A force for equality and mutual respect.

I am an atheist.
This means I do not believe there is a God. I am, however, a spiritual person. I believe in a power greater than myself, I believe in Karma of sorts and although I have listed myself as an atheist my “faith” does have a name. It has prophets and saints, Father and Son, stories and parables, an old new-testament and a new old-testament, and an even newer new-testament that the powers have yet to deliver unto us.
I am quite certain my messiah already walks amongst us, incarnate. If not he’s most definitely a prophet and imbued with powerful force beyond my comprehension.
Usually I keep this all to myself for fear of ridicule and mockery, but, of late people have been calling for respect amongst all faiths, to tolerate and capitulate to the wishes of all religious sects and so, in this spirit I have decided to stand up for my faith and all other faiths to demand equal respect.

I stand here for the Catholics and demand that “Dogma” should be pulled from sale. All copies should be burnt and Alanis Morrisette et al. must stand trial.

I stand here for the Christians of all denominations (including the snake handlers) to decry the awful Monty Python. Too long they have escaped justice; these terrorists should be stoned for their Blasphemy. All copies of the film “Life of Brian” must be burnt and I simply don’t care how nice Michael Palin seems, he’s a heretic, stone him like he said “Jehova!”.

I stand here for the Jehova’s witnesses; Cease slamming doors in their face or pretending you’re not in. It’s disrespectful.

I stand here for the Church of Jesus Christ of the latter day saints. Stop mocking the Mormons
Joseph Smith gave us The Osmonds for crying out loud and the doorkeeper is judging you.

I stand here with Saint John and Saint Tom. They who endure such torturous ridicule yet still follow with such fervour. Must they be forced to lead their followers in violent crusade before we finally give scientology the respect we give the Abrahamic faiths?

Jahweh, Ganesh, Dokkaebi, Sosamshin, Shiva, Buddah, Hubal, Zeus, Apollo, L.Ron Hubbard!

The followers of all faiths need to be recognised and respected. Gods shouldn’t be portrayed, represented nor disrespected by members of another faith and the law should accommodate all our different beliefs and tenets. To do otherwise is nothing short of racism and bigotry.
This all brings us neatly to my religion and no, I’m not about to claim I’m a Rastafarian or a member of the cannabis church that would be silly.

I am a Jedi.
A true follower of the prophet Yoda, student of the Teachings of Obi-Wan, devotee of He of the quiff to whom the prophet handed the holy scripts so that he may bring the truth unto us.
(A truth that came in widescreen and with a stereophonic soundtrack, not just on some crappy parchment like the other faiths, BTW!)
As a Jedi I have rejected the dark side of hate and of anger, embraced the proper side of the force and lived according to the lessons found in the parable of Han the lonely one:
He who doesn’t help himself does not get stuff for free.
He who dumps his cargo at the first sign of the police will find there are greater vexations than getting caught.
Always check thy vehicle works as is divined; One cannot know when one might need to flee the authorities.
He who mounts a Princess is set for life. Amen.

I was once passive like the legions of my Brethren, avoiding the mass prayer meetings and vigils at comic cons and Sci-Fi expositions, but, I think the time has come to stand up and be counted, I think it’s time for militancy, time we were respected.
Henceforth we, The Church of Lucasfilm and The Jedi Knights, have the following demands and the world has until the third day on the fifth month of this year to comply or suffer our wrath:

Non-Jedi’s must not wear the Holy masks of Star Wars; From this day forth no child may dress as a Stormtrooper for a party unless sworn into the faith and a follower of the Jedi teachings.

All impressions of Lord Vader must cease immediately, it’s offensive and frankly terrifying. You are not Luke’s father and to claim to be is blasphemous.

The people of Liverpool must immediately stop insulting each other by calling each other “Jedi”.
Their so-called Gods John Bishop and Robbie Fowler must be offered in sacrifice as recompense for the cities crimes.
Scousers: Do you have a pit to throw them into? The sort where they can suffer the horror of being digested for eternity in the stomach acids of a many-tentacled beast?
If not, throw them in the Mersey with the jellyfish. It’s more or less the same.

All three Holy films will be shown at Christmas in every country, without adverts, just after everyone has had their Christmas dinner and is a bit tipsy as we find this is when we get the most converts.
The heretic films, known as episodes 1-3, must never be shown.
Anywhere.
Ever.
All copies should be burnt along with “Dogma”, “Brian” and “Charlie Hebdo”.

Holy relics must be returned.
No more “original 1977 Stormtrooper helmet, great condition. NO RESERVE!!!”  appearing on Ebay thank you very much. We want all relics back for the holy church.

Representations and likenesses of the figures from our religion and all associated logos and branding must not be made by anyone of any age in any medium, unless:
i) They are a fee paying member of the faith;
ii) They are officially licensed to do so by Lucasfilm and manufactured in Jedi approved establishments in full accordance with Jedi (Anakinsian) Law.

Finally, Derren Brown must come forward and admit he is Luke Skywalker, reborn and walking amongst us, using his Jedi mind tricks on the weak willed.
Or, at the least admit he’s a prophet.
Or
wizard.

On the fourth day of the fifth month of this year, and if our perfectly reasonable demands go unheeded, we will rally for our cause, standing up to show the oppressors what force really means.
Gather we will. In peace and love, not anger and hate.
For that is how our small green Prophet said we should behave.
We will congregate armed only with our Jedi mind powers and home-made light sabres to march forward like an AT-AT and fight like Ewoks to demand the same equality, protections and freedoms other faiths enjoy.

Change your Facebook religion to Jedi if you will stand with me against ridicule and hate.
Write Jedi if you will gather in the streets with the millions of other peaceful Jedi warriors.
Write Jedi to let them know that they can attack us but we will not break we will fight in a peaceful and loving way.
Write Jedi to warn them: We are Jedi; strike us down and we will become more powerful than they could possibly have imagined.
Write Jedi if you will be there, with our brothers and sisters, united as one, and I will, on May the Forth, be with you.

 

British businesses announce “Global name shortage”.

British businesses announce “Global name shortage”.

Today, at a shocking late afternoon press conference, two titans of British industry, the automotive giants Bentley and Jaguar staged an emergency media event to make a stunning announcement regarding an industry wide “good name shortage”.

Earlier in the day both companies had faced a barrage of questions over their new cars names and neither company had been able to explain, in Jaguar’s case, the God-awful nomenclature “F-Pace” and, for Bentley, the completely ludicrous “Bentayga”, whatever the hell that means.
A Jaguar spokesperson, Richard Tootington-Smythe, began the press conference speaking in an almost exasperated and brutally honest tone:
“There’s no good names left!”
This stunning announcement was met by gasps all round from the assembled journalists. After a suitable pause to let the news sink in he continued:

“We’ve been aware that good names were going into global shortage for some time, but fortunately, until today the evidence has been gone mainly unnoticed, hidden and kept to cars that nobody actually buys, the Pagani Huayra, SSC Tuatara and of course the KIA Cee’d for example. Now, however, we at Jaguar have been launching new cars at such a rate we’ve used up everything we had in stock, on retainer, or found down the back of the sofa and when we tried to register some new names we discovered the Germans had put their beach towels down on almost all words, numbers and letters by registering them for tradenames way in advance.”

Despite being a member of the Volkswagen group the Bentley spokesman, St.John Cuppinton-Buckets interjected at this point to support his fellow countryman and old Etonian:
“It may have gone unnoticed to the general populace, but, the Germans have been buying up all the old defunct British companies but never relaunching the brand, I mean, no one noticed they were buying any old cobblers even back at the end of the last century? Well, this strategy has given them access to a whole range of cool pre-loved names like Allegro, Maestro and Metro all of which will soon be launched under the MINI brand and now there’s literally nothing left for us! It’s just not sporting.”
Tootington-Smythe:
“I can’t comment for my friend here, but, at Jaguar/Land-Rover group, well… the truth is we’ve only got enough money to make cars, buy paper clips and give the odd novelty tie if someone leaves and yet we’re battling with The Americans, Koreans, Japanese and the French for every new word or letter that comes up for sale or exists, but, remains undiscovered. The French are throwing huge resources at finding words they can squash together to form new ones and the Americans have G.W. Bush available to make stuff up and the option to remove the letter ‘U’ from words and also change esses for zeds! All over the world Major companies, including our competitors have set aside big budgets, and in most cases the State also helps them, to employ people from all nations, multilingual staff to sit with foreign dictionaries and ancient writings searching for defunct words that don’t mean “I have sex with vegetables” in an all important emerging market and others equipped with packs and packs of scrabble letters just making new words up!
We’re based in Coventry, near Birmingham, and honestly, who do you think wants to come from abroad to work in Birmingham?!? We looked at a feasibility study but we simply can’t afford to relocate the whole ‘Names and Nomenclatures’ department to Rhodes just to pull in the top industry talent, but, even if we did research showed we couldn’t guarantee getting the cream of domestic wordsmiths let alone the best from abroad!”
“Ask yourselves if you were a former countdown contestant would you come to Brum or would you follow all the other quiz show champions to work for the BMW and Mercedes christening departments in the Caribbean?”
“Realistically, if it’s not very basic English or Gujarati we’re stuffed!”
Cuppinton-Buckets:
“I’m afraid to say it’s true and, now we’ve reached the point where the cash rich Chinese have entered the fray, it saddens me to say that all future cars and then eventually all consumer goods will in all likelihood have daft or unpronounceable names.”
“The days of Vanquish, Spirit and Ghost are gone and we’re left with a bleak future. I can tell you we, the UK motor industry, have had at-length discussions with regard to this crisis, of course all kept behind closed doors for fear of widespread panic, and it’s accurate to say that all British car companies are, to use a colloquialism, up a certain creek without a paddle.”

“It’s not like we’re Italians and can just call it anything we want and because it’s in Italian it just sounds cool. The ‘Ferrari Scoreggia’ for example, you’d buy that, it sounds great, but in English it’s the ‘Ferrari Fart’ and who apart from footballers will buy that?”  Interrupted Tootington-Smythe, before allowing the Bentley man continued:

“ I cannot stress how important this matter is and that it must be taken seriously as, and I’m speaking solely for Bentley here, without support from our parent company and access to ‘Das Namegewölbe’ (literally ‘the name vault’) the VW groups offsite secure name-storage facility, we may finally see a complete good naming meltdown and our next planned model, a midsize Roadster, is going to be called the Divorcee or the Newidow.”

At this point the two were joined on stage by Aston Martin Chairman Sir Henry Fuzzlewick who had stepped up from the audience, unannounced and clearly much to the surprise of all, to take the podium. He proceeded to confirm they had been in secret talks to discuss this turn of events and he went on to appeal directly to politicians to:
“stimulate new word production and discovery and do furthermore warn that if Britain’s politicians don’t make word invention a core module in the school curriculum then, by as early as 2020, we won’t be able to produce anything new as we won’t have any spare names, not even bad ones! No marketing! No sales! No production and no employment because, how do you market something if it doesn’t have a name?…”

The press conference closed after Sir Henry’s final shocking words:

“…Despite huge investment in our naming department, relocating it to Mauritius  and putting together a top team featuring two previous ‘Times crossword’ winners, a three time Scrabble world champion and a retired English teacher from Stoke-on-Trent we are still struggling. We have two models coming out this year; a two seat Grand Tourer with a massive engine that will sit at the top of the range that we are calling the
‘Vaginator’ and a sub one hundred thousand pound model with a folding hard top that we’re hoping will attract more female customers to the company. That, well… That we’ve had to call the ‘Vajazzle’.”

Industry representatives have been summoned to an urgent meeting with the British Primeminister and cabinet to take place within the week.

An excerpt from my new book.

Video

Here is a small free sample from my new adult book.
Having noticed the popularity of badly written smut in this post “fifty shades of grey” world. I decided to venture into the smut writing business myself, so, here is an excerpt from my debut work:

Love on a council estate; or, 50 shades of Burberry.

 

“I opened the door to find him stood there as handsome as a man could be, dressed top to toe in a fresh blue Lonsdale hooded tracksuit and clean white Reebok classics. I looked up and his eyes pierced my soul and seized my gaze, his holding mine with the passion and intensity of a horny Staffie humping your leg and just as reluctant to release.
I realised that for the first time in our long three weeks together neither of these soul-filled pools was black nor swollen and I felt a relief and a tingle in my love garden when I was assured that both wndows to his soul did, in fact, look in the same direction.
He smiled at me, that mischievous smile, both adult and childish at the same time, and I must admit, for a moment, I was jealous that he still had so many teeth and none were black.
For the first time since he arrived he spoke:
“I got my giro today…,” he said referring to his benefits payment and with great theatricality he produced from behind his back a bottle of Vodka in the one hand and a pack of krispy crème donuts in the other. “They wasn’t reduced or nuffin” he continued in the husky, phlegmy voice that had attracted me to him so much the first time I saw and heard him racially abuse an Indian.
I could feel myself warming up down below and my nipples begin to stiffen as he gestured down with a glance of his eyes and, in a voice dripping with triumph and lust, he crowed “That’s not the only fing I’ve got for
you, darlin’”
My eyes followed his and my gaze was drawn to the large bulge in his trackie bottoms. My eyes widened and my hand moved instinctively forward a few inches to reach out and touch before I hesitated, showing a reluctance and nervousness I’d not known since I was 14.
“It’s ok, innit,” he said, “there’s nuffin to fear, just touch it!” he cajoled and with his encouragement I did, softly at first, running my palm gently over the bulge, but, then as my confidence grew and, emboldened by the rush of adrenaline, I softly gripped and squeezed this very large parcel…
I looked up to him, my pleasure bringer; “How… how…?” I could barely form the words. I’d never encountered such a large package before, I’d seen plenty of small packages and was far more used to them, this one had rendered me speechless.
“How much is
that you’ve got hidden in your keks?” I finally spurted out and his face beamed with pride “It’s more than enuff for a good time…” he smirked, “Get it out and ‘ave a butchers”
I reached in and wrapped my hands round it; if anything it felt even bigger now. Holding it gently I carefully pulled it out from its hiding place and gazed down. It didn’t take long for the delicious musky smell to overpower me and it gave me a heady rush.
“It’s an ounce, innit luv, proper skunk, no seeds or nuffin!”
I couldn’t contain myself any longer and leapt up, embracing him and wrapping my legs around his waist. “Come in and close the door” I softly whispered in his ear “the hallway stinks of piss”.

Now, in the kitchen/lounge/bedroom of my bedsit our passions ignited and we barely had time to drink half the vodka before we could contain our desires no longer. We each had our pre-carnal routines: He readied himself logging into snapchat , setting up his autoflash and tweeting all his mates. I practiced my sexy, pout face in the mirror and prepared myself to taste his manliness.
My special place was dripping like a leaky tap in a poorly maintained south London tenement as I knelt before him and readied to please him like he was my landlord and I didn’t have the rent… This experience would be as good for him as he had been to me; he had given me so much: vodka, donuts, weed…He’d even topped up my phone credit!
I would show him my gratitude.
I had hardly begun to show him the well practiced, dyson-like, fellatory skills so often written about on pub toilet walls when his mates tweeted to ask to see my heaving mounds of love so, as he snapped away, I took his stiff love rod in the fleshy fold between my love-cushions and pursed my lips and poked my tongue out until we were so inflamed we could take no more; my precious foofy was as hot as the seat on a scooter left out in Malaga’s midday sun.
Without warning or care he reached out and, emboldened by frenzied lust, swept the week’s worth of bowls, plates and McDonalds cartons from the sofa before sweeping me up from my knees in his powerful arms and throwing me face down on top of it. A tiny beautiful cloud of dust and fag ash flew up as I landed and I felt his left arm, so strong, holding me down and restraining me like a third ASBO, whilst the rough, nicotine stained fingers of his right hand tugged down my best yoga pants and searched for underwear that just wasn’t there.
I heard him sigh and barely noticed as he entered me.
For a brief moment my mind wandered, hoping the kids, sleeping so peacefully in the corner, wouldn’t wake up to find a strange man using me for his pleasure… again, and for a brief second I questioned if I should lock them in the bathroom, but, such thoughts are fleeting when concentrating on the business of enthusiastic moaning, trying to keep track of the Eastenders omnibus and modelling for photos all at the same time…

To continue reading the adventures of S’har’leen, our heroine on heroin, buy the book on E-reader:
Learn how wealth comes her way from webcamming.
Feel the joy when her life really opens up after the council finally take “those shi**ing kids” away and puts them into care.
Experience the love when she finally meets her Prince, a rich second-hand car dealer who introduces her to dogging.

Love on a council estate; or, 50 shades of Burberry.
An Angry Baboon novel.

Breaking News: Art attack horror.

Art attack in Mecca: Dozens feared to have been offended to death.

We are getting reports of a vile and senseless attack by the radical right wing ARTT group (artists responding to terror) that has taken place at a temporary mosque in East London.
At this time we have only reports from bystanders that at the end of morning prayers a number of cartoonists stormed the building, formerly the Mecca Bingo hall, and began pelting the congregation with quickly sketched images of the prophet and of God.

Authorities are yet to confirm that any drawing has taken place and will only say, when questioned on the nature of the attack, that “they are dealing with an ongoing incident the exact nature of which we cannot confirm.”

There are thought to be at least 6 cartoonists and possibly one balloon animal maker involved and we are receiving sketchy reports that two were seen carrying portable easels and that one had an artist’s box strapped to his chest. There is no word, yet, if this box contains any colouring implements and we all unite to pray these barbarians who call themselves “artists” are still only working in graphite pencil and charcoal.

One witness who was leaving the building as the crack illustrators stormed-in described the initial chaotic scenes:
“At first I didn’t understand what was happening. The way they were furiously scribbling on notepad sheets then tearing them off I thought they must be traffic wardens, but, then as the screaming built I felt a stinging blow to the back of head followed by a softer one on my shoulder and I saw a small, scrunched-up, ball of paper drop down next to me”.
He broke down in tears as he continued, “I was just curious and I knew it was wrong to do so, but, I opened the paper anyway to find a caricature of the prophet on a jewel encrusted throne held aloft by four gushing oil platforms… I didn’t understand it, but, I knew God would be offended”
He went on to explain how he feared for the safety of God and his worries that the Almighty could not withstand such unabashed ridicule. He told us:
“…The rate they were drawing and ripping off the pages I’m afraid they could satirise God to death.”

A Police spokeswoman Constable Shirley Amentel said:
“We cannot confirm the exact nature of the incident and will not be drawn on any speculation if there are cartoonists, actors or even mimes involved at this time. We will only confirm that we have cordoned off the area for the safety of the general public.
We can tell you that two are confirmed dead from “seeing stuff which made them question their belief” whilst many more are feared to be dead inside and the one person, so far, rescued from the scene is in a critical but stable condition after being taken to a local madrasa and treated with readings from the Q’uran and several cups of strong tea.
I can also confirm that two swat units who have been conditioned against all forms of artistic expression and armed with black markers and erasers accompanied by one unit trained in the use of turps and a rag have now entered the scene with the hope we can try and resolve this tragedy peacefully.”

A crudely drawn sketch of two men, one with his head up his bottom and another with his head buried in the sand was received by Al Jazeera an hour ago, but, at this time we cannot confirm that this is a genuine communiqué from the terror group ARTT.

We will bring you further news as it breaks.

Je suis Pissed off.

Does there come a point where to ensure tolerance and peace for the many, freedom for the masses, we must begin to treat some with intolerance?

Is there a time when, to protect the very fabric of society, we draw the line and say “choose”? Choose between this or that, because we don’t want that here.

“You should respect my religion.”
well, no, I won’t.
Just as I won’t respect any addiction and I won’t respect any mental illness and don’t ask me to either. It’s your delusion and I don’t care how many other people suffer from it, it’s still archaic nonsense.
I don’t respect people who suffer obesity just because I see lots of other fat people.
I do respect the indulgent more than the religious, though.

Today the news is rightly filled with coverage of the attack in Paris where ten people were executed for a producing a satirical magazine that featured a cartoon that mocked Islam.
Is there anyone who can say that when they heard the keywords “gunshots”, “attack” and “satirical magazine” they didn’t automatically, and rightly, assume this was yet another victory chalked up on the scoreboard for the team representing the religion of tolerance and peace?

Some things are like oil and water. Western tolerance, science and culture is the oil. Islam is the water. The two just won’t mix no matter how vigourously you shake the jar.
One side see’s religious pluralism as the only way forward and, in Britain at least, accepts that most people are agnostic or atheistic in their belief. The other side will stone you for such heresy.
One’s perspective see’s the rights of disabled people, gay people, minorities and all religions as something worth fighting for. The other perceives that most of these groups should be stoned for their heresy and the minority believe the right to stone them is worth fighting for.
One believes women to be equal to man. The other believes women to be equal to property and generally worth less than livestock. Oh, and women are also good for stoning and practicing your fighting by beating up.

“You can’t say that!” I’m sure some people are thinking.
Well I can and I did, so, piss off.

The men and women of my family, only two and three generation’s back, experienced hell to ensure that we, the citizens of Western Europe, could live our lives free from the crushing yoke of fascism and the whip of barbarism.
Many of you reading will be able to say the same.
Our families shed blood and suffered grief to end the stranglehold fascism held round Europe’s throat.
After the war we invited others to come and live in our “free countries”, especially those who suffered from the subjugation and oppression found their monotheistic/dictatorial/genocidal homelands.
Many people took up our offer of sanctuary. A good portion of those were of the Islamic faith and many Muslims continue to take up our offer of relative freedom and protected rights.

There is a question that crops up in the “life in the UK test” one must take to gain British citizenship that reads:

  1. There is no place in British society for extremism or intolerance
    • True
    • False

We seem pretty bloody tolerant of extremism and intolerance as long as the perpetrator doesn’t eat pork. Yes I’m including the much persecuted willy snippers, too
If there really is no place for extremism or intolerance how is there a place for intolerant and extreme faiths? I refer back to the willy snipping, how is that not extremist belief and legalised child abuse? Dress it up all you want in pretty clothes and rituals and give it a nice name like “a Bris” , I’m not fooled it’s fucking barbaric abuse of an infant.

Freedom is about choice as long as that freedom doesn’t harm others.
Fascism restricts choice and persecutes those who attempt to exercise it.
We do not allow fascism in Britain.
Islam restricts choice of those who follow and the rights and value of those who don’t because Islam is fascism.
Why did our for-bearers sacrifice so much just for us to invite another form of fascism back and then to protect the rights of those who follow it and encourage its spread?
When will our tolerance run out and when will we choose to ask those who follow the prophet Mohammed to choose between their faith and living in a civilised society?
When will we cry enough and finally say “Eat this bacon sandwich and watch some “queer eye for the straight guy” and you can stay. Or, you can keep your bigotry, intolerance and praying five times a day, but, here’s your one way ticket to Islamabad.”?

We are allowing political correctness to blind us to the fact we have invited fascism into our homelands. Blinded us to the fact that we are now at war and the enemy fights dirty. An enemy that does not distinguish between combatant or innocent. One that targets the very freedoms we hold closest to our hearts and that now targets the most sacrosanct of all, that which has shaped our society for the better since its inception: the right to satirise those organisations we see as detrimental to society as a whole.

When do we say you are free to worship Islam in one of the many Islamic societies, but, it’s no longer welcome here?
When can we finally just say people are free to worship and believe whatever they want within the confines of their own hearts and homes,  but, organised religion and expression of religious devotion of any sort is now Illegal?

Too many comments today praised the actions of the French killers.
Too many seem to think that the action is justified because murder is the punishment for causing offence to God.
Far too many type “I Am Muslim” to indicate they condone or empathise with these acts of indescribable barbarity.
Too many newspapers have failed to stand up and publish the cartoon or similar cartoons in solidarity with those who were murdered and in defiance of those who wish to silence their critics through violence.
All newspapers failed this test in the UK.
Was fear a factor in the editorial decision making process in those publications where the cartoon was not published?
Fear of violent recrimination, fear of violence on the streets, riots, people burnt in effigy or people just burnt?
If so, then we’re already losing the battle.

Much to the wife’s chagrin I am not afraid to offend lunatic beard wearers or their Magic pixie and am only saddened, and she pleased, to say that I can’t draw worth a damn…
I do like a poem though. This one’s entitled:

Je Suis Pissed off (or alternatively “If you don’t like it, fuck off.”).

“Allah is great!”, I hear you cry, whilst artists lie and bleed and die?
Taking offence on behalf of God, that doesn’t strike you as more than odd?
It doesn’t raise a fundamental question, when you hear in your head the awful suggestion,
That on behalf of God, for delusional faith, some lost soul should become avenging wraith?
To take up arms, strike at the heart, of societies that, took you in for their part
this is the choice, how you chose to be free, killing the likes of him, her or me?
Because we choose to question, question belief, your only road to frustration’s relief
is to kill and to maim those who don’t think the same?
Your favourite move in this terrible game,
To shatter, destroy man, woman and boy?
Death you deal, bomb and gun your toy.
(Leave the girls of course, better raped and converted.
The prophet says it’s Halal, not sick or perverted)
When is the time, that sense will dictate, you all calm down and stop being irate.
Don’t kick us and punch us, thinking us weak, or you may get the fight you so desperately seek.
If we strike with full force, the sky will rain fire, and the troops will come in to toss dead on the pyre.
What will you cry, at the end of your life, as you stand and stare down on the corpse of your wife,
When your lands are all gone and your faith is Haram, when all year is now Eid and the Muslim the lamb,
Will you praise your God, or curse him instead, as the great Satan’s bullet wipes the thoughts from your head?
This nightmare, do you want it to be something we’ll see?
Me? I’d rather see peace, but, #Je Suis Charlie.

Way down deep in the middle of the Congo.

Well, Shakespeare won’t be quaking in his boots but he may be spinning in his grave as silly poem day makes a comeback!
Today we’re concerned with jungle deforestation.

There’s not a man has name to call,
that piece of skin ‘twixt butt and ball.
But now, they say, with sacks and backs
we men should wax our hairy cracks.
what purpose, or gain, I’ve yet to learn
hot wax down there? Cause for concern.

I am man, not little boy
and is there some perverted joy
to being bald and being buff
When it grows back won’t it be rough?

I’ve seen the price, a hundred quid!
They’ll see more than the butler did,
and if on sight they’re scarred for life,
seeing bits meant just for the wife?
After much thought I think I’ll pass
And live my life with hairy arse.