Dear Bishop, I am not the regal leader of the reformation but I do think divorce is a palpable bedfellow, can I be ex-communicated anyway?

I recently wrote to my local Bishop David requesting ex-communication. I reminisced on reading a book about them days which detailed how a chap called Henry the viii had been chucked out of the church for getting divorced and setting up his own more betterer church. I explained that I was currently lacking in a marital partner and that setting up my own religion seemed both too much like hard work and disproportionate to my aims. Here follows the henchman of heaven's response. Amen:

Dear Mr. Johnson,

Your letter to the Bishop of Worcester has been passed on to me in my capacity as Bishop of Dudley, as Bishop Peter is on holiday at the moment.

The Henry VIII solution is, as you say, is neither fitting to your particular circumstances or proportionate to what you are trying to achieve.

From the information you present I am presuming that the service to which you allude took place when you were an infant, and that you have not been confirmed at a later (teenager or adult) age. As such I am therefore I suspect safe in presuming that you have never been a communicant member (received the bread and wine of Holy Communion) as a member of the Church of England and therefore there is nothing to ex-communicate you from.

The promises made by your parent and God parents on your behalf all those years ago were an indication of their intention to give you a grounding in the Christian faith in the hope that you might appropriate this for yourself as an older person at a later date. Clearly that has not (or not yet) happened. Hence again there is nothing that needs to be undone. A person who has once beenbaptizedd (to use the more technical name) we often give to what is commonly referred to as a christening cannot become un-baptised no matter what subsequently they do or fail to do. So, were you at some future date to wish to affirm yourself as a Christian it would not be possible for you to be re-baptised. This remains the situation even if you take up any number of other religions during the intervening period.

What matters is that for the present time you have, in your own heart, made the decision that you do not wish to follow the Christian way. And that is all you need to do. If you need any more formality may I suggest that the very fact of this correspondence provides that. You have written to an official representative of the Church of England to let them know that you no longer consider yourself to have any association with that church or the beliefs that it stands for. I hear and I understand that and accept it as your decision.

When any person takes such a decision I am of course saddened. I am saddened that it is a sign that we as a church have failed in this instance to communicate the sheer power of God's love to one of God's much loved children. And I guess I am also sorry for you because from where I stand you are missing out on something enormously life enriching. But whatever my regrets regarding the decision you have come to please be assured of my prayers and best wishes that you will find that which gives meaning and purpose to your life, that which brings you love and belonging, that which sustains you when things are tough.

Please do not hesitate to contact me again if I can be of any further help.

Yours sincerely


David Walker
Bishop of Dudley

....no, I actually am from Mongolia

The Siamese may celebrate the passing of every lady boy with a military coup but at least they can use the word 'handicapped'. Why the Dickens can't we? Tony and his thought-police have now decreed that we are no longer permitted to use the word disabled as it's nasty and that. Instead, we are supposed to use the word 'spacker' which arguably is more demeaning...

Why I should never become Dad

My flatulent friend’s loins are as fertile as the Nile Delta. Numerous hours ago I visited him and the fruits of his carnal labours. Child Hannah is a reproductive end product from a previous relationship whereas child Sophie has been de facto acquired along the highway of broken homes. Initially they wanted to play police, so we played vice squad. Child Sophie had been working the streets on The Game, so child Hannah was instructed to curb-crawl her in an imaginary D-reg Ford Sierra and then when she sought ‘business’ grab her for soliciting her vag. We were caught playing ‘pimping’ and informed that it was inappropriate. In our next game we played War on Terror. Child Hannah was told to be evil hook cleric Abu Hamza. Child Sophie and I were MI5 and we had to monitor child Hannah as she delivered her sermons of hate. The problems began once we had arrested child Hannah for glorifying terrorism. She had grown tired of the game and wanted to be released from our makeshift prison. Unfortunately, I explained to child Hannah/Hamza that under John Reid’s 90 day detention for those involved in terror she could be held until Christmas irrespective of any evidence myself and child Sophie had collected. This made child Hannah cry; again I was instructed to stop my game. For our final game child Sophie wanted her and me to be special friends like Daddy and his wife. I don’t want to talk about this game anymore…

What if God was one of us, just a gay like one of us? But he’s not because they made it up and other bad things

A recent trip to Cardiff’s Mardi Gras (no pancakes but plenty of The Gays) was interrupted at the gate by God’s little helpers giving out leaflets on The Good Book’s perspective on same sex sexing.
I sought theological education from these wee scamps:
Me: “You know Jesus was a gay don’t you?”
God Botherer: “And where exactly did you learn that?”
Me: “Jerry Springer The Opera, they said he was a gay.”
G.B.: “They said a lot of terrible things…”
Me: “It was on in Cardiff the other week. I went and saw it. They performed it in the Bay and said Jesus was a gay.”
G.B.: “I know, we were there protesting. They said some bad things. Some nasty lies.”
Me: “What, you mean Jesus wasn’t a chutney ferret?”
G.B.: “Absolutely not.”
Me: “But they said it in the theatre.”
G.B.: “Yes, they lied.”
Me: “What, you mean they can just make stuff up about the baby Jesus and not be got by the police or the army?”
G.B.: “That’s right.”
Me: “That’s outrageous.”
G.B.: “I know. So you’re a believer in Jesus are you?”
Me: “Not even remotely. Byyeeee.”
Then I ran off like the mature individual I am.

Note to self

Just found the following list written in my own barely legible hand, addressed to myself:
Orangeboom.
Voodoo mind tricks.
Pretended to be their relatives- prison spokesperson: "they all look the same."
Maternity wards.
Abraham.

The curious incident with the dog and a man and another dog not in the nighttime and not involving a fork but poo does feature

I had been walking Rodney The Dog. Rodney is a loving, but ultimately brown dog. I had allowed him to roam free - as is the way of the dog - when he came across one of his brethren. While the dogs performed the obligatory check for winkle and vag required by the canine social protocol, owner of non-Rodney dog states in a forceful manner whollly inappropriate for seaside dog walking: "It's a good idea to keep your dog on a lead when other dogs are about."
Trying to maintain that Brits At The Seaside joviality I reply: "Oh it's quite alright, Rodney's a well behaved dog." And to somehow further my point. "He lives on a farm."
Farm inhabitation does not phase him. "That's not the point, someone else's dog may not be."
"I cannot be held responsible for the conduct of other people's animals" - look at me go, I'm a de facto Dog Owner/Walker - "have you ever read any fucking Satre?" (Fucking is in italics because I didn't actually say it but it would have been bloody brilliant if I had. Pretend I did, it makes it sound rather more Grant Mitchell but without the domestic violence).
"What?!" says angry non-Rodney dog owner.
"It's like blaming the rape victim for being outside at night where there may have been a rapist. Your logic is perverse."
Just as we were about to put our dukes up in a cruel parody of the hypothetical dog fight that never occurred his mobile communication system rang a siren of retreat. Rodney and I saw our chance and ran with a combined leg total of six from The Man With The Non-Rodney Dog.

Then we saw a woman who was wailing and then Rodney did a poo and I had to clear it up because someone was watching.

H.O.B.O. (Homeless Of Beery Origins) Awards

"Gis' a fag..."
"Got any meths..."
"I've wee weed all over meself..."
"Can I rape your dead mouth..."
Just a small sample of some of the social commentary/requests your average homeless may divulge as you meander through cardboard close. However, my new found love for all that are sans roof emerged just t'other day when these few lines of William Blake inspired prose emerged through a drunk-welsh hybrid dialect:
"Scuse me mate, I don't mean to be awkward or anything but my duck's just died, can I have ten pence?"

Human 'I know it's wrong but it feels so' Rights

Twelve things we can do to David Cameron once he had repealed the 1998 Human Rights Act:
(1) kill him (but probably wait until you've done items 2-12 or they'll be considerably less pleasurable). If you really cannot wait bludgeon D.C. to death with a rolled up copy of the European Convention of Human Right, I think he'll appreciate the irony.

(2) Giggle uncontrollably as, following 137 hours of sleep deprivation and one very hot poker up his colon, Dave confesses to a lot more than some good old fashioned Etonian soggy biscuit.

(3) Acknowledge how Cameron does indeed 'go green' when you sell him into Eastern European sex slavery. Hang around long enough for D.C.'s first introduction with The Gimp.

(4) Imprison Dave in your shed... for the rest of his natural life... just for a laugh.

(5) Accuse Cameron of raping and killing disabled children. Relax while he desperately tries to prove his innocence. During his trial marvel at the new judiciary system which incorporates gibbons. A non-guilty verdict is indicated by the gibbons reciting Dostoevsky Crime and Punishment in its entirety.

(6) Invent a crime based upon a previous action performed by David (e.g. being a vacuous cunt) and then arrest him. Use gibbons (see point 5).

(7) Take lots of pictures of Dave with his dribbling disabled child. Follow him around his house with an army of paparazzi and wait for him to loose his temper after the child poos on his favourite Margaret Thatcher thong. Set up a live web cam next to the biscuit barrel, wait for George Osbourne to arrive and the fun to commence.

(8) Persecute D.C. for being a middle-England appeasing faux Christian. Stone him along with other such shite from the Bible. Tell him Scientology is the only true religion. Then stone him again.

(9) Wait for Dave to make a facial expression (even if he's only breaking wind and it's not a real smile). Then arrest him for it. See gibbons (5) and death (1).

(10) Accuse D.C. of organising a school assembly featuring cum bi ah and an animal man (see point 6 for onus of evidence). If he does find evidence of innocence (see point 2 and hot pokers). Put him to trial (see point 5), keep him in your cellar (see point 4) or just chop his brain off (see point 1).

(11) Highlight to Dave that he shouldn't have married his missus because (1) one of them has dodgy genes, increasing the risk of non-normal children (2) I don't like him (3) his repressed lust for George Osbourne makes him an unsuitable companion.

(12) Orchestrate a high profile anti Etonian discrimination campaign. Deport him to Iran/Burma/Syria/Iraq/Toxteth. Laugh like as drain.

Repeat.

Forever.

Free inside every pack

BECAUSE IF YOUR CHILD HAS A PRETTY SMILE AND NICE TOES YOU NEED TO KNOW HOW MANY ARE LURKING NEAR THE SWEET SHOP

The day my world fell apart

Day 17 - 'Amazing Bread That Won't Go Stale' not only have you let me down (your faithful keeper of non-staleness) but you've also let down those who followed your amazing exploits in bewildered awe. But more importantly 'Amazing Bread That Won't Go Stale' You've. Let. Yourself. Down.

Mould! Twatting mould! I can't even bring myself to look at you.