Now, I don’t usually touch on religion, in any shape or form, because it’s such a diverse subject, and I’m not a religious person, but in this instance I going to make an exception.  I am, or was, more than a little peeved when someone knocked at my door a few months ago, and tried to tell me that I wouldn’t fare too well once the day of reckoning had engulfed the whole planet!   Cheery little bloke he was…

He was ‘spreading the good word’, and on two occasions I gave up my time to talk to him.  At no point did he say he was a Witness of Jehovah – they never do.  Now, if you were selling something, surely you would want to advertise your brand name wouldn’t you?  I didn’t even see a logo ladies and gentlemen.  So it seems that there is a certain amount of deception right from the off, and do you know why?  Well, among the various fractions of faiths, the God squad that believes Jehovah is the way forward, are without doubt, the most sickly and annoying people I have ever met.  And it seems that I’m not the only one who feels this way.  They have a radar system that’s set to put any normal person’s day back by at least an hour, and they can’t get to grips with the fact that, overall, nobody wants them on their doorstep. 

So, for the benefit of any up and coming Jehovah’s Witnesses in my area, here’s what you need to know before you get on the starting grid in the morning.  If I want some food, I’ll pop along to Sainsbury’s, and by the same token, if I want some God I’ll stick my head in at the ‘God shop’.  I don’t expect, or want, a representative from either party waking me up at 8:30 on a Saturday morning for a chat, no matter how fresh your produce is!    

So we start chatting, while follower two stands in silence.  We covered a few subjects, and it wasn’t long before the main man said, “We’ve got a leaflet about that.”  And they’ve got an answer and a bloody leaflet for everything you can throw at them.  I let him ramble on for a while before he made his opening pitch, which was, “If a person was standing up in a boat and was causing a disturbance, what would you do?”  And before I answered he said, “You’d throw him overboard wouldn’t you!”  Well no, not straight away, I’d try and calm things down first.  This didn’t register with the JW, he seemed more concerned with ditching the person who stood up for himself and stood apart from the crowd.

In the end, he resorted to nitpicking at everything I had to say while smiling at me.  Cigarette two:  we’re still on my doorstep, and he’s still rambling on…  We returned to the boat story again, and somehow we leaped to the notion that if you we, as humans, weren’t living life on the straight and narrow, we would come a cropper come the day of Armageddon.   Yes, he was full of happy thoughts that day! 

My passing shot across his bows was to say that, ” Hey, I’m a good person, I’ll be all right.”  And, as much as I know anything about myself, there isn’t a nasty bone in my body, unless you upset me.  And what was his last cheery and saintly reply, “Well let’s hope there’s a seat on the boat for you then.”  WHAT A NASTY BASTARD!  How dare a so-called Bible-basher, talk to me like that on my own doorstep! 

I wish I had had the strength and inclination to take him to task over subjects such as blood transfusions, and why the Jehovah’s Witnesses have a higher than average suicide rate than the rest of the population, or the fact that they cover up any form of child abuse.  By all accounts this faith is run on fear, and if you dare leave the circle you get blanked. Rest assured, you won’t find a leaflet about these areas.  And don’t get me started on the second coming.  Oh deary, deary me, what a fiasco!

The Witnesses grew from the American Adventist tradition.  And a chap called, William Miller predicted that the second coming of Christ would occur on the 22nd of October 1844.  And guess what?  He was talking bollocks!  This day became known as The Great Disappointment – priceless!  And you might have thought that after being let down by the ‘Big Boys’ absence,  this might have caused a certain amount of doubt and a vote of no confidence among the flock and their elders.  But no, they still they carry on with their worship today, even after another smart arse opened his gob, in 1966, and predicted the second, second coming.  Honestly, some people just don’t know when to lay down and die, do they!  Thisnext appearance was set for sometime in 1975 , and guess what?  The bugger didn’t turn up again.  Well what a surprise!  Bloody idiots.

Note to all JW’s in my area: if I have a bunch of shopping bags under my arm and I’m just about to walk out of my door, this means I’m going shopping, and it isn’t a good time to catch me for a chat.  If I want a polite and smiley one-sided, ‘we’ve gotta leaflet for that’, conversation, I’ll contact you  – OKAY!

This is BB signing off.  “RIGHT – WHO THREW THAT?

A new deterrent for petty crimes will be introduced on Monday, and it’s set to replace the old ASBO tagging system.

A police spokesman said yesterday, “The former ASBO’s were not a effective as they were first thought.  However,

employing a 78 year old pensioner to sit on a perpetrators face, filming it and placing the results on You Tube – is!”

BB

Well, it’s been a long time coming, I have to say.  It must be a worrying condition to suffer from, especially if the people around you don’t understand the disorder.  I went down to the job centre the other day, and overheard the bloke in front of me say to the interviewer, that he suffered with narcolepsy.  He was bright, educated and had recently passed a string of exams at Reading university, and what job did they offer him?  Apprentice sheppard!   

You’ll be pleased to know that the narcolepsy support group Kippers Unite, (sponsored by Dreams Beds) contacted me to help them widen the scope of the careers of those who suffer from this debilitating condition.  And, I’m glad to say, that after an exhaustive power breakfast, which lasted more than eight minutes, I have some suggestions to put forward to the job agencies.

Putting aside the trilfuling problem of staying concious for a moment, you have to open your minds and look forward as I have done.  And this, in my eyes, is exactly what the country’s job centres should be doing.  We are trying to dig our way out of a global recession after all, and the suggestions below would all benefit from a job-share scheme, which in turn will reduce unemployment.  I mean, what are the chances of both workers nodding off at the same time!  With this in mind, let’s take a look at my new options.

Why can’t a narcoleptic sufferer apply for a job a sleeper in a terrorist cell?  Because the careers advisors aren’t looking past the end of their noses!   Why not sponser a narcoleptic Arctic exploration team?  There would be a saving on food straight away, as at least two of the four man team would be asleep most of the time.  How about a bobsleigh team for the next Olympics?  Surely the ‘dead weight’ factor alone, would be a bonus to the team!  And what about a motorcycle display team!  You’ve gotta start thinking out side of the box guys!

Obviously there are certain jobs that the sufferer couldn’t undertake, like a lion tamer or a base jump instructer.  However, I see no reason why a group of jobless narcoleptics couldn’t hold down a job as a lighthouse keeper or a safari tour guide.  So there we have it, I’m doing my bit to reduce the unemployment figures, are you? 

Right, I’m off, I’ve got a hamster that needs sanding down.  BB

Well, I’ve heard some old bollocks in my time, but this just about beats it all…  Posh ‘I haven’t got a record contract’ Beckham is to design the new Range Rover mini off-roader.  How the fuck did she get put forward for that job?  I mean, don’t give the job to and up and coming designer, who could do with a break.  No, no, no, no, no,  give it to a talentless twatoid who’s already got quite a few bob in the bank, thanks to her old man!!!  I’m incensed – you can tell can’t you!

I’m mean, what has she done lately?  Jack shit really.  From being a pop puppet for a few years, Posh married David.  Then, she reformed with the other members of the Spice Girls, just for a quick buck, and then tried a solo career.  What a shambles that was too, she couldn’t even lip-sink in a live situation!   

Then, then, some bloody idiot suggested she should try her hand in the fashion game, O-H… M-Y… G-O-D!!!   Apparently her clothes line is doing well.  Mind you, she is the width of a clothes line, so I suppose it would!  Did she take a college course in fashion?  I think not!  So how on earth did she elevate her way to such a position, the school leavers cried?  Well children, what you do is surround yourself with a bunch of ‘yes people’ and ride up on the victim’s past glory.  

Range Rover came to me to see if I could workout just how Victoria was going add her vast knowledge of design to their latest vehicle.  Firstly, she could pick the colour.  Then maybe she could do a photo shoot.  The pictures won’t be used for a fashion magazine, she’ll just stand there and be the model for the dip stick and the aerial!  And lastly, she could lay on a huge windscreen while an artist draws her so they can get shape for the new window wipers! 

Well, lummy lorks guvnor, put me down for two, they’re only 30 grand a piece….

What a bunch of tossers!  I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again, give ’em 300 quid a week, and 50 grand each if they win a match!  That’ll give the overpaid Jessies something to run about for! 

Instead of that what happens?  Today’s footballers get: the best training facilities, the best food, and only play ONCE a week.  They get paid a bloody fortune when they’re off sick, and get more money when they make adverts or do interviews for the press.  They wear nice warm gloves, when the temperature drops by one degree, sport silly bloody hairbands, and wear brightly coloured namby-pamby boots, which by the way are specially designed so they kick better.  So what happens when they get out on the park?  Knob all, in plain language… …or if you’re using British Imperial measurements, four-fifths of fuck all squared!  “The ball is causing us problems.”  IT’S THE SAME FOR BOTH SIDES!  “The pitch is causing us problems.”  IT’S THE SAME FOR BOTH SIDES ASSHOLE!  (This just in… ‘some’ teams had a World Cup ball to practice with for six months prior to the event – hmmm.  Doesn’t sound very British! 

Anyway, it doesn’t an idiot to work out that something isn’t working with this procedure.  Will they sack the entire England team, after such a sad performance at the World Cup?  Will they bollocks!  No, what they will do, and it’s happened time and time again, is sack the manger, the very man who WASN’T on the pitch!  Fabio, at least you tried mate.  Call me Mr Picky but, is this really the way forward?  I think not.  My answer to the problem?  Employ an BRITISH manger, scrap the entire England team, and start again.  Cruel but fair, I think you’ll find…

‘STUCK-ON’ or ‘LOBELESS’ ears list update…

Steve Gerrard – Gary Lineker

No ya fool, they didn’t actually use a patient!   Jesus, you’re sicker than I am!  However, BritishPetroleum did come to me for a solution to their oil spill.  Well, not so much a spill, more of a constant torrent of thick black gold, which for some reason, the local wildlife are having a few problems with…  

So anyway, after a week on the lash, copious amounts of alcohol, and an intense three minute board meeting with myself, I’m confident that I have the solution to the oil crisis in the Gulf of Mexico.  Ploy’s one and two failed sadly.  I couldn’t find a Q Tip built for the job, and my air bag plan didn’t get off the drawing board!  But then, then, after a blinding flash of brilliance, and a swift visit to the potting shed, it came to me.  The answer – a 27ft tampon!

No, no there’s no need to thank me!

With a heavy heart and even heavier kidneys, Fabio had this to say about England’s first World Cup match against Team America.  “Whassa widda the fouking bee malawkee, lov-a-dock govknaw!   Issa bloady nighter-mare outta dere init!!! 

The problem is far bigger than the England manager first thought.  The World Cup organisers hadn’t informed the teams that a swarm of ‘Trumper’ bees had invaded every pitch in South Africa (S/A), as they feared the games would be played elsewhere.  To cover up the noise these massive bees make, they had to come up with a device to cover up the row, before the matches were televised.  Unfortunately they failed, so they came to me for advice and a solution to the noise pollution.

But, let’s go back to where it all started.  Bees have been dying by the hive-load in Britain, or so the aprists believed.  I, on the other hand have unearthed the truth, when I was holidaying in the quaint village of,  Muchit-on-the-bog.  I overheard a quango of bees talking in the window of a bakery, and what I discovered I didn’t like.  They were German bees, and they were planning to stir up the redundant worker-bees, and draw on their support to blight England’s chances of winning the World Cup!   In weeks, millions of angry bees were on they way to S/A.  When they arrived, they mated with South African Trumper bee, so called because it’s the size of an orchestral trumpet, and then they began to swarm. 

Now the organisers of the games had a real problem on their hands.  “Oh bum,” they said, “how can we cover up the row?”  “Plastic trumpets mate,” said the tea lady.  “Piss off baldy,” they said, shortly after they sacked her.  And once she was neatly out of the way, they said, “Right, where can we lay our hands on 900,000 plastic trumpets pronto?”  A company sprang up, and the wedge started rolling in from all angles.  However, this was not the answer, and it’s lucky I stepped in when I did. 

We drew with the USA purely down to the back draft caused by the amount of trumpets in the ground.  Nine hundred thousand trumpets, that’s a lot of wind mate.  That’s why Green, the England keeper failed to save the ball.  He bent down to scoop it up and, POOF half of the crowd blew their trumpets at the same time, and WALLOP, he missed it!  As Fabio said after the match, “Issa lika bloady gayma ov a blou foatball outta dere.” 

As I listened to the game, I came up with the answer… “‘Speak to my agent’ passes it to ‘Prat-in-a-hairband’.  He heads it to ‘caught dogging’, ‘caught dogging’ dribbles the ball, and with his right foot and kicks it into the box, where the number 11, ‘Where’s me gloves mum’, is waiting to pick it up.  He chests it down for a volley which reaches ‘Tax dodger’ who knocks it on to ‘Under achiever’, who slips it passed ‘Closet shirt-lifer for a comfortable goal…

Soon the trumpet saga will end, trust me.  I won’t watching any games until they are banned.  If you want to listen to 90 minutes of, vreeeeeeeeerve vreeeve vreeeeeeeeeve vreeeeeeve vreeve, plus the highlights, be my guest.  But, I’ve solved the problem.  I’ve ordered 200,ooo jars of Robertson’s Rassberry jam.  When they arrive in South Africa I have instructed the games organisers to tip the contents of the jam jars into one enormous jar, and told them to make a hole in the lid.  That’ll keep the little blighters off the pitch!

‘Stuck on ears’ list:  Martin Johnson – England’s Rugby manager

HOOVERING!  What’s the point?  You only have to do it again seven months later!  ANSWER:  Open the front and back door, and the dust will find its own way out.  Failing that, take off your glasses!

This is in from the Spaz from Alcatraz.  “A vacuum keeps certain liquids cold, and others hot.  My question is, how does it know the difference?”

And finally…

Michael Caine has taken a departure from acting to promote an Irish folk ensemble.  The band, Does the Pope use Persil blew all of the other groups off the stage last night at a Gaelic festival.  However, Mr Caine wasn’t pleased with their performance.  As the band were loading up their equipment to leave the gig, he could be heard shouting, “You were only supposed to blow the bloody Corrs off!”