Parsnips For All

This evening there is an interesting function going on in my hotel to which I have been invited. There is going to be much line and square dancing, so I have dug out my best stomping boots (I had these specially made: they go up the knee and all along them they have pictures of parsnips, and then "FEAR THE PARSNIP!" emblazoned on the heel).

I intend to show the fuckers what REAL line dancing is like.

There will be no match for me!

... to disclose this information. I couldn't give the full story last night as I didn't know who was reading. I have reason to believe that M15, M16 and the Freemasons are onto me for plotting to overthrow McDonalds. All of these organisations receive hefty funding from them, you see.

But I believe I have fallen off their radar for the time being.

Yesterday I had a meeting with the Archbishop of Canterbury. He had a quiet word with me. I could tell from the way his hands gesticulated that he is a turnip fan. Turnip fans often make very round hand gestures... and consequently I treated everything he told me with a certain level of distrust.

But he heard me out, and he has promised to try to find me a new parish. I dare not disclose any names just yet, or I may tempt fate.

On the way back, however, things did not go as planned. I returned to my hotel where I was promptly told that I had had a package delivered. The receptionist handed it over and I took it back to my room.

I opened it and had quite a shock. Inside was a half eaten "Turnip Tower" from McDonalds - with a note saying, "Here, I saved some for you. Try it! You love it!"

I have no idea who could have sent this disgusting object to me. Just the mere sight of the revolting turnips made my stomach churn, and I vomited all over the foul thing. Yet again, that must have been Sent By God! He doesn't want to have me suffer from seeing such wicked creations as that!

I immediately reached for some petrol (I keep a stash close by just in case I am ever required to burn down a house containing Heathens) and torched the fucking thing to oblivion. Then I opened the window and chucked it out. I think it hit a passing car, and for all I know it may have gone up in flames. If it did, I didn't hear anything about it, so presumably the car contained Turnip Lovers, and so they should be smited anyway.

I feel that God is very proud of my activities lately. But I shall not stop! I shall never rest until the world is full of parsnip devourers and all turnips have been eradicated!

But I will not rest until I discover who sent that Turnip Tower to me! When I find them, I will show them what the Power of Parsnip can achieve! I will wrap my hands around their neck and eliminate their puny turnip loving life from this Earth!

The Parsnip Shall Reign Supreme!

Bow Before Him!

Things didn't go too well today with the Archbishop.

In fact, they couldn't have been any worse. But currently, I am too pissed to reprise the story in full glory for you. Even a drink of my favourite Parsnip Juice Cordial is not helping liven me up. Indeed, it seems that the combination of Parsnips and Jack Daniels/Bells/Southern Comfort is producing quite a reaction in my stomach.

No! God is not making me vomit. This is Satan's doing! He is trying to stop me from ingesting my special Parsnip Brew, which makes me strong in the face of McDonalds and such forthness.

If the Jack Daniels runs out, I may be forced to drink the vomit, much as it disgusts me to think about it. But it will be merely a symbolic gesture to Satan: he cannot defeat the Parsnip so easily!

Bow before the Parsnip, and Hail Him, for He Has The Power To Cut Short Your Life!

Things have stagnated.

I can't remember the last time I enjoyed testing out new parsnips. At the moment, I have been eating my favourite breed (Parsnippus Maximus) for some weeks now. Normally I try lots of different varieties and try them all on for size... but right now I'm finding it difficult to entertain my palate.

I think it's to do with the fact that I'm still stuck in London. It is time for some action.

I'm going to visit the Archbishop of Cunterbury tomorrow. I hate him, and his fucking beard. No doubt he has several turnips secreted in there somewhere, slowly realising their obnoxious and defamatory slander into his brain, poisoning him against me and my doctrine f the Way of the Parsnip.

(And here is a link to a picture of him so you can see what I mean:
http://www.peacemala.org.uk/image/pix/patrons/big/rowan.jpg)

But I must find a way back into a community, where I will once again mix it up with the Old Dears and Blue Rinse Brigades of this world.

I miss the cut and thrust of the Parish Council! One never knew if that objection that the Heathens were going to raise was going to be over the size of my Parsnip that I'd brought to the table, or whether they were suddenly going to pull out a sub-machine gun and blast me into smithereens (but of course, I would be waiting with a huge Parsnip Shield which would deflect the bullets back and lodge them firmly into the Heathens Skull).

God Willing, and I know he Is On My Side, I will be Back Amongst Them soon!

Sometimes I find that the best way of dealing with a situation is by grasping it firmly with both hands and throttling the living daylights out of it, until it's limp and lifeless once more.

But not this one. It requires slow and painstaking attention to detail. This is a difficult chapter that I am entering, and I am afraid it could be much more difficult than I thought initially.

Yes: there are rumours that an unholy alliance between McDonalds and Burger King is on the cards. Since my easy devastation of McDonalds on the South Bank of London, they have become a little worried about my power. So they have teamed up in an effort to stop me.

This week they are launching a new burger together: The Turnip Tower!

I couldn't believe I was hearing such blasphemy. Turnips are Evil! And the thought of a turnip burger just turns my stomach.

Difficult times are ahead! No doubt there will be many fooled by the glamorous advertising, involving full frontal nudity and other sexual use of the turnip (advertising is so blatant these days!), and rush to the nearest Drive Thru to bark an order for a Turnip Tower.

This is disgusting and must be stopped. I will spend today formulating a plan.

Beware of the Parsnip! It can speak to you in ways that you cannot imagine!

Fear it!

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.

There has been unpleasantness.

I must leave immediately.

Quick tip: never put a fork through the eye of the chef because he won't serve Parsnip a la Parsnip. It generally causes much blood to be splashed around, and then allegations are let loose about mental illness and charges of grievious bodily harm, etc. etc.

All unbefitting to a Man of the Cloth!

And of course, they would obstruct the Way of the Parsnip!

God meant for me to smash his weedy, toady eyes in with a big sausage poking fork.

This must be a sign from On High! How many people can boast that their sinks have the full power of 230V, 50Hz AC flowing through them!

I touched the sink earlier and was flabbergasted. I almost got thrown across the room, but it must have been my sheer grit and determination not to succumb to this electrical force, thanks to the gritty determination and strength I show in the face of such enemies as McDonalds, Satan, and Turnip Lovers, which assisted me in staying rooted to the spot.

But, on further thought, I can only conclude that someone has fiddled with the electrics in an attempt to punish me! I saw a very shifty looking maid leaving my hotel room earlier, just before I returned from a hard day's sightseeing. Perhaps it is her who did this dastardly deed!

I may have to call room service and demand that she come forth and Face the Wrath of the Parsnip immediately!