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In a Spate of Sudden Activity…

July 25, 2007

I want to talk about cockroaches. Nuclear war, more specifically. And the resilience of the human race. But this will be addressed somewhere else in another time in another blog dedicated to the worship of another deity. Therefore go have a cup of tea, because this won’t be yours.

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Now. Question and answer time.

What is the cause of all the misery in the world?
Peace and goodwill. Kill the activists now, especially the environmentalists. Those vegans massacre cabbages, the sodding bastards.

Which religion is correct?
Of course the Christians are right, what kind of fool are you? Pork is awful, we must all pray five times a day (more if you want brownie points with YHWH. Or less. I don’t know), burn all heretics (you know what all the bloody South Arctic-ans are) and avoid beef at all costs.

Does God exist?
Now, of all the dumbest questions to ask. If you want brownie points with someone, of course there has to be someone to get brownie points from, isn’t that right? You want proof? That’s easy, get a bit of meth, grind it to powder, toss in a fistful of coke and a pinch of poison for extra flavor, wash it down with Fizzies and Everclear. And don’t forget the squirrel dessert. You’ll be seeing God a long time after. (I’m sorry, I obviously don’t know what I’m saying. But what a way to go.) In other words, pray to the altar of Nod.

Why are we here?
To propagate. Isn’t that the meaning of life now? Survival of the species is life. Dumping your dubious knowledge to be carried on dubiously throughout the rest of time is immortality. We live to forcefully pop out more little lives that consequently pop out more little lives that… You get the idea. Until nuclear war hits and almost everyone dies except the cockroaches and the politicians in their underground lead boxes. Mole people don’t stand a chance. And then the politicians propagate. And at that point, the universe as we know it ends. The lesson of this story is: get yourself an underground lead box today!

Who created the world?
How the hell should I know, I’m not God am I? It is less a question of who, because even if you knew what difference would it make in your life? The question here ought to be: who’s going to keep the world from nuclear war? Little Boy and Fat Man’s illicit love children, that’s who.

What is the meaning of life, the universe and everything?
Ah, now this is a question easily answered. But I’m not telling. Find out on your own, because Google is your friend. Except when they’re plotting to take over the world economy and funding research for the sake of Little Boy and Fat Man’s illicit love children. But Google will always love you and your right index finger. Or left. Whichever one clicks on the ads.

Okay, this is too tiring. Have another cup of tea. Don’t worry, it’s not spiked with anything. Really, it’s not. Litvinenko says so.

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Note: If you can’t tell text from sarcasm I suggest you don’t read. But seeing as you’re down here already I assume you are literate, which is highly unfortunate seeing as only about quarter of the world speak English and you are one of them. How terrible it is to be a minority.

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