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​Fake Truth

Original picture Newsday (without flames)

IN HIS APPALLING, but entirely predictable, “defence” of the sanctity of marriage as being between a penis and a vagina on Monday, the Catholic archbishop actually had the cojones to invoke truth! Ah, but doesn’t God work in mysterious ways his hypocrites to reveal.

Look at the picture of the half-dozen old men – average age about 80, two in dresses (if not quite in drag), one proudly sworn to complete personal sexual ignorance – look at six or seven old men, holding hands and grinning for the camera, and ask yourself if what they are working for is not the denial of homosexuality, but of sexuality itself. Ask yourself which of those close-minded dullards could get a hot date on a Friday night and you have the answer as to why they have risen to the top of their respective religions.

All religions extant today exist only to deny the female, the gender which gives life itself. Without an omnipotent, angry male God, a torrent of superstition and the threat of eternal damnation to force it, who in their right mind would put a man in charge of anything ahead of a woman other than a barbecue, a stag party or a fist fight?

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Whither West Indies?

IN THEIR 20 and 18 years of life, respectively, I have never told my children a lie about anything important (though I may have artfully dodged a question or two). Accordingly, my children have accepted everything I’ve sincerely told them except for two propositions too preposterous to reconcile with the modern evidence: 1. When I was their age, in order to have a phone, you first had to construct a building (if only a telephone-booth); and 2. When I was their age, West Indies had the best cricket team in the world.

They’d quicker believe in the God they understand was created by man than that West Indies could once bat for 90 overs.

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Stair in Defeat

OF COURSE, WHEN you’re moving all your stuff down the stairs when you’re moving IN, it almost doesn’t matter. Indeed, if you must wrestle a deep freezer along a narrow staircase into your apartment, down is way better than up. Put in easygoing terms, a basement flat scales the top-floor. Gravity is even helpful, going down. Yes, the penthouse has the view, but, when all you’re looking at is the underside of a mahogany chest-of-drawers you have to manhandle on your own chest-of-bones either up or down stairs, downstairs wins hands-down, every time; and if you’re on a hillside, your “down-the-stairs” flat still has a great view.

All the time you’re in occupation of your “downstairs” apartment, you’re happy. Every fortnight, when you’re coasting down 39 steps carrying two cases of beer, you don’t just sing the praises of having a parking space higher than your apartment, you firetrucking yodel them!

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