God spending this weekend pissing all over the UK was probably awesome if you are a plant or married but a little bit dull for the rest of us. Unless you are one of those Birkenstock-wearing-clean-living types who finds joy in church bells no matter what the weather…in which case that is probably why you are single.
Seeing as we were all rained out and as I do spend fair amount of time on my knees gasping “oh God, oh God, oh God” I thought I might give the whole religion malarkey a whirl. It sounds just like my cup of tea - Christians behave however they want and if they can’t find it in the Bible to justify it, they just blame it on the Devil.
My first port of call in my tour of religion should have been the pink and gold mosque down the road from me but I decided to give praying and fasting miss. It seems they don’t have a god since that Saddam bin Laden got noosed by the Yanks. And as much as I love a man who is ‘well hung’, all this anti Curd stuff I keep hearing about seems over the top. I like dairy products – this clearly isn’t the right religion for me.
Next on my list wasn’t much more promising as I stealthily pink-panthered around the local Roman Catholic Church. This is because Catholic priests are notorious for pedophilia and really I wasn’t in the headspace to be distracted by sexy alter boys.
Of course there was always the synagogue - until I suddenly remembered that Jesus Christ was a Jew yet even he got nailed to the cross by his lot. At least that completely dispelled my previous belief which was that Jesus crossed the road because he was nailed to the chicken.
Not even this Scatology thing seems quite right for me - even if Tom Cruise does swear by it.
In desperation I finally gave my local Church of Satan a whirl but they wanted my soul in exchange for a bag of drugs and a morning of dirty gorilla sex. I simply had to decline – the whole point of this exercise was to do something different for a change. So having completely run out of religions I had no other option other than to go home and worship my Axl Rose shrine.
Just so as to prove my commitment to my soul, however, I have spread the word on MySpace that there'll be a rave party at the address of the local church next Saturday at midnight. I won’t be going myself, of course – when around 800 teens in hoods have arrived I will just grab a neighbour’s kid, hand him a few quid and tell him to go over and ask the preacher: "Would you rather be stoned or crucified?"…