Friday, 20 March 2009

On divinity

QOTW, in the third part of a dire question trinity (though I liked all the cock stories last week), asks you dirty sinners for your tales of G*d.

Let's get this straight: there is no god.

Let us consider the evidence. If there was a god, I'd be amply rewarded for my services to mankind. I'd be cavorting naked with the bloke of my dreams on a bed of money while cherabim and seraphim fed me grapes and played a little light lute music. Instead I have a hangover and didn't get more than some leg fondling (mid-thigh) last night. This huge amount of compelling and incontrovertible evidence means it's SCIENCE and I have thus proved that god does not exist. FACT.

Hope lies in me, your new friggin' Messiah. When I'm done saving your miserable souls I'll get cracking on global warming. Oh yes, and thou shalt not have any false gods before me. Enzyme is a Saint, not a deity, and he's going to find himself decanonised sharpish if he pretends otherwise.

Sunday, 25 January 2009

On rules and their imposition

Rules? RULES? On b3ta? For QOTW? Throw me a feckin' bone. I'm breaking my vow of silence to bring you this little rant.

God had a few of those rule things. Ten of the little fuckers. That's ten too many for me. He handily condensed it into this: love yourself and love others. Your New Friggin' Messiah has a shorter version: love yourself. Really love yourself. Love yourself right now, with both hands.

As to rules on QOTW? Calm down dear, it's only the Internet.

Sunday, 1 June 2008

To render His anger with fury, And His rebuke with flames of fire

I warned you! I warned you people! Sodom and Gomorrah got what was coming to them, now the Great Fire of B3ta has brought the cleansing scent of brimstone to the wretched hive of scum and villainy that we like to call home.

Why has this happened? It's because of too many shit QOTW topic repeats. I said it would not go unpunished. Obviously, this week was a good topic and one that I was enjoying, but that doesn't mean past transgressions are forgotten. The only reason God didn't smite faster is that he was stuck for several weeks on a First Great Western train due to excess track flooding in the Swindon area.

If the b3ta overlords repent and keep bringing us new and improved QOTWs then there is no reason why this catastrophe should happen again. Also, if the police ask where I was at 4.55, you were all at Wible Study with me, okay?

Tuesday, 22 April 2008

The Sign of the Cock

Thanks be, Brother Kaol, Official Wible Artist:

(One of those hands has got an incredibly long finger.)
*awaits phrase "that's no finger!"*

Thursday, 17 April 2008

The Martyrdom of St. Enzyme

Saint Enzyme began to serve the poor and preach to the people about spelling and grammar. More and more people joined him. The high priests of the temple were jealous of Saint Enzyme's successes, and accused him of pedantry.

They took him in front of a judge. At the trial, Saint Enzyme kept on teaching about spelling and grammar. He told the judges that they were hard-hearted and ill-educated. When the crowd heard this, everyone became so angry that they stopped the trial, dragged Saint Enzyme outside and threw rock-cakes at him.

Saint Enzyme forgave the people who were stoning him, and asked that they not be punished for their ignorance. Then he died when a sultana lodged in his brain. Saint Enzyme was the first martyr in the Wible, the first person to die because he loved spelling and grammar so much that he wouldn't stop talking about them.

(All similarities to Interweb accounts of the life of Saint Stephen are obviously coincidental. St. Enzyme also preached against plagarism, and rightly so.)

Wednesday, 16 April 2008

Sermon for the (QOT)Week

Beloved acolytes,

I stand before you this week to tell you that misconceptions about my holy life have arisen. I must make this clear: in all the good works on my path to sexual enlightenment, I have never been dogging. I can only presume that you willfully misread my post about digging. I was merely in the car to have a spot of lunch in a secluded lay-by. My intentions were pure and honourable and I have no idea where the filthy paparazzi scum were hiding. The photographs may have looked compromising but I assure you it was simply that I had dropped half a sandwich in the passenger footwell and had to kneel down to retrieve it. The surprised expression on my face is because I banged my head on the gearstick as I was getting up again. Let's stop this nonsense immediately or I'll be forced to excommunicate the filthy lot of you.

The Devil in our Midst

To paraphrase Newton, every action has an equal and opposite reaction. So, for every joyous attempt at self-abuse there is someone who will destroy our libidos. My good flock, that is none other than Alan Titwank, Gardener of Doom.

Beware this man. Beware his forked tongue, for he uses it not to pleasure others. Beware his tedious television programmes and his scaly tail and his pointy and equally scaly teeth and his ability to render impotent the lusty and the lecherous.

I can protect you from this man. Accept me into your hearts and send quite a lot of money to my accountants. I will then psychically generate an invisible force-field around your genitals that will be impervious to the evil deeds of Alan Titwank.