Diary of an Atheist Priest - Monday
Being an Anglican priest sucks; almost as much as Mrs Smythe. The only upside is that we don’t have to wear a skirt like the Catholics or hide behind a bushy beard like our Orthodox colleagues.
I must remember my new year’s resolution. No drinking before Matins. Which is bloody difficult since Mildred run off with that Pakistani. Luckily the bishop is a racist son-of-a-bitch and the divorce approval did not take long to materialize. God bless Mrs Smythe for stepping unto the breach when she did though. Not forgetting Mrs Fawcett and even plumb Mrs Hallewell.
When I first started out to be a priest, I never thought that my flock would be comprised of actual human-shaped sheep. But then again one cannot really blame the poor lambs. We have the deliberately lamentable British educational system to thank for their ignorance.
Our masters are terrified that we just might learn our real history, in which case a bloody revolution would be the inevitable consequence. Learning by visiting an old workhouse, for example, and getting a real taste of how our masters actually look upon us. Instead we all communally contort our sense of reason to the point where it conforms to the established myth that the vassals ‘never, never, never shall be slaves’.
Well, that may not be completely true since 51.9% of the participating UK electorate actually voted for Brexit. Which doesn’t say much for the other 48.1%, but serious efforts are being made by the losers to correct the error.
The sheepdogs of the EU are doing their best to corral their charges because democracy must be ‘moderated’ so that any excess of democracy is mitigated.
The masses must be reduced to their proper state of apathy and obedience, driven from the public arena, which public arena must be kept for the deserving few. These few are the honourable members of the House of Lords, for example, who are willing to cast their pearls of wisdom to the swinish, unwashed masses who do not really know what’s good for them.
They are the so called ‘intellectual’ proponents of a highly flexible political theology and these self-acclaimed intellectuals invariably become the preachers of whatever political religion is being served at the time. A religion which invariably sings the praises and justifications of state theft, injustice or terror, because it is all done for all sorts of wonderful sounding reasons to justify the lack of democracy. And no, I am not referring to everyday Catholic priests.
Brexit passions are high on both sides at the moment. They have both climbed on their unassailable platforms, which they defend with the fervour of a vestal virgin determined to maintain her purity, and if raped by marauding barbarians, indomitably resolute not to have an orgasm in the process.
Diary of an Atheist Priest - Tuesday
I have just returned to the vicarage after giving the last rights to incontinent Mr Macduff, though I suspect he was a crypto catholic. That huge cross over his bed with a naked guy nailed to it was a ‘dead’ giveaway. Pun intended.
That was a pathetic attempt at humour, but I am the only one I know who actually has any sense of humour. Mrs Robinson might be an excellent housekeeper, but she is a lost cause as far as humour is concerned. Besides, she is deaf and shows early signs of Alzheimer's disease. At times she thinks I am her son and that’s not too bad, but when she thinks I am her long dead husband and all two hundred pounds of her become coyly suggestive, then it takes the patience of a saint. I wouldn’t mind if she was anything like Mrs Smythe but no such luck.
I wish I could understand what the late Mr Macduff was trying to say at the end, but I don’t speak Scottish. We who have been born and bred in Portsmouth, are blessed with a distinct lack of any regional accent. We find Yorkshire a challenge and Scotland insurmountable. Without his false teeth in his mouth only mysterious, unintelligible Gallic war cries came out of him. Come to think of it, he looked old enough to be the original Macduff who actually slayed Macbeth.
Naturally we called the ambulance when he started his death throes, but it took three hours for it to arrive and he was long gone by then. It’s a mystery to me how local ambulance drivers can find their way home, but I expect that the smell of their sausage and mash dinner will guide them.
Hopefully Mr Macduff went to a better place, since in 1863 our Privy Council, in its infinite wisdom, decided that there is no hell. It never fails to amuse me to reflect on the case of Williams v Bishop of Salisbury, in which British lawyers, in essence, officially determined on behalf of the state that eternal damnation is not part of the doctrine of the Church of England. No doubt they sent their decision in eloquent legalese to God, informing Him that they had ‘dismissed hell with costs’ and that they looked forward to receiving His cheque by return post.
Mrs Robinson just brought my tea and my newspaper. God, she is in ‘wife’ mode today. Smiling suggestively and lifting her eyebrows at me. Since hell holds no terrors for me thanks to our Privy Council, please let me die now.
Ha! I see in the headlines that 'Private Pike', our UK Defence Secretary Gavin Williamson, Accuses Russia of Planning to Kill “Thousands and Thousands and Thousands” of Britons’. Another idiot, like the previous one who said that he was willing to order a first nuclear strike. What a moron. Just one more corrupt globalist neocon like his predecessors. Don’t these people realize that if the Russians sneeze collectively, they can drown is in their mucous?
Russia is as much of a threat to Britain as the Klingons, but of course it all has to do with the under-the-table commissions they stand to make from the military industrial complex. Just like the proposed HS2 high-speed railway. Spend £80 billion, destroy the countryside, so that some chump can pay a fortune to arrive in Manchester from London 20 minutes faster. A fraud and a hoax pushed on us by those whose pockets shall be illegally lined out of the venture.
We live in a country with politicians whose visual acuity is that of Ray Charles.