Sunday, 28 September 2014

On religion

A while back, probably twenty years or a bit less, a pamphlet popped through the door.
It was by the Christadelphians.
One of the articles in this colourful and somehow sort of old fashioned newsletter had this headline:

THE MIDDLE EAST CRISIS – SOLVED

Obviously the Christadelphians didn’t get the chance to implement their plans yet, I guess.
This morning I had an idea to help a bit:

GET RID OF ALL THE OIL THAT IS THERE

Obviously then the West and East and whoever else would have to find other reasons to bomb kids and stuff.
I am pretty sure they would find plenty.


A while back, maybe a week or so, I heard a knock-knock-knocking at my door.
A woman, dressed in white and black,
Plus her friend, who was very smiley, both started saying how they thought they’d seen me before:

IT WAS NOT TRUE – OBVIOUSLY

They told me they were Jehovah’s Witnesses, but I didn’t tell them he’d just popped out so they’d missed him by minutes.
This is why:

THEY HAD A SMALL CHILD WITH THEM

Around six or seven years old, I guess, so I just smiled back and gently told them to leave a leaflet instead.
But really that is child abuse isn’t it.


A while back, say, three years or so, I was walking with my wife in New York City.
It is in fact a hell of a town.
A young woman dressed in Christian Aid clothes thrust a clipboard in my guts in the street and said, ‘You look like you want to help kids out of poverty,’ and I told her:

SORRY, I DO NOT SPEAK ENGLISH

Obviously that is a really cuntish thing to say and I felt a bit bad later about it, but then I realised she started it.
My wife tells people that story and punches me and shakes her head. But as we walked away the young woman said:

HEY! YOU DO SPEAK ENGLISH!

And of course, she was right. Later I had a hot dog from a man selling them in the street and the onions as ever smelled much better than they tasted.
It was quite nice, though.


A while back, maybe thirty years or so, I had a conversation with an adult who was running a church youth club I went to.
He was a really nice bloke with blond hair.
I said I was confused really about why he worshipped this god bloke and he said something like:

TO ME, GOD IS LIKE BRYAN ROBSON

At the time I still thought I might be a midfielder when I grew up and I suppose I sort of still do really.
But I said:

BRYAN ROBSON DOESN’T TELL ME I’M GOING TO HELL IF I SUPPORT A DIFFERENT TEAM

Which I thought was pretty good for a ten-year old. The bloke admitted it was a bad analogy and then we carried on passing the ball to each other.
Now I think I was just being a little shit to get a rise.



A while back, me and my wife were walking down the street in Bangor and we passed some young men; handsome young men at that.
They were Mormons.
They were wearing black shiny shoes sharp black trousers starch white shirts and shiny eyes. And I said:

WHY CAN’T THEY RELY ON ALCOHOL AND PRESCRIPTION DRUGS LIKE THE REST OF US

Once they’d gone past and were out of earshot, obviously. But of course a part of me was jealous.
Because, ultimately, what is life but this:

FINDING YOUR OWN ANSWERS

What I think I object to is that people who think they have found their own answer want it to be your answer too.
And it never is, so leave me the fuck out of it.


Kids are lucky and doomed. When you’re four or five or six the world revolves around you. Toys are not just allowed but they are vital.
You play and paint at school.
Every little achievement, every word learned, every friend made and every toilet trip is praised. Because:

EVERYONE LOVES A CUTE KID

Later, when Santa is dead, the actual world of lies and cheats and governments and sneaks and crabs-in-buckets is revealed.
And that disappointment, that disillusionment, that crushing let-down is the root of all religion, or drugs, or whatever. I think, basically:

WE ALL WANT TO STAY FIVE YEARS OLD FOREVER

Which is when our dads and mums or whoever know everything and are gods and are everything and this is before we realise people who write newspapers or make TV or war or fight in streets are the same blagging fuckheads that we are.
That's what I've learned so far.


It might take a while to work out any more, if there is any more. Until then:


SMILE, FOR FUCK'S SAKE





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