustaining a rational, loving relationship. There had been something of the trainwreck of the entire thing and we were physically bruised and emotionally entirely fucked by it. She ended it on Valentines Day 2002, saying she was getting too close and just couldn't handle being hurt.

I understood this, and spent the next couple of months licking my wounds and dragging myself back to some semblance of normality. During this time I met Natasha (name again changed). She was Russian, very pretty in a bookish, innocent way I was immediately drawn to, and was of a very well-off background. After Paula, her humour and her naivete were deep gusts of fresh air.

We spent a lot of time together, and in April 2002 my decree absolute was finalised and I asked her out. She said yes.

We spent five lovely months together. My spirits were restored, I was seeing a councillor whioh helped immeasurably, we would stay up talking into the night and fall asleep in each others' arms.

There was no sex however. She was still a virgin at 20, and was in no rush to change this until she was sure she felt she could be entirely comfortable with me. I was completely smitten so I accepted this situation entirely and was very happy to build a relationship on something other than a physical basis.

Then, later that year, her father was taken ill with cancer. She was heading to Russia for six months. We agreed to call it quits for the duration and see where we were when she got back.

After she left, I drifted back into old habits, and after a few months I happened to bump into Paula in a bar. She was upset as one of her cats had died (she had a virtual menagerie in her house), so I went home with her and inevitably we fell into bed.

This continued for about three months. Then one day, sharing a post-coital cigarette, she asked what I was planning on doing the day after.

The next day was the day Natasha returned.

I had done a lot of soul searching the previous week and had decided that although the threee months with Paula had been great, I wanted the security and stability with Natasha.

Unfortunately, the reason Paula had used to break up last time no longer applied and she had completely fallen for me. And unfortunately, I decided to tell her I was getting back with Natasha the next day after we had just had sex.

Understandably the reaction was not a favourable one. She picked up a glass of water beside her and smashed it over my head, before ostensibly dragging me down the stairs and chucking me, clothes in hand, into the street.

She ignored my calls, messages, texts, everything. Just as well, all apologies were hollow and I knew I had behaved appallingly. I felt awful, and as if to acknowledge this, it soon faltered between myself and Natasha and ended not long after she came back.*

I never saw Paula again, but was told by a mutual acquaintance she had attempted suicide again a few weeks after the incident. Luckily, she hadn't succeeded. He didn't give a reason why.

I have carried the guilt of my shocking behaviour for years now and I've used it to become the person I am today. What I did was unforgivable but I'd like to think I used it as a learning curve and that I treat people far better these days.


*On a somewhat happier level, Natasha and I got back together six months later. I had cleared my head, was a far nicer and happier person. I had found a job and we moved to Leeds together until the relationship ran its course and ended amicably.
( Boss Keloid Got your mother's maiden name tattooed on my arm, Thu 11 Dec 2008, 20:48, 11 replies)

Im going to burn in hell
Ive been on the internets.
Once you get past the pretty layer on the top with the social networking and the flash games, it starts getting pretty damn dirty. And then never stops.

Oh well, I'm on my way, no point stopping!
(violent pacifist ;now with 20% more paradox...., Thu 11 Dec 2008, 20:46, 2 replies)

I live in Hull
and have dyslexia. Oh noes
( willenium Fist bump for verification, Thu 11 Dec 2008, 20:25, 1 reply)

i think this QOTW is quite consoling
because while i may not ever make it to a b3ta bash,it looks like we'll all wind up in hell anyway!
I'll probably get there first ,so i'll organise a venue and someone can bring a keg.
see you there!
(Fuckpig "That's not even a pound a midget.", Thu 11 Dec 2008, 20:14, 3 replies)

I try to be a basically good person
but haven't accepted Jesus as my personal saviour. So, lake of fire for me.
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Thu 11 Dec 2008, 20:13, 1 reply)

When I met the parents I was told two things
One: they are Catholics
Two: they dont like smokers one bit.

then why was my first words along the lines of " Jesus, I'm gasping for a fag. I'd punch a nun in the cunt for a pack of lucky strikes right now."?

I think the answer was nerves, but I KNOW I'm headed for hell
( willenium Fist bump for verification, Thu 11 Dec 2008, 20:00, Reply)

I have a dark passion
Although the bible forbids it I'm into bestiality. Theres something you get from animals that you don't with women. I think it's the raw primal passion as you let them take you from behind so yes, it's true, I love horses.
( Captain V, Thu 11 Dec 2008, 19:47, 5 replies)

Jesus is coming!
Get the mop!

Will that do it?
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Thu 11 Dec 2008, 19:46, 1 reply)

repent ye sinners



Jesus is coming . . . Look busy




probably go to hell for that I will
(The Cats Twat, Thu 11 Dec 2008, 19:45, 3 replies)

To cut a long story short...
I raped a kitten.
(Charlietron Still can't think of anything witty to put here, Thu 11 Dec 2008, 19:44, 4 replies)

My mate
lost his virginity in a church, when he was...13
(Lord Chode, Thu 11 Dec 2008, 19:41, 2 replies)

I'm an atheist who goes to church
In common with a fair few other people round here, I'm somewhat of an evangelical atheist.

Yet I go to church every sunday.

It's actually worse than that: at this church I am /paid/ to play the organ to all the grannies/fundies* -- somehow I've managed to make this atheist-ness not too widely known, although if anyone engages me in covnersation about such things I immediately start up the usual spiel about lack of evidence, dodgy translations, it all being such utter trite and so forth.

You'd think I'd be pretty devout by now, having spent three years of my life as a little choirboy singing six services a week.

Up yours God, you can't have me (oo-er vicar).

*Admittedly this is not every sunday, only when the normal one is ill/wants to slack off for an evening.
( ejlflop errrrrgs. Regularly., Thu 11 Dec 2008, 19:40, Reply)

Oh crumbs, here comes typecasting
It was probably bad enough that I slept with my ex after he got married and whilst I was engaged to someone else...

...so I probably didn't need to sleep with my mate's sister and cop off with his girlfriend...

...but just to be on the safe side I pissed in a graveyard in Coventry last time I got held up in traffic on the way to IKEA. As did my mum.
(DSV has been good since, Thu 11 Dec 2008, 19:39, Reply)

Not sure what standards Satan has these days, but...
Does having unwholesome thoughts about the wee girl from Harry Potter (she only turned 16 for the fifth one) qualify you for an eternity of torment?
(donuts saw Gordon Gekko raking through the bins on, Thu 11 Dec 2008, 19:38, 4 replies)

i was about twelve at the time
when a friend came round to stay the night. AOL had just launched, and was all the rage amongst those who didn't know better. being impressionable twelve year olds, with a dwindling stash of dumpster porn, we decided that the internet would be an excellent way of finding new pictures of nudey ladies to look at.
being twelve, and being on AOL (which didn't really give you access to the internet without installing an external browser), we scoured the chatrooms in the hope of finding someone with an equal interest in onanistic material (not that we even really knew what to do with it at the time).
within minutes we had been approached by someone asking if we wanted to exchange pictures. having nothing of our own, our kindly benefactor agreed to furnish us with some of his to get started.
as the .gif slowly loaded, each line appearing slowly enough to heighten our already feverish anticipation, we realised that we were, in fact, looking at a naked twelve year old girl. and another. and another.
being twelve, this didn't really register as being anything wrong. it seemed perfectly reasonable to fantasise about the girls in your class, so we happily carried on scouring chatrooms, and amassing as much of this as is possible on a 14k modem in a single night (about 15 pictures, all told).
i have no recollection of the people who we contacted that night, but within a week or so, we had both agreed that something very, very wrong had occurred, and agreed to never speak of it again.
in which case, i'm going to hell for breaking our pact of silence. fuck.
( the brass moustache putting the ass moust in brache since, Thu 11 Dec 2008, 19:32, 1 reply)

During a Very Lengthy Easter Sunday Service
Way back in the 70s in a Catholic church. After about 4 hours of generally tedious worship, the priest processed up the aisle and sprinkled the entire congregation with holy water - Flicking it over us with what I think is called a hyssop.
I whispered "Silly Arse" to my sister, but misjudged the volume of my own voice.
The memory of the glares from the grandmother still scare me.
(onefishtwofish Redfishbluefish, Thu 11 Dec 2008, 19:30, Reply)

I tried to become a practicing Buddhist once
but gave up after I discovered I've already broken most the main commandment things. Excpt for the one about 'messing' with animals. Livestock scares the shit out of me.
( Captain Tripps is your taxloss lover from Liverpool, Thu 11 Dec 2008, 19:30, Reply)

when
I was about 13, I was a scout, we went to church parades... and saw some kid playing on his gameboy the whole duration of the service
(Lord Chode, Thu 11 Dec 2008, 19:28, 1 reply)

party
i was at a wake,
yet at the time i didn't know this is what they were called. my grandads wife had lost her dad.

so i was on the phone to my friend, and phone was a bit crappy so i had to shout:

" I'M AT A PARTY! NOO I'M NOT COMING OUT, I'M AT A PARTY CHARLIE DIED SO NOW WE'RE HAVING A PARTY! YEAH OK BYE!"

my grandads wife was stood right behind me.
(i eat crayons, Thu 11 Dec 2008, 19:17, Reply)

I've told this story before, but it fits here.
This happened in the beginning of October.

I know that I don’t post very often here, so you’re likely not very familiar with me. To refresh your memories: I’m male, I’m over 30, have had a rather tumultuous and checkered past, and am single. I’m also fairly tall and (apparently) attractive, and generally don’t lack for company if I wish it. That is not a boast or egoism, I should add, but rather a bare statement of fact.

At this stage of my life I’ve concluded that I’m just plain not destined for a normal relationship. My last partner moved out not that long ago, and the only involvement I have at this point is with another b3tan who lives at the other end of the island from me and can’t see me often. I’m not exactly attached at this point, and have been spending a lot of time alone these days.

So last week I did something a bit out of character for me- I started chatting online with a few women in my area, looking for someone to have supper with now and then and perhaps do things with, like going to museums or on hikes. I made it clear that I was not looking for a new woman in my life, but for someone to keep me company now and then. I thought this to be not unreasonable.

I met one woman, and she seems quite nice, but not a very active sort. She’s good for going to comedy clubs and the like, so that’s sorted- if I wish to go to a show I have someone to go with me. I still want someone to do other things with, though, so I kept chatting with various women.

Late last week another one agreed to meet me at a restaurant we both knew. We agreed on a time on Friday evening, and texted each other to make sure we were still on. At 7:30 I had a table ready, and she texted me to say that she was on her way. I ordered a pint and sat back to wait.

Ten minutes later she arrived, and I stood to shake her hand- which she went right past and wrapped me in a large hug. I was a little startled, but reacted appropriately and returned the hug. We sat down and the waitress came to take our order. I ordered another pint and some food, and she ordered something she called a Brain Eraser.

The next few minutes were interesting. She was looking at me with the expression of a starved wolf examining a lamb. She told me how incredibly hot I was, how she couldn’t believe that I was single, and how much she loved my grey eyes. While I enjoy flattery as much as anyone, this was a bit strong for having just met.

My food arrived, and so did her drink. She downed the thing in one long swallow and asked for another.

Good God, I thought.

I started eating and trying to chat with her, but the conversation was getting more than a little disjointed. Abruptly she got up and came to my side of the booth and slid in next to me. I slid over to make room, and she snuggled in close and slipped her hand inside my shirt. She then started undoing the buttons until it was open to my waist.

Good GOD.

Her second drink arrived and she downed it in the same manner. She then asked for something called a Red Devil. Meanwhile I got my shirt back together and was busy with my food, and managed to establish a little distance between us.

Her new drink arrived, and she started chatting with the waitress. The waitress had sussed the situation and was apparently quite amused by this and was playing along. The conversation started to get rather flirtatious, and became more blatant by the moment as she started hitting on the waitress. The waitress was even more amused by this, but when I said that I thought I should take the bill now she promptly went to get it.

By now it was obvious to me that she had been quite drunk when she arrived, and she revealed to me that she had also smoked some weed on the way. I kept my composure, but was now rather worried about what to do with her. I paid our bill and guided her outside, past the rather shocked patrons who had been watching the performance, and got to the car park. We reached my car and I asked where hers was. She pointed it out to me, but then started tearing at my shirt again. As it was fairly dark out there I allowed this somewhat, but when she started reaching for my belt I stopped her. “I really don’t want to get arrested.”

“And what would it take for us to get arrested?” she slurred, and yanked my jeans down as she got to her knees. Before I could react she was in action.

GOOD GOD!

I managed to disengage from her and pulled my clothing back on, and got her to her feet. “Look, I really can’t chance getting arrested! We’re in view of those windows of the restaurant!”

She looked crushed. “But I just need it. My husband is smaller than you and he doesn’t get it up very much-“

“WHAT?!?”

“It’s just not big enough. I need yours. I need to be called a slut and spanked.” Her eyes were glowing now. “He won’t do it because he’s a man of God.”

Oh FUCK.

“You’re married to-“

“He’s a minister at (name deleted).”

Have you ever had the feeling that lightning was about to strike you?

The next few minutes were spent in something close to panic. I managed to get her bundled up and into her car and made sure that she got out of the car park, then went home and spent the rest of the weekend not knowing whether I should laugh or scream. No, not just someone's wife, but a minister's wife! I still can't believe this.

I have been holding onto this story for three days now. I really wish that I could say that it was fiction, but honestly, I could not have dreamed up something like that. My imagination is not that good. And now I'm living in mortal fear that her husband will find me.

If hell really does exist, I am SO screwed…
(Shimrod, Thu 11 Dec 2008, 19:13, 8 replies)

For posting this on the links board
I am not going to post it here, but it involves a man and a jar.
(RobbJ, Thu 11 Dec 2008, 19:12, 3 replies)

The teenage anti-rebel.
As a spotty yoof, I was something of an intellectual rebel (and a master of self-delusion).

I went to a Church of England college. We had the dreaded Religious Education lessons.

They went to great lengths to provide a balanced view of the world's religions with trips to Christian Churches, visits from CofE vicars, free copies of the bible, Christian Youth Group workshops and a whole host of other education, interactive experiences from all the world's religions. As long as they were about our saviour, Jebus.

I was rather narked off by this. I'd already stuck my flag into Mount Atheist. I've got progressive, ex-hippie parents who were right behind any intellectual debate.

So, I began to steer any topic, visit or activity about Christian faith to any other.


'Miss, why can't we go to a Synagogue?'

'Oh, er, there isn't one near enough.'

'There's one closer than the church we went to last month.'

'Umm.'

And so it went on.

Then they had a quiet word with my parents about my 'disruptive behavior'.

After which they gave me a book about Buddhism to take into the next class and tell everyone about.

And so went the next two years of polite, gentle and, ultimately, nonpunishable rebellion.

I think they were relieved when I finished my GCSEs.
(Miraclefish How appropriate, you fight like a cow, Thu 11 Dec 2008, 19:08, Reply)