There used to be two chaps in Brixton who were rather fun.
One huge, one tiny, both were clad in a sort of pseudo-Egyptian? Ancient-style dress, of a sort of purple, armless smock/tunic thing, accompanied by impressive-looking brass amulets they wore on their wrists, and I seem to remember at least one of them had some sort of tiara-type thing on his head.

They had a microphone and loudspeaker, and every Saturday would be down by the station, instructing people of their journey to hell (Mrs V, for example, was going, "For women whomsoever wear the clothes that are not of their place, like YOU, Miss! Like YOU! Will surely be cast into the Pit Of Fury by The Lord!". I think they were from The 12 Tribes Of Judah, or something of that sort of nature, who were the Chosen Race, and God's Own People, and white folk, Asian folk, and oh dear god the Chinese! Well - we might as well all just kill ourselves now, as we have absolutely no chance.

What was rather lovely is that Mr Big had a deep, booming voice, perfectly suited to his very rap-like delivery of damnation and hatred., and he would punctuate his bouts of ranting by indicating Little Mr Tiny ("Gimme Isiah Chapter 12!"), and Little, who had to stand on a box to match Large's height, had a voice like Joe Pasquale on helium -"And THE LORD said 'You shall not wear the clothes that do not indicate your position' ... "

Invariably, after a while, they would be moved on by the police, and everyone could continue listening to the reggae from across the road.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Wed 27 Feb 2013, 10:09, 2 replies)

Fucking racist police!

( edjogs Collared doves are shit., Wed 27 Feb 2013, 10:21, closed)

I'm sure they're waiting to be killed by Ice Cube, or perhaps another chap.

( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Wed 27 Feb 2013, 10:30, closed)