Cheat local!

Sorry we're dead

Hey there rabble rouser’s.

As a heads up, I am 20,000 words (approx.) into editing the 102,000 words (so far) of ‘Bast’. The major issue I have encountered to date has been issue’s with our printer, I believe it is currently inhabited by some satanic force conspiring against me.

Another bit I am toying with in ‘Bast’.

Blah, blah, click the picture above as always. Not sure what I have embedded in it, but it should be worth a look.

H xxx

Possibly for insertion into Bast.

‘What Gods’ despised with no less than Godly intensity, ha ha, is the touchy-feely-love-one-another, do-good, hand-holding, hallelujah-eliciting, soft-willed set.  And, they particularly detest organists.  Passionately.  The one the thing ‘The Gods’ hate more are people of the belief that they, ‘The Gods’, owed them something, or that ‘The Gods’ should perform at least 80% of prayers received.  “A get off your bum, and sort your own problems out.  We gave YOU life, food, shelter, and a place to live didn’t we?” was the attitude ‘The Gods’ took.

Lastly, ‘The Gods’ could not abide those fanatics being sold ‘God’ by men with ill non-Godly intent; always done without God’s obvious approval, or actual knowledge.  Resultant actions lead to wanton loss of life, all with the false lure of reward in the hereafter.  A reward that after the fact, amounts to a short stint for all eternity in that God forsaken country of bad jokes.  A place that is apparently located south of Canada, north of Mexico, and is often confused with ‘Hell.’

It’s God’s joke.

God, currently posted to “The Now – Arab Sector – 5000 to 500 BC Common Deity Office”, staggered through the detritus of a party from the evening before.  Fractured memories washed over him.  Wearing only a pair of well-worn, much-loved undies, the sight of the lounge room sent a scant shiver up his spine as He vaguely recalled inviting the entire pub home after closing; horror-struck as He recalled the fuzzy image of Mrs. God in her pink dressing gown meeting them at the door to the sound of drunken revelry.  Apparently she had been sleeping?

Outside a bird chirped.  Sneaking suspicions thumped Him between the eyes, alluding to the fact that the noisy bloody bird was probably an emissary from God, “Then – Arab Sector – 100,000 to 100 BC Water to Wine and Hangover Affairs Office”.

The bird, whilst deploying evil head-splitting chirps soaring to what he guessed to be around 92dB, had strategically positioned itself on top of the wheelie bins near God’s driveway; offering a perfect position to send waves of sound at God’s front window.  Window status – ‘Open’.  Once inside, the sound now trapped indoors did its best to get out.  It reverberated around the lounge, across the now cigarette and beer can littered dining table, over a recumbent post pub reveller (God, “The Now” – European & Near East Sector – 600 to 1900 AD – Plagues, Pestilence, Poor Health Office”), via the ground floor toilet.  Status – ‘Occupied’; (Goddess, “The Now – Greek Sector – 5000 to 1BC – War, Love, Lust, Seduction Office.”) unconscious, seated on toilet, skirt and undies on the floor, tangled around her left foot.

As far as an unfair cacophony insinuate’s its way through time, space, and cranium, this beastly sound moved in a fluid, cunning and wavy motion. The ‘chirp’ sped on, finding a possible escape route; the main passage to the master bedroom, via an open window.  Bedroom status – “Occupied”; Mrs. God.

It struck her with the fury of God “Then – Norse Sector – 1 to 1500 AD Rape, Pillage, Plunder, and Burn Office”; she awoke in the manner of angry Mrs. God’s the polyheaven over.

Lying in wait, the now very awake Mrs. God remained in the soft folds of the marital bed; relishing the bollocking she was about to inflict, but waiting long enough to text Mrs. God “The Now – Christian Sector – 500 BC to 1500 AD Common Deity Office”, to bring her up to speed on the fun she was due to have.  That done she had a quick look at DeityBook, allotting one or two pictures of cats; cats with not particularly humorous captions, but worth an ‘allot’ to everyone on her ‘really just acquaintances’ list.  From there she went on ‘bleeter’, and ‘bleated’ about the state of God’s House; with stele and poise, she rolled out of bed, and stalked after God.  Mrs. God’s anger now honed to optimum levels for God bothering, and pain infliction.


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