Traffic seems heavy this morning. You know wot happens. If you have one car then you will get another therefore you will have two one cars that will interrupt your day. But hey, don’t mind me. I’m Sandy, your local parish priest that doesn’t believe in God. Pretty cool hey. A parish priest that doesn’t believe in God. Go up to your CEO and tell him or her that they don’t actually exist. Check out the facial expressions. Thems is so good they get paid thousands of times more than any one else in the company that actually does something. Can you believe that? Well I can.
Are you coming over to the Way of Gordon and the Church of Saint Generic Brand, hint, hint, come over and join in the festivities, kidding me if ya don’t?
I’m sitting in the front bar at the Pigs Arms. Bloody disgusting place, that’s why I visit. Now now, no, to try and convert these poor souls over to the Way of Gordon to the Church of Saint Generic Brand. Bring your own religion and tacos and we can have a meal after, sound okay?
Gordon is recanting in his usual highly religious way, tongues and betadines instead of uvulas and metaphors. “Hey, and did ya see Hacker’s face when wheeze told him that hees don’t exist know more, talk about double en titre with BBQ sauce…” and so the word was of Gordon.
“Well, yeah look I mean right okay for sure I really do think so, perhaps if I had more time but I agree you won’t see me wavier unless I see a better argument for sure please trust me, I’m a nurse, lets forget that little brown paper bag but yes I agree with whatever I said” says Gib.
Wow, that got my word count up. “thanks Gib”. “No worries Hung”.
“Has the story actually started yet?” asks Honshades.
“No, well I don’t think so” says Angler. “Oh, hang on yes, Sandy’s here to convert us the Way of Gordon when really he just wants to drink ale.” Aren’t some parts of stories just real shit, er, um, if you know what I mean.
“Has anyone feed the chooks yet?” enquires Nurse Barbara who will be feeding the chooks for some time in the coming episodes.
“I think that if you change the name down at the railway station from Hornsby to Bondi that no one will really notice. Imagine the thrill of getting off at Hornsby, the wild surf, fresh air and blonde babes, yes I can see it now, what could possibly go wrong.” says Sister Yvonne.
Lets extrapolate this across other things like lets change the name of Ferrari to Datsun 120Y. Oh yes, this is real folks.





Exactly. It’s all the word of man and it is crap.
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Your mental agility is something else that you go to the nub of meaning every time. You’re awesome.
Sincerely, me.
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And a man said that 🙂
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He can be whatsoever he thinks he is whenever he wants to these days. Everybody, Sister, has been liberated.
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Big M claimed chooks wurnt there no more. Qwestion would be are they still there if he can’t see them.
Schrodinger chooks he’ll say.
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That’s coz he’s funny like that. Out of chaos comes order and the chooks will return.
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I believe result of this enlightening the chooks are in the rafters.
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“two one cars”, f***ing hilarious
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Thanks shoe. When writing comedy it is always good to know that someone got one of the gags.
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…tongues and betadines instead of uvulas and metaphors…
That’s not bad.
🙂
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Again you see the cut to the chase I am honoured.
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😀 😀 😀 😀
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I’ve been baptised into the Church of the Generic Brand, baptised in tepid water, and saved by the Lord Kelvin. As for Schroedinger’s chooks, they’re fucked if they do, and fucked if they don’t, in a dualistic, gender binary sorta way, or Father O’ Way.
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You be chasin’ after my own patron saint, Lord Kelvin, I can feel a River Dance comin’ on, begorrah. Them chooks ain’t bettin’ anyway, bound up with creation and the need to keep layin’ as they are, o, lawdy they can’t, it’s a yoke a minute here the Accountant said and well good enough and Father O’Way is a long way to go to confess you’re the chook, have mercy.
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