1605 Gunpowder Plot: Guy "Guido" Fawkes arrested in cellar readying 36 barrels of gunpowder in plot to blow up the Houses of Parliament and King James
10:10
An ideal nap should last 15-20 mins. More than 30 minutes could make one sleepier than if one had taken no nap in the first place.
13:24
The radio stalwarts cued up the story about the bank robbers and played the story about the fishermen, with no remarks passed.
15:07
Big fire on a bus in Germany. 20 pensioners dead. Witness - I had to stop even though countless other drivers didn't stop. I felt I had to help.
15:56
Bonjour. How's it goin'?
16:05
A girl, so extraordinarily fat, she can't get off the couch. Says she wants an affair, her Larry is out on Saturday night at the boxing would anyone be interested?
23:43
INT, CHURCH SACRISTRY, NIGHT
THE LUASER, finishing off a deep gulp of altar wine, is roaring at THE PRIEST.LUASER
What you WORRIED abouh, pad-RAY?
He pulls out an axe. Black handlebar tape wrapped around the handle. Carbon steel head. Whacks it into the desk that he dragged across to block the door, splitting the top half way through - sharp fucking axe.
WORRIED someone's gonna cut off your cock, with a HATCHET, and feed it back to ya as MINCE, padray?
WE HEAR THE PRIEST shits himself. He makes for the sacristry window. Can't reach. Collapses into a pile. Whimpering like a kicked pup.
LUASER
Only, it'd be too good for ya, what you YUUuve done. Ye bleedin' perr-veert. Ya durty bleedin' animal. Ya IGNORANT FUCKING CREEPY BOLLOX! CHOPPING YOUR COCK OFF is too good for you and youse!
The priest on all fours, grabs on to a chair, limply dragging it over towards the window. Luaser watches him for a second then strides over and smashes the chair with a swathe from his hatchet, sending the priest into a wimp-out, shrieking and all, reeling on the fucking floor.
TORTURING'S too good fer yews, yez knicker-wearing, choild-molesting randy fucking FUCKERS! I wouldn't want to bleedin' TOUCH YA in case I'd get ILL!
Luaser leans in and pins the priest with the head of the hatchet against the wall. The Priest is a medium-sized man, slender bedandruffed shoulders, balding and meek in a grey, V-necked jumper. Luaser holds his nose.
Yew're fuck-in' FILTHY, ye know that?
THE PRIEST
Ppplpplease stop ...
LUASER
'P-P-PLEASE STOP?' Fucking 'PLLEEEASE STOP'?
Luaser swings the axe back above his head with grim intent.
Bet that's what the little kiddies used to say to ye when yez fuck-in' BUGGERED THEM! “Please stop!” Oi can hear their howls of pain now. “Make it stop! MAKE IT STOP!”
The Priest shrieks. Luaser draws back and changes his stance. He lowers the axe, reaches behind and with unprecedented menace, produces a tabloid newspaper from his tracksuit waistband and casts it in The Priest's face.
Oi can see your slimy fucking grin when ye forced da chisulurs to perform de ORAL SEX withcha. Ye fuckin' duurty fuckin' PONCE, y fucking BULLY UGLY BASTARD!
THE PRIEST (In a desperate pleading voice, convulsing with terror, barely able to breathe.)
"It wasn't. I didn't. I never did ... It wasn't me ..."
LUASER
OI DON'T FUCKING CARE! Yiz are all FUCKING PRICKS! Men in fucking black fucking kiddy fucking PRICKS!
Luaser holsters the axe in his anorak pocket, runs across and seizes a crozier off the wall. He pulls up the hood on his tracksuit to cover his head.
You knowLuaser throws opens the door of the sacristy and grabbing the priest by the scruff of the neck, bundles him through to the altar of the darkened church, swinging kicks at his arse as he goes. Luaser finds the light switch and grabs a bottle of altar wine as the priest sprawls, despairingly. Luaser drags the hapless fucking cleric to the steps in front of the altar and casts him down. The priest's white collar comes off in his hand and he throws it away with utter fucking contempt.
Sexual frustration is a gettin me downnn
dala la dum dala la
He pinions the priest to the base of the altar with the end of the crozier on his throat. He grabs a bronze crucifix hooked on to the altar and wields it in his other hand, showing it to the priest.
Oi should take this long sufferin' fucking gay icon fucking Roman soldier's Jewish bastard Jesus statue and shove Him UP IN YOUR HOWUL, until oi CRUCIFY YA from within! Trew yer aaaarse! For what you done? It's a fucking OUTRAGE! Yew should be disembowelled, the whole bleedin' lot of yez!
The Priest involuntarily closes his legs and cries despairingly at his plight. LUASER throws the crucifix down and takes a drink of wine. He lifts the crozier off the priest's neck and drops to one knee on to the priest's sternum, although not hard enough to fuck him up. He whips out a cheapo mobile phone and check the time.
Now, by way of explanation as to who I am, let me just say, oi am a - soldier – for a doirect action association called Provisional The League of Ordinary Gentlemen. Youse can have me card. Dekko Odeaveny, at your fucking service. You can call me "Luaser, sir".
THE PRIEST (failing to understand)
L-Luaser ...
LUASER
"LUASER, SIR!" YE STUPID FUCKING PRICK! SAY IT ROIGHT!
THE PRIEST
LUASER, SIR!
LUASER (taking a swig)
Now, oim not here to kill yew, as I wouldn't SULLY me eyes be the sight of your blood. And oim not going to mutilate yew either, although there was much debate about that at Council. Waste a bleedin' time, ye know? Fucking committees.
No. Instead, you are hereby notified that the Provisional The League Council are unanimous in their approval of a much more - robust - Security Plan for The Children of Ireland.
Luaser taps the priest on the cheek with the end of the crozier as he's getting a bit distracted by asphyxiation during the speech. He produces a sheaf of paper and proceeds to unfurl it.
Now, as we're not fucking waitin' around, we the Provisional The League of Very Ordinary Gentlemen require you, as a priest of the Roman Catholic Church in Ireland, to sign this hereby document. Here's a fucking pen. Roight. I can tell by the questioning look in your eyes dah you're worried dah you don't know what you are being asked to sign, so I'll explain.
LUASER stands up. The pen falls to the ground. He sways the crozier with a sadistic glint in his eye.
PICK IT FUCKING UP! PICK UP THE FUCKING PEN!
Alarmed, THE PRIEST complies.
This here is a letter of resig-ination. As the Provisional The League has not the means nor could the Provisional The League be bothered to find out which of youse is and which of youse isn't preeverted fucking idiots attacking our women and children, we've decided, in order to save time and further distress, to serve resignation papers, in person and forthwith, on every Catholic priest in Ireland. And make youse sign them, then and there and no fucking messin' and no bleedin' excuses either. Capiche, fffuckin' padray?
Volunteers are delivering resignation letters in person to every priest in every parish in the country at this very moment. Unfortunately for you, I have been assigned to areas in Dublin North.
LUASER stamps the crozier on the page and points to where the priest should be looking.
So, if you wouldn't mind, sign the resignation letter – here, with the X. You quit as a priest. All your fellow priests and bishops will also resign, you'll find, and youse are getting away lightly in my fucking opinion.
Helpfully, Luaser reaches lifts the missal on the altar to give to the priest to cushion the document for easier writing on the marble steps of the altar.
Youse can reapply for your jobs if ye want, at which time you will be thoroughly vetted for being a sick fucking preevert or one of their best friends helping them to get away with their raping and fiddling and fucking around. It's nothing personal, Father, let's just say, this is our way of protecting the chizzlers.
He swigs more wine.
THE PRIEST
"B-but I-I-m innocent..."
LUASER growls and glowers at the bottle.
“It's not too bad this. No wonder yez are into saying mass twice in the morning and once in the night. It remoinds me of Buckfast.”
Suddenly, he smashes the bottle on the steps, the red dregs and glass splashing the priest's face.
LUASER waves the broken stump at his face and speaks to the priest in a low, deliberate voice.
"Now. Allow me to explain. There's no such thing as 'innocent' priests. Like it or not, youse are grown - FUCKING - MEN! There's only innocent children. ONLY THE CHILDREN ARE FUCKING INNOCENT YOU FUCKING PRICKY FUCK FUCKERY FUCKING FUCKTARD FUCKER.
LUASER spins around and throws the broken bottle up the aisle of the church and grabs the crozier with both hands, wielding it like a weapon.
For the last time, my – STRONGLY - advice to you is to – SIGN. The FUCKING. LETTER!
Relenting, The Priest shudders and signs the paper with a trembling hand.
LUASER
And here. And here. Thank you. Copy for the bleedin' Corpo, pain in the bollix, ye know yerself.
Now. Thank you very much. Here's a form so ye can reapply for your job as neighbourhood trustee then. You can probably put RC for "Religous Affiliation", I'm guessin' heh heh. This section here is for office use only. We hope the design of the form is intuitive. Anyways, we'll investigate each of you at the time of your application to see if youse are fit for human society. Are we alfuckingright with that?
Luaser swings the crozier back over his head as if to bring the hook down. THE PRIEST cowers, nods, whimpers. “Yes! Oh God, don't hurt me! Yes, yes, yes!”
LUASER takes a step back, lowers the crozier.
Right, don't forget to send me your feedback, marks out of ten, the website is printed on the form. NOW! GET OUH OF YER BLEEDIN' OFFICE YE FUCKING PRIKSTER!
Luaser waves the crosier about and points to the door. The Priest jumps up and runs down the aisle.
LUASER picks up the crucifix, discarded earlier and places it back on the altar reverentially. Hearing the locks drawing back and doors being thrown open, he speaks towards the statue with genuine emotion.
"Sorry Jaysis, I bleedin' . . . lost me rag there. If I said anything insulting, I apologise, ye know I didn't mean it, it's nothin' against you. I was only tryin' to scare him. I had a bit of altar woine. Oi didn't know what I was sayin'. Oi don't moind if you're gay, or a bastard - there's nothing wrong with that per se, is there Lord?
We're just trying to protect the little ones, aren't we Lord? From sicko perverts like that fella might be. Or his mates. They're just using You to try and get away with it, jaknowharrimeen?
We're counting on your support for this forthcoming campaign, Jesus, where there will be much sacrifice needed. Sweet Jaysis, there's loads of cops outside at this moment, Jesus. With their blue lights. I pray for the escape of me internal soul. See yiz, roight.
Oh yeah. I love you, Jesus.
We take love and make love and I
Wish I could caress, caress, caress
Manic Depression is a frustrating mess
da daaa duh. da daaaaah duh.
