God of Whoa

Here's our re-telling of the creation myth.





I hope you enjoy.

Spamphlets

Having lived for three years as a student I am now suffering an unpleasant multifaceted comedown. When the end of University was nearing I was filled with eagerness and a sense of pending elation as of a wearied grizzly at the approach of hibernation. Now, filled with the knowledge that there are no employment opportunities to be had and peering nervously into the unremitting veldt of time, I am lost as to how to fill my days, or more importantly perhaps, how to fill my days constructively, preferably in a way which will bear the fruit of financial income.

A couple of notes, here, about the last paragraph. My mind is clearly malfunctioning as I was unable to summon the word “hibernation” to my mind, spending about a minute staring blankly at the screen cupping my ears, I then typed ‘bear’ and ‘winter’ into Google, which had the word in the sample of the first hit. This is either an example of internet-savvy lateral thinking or yet another step for humanity on the slippery (and lazy) slope to utter vegetation. Also, I chose to use ‘grizzly’ in that comparison as I deemed other hibernating animals too feminine. In the animal kingdom, only the bear reaches the required standard of masculinity in order to be used in a comparative way to me. Ironically, the term ‘bear’ also has another meaning, which, while not undermining the masculine nature of the comparison, certainly suggests other, unfounded, reasons for me choosing that particular animal. Though I am indeed a large, hirsute gentleman.

I am yet to come to a conclusion on how to make money from nothing, and there is no lead available to turn my hand to alchemy, and so the only options available to me this night are either to eat or lose my mind to an internet site. Having exhausted my tolerance of other websites I have decided to, instead, to have an outpouring of premature nostalgia, in what people are never going to call ‘electronic reminiscing’. I am mostly proud that I have constructed a sentence containing both the term ‘outpouring’ and ‘premature’ without being vulgar or base, although I have now done that to some extent by alluding to the possible double entendre that could be taken from that sentence. If you are a childish sod. Which you are, clearly. No, not you.

Whilst I was still in my halcyon days as a student (roughly 3 months ago) I had noticed that if you lived in rented accommodation you would often receive a huge amount of post. There were two types of post usually; letters for other people and rubbish you don’t want. Now you would think that I would not be interested in either of these types of mail, well, you are mostly right, but also, to a smaller extent, wrong.

My favourite type of mail is letters for people who used to live in the house. This is because I am slightly anal and enjoy putting these away in a box for safekeeping should the people ever come back to the house to collect them, which they don’t. It was only in the brittle and shimmering final days of my studentship that I struck upon a brilliant idea. I delved into my memory bank in order to procure for myself a name that had often come posted through the door. I then typed it into Facebook. To my surprise, delight and nausea, he/she came up (not a hermaphrodite I am merely anonymising the person)(anonymising isn’t accepted on Word as a real word, though maybe it is an attempt to make the word more anonymous). It quickly became clear that this was definitely the correct person, due to them having affiliations with the University I was attending. I had the nagging feeling that I was undertaking behaviour of a creepy sort, especially after typing the fifth name. It is perhaps fortuitous then that the majority of ex-housemates had set their profiles to private, though mayhap less fortuitous for the housemates who hadn't. I didn’t do anything horrible, nor did I get in touch, though it is good to know that the people who’d lived in the house previously were both better qualified than me and married with children. It is good to know that the house has a strong pedigree that I can follow in the footsteps of. The ease with which I had discovered them was actually a bit frightening, and certainly spells the end of days for James Bond films. Sorry, 007. I also briefly considered a Dave Gorman style challenge of meeting everyone with un-reclaimed mail in the house and delivering it to them, although whether giving unwanted and out-of-date spam (mail not meat) to strangers would be difficult to beat into a coherent and ultimately uplifting narrative. Still, if you do undertake such a challenge and receive any sort of acclaim for it, I would like to be duly accredited, thank you.

I also enjoyed the spam and pamphlets, or spamphlets, that were addressed to me. It was in this period of my life that I discovered there were three things advertised in pamphlets; pizza, kebab and god. Now these three things fall on a sliding scale of enjoyment for me, I really enjoy a pizza, and if you offered me a kebab I would have to vehemently turn it down, whilst screaming “My body is not a temple but I would rather anal beads than kebab”. And god is even worse than that. The main difference between these three things is that when you eat a pizza it eventually becomes shit, kebab probably has shit in it, while god is complete and utter shit.

I have, however, discovered that there are more kinds of spamphlet than this. Having moved from a student town to a smaller, approaching rural, town the spamphlets which you receive are 1) fewer and, 2) less food-orientated. The three new types of spamphlets available to homeowners in towns are for: charity, fetes and racism. There’s a sliding scale here as well, with charity being good, fetes looking promising but being ultimately disappointing when you walk home with no money and a flyaway football, and racism being bad. There are also catalogues and god being advertised in these towns, but they have the nerve to knock on your actual door, on the actual front of your house, where you live, and talk to you about things (shopping and god, mainly). I had to turn a Jehova’s Witness lady away because she didn’t have an interesting hat on, I said “Madam, if you wish to waste my time with your fanciful fripperies I suggest you at least make purchase of arresting headwear”. I, of course, said no such thing, and I took a sample of her magazine in order to read it and make fun of it in public.

So I’m sure there’s something constructive for door-to-door bastards to take away from this; if you want to talk to me, bring a trilby.

Greeting Cards

A friend and I have taken it upon ourselves to concoct a number of counter-greetings cards for the reason of comedy.  I am not hugely assured of my ability to assemble these subversive pieces, and as such I have decided to workshop ideas directly into a blog.  This foreword is more a warning that an introduction, it is to tell you that I am merely pumping out as many ideas as I can in the hope that a small number of them will stick.  They might be good, they might not be, let’s find out.

 

I’ll start by attempting some subversive, subversive Christmas ones.

 

On the front of the card there is a depiction of a snowy town, smoke puffing from chimneys like in the oldy-olden days, snow piled high on the houses, the gardens and the road.  Inside the card there is photograph looking into a car through the windscreen.  The windscreen is smashed and a woman lies splayed in the driver’s seat, with her face drenched in blood and badly mangled.  There could possibly be two little tykes in the back similarly disfigured, depending on how wrong you really want to make the card.  The text at the very top of the page would read: “White Christmases cause 1,000,000 RTAs.  Don’t bitch about the gritters.”

 

An alternative would be a card depicting a family living room, bedecked with christmas tree, stockings, trimmings, half eaten pie and sipped sherry, and excited children gleefully sprinting towards base of the tree, which is stuffed with toys, while sickeningly twee parents watch on from the doorway.  Inside the card read: “Jesus is the way, the truth and the life.  But we want presents, so screw the execrable oik.” (or maybe slightly stronger language, depending on the target audience).

 

A card depicting a green Santa shaking his fist and glaring out of the card.  The text inside reads: “I used to be green, before coca-cola got their filthy fucking mitts on my colour scheme.  Trust such an insidious corporation to engender themselves into the public consciousness in such a sinister manner.”

 

The front of another card depicts a near-naked Celt, with his hair spiking out madly, huge sickle in hand, ferocious grimace upon his face, charging at a turkey in order to tear it to pieces.  Text inside reads: “God isn’t real, Jesus isn’t a definite historical entity, christmas is a capitalist monster that eats away at your pocket.  But don’t worry because it’s all based on ancient pagan festivals anyway, so fuck it, go mad.” (I realise that Celts and Pagans may not wholly overlap, but I like the look of Celts so we’ll go with that.)

 

My final Christmas card has huge thick writing over the front.  It reads: “Important and Private for .  On the inside there is a picture of the child’s parents, and the text reads: “WE ARE SANTA”.

 

An idea for an anniversary card to a couple from a very religious background:  Picture depicts a family around a dinner table, all with sunken faces and dead eyes.  Text inside reads: Yes, your marriage has lasted a long time, religiously arranged marriages stereotypically do.  This is due to the repressive nature of your religious faith, and how it is reinforced in the wider religious community.  Does the length and endurance of your marriage make up for the fact that your soul has been destroyed due to the unfulfilling nature of your unhealthy relationship?  It is going to last forever and ever and ever and ever.  And ever”.

 

'Dear canvassing-religious-person, yes I have thought about god, at length in fact.  I have come to the conclusion that the idea of a god that is all-powerful and essentially good is a preposterous notion, given the inequality that is inherent in life on this planet.  There is no natural fairness, no natural justice, there is merely life, make of it what you can'.  Inside this particular card there would merely be the words ‘GROW UP’ printed in the very centre.

 

I am tempted to attempt a ‘sorry for your loss’ card to the relatives of a suicide bomber, although it would likely read ‘Congratulations’.  I won’t do that though.  Although I sort of just did.

 

Be my valentine, or else.

 

Roses are red,

Violets are blue,

You don’t know me,

But I’m obsessed with you.

 

Your eyes are black,

Your eyes are blue,

The swelling around them,

Makes it hard for you to see,

That I love you.

 

I used to be a sailor,

So you’ll never untie those knots,

You just sit in my attic,

Peeing in my pots.

 

The roses are red,

Your face is a dull blue,

You sit there going off,

I’ll never go off you.

 

A card from a student to his/her parents.

 

“Yeah I passed, unfortunately due to the recession there are no jobs available and so I am going to have to sponge off’ve you until we escape this financial crisis.  Love you”.

 

Blasphemous, morbid, economic and ruinous to childhood, a bit of a hectic selection, I think that’s enough for a start.  I apologise if any offence was caused by any of my ideas.  If there was I guess my advice is: just pretend you didn’t read it.

The Church of Ceiling Cat

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