LAMB.Skyborne piggy copy






This caught my eye—

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and resurrected a thought about religious sacrifices, be they chicken, lamb, ox, or human.


of course is to curry favour with God. (He loves blood …)

And after priestly machinations the sacrifice itself becomes holy — so once God accepts the spirit of the thing (He always does, trust me!) the physical leftovers mustn’t be profaned by the unclean so the priest gobbles up the remnants on behalf.

So it’s win/win/win all ’round—

  • God takes His holy share (even though we can’t see any difference)
  • the priest takes his share of God’s leftovers   (  ”    ”    ”  )
  • the donor gets to go to Heaven (having just made a sacrifice); and
  • the only one a bit miffed is the chicken.

Do all religions ‘sacrifice’?

Yes. To be a True Follower of any religion you must (R) MUST sacrifice

  • your intellect
  • your integrity
  • your time
  • your independence, and
  • your goodies.

But don’t take my word for it—sacrifice some of your copious free time to go explore the idea.

Now just out of general interest, sacrifice more time to wonder if child sex (oops) sex with little girls shouldn’t be made compulsory in so-called ‘civilised’ nations? Let this dude explain—

—and form your own conclusions. I think he was once a Moslem but recanted, which as we all know is a death sentence … his own sacrifice, in fact.

Death chatteringDeath chatteringDeath chatteringDeath chattering


* Why not? Around the world every day hundreds of millions sacrifice themselves to the invisible and are delighted to do so—every coin dropped in a Collection Box, every million you donate to your favourite church/mosque/synagogue/temple/house of worship/etc is a sacrifice … (even if, poor sucker, you consider it an investment).




and stop one—Death chattering.gif

“For example, to test men for apologetics knowledge, it’s really easy – just ask them what the significance of cosmic microwave background radiation is, what chirality is, what the significance of 1 Corinthians 15:3-7 is, and what is the difference between the deductive and inductive problem of evil. If they can’t answer all four of those then you can’t marry them. Biblical manhood concerns are not check-boxes on the marriage application form – they’re long-form essay questions. Judging the man’s ability to do silly stuff, like get a tattoo or clown around in a bar, is just not relevant to making the marriage serve God. A woman’s personal preferences don’t decide here – evidence decides. (So long as the goal of marriage is to serve God* , instead of to make women happy) …”

From the same source as in my previous post.

You know, I think this guy would have made a brilliant Muslim … given but an accident of birth. (Which of course is all a part of God’s ineffable plan—Him being omni-everything it couldn’t be otherwise, could it?)

selfie* To serve ‘God’? Or is it to serve God’s officers on Earth—by swelling their coffers? Tithe on, little dreamers … you may be piling up pelf on Earth for your church but thou art piling up greater investments in Heaven** (A much better win/win … you just try stuffing a Pope, bishop, or priest through the eye of a needle~!)

** And they’ll all be waiting for you at God’s table.


NOT AT ALL Fly Pig, left big

in fact as happy as a jaded cynic can possibly when armed with a camera (and all prejudices vibrating at peak) when a couple of apparently Moslem chappies stepped arrogantly out of the side-street, too closely crossed my bows, and hoofed briskly away in front. Deep in animated conversation they completely ignored the well-wrapped figure—still perceivably feminine despite the accoutrements of over-dress—carrying a bonny wee babe in her arms silently following several yards behind.

They ignored her completely.

My first thought, that perhaps they might be deeply in love (with each other) was abandoned when I put their behaviour down to cultural differences. WOGs*.

My bows crossed but course unchanged I followed close behind and observed … that … at no time did either of them give the slightest sign that they were aware of the lady’s presence. She may as well have been a trained dog (in fact, I think she was).

AND she trotted astern in silence, holding and tending what was obviously a well cared for and much loved infant. I considered a snap or two for later commentary but gave away the whole idea—some WOGs* get a bit scratchy if a sub-human pays any attention to the lady they are totally ignoring; and I’m old enough now to be a bit more discreet.


and I went mine. But later when wanting a shot of the soon to be demolished Cambridge Arcade I saw them sitting outside the Esk Street entrance I reconsidered. The two guys were still deep in animated conversation, and (the missus?) aside in silence except for the child.

I got my snap and nobody noticed …

down finger

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—make of it what you will. I found myself wondering if Mr Redhat and Mr Brown jacket were discussing tactics, strategy, ways-and-means of taking over New Zealand so it too could become an Islamic paradise.

Naaaaah … Islam is the definitive Great Religion Of Peace, no?

Stupid paranoid dog …

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* WOG being of course “Word Of God” … I use it not pejoratively but to define. (Saves a lot of text.)



 “Numbers, numbers, numbers, Cutie.”

“Wot? I mean, what, Mr Argus, Sir?”

“Numbers, Sweet Child. You know … figures. Digits, numerals and such scientific stuff.”

So: why all the puzzlement?

Track it back to this that I uplifted earlier from u-toobe:

down finger

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old Argie didn’t go there. He’s one of those who prefer to travel hopefully rather than to arrive—to travel is to hold a dream, to arrive is often sub-standard everything and scratchy toilet paper. In this instance I suspect a prospecting Christian. Brrrr.


all is NOT lost. I imagine that if one were to go there one would find a religionist’s calculations involving inconceivable numbers to ‘prove’ that even the most basic of everything must have been intelligently designed (i.e. invented) ‘cos the odds against it spontaneously appearing are so astronomical as to rule it out—

—but I’m forced to ponder: if the odds are stacked so very very high against even a splurb of brainless mindless formless primordial jelly originating by chance …

… what are the odds against a coldly calculating infinitely capable eternally sadistic ethereal cosmic bastard popping into existence out of nowhere, by chance, and then inventing

  •  Himself, and
  •  the entirety of Creation?

(The clue is in the name, right? ‘Creation’ …  it means all that exists as an artefact (a created object)—

—all, except for ol’ God himself. Of course. Alone in all of Creation He is allowed to have popped up out of nowhere; which of course makes Him the definitive ‘Unique’.


  • Everything that exists (with absolutely no exceptions) had to have a creator, namely, one Mr God Esq.
  • except for Mr God who created Himself first, and only then the rest of the universe.

Thus far, so good. But—


a single blob of organic jelly appearing out of nowhere by chance are 10 to the 164th … can any religioso please calculate the odds of an entire animated Divine Being capable of infinite presence etc etc etc likewise appearing out of nowhere by chance?

I offer that the famous ‘Snowball In Hell’ would fare better.


go there, just in case my illusions are shattered (I’m not good at sums) …


if you’d like to go, be my guest—

down eyeface

—and if you report back I’d be infinitely grateful. Good luck …

chimp rocks

“STUPID … STUPID … STUPID … are you listening, nut?”





—at about 4:36 (or back up a bit for the context).


my own ‘divine’ question …


even if we cut Him some slack? I say no. Nay. Never …

What say you?

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“Which god, Argus? There’s thousands of ’em … dum’ dog …”







Q:  what is it about filth that so excites the godly?

A:  to each their own (Now go look up ‘fetish’ … I’ll wait …)

To many millions of good citizens these guys (herewith, below) are the very epitome of godly achievement and divinious example:

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Wow …

… and now, more wow

   down eyeface

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   These holy men are demonstrating the old adage about filling a need with a product, in this case God (oops) —

  • soap
  • suds
  • scrub brush

—although a water blaster might be more appropriate.

To each his own. I may never get to Heaven myself but at least whilst I’m down here I shan’t have folks begging my exit forthwith (“Get the hell outa here ya stinkin’ mutt!”).


Romans cope? They had less earthy gods—

—who sometimes were shape-shifters with earthy appetites—

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—as in this Pompeian representation (recently dug out of volcanic ash)(barfed by Vesuvius centuries ago) being one Miss Leda and her god.

For myself I say get rid of those human cesspits above … I’ll worship Miss Leda any day—as a path to ecstasy I think she has the market cornered.


also has a history of unwashed hair shirts (apparently the more verminous the closer the wearer to God). To each his own … but again, given options between hair shirt, cattle dung shampoo, or Miss Leda:


(what do YOU reckon, Padre?)*.

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* Apologies, Padre, no choirboys on that list …


(oops, apologies, typo)

Screen Shot 2019-04-20 at 09.37.10SOLE

a few weeks back, on a walk out in the countryside (you know how it is—winter, soggy sheep, disconsolate cows and strict grass rationing when they need it most) (raw turnips—yeuch!).


the bugger turns up again as the summer growth dies off to reveal it … not that I wanted my sole back. I no longer believe in soles (aaaah, soles!)

But then I got all metaphorical and philosophicule and stuff:

Is this The Lord revealing to me, in metaphorical or otherwise allegorical form? My prodigal sole returneth, and stuff? And then I thought “Stuff this stuff, Dog—there’s a whole universe out there, so give it away to those who need it and carpe the diem!”


even a satori, no less. But—

—sadly there was no-one around to bite. Dammit, never a witness when ya needs one—so if I wrote a Book of Revelation, who would believe me? All I’d need would be just a first devoted few and ever expanding MLM downlines. Tax breaks too, for Dog’s sake.

Hell, Dog—play ’em right and you too could live in a palace and have a fleet of subscriber-funded jets …

So I went home where The Spouse made me a coffee using the miracle of electricity and piped waters … so join with me in praising Our Lord, from whom all blessings flow!

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“Is this sarcasm, Dog? It doesn’t become you …”


Wag wag wag wag …


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(Image at top courtesy of me—it was the glue shed along with my sole …)