We get 'Alive!' in the door every month now. Usen't to. I don't know what's changed. Maybe that red-faced tub of bully-producing cunt-rot next door signed us up, suspecting that her consistent rudeness and brazen Gerry Breen blowing wasn't fulfilling her converting the Gimme clan to Christianity goals. Or maybe they just give it to everyone around here because people around here all easily deluded tossers. Each is as likely as the other.
It will come as no surprise to you, given my opening paragraph, that I will not stand to be converted. Nor, my love of Janelle Monae notwithstanding, do I count my self among those who embrace delusion with ease. Any yet my big learning from this month's Alive! (fuck but I love that exclamation mark, it's so...cannibally) is that I have one big fat selfish cock of a vocation going on. Check out these cheerful chappies from right out there on the front cover:
It's not the first time I have found myself unable to tear my gaze away from an image of smiling potential pederasts, far from it, but never so gleeful a group, never so varied a vaticana.They're not quite priests yet, a quick hop, skip and jump to page nine informs me, but give them a mere seven years folks and and they'll be preaching with the most decrepit of them. And look at them. Jesus, but they're all so happy. Sure, at least one of them looks like he's not going to make it seven weeks without meeting his made up maker. Indeed yes, I'm pretty sure the guy at the front is Richard Cook, whose marry for power plan appears to have gone awry. And wait, isn't that the co-creator of Father Ted lurking at the back? Nevertheless, happy, perhaps even joyous they all certainly appear to be.
And happy I am not.
We know that to achieve this happiness I need to walk the Earth. This need has deepened of late, what with the self-inflicted Sunday injury and the injurious Sundays of affliction but I'm all grown up these days and realise that, in these Taoiseach in a cupboard times, being a hobo is just not an affordable fourth career path. So how about the priesthood? I get to sit around reading for seven years. Then I get to go somewhere far away where people think I'm great. Someone buys me clothes, brings me food, pays my rent. Assuming I keep my nose and penis reasonably clean I'm assured of a long and comfortable retirement with lots of serious boozing thrown in. I'm not seeing a drawback. And that drawback that you think you're seeing, why that's not a drawback at all.
My only concern is that my chosen order might have some slight issues with my atheism, hatred of the Poop, and somewhat salty speech patterns. Cunt them though, if they are reduced to recruiting the ribald yet humourless Graham Linehan, then they must be way past desperate.
So I guess I just leave a comment on the blog or something, right? Fuck, but I love making these big decisions. It makes me feel so Alive!