Humans are apes who have broken their instinctive programming patterns. We can easily override what natural selection has spent several billion years perfecting. We are the product of evolution, environment, nurture, nature and what’s on offer at Morrison’s.
Every now and then our baser instincts get tested to the limit, but by tolerating the stupid and not giving in to anger we make our human qualities better.
To make myself a ‘better’ person I like to test myself. I do this by listening to a short arsed mystic who seems to find it rewarding to stand aloft a sturdy wooden box in the middle of town while bellowing his witchcraft. I believe his book of spells is called the Bible…? My test is to see how long I can resist the urge to shout “Twat”. My current record is 4.8 seconds but I’m confident I can numb myself to his rambling bollocks and get my time to well over five or even six seconds by the end of the year.
“You sir, are you a sinner?” he shouts.
“Yes I am!” shouts a local completely deflating the little gobshite.
Yes he was a sinner, and proud, which is probably why no one was starring at him and thinking ‘freak’. The cards were heavily stacked against a looney with a soap box. First of all as I mentioned he was short, hence the wooden box. Secondly, he was ginger. Jaffa is the dominant gene that proves even nature can get it horribly wrong sometimes. Next up, he was wearing glasses. Finally, he was yelling the word of “our Lord”. Now everyone in this country loves an underdog but the Right Reverend Stumpy Gingafoureyes had crossed the tolerance line. He had one spanner-characteristic (spackeristic) too many. Even though I admire his gun sticking I think he would have had way more success/an audience if he’d shouted out Harry Potter instead.
Thanks to some seriously subtle penning, you might have noticed that I don’t really do religion. I have a Catholic upbringing to thank for this. The only religious saving grace is Hinduism, which acknowledges that the universe oscillates and is several billion years old. You’ve got to doth your cap for working that one out.
Life in junior god squad was dull, I did all the usual: First Holy Communion, First Confession, First Naked Polaroids for the Bishop etc However, this worm turned at the point of Confirmation. When you’re young Confirmation is just a way of getting a middle name and some lame-arsed present to say well done you’re officially a Catholic now. To be confirmed meant extra bashing and no one wanted that. As some of my fellow pupils had already been confirmed the teacher at the time went round one by one and asked us who was being “done” this year. For some reason I was at the back of the classroom and last too be asked. I’ll never forget the look on my class’ face when I instinctively said ‘no, not me’. Without saying a word and in perfect unison the entire un-done class span round and gave me a look of “WE HAD A CHOICE????”. In hindsight I have to thank the reptilian part of my brain. In a fight or flight on-the-spot kinda moment my dino-brian did both. It’s yet more proof that I’m subconsciously awesome. Either way from then on life slowly got easier. I've gone off the lapsed Catholic scale and become a coma'd Catholic.
I'll probably have to spend enternity in hell but I've been to Blackpool so it should be alright.