Tuesday, 1 November 2011


If it please my noble Lords, I would like to say, Fuck all this shit,  evictions and fucking protests, fuck all that, and fuck all that render unto Caesar bollocks, I didn't work my arse off getting to be a Bishop just so's I could get involved in all this shit, bailliffs and fucking nutters living in tents like fucking Ay-rabs, here in fucking London. I'm off. Yeah, me, too. And me. Count me in.  Onward Christian Soldiers, that's the thing, onwards to the job centre. Anything's better'n all this shit. Many are cold but few are frozen.

(from Tory benches) That's what you think Ladyman, just wait until Austerity winter happens along.

In a shock statement  the Association of GayBisexualNecrophiliacLesbianTransgenderBestialCopraphiliacClergypersons  - aka the Church of England - announced, yesterday, that it was resigning en masse, many of its members forming a new church, the Church of the the Queer Jesus. A splinter group of  Anglo-Catholics was said to be contemplating joining the Holy Church of Saint Anne Pizza Widdecombe the Tangoing Virgin. whilst the Bishop of London, The Not Very Reverend At All Bishop Richard Shitters.

Kiss my ring, commie bastard.
 His Most Unpleasantness Richard Shitters, Gabshite Bishop of London.

stoutly averred that he would be staying at the wheel of the stinking ship, sorry sinking and had assumed command in the absence of his notional spiritual leader, Archbishop Beard.

Bishop Chartres and Colonel von Fawkes, back right,  famous catholic Nazi, share a moment of  ecumenical right-wingery.

It should have been me, y'know, whined the horrid bastard from behind his snuffler's beard, I should have been Archbishop of Canterbury, not that fucking druid git, spewing out all his silly old hippy sociology shit, fucking dipstick

Archbishop Rowan Beard of Canterbury and MiddleEarth

Bishop Shitters said that he was seeking help from the wider Anglican communion and had recruited from South Africa the Exceptionally Reverend and Learned Doctor Eugene Kaffirbasher

Look, I'm telling  you,  there is no place in Heaven for blecks.
Heaven is for decent hardworking white people.

and some of his congregation of Bruderbonders for Christ in order to clear the protesters from the bank's steps, sorry, the Cathedral's steps, although it is hard to tell the difference.  We suspect there are blecks there, causing all the trouble, shoot a few blecks and that should sort it out. It's always the fecking blecks, thet fecking little bleckkaffirbastard, Desmond fucking Tutu and his fecking Peace end Reconciliation shit, shoiuld have hanged the fecking gobby nigger when we hed the fecking chance, never mind making him an archbishop.  Who ever heard of a nigger archbishop?  Witch doctors, thet's what they do. Margaret Thatcher, thet's who you should fecking have, she's sort these fecking kaffir  terrorists out, soon get them off the fecking steps of Saint fecking Pauls. I mean, I ask you, how can a fecking nigger be a fecking Christian?  In the great Efrican Book of Common Murder, I mean Prayer, you never see no mention of praying for fucking blecks, do you. Anyway, me and my pilgrim brethren here will just join together and sing that great Efrican hymn, All Things White End Beautiful and then we'll get the kettle prods on these fuckers, that'll make the bastards jump for Jesus all right.

In the house of commons, former vicar, Mr Chris Underpants MP, seen here modelling for his FuckBook entry and a prominent member of the GBLTNCB said that as a former gay vicar he had every sympathy with his former colleagues.  You know it's very hard, leading a double life, as I can vouchsafe unto ye.  On the one hand, my brother and sister priests have to maintain that they are on the side of the downtrodden,  the sick and the poor, whilst, really,  they  all have to suck the cheesy knob of Mammon whilst he's shitting in everyone's faces - you know, they are a multi-national company, themselves, after all, second biggest brand in their field.  It's a bit like me. I mean, presenting myself in the house as a serious politician whilst posting pictures of myself in my Y-fronts on gay dating sites.  Sill, as it says in the Gospel of, I believe it's Mattew, verily I say unto ye, it is easier for an camel to pass through the eye of an needle than for an rich man  to be sent unto prison for massive, widespread, ruinous fraud.  Or even to have his collar felt by an law enforcement officer. But we must remember the motto which guides this illustrious chamber and unites friend and foe alike: to those who hath shall be given and from those who hath not shall be taken away. Amen and blessed are the cheesemakers


Dick the Prick said...

Dear Mr Smith

Trust all's well. The Archbish of York opened up the entire estate after 30 years minimum and it's an excellent place to camp and be hygienicaly angry.

I'm not sure how much credence to put on Gaddaffi starting a monetary union with Morocco, Aligiers, et fucking cetera but...err..and they lived happily ever after!

Love this Greek dude, man. He didn't say a fucking word to any of his cabinet, deputy, MPs, lobbyists - hell, I guess he just told his rentboy - So he just found a camera and said 'fuck yooooo, ya cooooooonttts'

...and he's gotten away with it. Good fucking lad. Greeks ? Democracy ? All the best man

As always


Woman on a Raft said...

About a decade ago I used to visit a cathedral on my travels. I'm neither mean nor stupid; it costs money to keep them standing so I don't mind paying a realistic whack. Consequently, if a coffee and bread pudding costs £4, entry costs what ever (about £2.50 at the time, but you could refuse if you felt strongly) and the gift shop tried to double-up by supplying goods from Goan womens' collectives, all that is fine by me. I bought a helix bead necklace, a very good present for a biology teacher I knew. Goodbye twenty five quid. So? I like lighting candles. What's it to you?

But. They wanted to charge 35p for a very small glass of very weak orange squash for my companion. I worked it out at per litre of concentrate and it came to as much as a superior wine.

Orange squash is what the grannies and nippers drink. It ought to be near enough free; it's only tapwater with a blessing of oranges and sugar. Even if you allow for the cost of washing the cup, you are still making a whacking profit at 20p per glass, which is what will strike the average visitor as fair. You could throw in a value biscuit for that. I know, because I do it at a tea stall I sometimes run.

Something about the 15p stuck in my gullet and I complained in writing to the burser who apparently took it up with the dean.

Both of them said that it didn't matter they were a church, fuck all that shit about suffering little children to come unto Him and have a glass of squash and a rich tea biccie thrown in 20p (Matthew innit?).

They thought that as I'd have been charged 35p in any other cafe, I should pay it in theirs and the fact of them being a church didn't enter in to it.

Nor did they appreciate that the 15p was deal-breaker for all the other trade. If they want to play ordinary shops, it's absolutely the first rule: don't piss-off the customers for tuppence ha'penny.

So if you think they are rubbish at serving God, I can tell you they're not in the grove with Mammon either.

yardarm said...

So this St Paul`s place doesn`t have a side door then ?

mrs narcolept said...

What I want to know is why they have all started wearing beards. They never used to. You wanted a bearded cleric, it had to be Metropolitan Anthony or nothing. If they have to have them I think they should be sinister and pointy.

callmeishamel said...

Money-grubbing managerialism is just part of the Blatcher legacy, mrs woar,like professionalism, with which all now carry out their duties, however meagre, just as all are now colleagues, no longer workmates, much less comrades in arms, You should have thrown the squash over them. I dunno how to go about serving God but maybe believing in Him would be a good start and most of them don't; a pox on them, clergy persons, as bad in their fashion, as lawyers.

It's not just the clerics, mrs n, think aboout it, look around at men, see how they adorn themselves with Satanic goatees, with almost imperceptible lines of sideburn running into beard, with topknots and with ponytails scraped back from glistening pates- if crybaby Lewis Hamilton spent less time on his facials maybe he wouldn't be crashing into folk all the time, David Aaronobitch, he's a champion facialer. I understand, too, that some gentlemen now wear cosmetics of every kind on their faces.

I have a plain ginger, well ginger and white, moustache which I've had since I was twenty; despite its incongruity, I am otherwise dark, I wear it in honour of my UlsterScots mother who was a redhead, handsome and pretty, the Belle of Belfast city. So I have no objection, per se, to masculine facial hair, it's just trying to see so many old geezers playing at being all the young dudes.

I would keep my powder dry on the Greek imbroglio, mr dtp; dunno where it's going, save that the poor Greeks are going ninety miles an hour down a dead end street. Maybe a tactical NATO intervention in Iran will focus their minds on obedience. And ours.

Probably a back door is more use, mt y, for the useless hypocrites to duck out of.

Sorry about the tardiness of ree-plies, Blogger has changed its format and it's like walking through cement, sometimes freezing after three words, and then the next three, and the next.