THE TRACT I WISH TO CONSIDER ON SUNDAY

No, I do not wish to hear about your time in Botswana and how you found religion there. Your come to Jesus moment while a lion was stalking you, or the fit of shits you had because the pizza had been left on the backseat of the landrover for twelve hours, interest me not.


A full colour brochure explaining what your creed thinks of as a difficult passage in scripture simply shows that your fellow believers are rather stupid and incredibly neurotic.

Those words do not mean what you think they mean.
You are all idiots.


Kindly do not wave your childish flyer in my face.


Here's the only tract that's important:

The indigestive tract; better religion than that! Verstehen sie?

And here is the key element which may become a pain in the you know where under certain circumstances:

See the appendix? I had it removed at five thirty one Sunday morning six years ago. I did not miss church that day, neither did the surgeon. I am a disbeliever, and he is, if I remember, Jewish. Jesus had nothing to do with it, or us. Zero, zip diddly, nada, bupkes.


Feel free to believe that my appendix is safely in the arms of Jesus.
If that comforts you.


My pipe has gone out. I must relight.
It's your fault, nutball.
Jesus!



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