Tuesday, May 25, 2004
Ack!
I am currently eating these delicious novelty Euro coin shaped chocolates (yes, I am allowed to not eat parsnips from time to time). But they are so delicious that they appear to come with a downside.
They are giving me terrible heartburn.
I swear, it is almost as if I am eating a real Euro coin.
Perhaps I did. Maybe this is the French people's way of getting rid of us damn Englishmen.
If it is true, and I am certain it is based on my gut feeling (which has never been wrong, even when I told everyone the decimalisation will be the destruction of this country: and it has been, because now everyone is fooled by 99p things and it turns them into alcoholic shopoholics) ... then I will exact swift revenge by calling in a few favours with the Lord.
Some people have asked me what it's like working on behalf of God. But I turn the question on its head.
You see, the Lord generally works for me. I don't work for Him, although I still bow to Him and offer Him a few cornish pasties as a sacrifice every now and then (which I duly eat on His behalf. It's how He prefers our arrangment).
He's kind of like the boss you never see. You know what I mean... the type that spend all their time out on the golf course, and when it comes to doing some work, they get to their computer, fuck everything on it up, and then use it as an excuse to squeeze in a couple more rounds working on their putting skills. They really don't know what they're doing, and let their staff get on with the job. Sometimes they pitifully attempt to stamp their authority on things by launching a new initiative to drive up productivity, and most people play along just to humour the boss. Anything for an easy life... but at heart, everyone knows that it's just a little charade.
But in my case, I know that God does know the difference between all the different breeds of parsnips, and knows that turnips will never be an acceptable substitute for a Plump and Prime Parsnip. He just prefers me to do the work, because he knows I enjoy it very well.
Until then, I will smite the French for attempting to kill me. As you may have just noticed, I have decided to class eating these Euro chocolate coins as attempted murder. But they will never Strike down the Parsnip so easily! I do not bend and break like you Garlic chomping wusses!
The French are the proof: if you don't eat Parsnips, you turn into a cow and a monkey.
They are giving me terrible heartburn.
I swear, it is almost as if I am eating a real Euro coin.
Perhaps I did. Maybe this is the French people's way of getting rid of us damn Englishmen.
If it is true, and I am certain it is based on my gut feeling (which has never been wrong, even when I told everyone the decimalisation will be the destruction of this country: and it has been, because now everyone is fooled by 99p things and it turns them into alcoholic shopoholics) ... then I will exact swift revenge by calling in a few favours with the Lord.
Some people have asked me what it's like working on behalf of God. But I turn the question on its head.
You see, the Lord generally works for me. I don't work for Him, although I still bow to Him and offer Him a few cornish pasties as a sacrifice every now and then (which I duly eat on His behalf. It's how He prefers our arrangment).
He's kind of like the boss you never see. You know what I mean... the type that spend all their time out on the golf course, and when it comes to doing some work, they get to their computer, fuck everything on it up, and then use it as an excuse to squeeze in a couple more rounds working on their putting skills. They really don't know what they're doing, and let their staff get on with the job. Sometimes they pitifully attempt to stamp their authority on things by launching a new initiative to drive up productivity, and most people play along just to humour the boss. Anything for an easy life... but at heart, everyone knows that it's just a little charade.
But in my case, I know that God does know the difference between all the different breeds of parsnips, and knows that turnips will never be an acceptable substitute for a Plump and Prime Parsnip. He just prefers me to do the work, because he knows I enjoy it very well.
Until then, I will smite the French for attempting to kill me. As you may have just noticed, I have decided to class eating these Euro chocolate coins as attempted murder. But they will never Strike down the Parsnip so easily! I do not bend and break like you Garlic chomping wusses!
The French are the proof: if you don't eat Parsnips, you turn into a cow and a monkey.
