If they really are obligated to believe all that (such is my understanding of the Bible) then why are they trying to protect their lives? Surely they'd should be looking to get it out of the way so they can become angels with wings and sweet togas and the power to look down all the way from their clouds in outer-space and watch their descendants getting it down with their filthy, meaty genitals.
Outer-space is where Heaven is by the way.
Pastor Ken Pagano doing his impersonation of a Daily Mail reader's worst nightmare: A sweaty kiddie fiddler that packs heat.
Elliot Armstrong, the owner/operator of this particular ScatterGum franchise has been far too busy thinking up evermore ingenious excuses to keep his manager off his back by doing something other than the things he should be working on to post pointless blogshite.
Fortunately our readers won’t be left bereft because our good friends at Rhenium Press said they will pay ScatterGum a penny per page view if we chuck up this short extract from a forthcoming publication of theirs. ScatterGum stands to make about fifty pence out of this, too great an opportunity to pass up selling out on.
Take it to the bridge and all that Rhenium press.
Dead Six Times Over With the Bullet Dogs A Colt Buchanan Western Yarn From The Desk of Suede M. Loco
Colt Buchanan knew that fame and gunfightin’ were to be his dual vocations in life. Hell, he was even named after a kind of gun, which was itself named after a kind of wild and crazy horse. In Colt’s mind that’s what he was, deadly and untamed, a little reckless even.
In 45 years time the Groffst brewery will re-christen its flagging Shclappenshlager brew in the hopes that a second baptismal will wash away the beer’s reputation for resembling piss in both taste and appearance. Back then folks weren’t too fond of the Dutch (that’s what they called the Germans at the time because American folk have always been about as dumb as a sackload of putrid clams) or anything that came from the same place as the Duchies. Groffst needed a name thatwas tough and American. They chose the name Colt because it was tough and American; they named it after a kind of gun and a kind of crazy horse. What they didn’t name it after was Colt Buchanan, who wouldn’t ever be famous for gunfightin’. Or much anything else for that matter. The brew formerly known as Shclappenshlager’s similarities to a hobo’s butt sweat on a hot day was forgotten because it was cheap and people are stupid, lazy, tasteless and fools for a cool name. Colt was forgotten because he was cheap, stupid, lazy and a sucker for a cool name. His life story was kinda tasteless when you got right down to it.
The juxtaposition between the two was so damn convenient it could’ve been made up by a lazy dime novel writer.
Back East Colt had called himself Bernie “Knuckles” Mckracken. His bare-knuckle fighting career had been spectacular in that only six fights had left the fool with only six teeth in his head. He decided to call it quits on the fight game the night he found out that on future fight cards he would be known as Bernie “Shitnuts” McKracken, after that time “Tiny Tartan” MacTavish had slugged Bernie in the guts with such force that Bern’s bowels gave up the ghost and he crapped all over his own balls.
The way Bernie saw it a man was only about as good as his name and if he could square off against a dude with his fists, lose and still get paid then the rewards for squaring off against a dude with a gun must be even greater. Besides Colt Buchanan was a very good name. Especially for a gunfighter.
He hadn’t reckoned that the consequences of losing against a dude with a gun could be a lead addition to his head. This was on account of him getting punched in the face so many times that he only had six teeth left in his head. Which is a lot of getting punched in the face in only six fights.
Award winning author of the "Badd Acid Voodoo Texas Chili Cookout Maaan" series of crime novels (currently the the only novels in the burgeoning Freakadecious Wire genre) and acclaimed after dinner speech maker, Suede M. Loco is a highly respected innovator and compulsive liar He works exclusively in the yarn telling media because “telling stories is a bitch, a bitch that’ll fuck and suck a buck ‘till his balls are shrivelled like a couple of sticky prunes. This buck ain’t got the strength in his back nor the juice in his pecker to take on a mistress. Luckily for Suede tellin’ stories is the bitch with the sweetest smellin’ cootch juice out there.” When not masturbating whilst wearing a lab coat at work or doing writerly stuff, Suede M. Loco can often be found making up elaborate stories about his fighting prowess, training primates, crying in the street, writing hate mail to captive pandas, eating soup or inventing impractical crowd control weapons. He resides at his uncle's house in Stevenage, he is twenty seven and really likes writing about himself in the third person.
I'm posting this because this is what can happen when you get litigious with the Internet. Please, if you are at all worried about the increasing influence that truculently obdurate idiots like Jeni have on society then spread this around a bit.
To close, here's a couple of pearls from unbiased broadcaster and lover of informed debate Jeni Barnett:
“I don't like anything to do with allopathic medicine.”
"If you've had the Flu jab then how come you have a cold?"
And as an alternative to vaccinating children from the killer communicable disease Measles.
“Ban cars on the road, make them have 6 hours a day PE at school”
Yes Jeni, because while they're doing all that lovely PE the kids will have no time to learn any of that awful scientific method (or anything else for that matter) and we'll have raised an entire generation of ignorant fuckwits like yourself that think a couple of minutes Internet "research" and an evening class on how to dish out water is as valid as a medical degree. If they are lucky enough to have learnt to read.
Somehow.
Maybe we could give them a drink with the diluted corpse of someone that knows how to read in it.
Mark: Nah, it’s been snowing. Pain in the fucking balls. I’m sick of skidding about like an epileptic figure skater with broken shins. Anyone that gurgles like an excited toddler that’s been force-fed sherbet on a bouncy castle at the sight of snow is a dullard with nothing important to be getting on with. They deserve a kick right in the sack. Right. In. The. Sack.
Dave: I dunno. It’s not that bad. And a kick in the nuts really fucking hurts sir. It’s happened to me a few times.
Mark; What fucking swine would dare? I’ll tear their ligaments out!
Dave: Oh no, this was years ago. Back when my family had two Commodore 64s; junior school. There were various assailants, one was a girl wearing pointy shoes.
Mark: Fucking ouch. Do you think the repeated swelling the various assailants did to the region pre-puberty is what caused you to grow such a massive dappler? On the evidence of what I saw when we last went to the Japanese baths you should be thanking that girl and possibly be offering to slip her some of the resulting length. Is she on Facebook? Do you want me to get in touch with her for you? Something along the lines of “If you pay me fifty quid my mate Dave will chuck one up you.”
Dave: You’re trying to pimp me out again you cunt. She was fucking ugly, I’d rather be kicked in the balls again.
Mark: I’ve not kicked anyone in the balls for over two decades…
Dave: I haven’t punched anyone in the mouth for years…
Mark: Dave, you know we’ve been friends for over thirteen years…
Dave: You can fuck off. I’m not letting you kick my cock off.
Mark: Oh come on. What would it take for you to let me? I’ll tell you what, you let me kick you in the cock until you can’t feel it, then you punch me in the mouth until it’s numb and by way of recompense I’ll suck you off. It’s not gay if neither of us can feel it, they said so on the news…
A new semi-regular feature from our guest commentator Terrance Littleknob.
Irascible, Irreverent, Irightfuckingcunt
For over twenty years this columnist has made a living mentioning that back in 2001 I published a novel called "This Country's Going to the Dawgs!" about how The-Liberal-PC-Fire Brigade left has been deliberately eroding the freedoms and Yuman rights our grandfathers fought to uphold in two World Wars and one World Cup by insisting those rights apply to everybody and not just white males aged 30 to 65 that don't like blacks or gays, or worse still, black gays serving in Her Majesty's armed forces.
Like all white males I'm the victim of a campaign of oppression perpetrated by a ruling cabal of Bi-sexual-Feminazi-Town Hall Talebans that would to see me banged up in the gulag up for thought crimes relating to weekly rubbish collections, wanting to persecute gypsies and insisting they build more prisons that aren't like a trip to Butlins to cage all scum that commit any crime.
"'ere Terrance!" I hear you shout "Wouldn't that mean that you'd be banged up by the ZaNu-Lie-bore Stasi for tirelessly pointing out the slow death of Great British democracy? Isn't it a little hypocritical to want all lawbreakers banged up?"
No, I say; our granfathers fought the Nazis at Agincourt in two World Wars and one World Cup to uphold the Great British traditions of persecuting gypsies and locking people up that disagree with you!
Because no one has read my novel that I published in 2001 called "This Country's Going to the Dawgs!” I can tenuously link it to current events to prove that I was right back in 2001 when I published my novel "This Country's going to the Dawgs!"
When I praised what Mrs Thatcher had done for local communities by breaking up the Anarcho-Gay-Communist Union influenced coal and steel industries in my novel “This Country’s Going to the Dawgs!” that I published in 2001, I didn’t contradict myself at all later on when I called the people still living in those communities “Subhuman drug and Special Brew addled sponging chav scum; too busy spawning generation after generation of moronic spaz kids they can use to claim more dole and occasionally fake kidnap for reward money than get off their fat, greasy arses and look for non-existent work!”
I was too busy crowing in my Daily Mail column about the revelations of Max Moseley’s sex life to be a hypocrite. The press, and especially, The Daily Mail should be free trample all over an individual like Max Moseley's private life because he was having kinky Nazi sex games and his grandfather was a noted British Fascist; the leader of the knuckle dragging Blackshirts no less. Which makes Max Moseley’s filthy Nazi themed sex games all the more disgusting and important for the public to know about! There are children that watch Formula One!
Children!
Even though Gordon and Polly Toynbee's (Polly Toynbee only hates this humble correspondent because her obvious sexual attraction to him is at odds with the lesbian beliefs she decided to adopt while she was learning facts at some Godforsaken-liberal subversive university - I don't fancy her though, even though I mention her all the time) censorship addicted-Stalinesque-Scottish Mafia-freedom hating-nanny state wants to keep ordinary, decent people like you from knowing and masturbating about what Max Moseley was up to.
There are children that like Formula One, so if you don't agree with a private individual's sex life being strewn around for public titillation, you're a child hating paedophile and worse than Karen Matthews.
Children!
And if any namby-pamby, Guardianista do-gooders try and tell you that the Daily Mail once published an article titled “Hurrah for the Blackshirts” they are lying. Probably as some conspiracy to stop ordinary decent white people from smoking in operating theatres. All because these weak willed woolly-liberal sheep are desperate to appease Elf and Safety-Gay-Midget-Islamo-Fascist terrorists on benefits that have fallen for the great climate change swindle! It beggars belief!
A Graph Plotted From Made up Data, Designed To Dupe Credulous Idiots.
I have a few thousand copies of the novel I published in 2001 called “this Country’s Going to the Dawgs!” left that were saved from being pulped by Eco-Terroristsand and "recycled" into mansions for Asylum seeker-Mad Mullah Muslim clerics -most likely at the taxpayer's expense courtesy of Moron Clown and Alistair Dar-lying – chuck us eighty quid and one's yours. It’s better than whatever lowest common denominator rubbish Clarkson is chucking at the council estate proles this Christmas (if they don’t ban Christmas)..
If I hadn't just now, you couldn't make it up!
Terrance Littleknob is a journalist, author and broadcaster. For most of the year he lives in Florida because Florida is the best place to accurately drool out a twice weekly cretin-cast for little Englander twats based on his his long-distance, made up opinions on the state of Modern Britain. He has nothing to do with the real-life journalist, author and broadcaster Richard Littlejohn; except they are both gleefully obdurate pus-brained spam javelins.
It's what the inside of a fat, middle-aged ginger man that thinks it's still 1993 and he's still the biggest rock star in el Mundo's brain sounds like, if you're interested. Which you aren't. Fuck you.
Elliot Armstrong commented at 00:32 22 November
HA! First ballad. Fucking hilarious. P-O-W-E-R-B-A-L-L-A-D-!
Does Axl Rose actually know what his voice sounds like now? It's like an X Factor retard doing a karaoke of November Rain and being strangled at the same time.
Elliot Armstrong commented at 01:22 22 November
Spanish guitar over a fourteen year old trip-hop beat that's been sped up a bit but still sounds really pedestrian, tinkling piano keys, strings and some chugging riffery. Over the top of all this Axl is trying to nail falsetto. A decade and a half ago idiots thought the future would sound like this. A decade and a half later, some really terrible things have happened and the future turned out to be a bit shit, but at least it didn’t have a Slash style solo rammed clumsily down its gullet.
Elliot Armstrong commented at 01:27 22 November
The strings are back and they're epic. In fact, this whole song is epic.
If you're a gurgling spanner factory worker that likes Wrestling and lives in Coventry.
Elliot Armstrong commented at 01:36 22 November
This one actually sounds like the original Guns and Roses doing one of the numerous filler tracks on that double album release they did. Well done Axl, you've got your band of session arses to sound almost as "Will this do?" as the "classic" Guns and Roses lineup did back then. Kudos on this one.
Elliot Armstrong commented at 01.39 22 November
Poke this. Another interminable ballad. This is just boring now, rather than being funny or even slightly amusing; much like these posts about it. I'm going to do something more interesting. You should stop reading this bollocks and go and do something more interesting too.
Dave: Where’ve you been chief? We were starting to worry about you. You didn’t get locked up for trying to kick the faces off dogs down the park again did you? You do know we’ve got a show to write?
Mark: Nah mate. I went to see my personality doctor; like everyone said I should.
Dave: Ah, good. Did he tell you to take some time off or something? Have a little break?
Mark: Something like that. He said that I should join some clubs or groups. Meet new people that share my interests. Distract myself from my spiteful, misanthropic, narcissistic and self-destructive behaviours.
Dave: Sounds like good advice. How’s it been working out for you then?
Mark: My spiteful, narcissistic and self-destructive behaviours are my interests. And I fucking hate people. So I fired the useless, thick, cock-socket and stayed up for three days eating bzp pills and boozing. I decided I’d better chuck it in for a bit when pus started to come out of one of my tear ducts. Have a look. It’s fucking grim. Pus covered eyeball!
So I had a small sleep, and now here I am, talking to you.
Dave: I’m worried about you sir. Put my mind at rest and tell me you did at least something constructive with some of your time.
Mark: I spent seven hours printing out pictures of Konnie Huq I found on the internet. HA HA! I'm a genius!
Dave: You fucking idiot. Did you do any work on the show? All I can see here is a load of pictures of Konnie Huq with ballbags crudely drawn on her chin. Oh fucking hell; you still don’t have a thing about her running in the Olympic relay?
The Olympics was months ago, are you going to drop this Konnie Huq, tool of Communist oppression thing? You know you’re in the minority on this one. Everyone wants to chuck one up Konnie Huq.
Mark: And that’s why I’m the last moral man on this dying planet. Having sex with Konnie Huq would be like making warm, tender, gentle, sweet and above all consensual love with that tank from Tiananmen Square. In an obscenely opulent hotel room made only of the tears of the families of people that China has executed with a bullet in the back of the head. On the forth of June. Whilst the Beastie Boys stare accusation from the corner of the obscenely opulent hotel room made only of the tears of the families of people that China have executed with a bullet to the back of the head.
The Beastie Boys are now protesting about the occupation of Tibet; but you are swathed in bed sheets woven like the finest of silks from the eternally lost potential of cruelly discarded female children; victims of uncaring misogyny and the cold one child only dictates of The Party. Konnie Huq wants you to pollute her rivers and exploit her child work force. She’s whispering sweet nothings to assure you that not many, if any, people died in that earthquake a while back. She wants you to lay your pipeline in her African oil fields. You can see her Great Walls from space and she fucking loves it
And while all this is going on you are saying:
“Nerr nerr. I don’t care about your moral objections to totalitarianism and state censorship or your Falun Gong beliefs.I’m shagging Konnie Huq. Look at me everyone! I’m shagging Konnie Huq! There must be a prize or money or some kind of recognition for shagging Konnie Huq! If I wasn’t you would be! You’d be right where I am right now! Shagging Konnie Huq! But you’re not because I am! I’m shagging Konnie Huq! Look at me!”
And you are sticking your tongue out at everyone that has had any objections to Communist China’s policies on anything ever whilst you just keep pumping harder and harder, always pumping away at the lovely yet forever morally tainted Miss Huq’s cervix. The corrupt, godless, inscrutable, red-pinko commie bitch!
Actually chief, I think I need to nip off to the toilets for a little while...
