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» Kids say the shittiest things
Even as a very young child, I found the drudgery of Mass soul destroying.
One Sunday morning, my 4 year old self was leaning over the edge of the chapel gallery, chin rested in my hands. I was gazing across the heads of those below and out the window. The sun was tempting me, bursting bright through stained glass with promises of a day playing tig or football. But my young mind knew that a vexatious priest was against me. This particular perpetrator was renowned for ensuring that Mass lasted the entire hour. But today his timing was slightly askew. At fifty minutes the congregation looked at each other, knowing that a final "go in peace to love and serve the Lord." was all that stood between us and freedom. Perhaps today would be the day that he would release his flock onto the world with an extra ten minutes to enjoy God's Glory! The priest glanced at his watch and having seen his predicament announced "We will now sing the processional hymn once more..."
A resigned silence descended on the gathering. From my elevated perch, I piped up.
"Ah, for fuck's sake."
My voice erupted like an angel's clarion, bouncing along the nave and across the chapel, from rafter to rafter. The sheer volume of my utterance caught me entirely off guard. Stunned, I glanced behind me to a boy from my street. His father cuffed him one, mistaking my look of shock for his son's guilt in the matter.
My own dad was not so easily deceived. He grabbed the back of my trousers and wrenched me onto the pew in an attempt to conceal the perpetrator. The priest ignored my blasphemy and tried to start the hymn off. But deep down the congregation knew and the lie of denial hung in the air, shaming them all. It was a long 10 minutes until we went in peace.
My granduncle said it was the greatest thing he'd ever heard said in that chapel. It still gets talked about at family gatherings.
(Tue 28th May 2013, 17:11, More)
Even as a very young child, I found the drudgery of Mass soul destroying.
One Sunday morning, my 4 year old self was leaning over the edge of the chapel gallery, chin rested in my hands. I was gazing across the heads of those below and out the window. The sun was tempting me, bursting bright through stained glass with promises of a day playing tig or football. But my young mind knew that a vexatious priest was against me. This particular perpetrator was renowned for ensuring that Mass lasted the entire hour. But today his timing was slightly askew. At fifty minutes the congregation looked at each other, knowing that a final "go in peace to love and serve the Lord." was all that stood between us and freedom. Perhaps today would be the day that he would release his flock onto the world with an extra ten minutes to enjoy God's Glory! The priest glanced at his watch and having seen his predicament announced "We will now sing the processional hymn once more..."
A resigned silence descended on the gathering. From my elevated perch, I piped up.
"Ah, for fuck's sake."
My voice erupted like an angel's clarion, bouncing along the nave and across the chapel, from rafter to rafter. The sheer volume of my utterance caught me entirely off guard. Stunned, I glanced behind me to a boy from my street. His father cuffed him one, mistaking my look of shock for his son's guilt in the matter.
My own dad was not so easily deceived. He grabbed the back of my trousers and wrenched me onto the pew in an attempt to conceal the perpetrator. The priest ignored my blasphemy and tried to start the hymn off. But deep down the congregation knew and the lie of denial hung in the air, shaming them all. It was a long 10 minutes until we went in peace.
My granduncle said it was the greatest thing he'd ever heard said in that chapel. It still gets talked about at family gatherings.
(Tue 28th May 2013, 17:11, More)
» Common
The overt sexualisation of kids has become too common.
As Dad to a little girl, I've learned to despise child size mini-skirts, boob tubes and lurid message tee-shirts, those awful "Bratz" dolls, girl/teen bands, the parents of pageant kids, and the common message they represent.
The worst I've personally encountered was at a popular concentration, sorry, "holiday" camp. Gigging at some popular chains, used to provide regular seasonal money. The work routine was to arrive early in the day, to set up equipment and stage, soundcheck . At the smaller venues the room and bar would sometimes remain open, in which case you'd be setting up with an audience, and kids running around.
One such occasion, three generations of a family, were sat near the stage, the ladies dressed in gaudy matching miniskirt and boob tube. The youngest of them couldn't have been long out of nappies. Mum and Nan then goaded the child into running to the front of the stage, with delighted cackles of "Go on, sing the Spice Girls!". They were then overjoyed as the child innocently bumbled through the song, loudly singing out the bit she really remembered....
"Need some love like I never needed love before, wanna make love to ya babyyyyyyy!"
Unfortunately, grooming your own child for paedophiles is common practice parenting these days. :(((((((
(Tue 21st Oct 2008, 15:21, More)
The overt sexualisation of kids has become too common.
As Dad to a little girl, I've learned to despise child size mini-skirts, boob tubes and lurid message tee-shirts, those awful "Bratz" dolls, girl/teen bands, the parents of pageant kids, and the common message they represent.
The worst I've personally encountered was at a popular concentration, sorry, "holiday" camp. Gigging at some popular chains, used to provide regular seasonal money. The work routine was to arrive early in the day, to set up equipment and stage, soundcheck . At the smaller venues the room and bar would sometimes remain open, in which case you'd be setting up with an audience, and kids running around.
One such occasion, three generations of a family, were sat near the stage, the ladies dressed in gaudy matching miniskirt and boob tube. The youngest of them couldn't have been long out of nappies. Mum and Nan then goaded the child into running to the front of the stage, with delighted cackles of "Go on, sing the Spice Girls!". They were then overjoyed as the child innocently bumbled through the song, loudly singing out the bit she really remembered....
"Need some love like I never needed love before, wanna make love to ya babyyyyyyy!"
Unfortunately, grooming your own child for paedophiles is common practice parenting these days. :(((((((
(Tue 21st Oct 2008, 15:21, More)
» World's Sickest Joke
The art of beekeeping
This one is not at all sick, (unless you are a bee with housing issues)
Two beekeepers meet at a conference. One asks the other:
"How many bees do you keep?"
"I've got 3 hives, in all I've got around 50,000 bees" answered his colleague.
"So how many bees have you got?" the second beekeeper inquires.
"Oh, about a million or so"
"A Million?! How many hives do you have?"
"Just the one"
"You've got a million bees in one hive?"
"Yeah. Fuck 'em, they're only bees"
(Thu 8th Dec 2005, 19:26, More)
The art of beekeeping
This one is not at all sick, (unless you are a bee with housing issues)
Two beekeepers meet at a conference. One asks the other:
"How many bees do you keep?"
"I've got 3 hives, in all I've got around 50,000 bees" answered his colleague.
"So how many bees have you got?" the second beekeeper inquires.
"Oh, about a million or so"
"A Million?! How many hives do you have?"
"Just the one"
"You've got a million bees in one hive?"
"Yeah. Fuck 'em, they're only bees"
(Thu 8th Dec 2005, 19:26, More)
» On the stage
Don't trust the mics, and be on the look out for fat nuns.
I was playing guitar with a band in a rather posh Hotel/Castle in Wales. When I arrived at the venue, the bands sound engineer excitedly told me that he'd picked up a radio pack for the guitar, so that I could bounce around stage like a loon, with no fear of tripping over cables, or unplugging myself.
During the gig, all was going well. I was running about the stage, jumping off the drum riser, generally enjoying myself, and the guitar sounded good. Third song in, and I've got a solo. So, cool as ice, the lights fade, I walk out to the front of the stage, turn my guitar up full and...
CHHKK "S.P on a Taxi from Bodelwyddan to Rhyl" CHHKK, blasts out of the speakers.
By the time the laughter had died down, I'd thrown away the radio pack, and was happy to trip up over cables from then on.
The incident always reminds me of another when I was in the orchestra at a production of "The sound of music". On the third night the theatre erupted with laughter, after a rather portly mother superior advised Maria on taking her vows of "Poverty, chastity and obesity".
So anytime I drop a clanger on stage now, I always feel a little bit like a fat nun.
(Fri 2nd Dec 2005, 13:43, More)
Don't trust the mics, and be on the look out for fat nuns.
I was playing guitar with a band in a rather posh Hotel/Castle in Wales. When I arrived at the venue, the bands sound engineer excitedly told me that he'd picked up a radio pack for the guitar, so that I could bounce around stage like a loon, with no fear of tripping over cables, or unplugging myself.
During the gig, all was going well. I was running about the stage, jumping off the drum riser, generally enjoying myself, and the guitar sounded good. Third song in, and I've got a solo. So, cool as ice, the lights fade, I walk out to the front of the stage, turn my guitar up full and...
CHHKK "S.P on a Taxi from Bodelwyddan to Rhyl" CHHKK, blasts out of the speakers.
By the time the laughter had died down, I'd thrown away the radio pack, and was happy to trip up over cables from then on.
The incident always reminds me of another when I was in the orchestra at a production of "The sound of music". On the third night the theatre erupted with laughter, after a rather portly mother superior advised Maria on taking her vows of "Poverty, chastity and obesity".
So anytime I drop a clanger on stage now, I always feel a little bit like a fat nun.
(Fri 2nd Dec 2005, 13:43, More)
» Fire!
Shell Suits and Alcohol..
Back when we were 13-14, it used to be popular in the summer months to go camping, near a disused quarry close to home. I say camping, what I really mean is, we would find the excuse to be out for the night, so that we could get some illicit carryouts to get pissed up, and sleep it off before home the next day.
One night someone had the idea that we should have a camp fire. So we built what could be described as a mini bonfire out of old pallets, and branches, before going off to score some bottles of strongbow, and cans of special brew. Upon return, we met up with the guys who were guarding the fire, who had managed to get a large coke bottle filled with petrol. This was later used on the fire "to get it started", after a large part of the alcohol was consumed. However, dutch courage was first to hit me, when the question of who would light the fire arose.
So I walked, (okay staggered) over to the fire, and remember clearly smelling the fumes. However, I was in a happy mood, and when I sparked the lighter, and saw a large yellow light, the only thought crossing my mind was "That must be it lit then."
Upon refection, a shell suit would not have been my first choice of clothing for such an operation. Through sheer luck, or grace, I turned calmly around, and emerged unscathed from the fireball, in what my friends described as a scene reminiscent of "Terminator 2".
Kids..tsk
(Thu 3rd Nov 2005, 14:02, More)
Shell Suits and Alcohol..
Back when we were 13-14, it used to be popular in the summer months to go camping, near a disused quarry close to home. I say camping, what I really mean is, we would find the excuse to be out for the night, so that we could get some illicit carryouts to get pissed up, and sleep it off before home the next day.
One night someone had the idea that we should have a camp fire. So we built what could be described as a mini bonfire out of old pallets, and branches, before going off to score some bottles of strongbow, and cans of special brew. Upon return, we met up with the guys who were guarding the fire, who had managed to get a large coke bottle filled with petrol. This was later used on the fire "to get it started", after a large part of the alcohol was consumed. However, dutch courage was first to hit me, when the question of who would light the fire arose.
So I walked, (okay staggered) over to the fire, and remember clearly smelling the fumes. However, I was in a happy mood, and when I sparked the lighter, and saw a large yellow light, the only thought crossing my mind was "That must be it lit then."
Upon refection, a shell suit would not have been my first choice of clothing for such an operation. Through sheer luck, or grace, I turned calmly around, and emerged unscathed from the fireball, in what my friends described as a scene reminiscent of "Terminator 2".
Kids..tsk
(Thu 3rd Nov 2005, 14:02, More)