As Romana brings me my plate of breakfast sausages and a glass of freshly decanted Irn Bru, I turn my attention to this morning's edition of the Daily Record, the cover of which occupies itself with the matter of the so-called baptism of Princess Charlotte, the new royal baby whose nativity has so engaged our attention these last few weeks and charmed the hearts of a nation. Justin Welby, the self-styled Archbishop of so-called Canterbury opened his address at the St. Mary Magdelene church, Sandringham with the words, 'it seems that different forms of ambition are hard-wired into almost all of us. At a baptism our ambitions are rightly turned into hopes and prayers for the child, today for Princess Charlotte. Everyone wants something for their children. At our best we seek beauty, not necessarily of form, but of life.'
Some of us also seek reason, and stuff what makes some f****** sense, your worship, if you know what I mean; and when I say sense I don't mean wearing a dress just because some imaginary sky goblin has told you to wear a dress like a girl or you will go to hell, some imaginary sky goblin who is about as real as the f****** tooth fairy. Hasn't he heard of reason or logic? What is f****** wrong with the man? What the f*** is he talking about? Hopes and prayers for the child? What? Prayers to some bloke who doesn't f****** exist, fat lot of f****** good that will do. Unless they mean prayers to the absolutely real and living God, except - duh - oh wait a minute! He don't f****** exist either, you soppy f****** f***er! Duuuuh!
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The other day as I was perched at the cusp of my favourite chair awaiting for the advent of Poetry Please, my favourite Radio 4 show providing there's none of that silly God stuff on there like there sometimes is, I happened upon the music of one of the young urban stars of so-called grime which is a kind of music made by the kids from the streets. This particular kid from the street was a young lady named Aretha Franklin and her latest big grime tune, presumably the one presently acquiring the most rewinds in the bashment clubs and that, is called Save A Little Prayer, which is no doubt setting the hit parade on fire even as we speak. Whenever I wake up, sings young Aretha, before I put on my make-up, I save a little prayer for you...
Clown make up, I shouldn't f****** wonder - a big red nose, orange wig and purple crosses for eyes, because if you're saving prayers for someone, then you must be a bit thick, like a real duh-brain. Just as a point of interest, Aretha, precisely where do you save these prayers, and when you have enough of them, can you like spend them on sanctity or some other thing you've just invented which isn't real and is an idea or the way something is and not something physical and made of actual stuff? Do you save them in a special box of dreams or something? A special box you got from Santa Claus, or someone else who isn't really real and whose existence squares poorly with contemporary standards of reason and science? Get a brain, moron! No wonder pop music is so rubbish these days when this is the standard. The Duran Duran one was much better.
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'What be this, Romana?' I roared demandingly as I examined the plastic figurine, a horse of some sort, but bright pink and with big eyes like Marine Boy used to have in that show on the telly, back in the seventies when everything was a bit better. It turned out that it was a talking horse from a show called My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic. Romana bought it for a Christmas present for her young niece, Rowena.
So let me get this f****** straight: it's a pretend horse - just a model, not a real one, which is why it's much smaller, so small in fact that one really has to question whether it would appear as such given that equestrian biology would need to operate by very different means were it scaled down to such diminutive dimensions, and that such a creature would have a much higher metabolism; and a pretend horse which we are supposed to believe can communicate using the English language despite there being no conclusive evidence of same; and a pretend, unreal horse from a show describing friendship as being magic when Friendship is a Simple Matter of Biological Determinism would actually make a lot more sense, but as usual no f***er thought to consult me, the bloke who actually knows about that stuff. Anyway, the most annoying bit is that this mess of unreason wrapped within nonsense should be given to commemorate the birth of a person who wasn't actually born in the first place, so it's all a big f****** waste of time when you think about it. I call bullshit.
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Some Islams were in the news again recently. I can't remember what they done but they probably blew something up or cut someone's head off or something, because it's always something like that from the Religion of so-called Peace.
Yet say anything about it and they call you all sorts of names, which is great providing you're not living in one of those cities in England where the lefties have let them have Sharona Law, because you probably wouldn't be able to hear because they would of chopped your ears off for listening to Aretha Franklin, even though they're all on the same f****** side when you think about it, the stupid c****. did you know that they weren't aloud to show Blue Peter in some supposedly British cities when Richard Bacon was on it in case some Muslims saw it and got offended? That's a true story.
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It has recently come to my attention that a certain national supermarket chain will henceforth no longer be stocking Toffos, the chewy toffee sweets supplied in a cylindrical storage unit of paper and foil. Back in the 1970s when everything was better than it is now and before one was required to seek written permission from Germaine Greer and George Galloway before telling certain kinds of entirely harmless jokes, Toffos were advertised by a cartoon cowboy man who spoke slowly, saying that a man has to chew what a man has to chew whilst being menaced by superstitious and irrational Indian braves.
Never mind snout! Next thing they will be banning alcoholic drink from the boozer just in case some Islams see honest white men drinking after a hard day doing an honest day's work of the kind you find yourself having to do if you're not an immigrant being paid four-hundred pounds a day to claim dole by the leftie irrational religious government, and get offended. You couldn't make it up! They come over here and they all think that when they die they will get to have it off with some girls who've never done it before, but that is an irrational thing to believe. Haven't they heard of science? Why don't they get a dictionary and look up the words logic and reason? They shouldn't believe it just because it says it in some book - I mean the Torah or whatever their one is called - not that there's much difference because they are all the same and they are all irrational - not the dictionary, obviously. Unless it's like the Jesus Dictionary, because there probably is one somewhere. I'll bet it's in America. The Jesus Dictionary would be no good because it would have no logic or reason in it. Just ask a scientist if you don't believe me. You would look up the definition of universe, and it would just say God made it, except he didn't! Silly buggers.