The Flan Man

Well this was ages ago at night (naturally) but I had the most oddest dream. Several people from the art classes this year were in it, some of whom I've rarely spoken to, and one whose Scottish name I just cannot spell and Google won't help me. Anyway, we were all taken to the Mitchell Library but then we left for "Edinburgh Library" since Mitchell is too noisy.
After we arrived there, in what could only be The Flan Man's car, we all sat around this table then Sophia had a bag of Maltesers. And since I am practically a Malteser myself I stole them from her. Now, at the climax, someone threw a pink snooker ball at The Flan Man's head then we all had to leave, never to return. Then I woke up.

Antioxi-WHAAA?!

Oh CRA, how dare you take over Welch's! I love their grape juice. Cranberry juice is only number two now. *tear*

First, I must rant. But that word is over-used, really.

And so I sign the little prescription form, claiming that I'm in higher education (I don't think I am, but I'm certainly not paying! I don't even have a job. And don't get me started on bus fares to that apathetic place on the other side of the city) when I'm not. So I have to sit in this new chair (several weeks ago they were all of a different variety) which are all uniform. Bizarre!

Anyway, after about five minutes, this heroin junkie comes in then goes into this little booth with the "METHADONE. NO CHILDREN ALLOWED" sign scrawled in giant bold letters, but I let it pass as I keep staring ahead, not wanting to see her tainted visage, even though about ten other people were all in line first.

Still sitting in this leather seat that was becoming uncomfortably hot, another crackhead comes in and is served before me. HOW DARE SHE? (xi)

My name is called and so I can only feel Schadenfreude and announce the embarrassment of them by asking if those addicts are more important than actual sick people; of course, they are probably emotionally sick. But she just stares, and I don't really care so I just leave. I hope this doesn't happen again otherwise it'll be a not-so-anonymous letter people will be receiving.

Ah

We are Siamese if you please,
We are Siamese if you don't please,
We are former residents of Siam,
If we like we stay for maybe quite a while.

Do you see that thing swimming round and round?
Yes. Maybe we can reach on in and make it drown,
If we sneaking up upon it carefully,
There will be head for you and a tail for me.

Do you hear what I hear? A baby cry.
Where we finding baby there are milk nearby,
And if we look in baby buggy there could be,
Plenty milk for you and some for me.

Crap

I was forced to travel half way across the city to the apathetic Glasgow Fort. Having the layout of a concentration camp, I was further forced into numerous crap shops.

Eventually I managed to go into Boots and buy wine gums and a cranberry and apple juice, but the latter was rubbish as it was still. I only like sparkling cranberry or still cranberry, not a combo! The Topman there smelt of kippers, then finally walking outside a seagull almost shat on me. I am not impressed.

Why was I not informed that Law and Order is on in the morning?

PS: Jehovah has not arrived yet.

Morning!

Today there was a chap on the door and on the mat were two jolly, smiley ladies.

"Hello," I said. "Hello," they said, "and good morning."

"Morning" I said, as you cannot fault my manners.

"Have you," they asked, continuing to smile, "ever thought about letting Jehovah into your life?"

"Well," I said, "maybe, but it all depends if he is prepared to do his bit. If he is just going to lie around watching BBC Parliament and think he's God, then no."

At that point they acted as if they had rather gone off the idea of Jehovah coming into my life. "Thank you for your time," they said, shifting uneasily from foot to foot and shuffling their papers, "but we must get on."

However, I liked the sound of this Jehovah, who might prove handy, and I was not going to let the ladies get away that easily.

"Do you think," I asked, "that he might even babysit twice a month, instead of my doing it? After all, he sent his son to be looked after by us, so it seems only fair that he looks after my brother and sister every other Saturday, don't you think?"

They said: "We can see you are busy."

But I said: "I certainly am not. I haven't been busy since 1992 and even then I was just pretending. Tell you what, why don't you send this Jehovah over and we'll see how we all get on."

"Tuesdays are best for me, as I never pretend to be that busy on a Tuesday. Thursdays are out, though, as I pretend to be at my busiest on Thursdays. Thursdays are a nightmare. If you ever call on a Thursday and I am short with you, you'll know it's because I am just so busy pretending to be busy."

They said: "Thank you for your time. Is your neighbour in, do you know?"

I said I do not know. I said that, furthermore, I had always hated him and his goods. I once post a branch through his letterbox, so it's not as if we're exactly on speaking terms."

Also, I added, "I recently kicked his washing machine on the stoop and shouted as his budgerigar through the walls." They said: "Goodbye."

"Whoa!" I continued, "what about Jehovah?" Are you going to bring him next Tuesday or not?"

"We can see you are busy," they said, moving towards the other door.

"Only pretending to be busy," I said. "There's a world of difference."

In the end, there was no stopping them going, but they did leave me a leaflet called Why You Can Trust The Bible.

I read it, just as I read everything: cereal packets, mini-cab cards, serving suggestions, nutritional information and even those advertisements for extra-wide shoes and things that allow you to let your trousers out as always featured in the back of the Daily Express, a newspaper which appears to have a readership compromised solely of people with waists and feet the width of sofas.

And so I read the leaflet, which starts with: "Some people say the Bible is unreliable, and their views have gained wide acceptance."

What? Some people don't accept it was written 6,000 years ago. Are you sure? This is madness.

"Thus many dismiss what the Bible says as untrustworthy."

Not me, I would have told the smiley ladies, had they not been so keen to 'get on.'

I take it all very literally, which is why I poked out the eye of my womanservent yesterday when I discovered she was stealing from me and then stoned to death Daft David from across the road for swinging on the washing line.

"Is there really any evidence that the Bible is unreliable?"

I hope not. Or I'm going to be in big trouble with the human rights people, the police, and possibly, even, the British Dental Association.

You see, my dentist took it upon himself to take out one of my teeth, so I went back the next day and took out one of his. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth and all that.

Afterwards, I went to the opticians, but they shut their door and put up a closed sign when they saw me coming. I will never go to that optician again. Their loss.

"Has anyone ever shown you an actual example of the unreliability of the Bible?"

They might have tried, but until I get some reading glasses, I really will never know.

"Some persons will draw attention to what they consider a discrepancy in the Bible, asking: 'Where did Cain get his wife?'"

Why would some persons do that?

"The assumption is that Cain and Abel were the only children of Adam and Eve."

That is generally the assumption, yes.

"But the assumption is based on a misunderstanding of what the Bible says."

I'd think carefully about where you're going with this, if I were you.

"The Bible explains that Adam 'became father to sons and daughters'."

If you are now about to say what I think you are about to say, I'd recommend keeping quiet and settling for the Bible being unreliable and not to be taken literally. But no! Here we go:

"Thus Cain married one of his sisters."

Oh, well, that's all right then. Phew. Fun for all the family.

"Often, critics are just looking for contradictions."

Loons.

Just wait until Jehovah pops round next Tuesday and we'll see what he has to say about that! I just hope he doesn't read the Daily Express because, to be honest, I don't think I'd have the room.