CHRIST ON A BIKE

Hi sludgemuffins

I've been reading through the Book of Proverbs in the bible, and I have to say I'm unimpressed. It's full of things like this:

The mouth of the righteous is a fountain of love
  but the mouth of the wicked conceals violence


Be assured, an evil man will not go unpunished
  but those who are righteous will be delivered.


A man is not established by wickedness,
  but the root of the righteous will never be moved.
These are banal, aren't they? And obvious. Even I can write them. Here you go:


It is better to treat a child with kindness,
   than to kick it repeatedly in the face.


Treat a stranger cordially,
   Lest he turn against you and rape your backbone.


Do not dump toxic waste in the local river,
  It might kill fish.


It is better to spend a night with a lover,
Than to spend a night masturbating to roadkill pornography.


I am a teacher of wisdom.

PEOPLE BECOMING ILL COSTS THE NHS MILLIONS OF POUNDS EVERY YEAR

Two bible verses


Mark 2:5-9
Jesus and the disciples entered a village. And the inhabitants of the village surrounded Jesus, asking him "Lord, Lord show us a sign that the Kingdom of God is at hand". And Jesus said "ok... pull my finger!" And Jesus did laugh a great deal; but the villagers were despondent.


John 15:17-20
And then a widow came up to Jesus and said "teacher, I have lost my husband. He crashed his handglider into a herd of pigs. I have so much grief. Please, please bring me some comfort." And Jesus replied, "my child, I hear your pain... pull my finger!!!" And Jesus did laugh so much that he soiled himself. And verily it was loose, for he had gorged on figs at Peter's house.   

ARE FERAL CHILDREN INFECTING YOUR HOUSE WITH AIDS?

That haunting, yet peaceful stare into the middle distance suggests that the procedure requested in the book's title is indeed at that very moment being carried out...

Here's an interesting fact*: Foucault had Botox treatment on his own testicles.

That's pretty vain, isn't it? I mean, they're supposed to be wrinkled; that way they help regulate the temperature of the sperm, keeping it at a consistent 98 degrees centigrade. "Smoothing" the testicular sack has a tobogganing effect on the sperm. To put it simplistically,  the sperm slides out of the testicles and pools in the feet ("spunkfoot" is the proper medical term). Consequently it has further to go when climax occurs, leading to an unimpressive ejaculation. It's a bit like a firework that you think hasn't gone off properly, so you approach it warily, thinking it might still go off, but after a while you realise it has gone off, and that tiny explosion was all you were ever going to get. It's a bit like that, only it's someone's penis (and not a firework). (I feel I'm going into too much detail in explaining these metaphors. I should really let them speak for themselves. I'm very sorry). 

* in these posts you might have noticed that the word "fact" is basically a synonym for "something I've just made up."

New Film Out

MICHEL FOUCAULT:

TAKING A DUMP ON THE BED SHEETS OF HISTORICAL DISCOURSE

Highbrow Review

JUGS IN SHAKESPEARE:

A SIMON BARKER PRESENTATION

Review by Thomas Tallis

I must say I was looking forward to Professor Barker's lecture and took my seat with eager anticipation. The warm up music consisted of the sound of cattle being slaughtered intertwined with the sobbing of grieving war widows. An interesting choice, I thought. As the curtains lifted, the stage was revealed; its backdrop consisted of a videotape loop depicting a naked Barker running in slow motion, his flaccid cock swinging mightily like a wet sock filled with tripe. How this visual aid connected to the works of the Bard is anyone's guess, but the audience were mesmerised with the pendulous dangle of the Barker penis. The image remains embedded in my mind, no doubt for the rest of my life, or until I find a psychoanalyst capable of helping me recover from such a traumatic event.

Meanwhile, the fleshand blood Barker appeared. In a vainglorious attempt at a grand entrance, he launched himself on stage via a medieval catapult (or trebuchet). Unfortunately, he misjudged his trajectory and crashed into the auditorium's ceiling. Luckily, his plummet back to earth was cushioned by several members of the audience, one of whom was a heavily pregnant woman. Meanwhile a visibly shaken Barker made his way to the stage, no doubt hoping to get the evening back on track. 

What followed was the collapse of Barker's personality before our very eyes. After his opening jokes (delivered with all the skill and timing of an autistic savant with Parkinson's disease) failed to hit their target, Barker began singing sentimental Irish folk songs in the style of Tupac Shakur. This he did for approximately 30 minutes. Then, changing tack, he begana Powerpoint presentation that was to be the crux of his lecture. This was a genuine insight into the mind of a madman. Barker had taken portraits of 16th and 17th century ladyfolk and, using various computer software, had grotesquely distorted their appearance. It was as if Francis Bacon had learned how to use Photoshop. Matronly old crones now resembled turgid erections thrusting from the groin of Satan. Elizabeth I looked as if she'd been to 10 Bukkake parties in one night.  Nell Gwyn took the shape of a giant horse's vagina, stretched into the infinite beyond, like, in Barker's words, 'a scarlet elastic twat flannel.'  In a frankly terrifying take on Rembrandt's Nightwatch, Barker had replaced all the subjects heads with that of Billy Joel. As Barker flicked through the slides, (about 200 in total) he seemed at his most relaxed. He laughed quietly to himself as he perused his creation (he had obviously put a lot of work into it, I'd give him that). Sometimes he paused at a favourite image so that he could drink in every detail. Strange guttural moans could be heard through his microphone, followed by unnatural sighs, as if at that precise moment some perverted fantasy had bore fruit in his diseased imagination. I half expected him to start masturbating. We were spared that delight, however.

Nevertheless, Barker seemed annoyed that his slideshow was not gaining approval from the audience, and clearly it was time to bring the evening to a close. This involved him screaming unintelligibly into the microphone for 20 minutes, after which he surprisingly calmed right down to give details of his new book, Steak and Kidney Porn: A Beginners Guide (Rubric Publications). Barker then collapsed to the floor. Later we learned that his rectum had snapped in half.  

I pray for Simon Barker

GAYLORDS IN SPACE

1977-1984

This suggestion for study is inspired by a French reality programme of the same name, in which prominent homosexuals were filmed for the edification of a rabid television audience. Interestingly, Michel Foucault and his "young friend" Jean Paul were the first to take part.  13 July 1977 saw the launch of space capsule Cockblast II carrying Foucault and friend and for the next 14 months viewers avidly tuned in every evening to share their fears, their worries and their horny rampant sex sessions.

As with today's reality programmes, producers would spice things up if things got a bit boring. These included weekly games where the pair could win greater privileges (better food, more comfortable beds, oxygen etc). Here are just a few:

1. Swan. Swans are released into the capsule. Foucault and Jean Paul have to shave as many as they can in 20 minutes. For every swan shaved, the pair receive a highlighter pen. It's not much of a prize, but they don't seem to mind.

2. Rusty Trombone Party. This sexual practice went under various other names, including “rusty tree penis", "rusty crap hammer" and "Willy Wonka Reacharound". It was the big ratings winner, with over 50 million watching one such event. It is also where we get the phrase "parping a tune on the rusty trombone", which is in common usage today.

3. Fart sex. Foucault and Jean Paul make love through the medium of their flatulence.

4. Docking Station. Jean Paul floats aimlessly around the capsule, wearing a special spacesuit with the bottom cut out. A naked blindfolded Foucault then has to locate Jean Paul and perform the tricky manoeuvre of achieving coitus. It's rather reminisant of the opening of 2001: A Space Odyssey, although instead of a satellite majestically pirouetting through space, it's a flailing bald Frenchman with an erection trying to locate his boyfriend's rear end. Nevertheless, it was still an intensely moving moment of TV history. I cried a great deal whilst watching the tape of it.

I feel Gaylords in Space was very much ahead of its time. TV could learn from it today.

FUCK PUPPETRY IN SIDCUP

1901-1903

Dissertation proposal

SPASTIC RENTBOYS IN SOHO

1956-65

THESE ARE MY PRESCRIPTI​ON TESTICLES

A  favourite for study:

FART PARADIGMS IN

FOUCAULT'S SLACKS 

You can actually pick up a copy at this website:

http://www.prehensileboygaylords.com/

There you can buy 2 copies for the price of 3. What a bargain.

"CHRIST'S ANUS SWALLOWED ME WHOLE", SAYS BISHOP

Hey cockbags

Check out this piece of Scripture. It wasn't originally in the Bible, but I 'received' it in much the same way as the Prophet Muhammad 'received' the supposedly satanic verses. But instead of coming from Satan, I acquired this passage from a belligerent transsexual called Darren. He's a keen amateur bible enthusiast in his spare time away from arguing untenable conspiracy theories on the internet:


As Jesus entered Jerusalem, the Jews did confront him. They asked, 'rabbi, show us a sign that you're the Messiah'. And Jesus did rebuke the Jews, saying 'oh faithless generation. Your generation has no faith!' And the Jews replied, 'your last sentence was a bit redundant. It just repeated what you said in the previous one'. And then Jesus said, 'shut up!' (great comeback), 'I will show you who I am and my God-given powers'. And he looked up to heaven...

  And a shaft of light did appear,

And from that shaft of light something did descend,

Verily, it did descend until it rested at Jesus' side.

Then, Jesus did reveal its secrets.

In a loud clear voice,

Like the sound of an angel

He did say,

'Behold, the Ab-Blaster AD'.

'Get ripped in three weeks or your money back '

And the Jews were amazed, so they took 40 off his hands there and then.

And they went back to their homes to try them out

But at the end of three weeks the Jews had no six-pack

Verily they also suffered from lower back discomfort.

And they sought to stone Jesus for baring false witness about the Ab-Blaster AD,

And for lending support to unrealistic goals of bodily enhancement.

But Jesus had disappeared,

He had left no forwarding address

Although his followers said he would return any day now.

You people make me sick.

I've had a further brain thought concerning Time Slag, Here's her backstory:
 
Time Slag is a sexy financial adviser. She prosecutes things like insurance fraud, embezzlement, money laundering, etc., acting as a kind of ombudswoman to the intergalactic multiverse.  Her hectic schedule barely gives her any time for a lovelife, but she still manages to leave a trail of broken hearted men in her wake. She's also a cyborg, for some reason.

Following in the footsteps of Doctor Who, who had popstar Billie Piper for a glamorous assistant, Time Slag's sidekick is Simply Red's Mick Hucknall. Unfortunately Mick suffered an awful teleportation accident where his DNA became intertwined with that of an alien virus. It has left him extremely disfigured. He's now a boneless slug-like creature with a single hand that has no opposable thumb. All he can do with it is nudge objects that happen to be in the nearby vicinity, rather like a cat with a ball of twine.  He has no power of speech, but is fully sentient: he scrawls messages in his own mucus that plead for someone to end his wretched existence. Harrowing stuff; yet funny as well.

Mick's lack of mobility may pose somewhat of a problem in the show's action sequences that require rapid movement. But I've hit upon an ingenious idea to circumvent this: Time Slag will push Mick's body around in a wheelbarrow. It should all make for some tremendous entertainment.

I think the BBC1 Saturday 7pm slot would be ideal for Time Slag, just after the new hit reality programme, Ainsley Harriott's Jizz-Fart Maggot Farm.

Hi sex puffins.

This is an idea for a television programme. It's called:




 TIME SLAG


The synopsis is as follows:



a slag travels through time.



Pretty self explanatory, really.

I think I've come up with a great idea for a television programme. It's quite cerebral and highbrow. Here it is:



RIM MY PROSTATE


This is what's know in the business as a "high concept".

And this is how I'm going to pitch it to the ITV executive when I meet her in an interview that will take place in my imagination on Friday.

The stars really come out to play in this interactive gameshow. It's a deceptively simple idea: celebrities have to perform the unlikely sex act described in the programme's title on a 72 year-old gentleman. This man then passes judgement on their performance using withering sarcasm that often reduces the hapless celebs to tears. Stars for the first edition TBC*, but those rumoured to be appearing include 90s popstar Whigfield, Martin Amis, Immanuel Kant and one of the interchangeable blonde girls from Hollyoaks.
At first, I thought I would have the celebrities donate their fees to a worthy charity e.g. a children's hospital, third world aid, cancer research etc. But then I thought it would be better if they gave their appearance money directly to me, and then I would use that money to buy myself something nice at the shops.

What does everyone think of it? I'm interested in feedback, as long as it's positive and you validate me as a human being. If this is not the case, you can piss off.  


*I apologise for confusing you with an acronym. If you're in showbusiness like I am, you sometimes don't have time to use "words". But as you're not involved in the biz, I'll help you out just this once: TBC stands for "The Balloon Council".

Hey eggplants.


This is a new idea that will launch my career as a TV mogul and excremental pornographer.


CHOMPING ON ROADKILL
Synopsis:

A couple are given a bin bag and an hour to scrape up dead animals on a local A road. They then have to serve what they've found to an unknowing couple at a dinner party.  Cue lots of funny action and dialogue in the kitchen as they prepare the meal ("Don't thin the sauce", "Where's the paprika?", "Can you grill squirrel?", "You show more tenderness with that badger than you have with me in ten years of marriage! I want a divorce Gary!", etc.). After much stilted conversation and forced joviality, it is revealed to the other couple that they've been eating flash-fried bits of carrion swarming with parasites and marinaded in Gary's piss. At this point in the programme I'm hoping they will laugh and see the funny side rather than recoil in horror and threaten legal action.

I see this show as similar to Come Dine With Me, only the contestants won't be quite so insufferably middle-class and smug.


I need funds for my idea, of course. You can make donations at this website: http://www.wankingwithchopsticks.co.uk/ 

DRINK MY BATHWATER

This is a new idea for a TV programme that will kick into shape ITV's saggy-arsed daytime schedule:



WHERE'S MY TREBUCHET?

This is what it's about (as if it needs explaining!):

Each week a member of the public asks a question that everyone, at sometime in their life, wishes to ask: where's my trebuchet? A team of four celebrities then has three hours to build the medieval catapult for that lucky person.

This process will be severely edited down to about 40 minutes, minus the commercials but including the subliminal messages asking viewers to go to my roadkill erotica website and buy a porcelain model of a man violating a stoat.

Celebrities for the first programme are Jay Z,  Richard Dawkins, William of Orange and Mrs. Dalloway. 

   
It should all make for some tremendous entertainment, especially if you're infirm, unemployable or mentally incapacitated (every better if you're all three).

BEHOLD, I AM AGAINST YOUR PILLOWS

(NB: written just before Christmas)

Hey gash farts.

How are you all? I hope you are doing ok and not contemplating suicide on a minute-by-minute basis, which I'm not doing as well. Definitely not.


We have come to that time of the year where the Creator of the Universe looked down on planet earth and thought, "wow, things are a bit crap down there, I should really do something about it. I know what I'll do: I'll get the Holy Spirit to shoot my godjism up some Jewish woman, who will then give birth to a child that will save the world. Yep, that makes perfect sense. Now, where's the cooking sherry? I feel like getting pissed."


Merry Christmas one and all!

Do you know when I was a child, I remember looking at Jesus and thinking, he was born at Christmas (in December) and died at Easter (around March or April). He therefore only lived for three or four months. How did he fit all his life into such a short period? Later I realised that my immature mind had overlooked what was clearly the truth of the matter:

Jesus was a space traveller who could alter the flow of time with a special watch.

Pretty obvious when you think about it.

I've also been reading this very interesting book about Jesus, (a.k.a. the Cosmic Jewish Zombie). In it the biblical scholar Kenny Dalglish reveals some details about a previously unknown gospel, enigmatically known as the Gospel of Lactating Shemale Dave. Jesus' behaviour is considerably different from what was originally known. I'll let Kenny tell the story: 
 

This was Jesus’ idea of a practical joke. Accompanied by his disciples, Jesus would pretend to be some kind of law-enforcing official. He would then inform a passing citizen that his wife and four children had died in a tragic farming accident. After leaving adequate time for the man to break down and sob uncontrollably at his awful loss, Jesus would smile and reveal it was all a joke and that his family was in fact unharmed. Although the man is naturally angry at the charade, he is relieved that his wife and children are safe. But then Jesus, turning 180 degrees in a callous display of comedic genius, reveals that actually his wife and children are dead, and he’d personally killed them with an axe. Jesus starts laughing a great deal at this, whilst the disciples shuffle awkwardly and look at their feet, wondering why the hell they left their jobs to follow such a complete shit. 

I feel this information would have a dramatic effect on western civilisation if only it could become more widely known, and if only I hadn't made it all up.

VICTORIAN ARSE CHEDDAR
1845-1885

GONNA BOTTLE UP MY LOVE, SHAKE IT UP AND DOWN AND SPRAY IT ALL OVER JESUS

Hey you sodding fucking bastards.

I've had quite a difficult few weeks. I've suddenly realised that I've been breaking the law in partaking in my new hobby. It involved following women very closely late at night whilst narrating the 18th century erotic novel Fanny Hill in a seductive voice. I thought in doing this I'd meet some interesting lady people, but apparently it's counts as "harassment" and carries a minimum three-year prison sentence. I genuinely thought it was a normal everyday hobby, like stamp-collecting or masturbating in front of a pet dog.

There's so much I don't understand about the world.


Here's an idea for a TV podfart, a new medium that I've just invented:



Kids Say the Stupidest Things.

The pitch

3 to 5 year-olds are asked questions on a number of different subjects, e.g. animals, their own family. geography, current affairs, etc. After submitting demonstrably false answers, a panel of judges will roundly criticise the pathetic attempts at knowledge on display, using the staple of TV judging panels insults: inapt and poorly thought out similes.

For example,

"Jack, your brain is like Gandalf playing a banjo"
or

"Jamie, your attempt to explain Marx's theory of alienation was as if a tractor was trying to put on a pair of trousers"
and

"Molly, your intelligence is at a poor level. It's as if a sofa cushion was your mum, and you're like a smaller sofa cushion who she gave birth to. Sofa cushions have low intelligence, and you're like that."
Such incisive comments will show just how flawed and idiotic these children's worldviews really are.


The panel will consist of a man, a women and another man: all pissing on a young child's confidence. Metaphorically speaking, of course, although a more literal meaning could come into play, depending on how the show does in the ratings. But I don't really envisage it going in that direction. Honestly, adults hosing down kiddies on live television? That's sick. You see that sort of thing on Loose Women, but there it's done for satirical purposes only.

I don't see this show as being exploitative. No, not at all. All it's really doing is psychologically harming toddlers for the benefit of a large TV audience. What's the harm in that?

Originally Written For Good Friday

Hi crackphillies

I hope you're all well. I also hope you giving due reverence to this very special day, where Jesus selflessly gave up the best part of his weekend to suffer for the sins of humanity. What a truly amazing sacrifice. He was then magically resurrected, which in some way actually negated the physical suffering he went through. After all, it's not much of sacrifice if you come back to life a couple of days later, not to mention then going on to receive 2000 years of sycophantic adulation from your own fan club. I sacrificed more when I deleted all my roadkill pornography to save space on my computer's hard drive. Anyway...


Continuing in my commitment to ask and answer the toughest questions in theological studies today.

Question:


DID JESUS OWN A SPEED BOAT?


Answer: No, he didn't.


If you like, send me your question about religion and stuff. I'll do my best to give a completely stupid and facetious answer. I currently have nothing but time and abject desperation for company

BAVARIAN FARTING CONTESTS

1908-1912

Another Dissertation Subject

FUCK UGLY FLAPPERS IN NEW YORK 1924-1928

DISSERTATION TOPIC

PISSWAX DAISYCHAINS AND JIZZ-SPLATTERED CUMMERBUNDS: THE SECRET PARTIES

OF F. SCOTT FITZGERALD

Topic of study:

FOUCAULT: GENTLY RUNNING A FINGER

 ALONG THE ARSE CRACK OF HISTORY

The first of a number of topics worth studying for a dissertation:

BOTCHED CIRCUMCISIONS

IN 1ST CENTURY JUDEA

More crap to follow...

IN DEPTH RELIGIOUS QUESTIONS CONSIDERED

DID MARY MAGDALENE

 HAVE A GREAT RACK?

MY FAVOURITE HOBBY IS POKING ROADKILL WITH A STICK

Hello children

I recently went speed dating. My opening line was the title of this post. I didn't get any positive responses. Please advise me as to where I'm going wrong.

I'm a sad man.

Michel Foucault once made an exercise video. It was called this:

Yogic Rump Disciples

I have I believe the only copy left in existence (the tape is quite worn as I've watched it in slow-motion a lot). In it Foucault gyrates in a haphazard manner reminiscent of a poorly coordinated walrus. Accompanying him are a group of worryingly young looking boys who seem better equipped for the task and are far better movers. This is probably why half way through proceedings, Foucault decides to stop exercising. He then unfolds a garden chair (why a garden chair? I really don't know) and sits to the side. From here Foucault murmurs encouragement of the performers and slowly begins to pleasure himself. The boys look slightly uncomfortable, but they're good sports and continue to perform admirably. In fact, their professionalism really shines through. I know I could not choreograph my body whilst a bald Frenchman was busy ransacking his flesh-nozzle not two metres away from me.

I bet you're wondering why this video wasn't a success. Again, like 'Take a Shower With Foucault' it was marketed poorly. This time it was aimed at pre-school toddlers suffering from ADHD. D'oh! If only Foucault had got a good PR person, he could have been as popular and successful as the Chuckle Brothers.

It's not all bad news though, as the video came with a booklet that has pictures of Foucault in any number of sensual poses. I'm flicking through it right now. Hang on... pages seem to be stuck together... how vexing.

The Sermon on the Mount

Hello twat bubbles

I want to share with you my favourite passage from the Bible. It's in Matthew 21:24 were Jesus, having finished giving his Sermon on the Mount, rugby tackles Judas to the ground, and farts on his head:

And lo, Jesus did rip one off, that all Israel did hear it and all Israel did smell it. And Judas, firmly clamped between the Lord's thighs, did beareth the brunt. And in the years following, the surrounding area* fell fallow; no crops yieldeth, and no tree did beareth its fruit. Verily, it was "divine gas". 

And Jesus, after comporting himself, did sayeth ,"I had that one corked since last night."

This incident may explain Judas's subsequent behaviour and bad reputation. I think he had a right to be annoyed; Jesus basically humiliated him in front of thousands of people. What kind of boss does that to his employees?

*an approximate three mile radius