jon winona

Sometime later, Jesus was on his way back to JHQ in downtown Jerusalem. And the traffic was sore bad that Jesus whipped it down the back roads, but lo, his regular cut through was blocked by a man who was an invalid. When Jesus saw him lying there he said unto him “Come on! Outa the way, sunshine! Some of us have got jobs to do - that parable ain’t gonna write itself! Where’s the horn on this goddamn donkey? Oh here it is-”

~*~beedeeleeleedeeleelee~*~

“Judas! Have you been dicking around with my donkey again?”

“Yes, boss. Sorry, boss.”

“I don’t like your pattern of behaviour, Judas! Quit going behind my back, big stuff. Honk it for me, Peter.”

*HRRRRRRRNNNNN*

And Peter did honk the man.

“Move it, lazy bones,” barked Jesus. But the man did not move it. For he did not like to move it move it. Nor did he even like to move it move it. “Oh balls,” said Jesus, looking at his watch. “I’m going to have to cure the bastard. Abracabloodydabra, now pick up your bit and walk! Preferably fast.”

*HRRRRN*

“Thank you, Peter. Mark, Luke, you’re writing this one up. Hey- who’s the chick?”

“She’s on work experience, boss,” said Luke. “On a gospel writing course.”

“Oh righto,” said Jesus. “Uhm, okay. Clean it up and spin it then, pepper, and you’ll go far. Hey, you look familiar, what’s your name?”

“Shelly,” said the work experience writer, who was me. “Shelly Magdalene.”

And Jesus did blanch slightly.

And Shelly said, “I think you know my sister.”

And Jesus did Uhm, and he did Er, and he said, “Yeah… err… I think-… I think I might know her, yeah. Not that well. Not that well at all - write that down, guys, write it down. Uhm, what’s she up to these days? … Still a masseuse?”

Queen Victoria walked into a bar. And the barman said, “Why the long face?”

And Queen Victoria said, “Well, as a matter of fact, my husband has just died, leaving me with nine fatherless children and a country to run. Cut me some slack.”

And the barman said, “Well, I see that you’re a bit upset about the death of your husband, that’s… understandable, but frankly you should still consider it an honour and a privilege to govern your country, not just some kind of chore.”

Queen Victoria said, “Come off it, mate. I slog my guts out for this country 24/7, 365! Besides which, I’m leading Britain into an era that many people will look back on as the high point of our entire nation’s history.”

And the barman said, “Leave it out! The whole thing is being based on an arrogant and essentially racist imperialism which will sow the seeds of resentment around the world which will blow up in Britain’s face througout the 20th century.”

And Queen Victoria said, “That’s a simplistic and one-sided analysis!”

And the barman said, “Well maybe, but it’s still a valid point!”

And Queen Victoria said, “Just calm down, mate.”

And the barman said, “ME calm down? You’re the one that needs to calm down! Your uptight attitude towards sex is going to repress the British nation in the bedroom for over a hundred years! Leading ultimately to the cultural catastrophe of the ‘Carry On’ film! You’ve got a lot to answer for! And anyway, with nine children, you clearly don’t mind a good seeing to yourself, you hypocritical, saggy titted old slag!”

And Queen Victoria said, “I’m not a slag, I’ve only ever slept with my husband.”

And the barman said, “Only ‘cause you look like a bag of spanners.”

And Queen Victoria said, “What do you mean? What does a bag of spanners look like?”

And the barman said, “It looks like you.”

And Queen Victoria said, “Look mate, if you’d had nine children, your tits would be a bit past their best as well.”

And the barman said, “Well maybe, but you should count yourself very lucky to have nine children and still be alive in mid-nineteenth century Britain, what with the high infant mortality rates, poor sanitation, not existent health care and the general squalor that the vast majority of your people have to suffer. It’s probably not so bad if you live in fucking great castles! And don’t you think it’s a bit irresponsible to have NINE children? That’s going to be a HUGE burden on the taxpayer.”

And Queen Victoria said, “Ah, don’t worry, mate. I’ll just marry most of them off to other European royal families, ensuring a peaceful continental Europe for the foreseeable future.”

And the barman said, “BULLSHIT! Modern international politics needs more than a few strategic marriages to guarantee peace and stability! Personally, I cannot foresee ANYthing over the next hundred years than a couple of MASSIVE WARS.”

And Queen Victoria said, “Oh for chrissake, just calm down and give me a pint of Guinness.”

And the barman said, “A pint of Guinness? After what you’ve done to Ireland? Fuck off.”

And Queen Victoria said, “Don’t fucking swear at me, I’m the fucking Queen!”

And the barman said, “What are you going to fucking do? Cut my fucking head off?”

And Queen Victoria said, “Well I might, you fucking pleb.”

And the barman said, “You’ll never get away with it. The whole concept of monarchy has radically altered in Britain over the last five hundred years. It’s not the Dark Ages anymore.”

And Queen Victoria said, “Well, you’d do very well to remember that I was chosen by God to do my job. Chosen by God. Did God choose you to do your job? As a barman? Did he? And if he did, why did he make you so fucking useless at it?”

And the barman said, “No, I wasn’t chosen by God. I just like the hours. Gives me quite a bit of freedom. And of course I get to meet people as well, that’s quite nice and uh, I like working with beer. Beer’s been something I’ve always liked, something I respect and can relate to. And you get to meet people as well, and that’s good.”

And Queen Victoria said, “Yeah, that must be nice. I do get a bit lonely actually, being monarch. It’s a pretty solitary existence, really. You know just sitting there in my special carriage just waving at people. Just uh… end up longing for some genuine human interaction, sometimes.”

And the barman said, “… I’m sorry to hear that. Uhm… do you want a game of darts?”

And Queen Victoria said, “No, I’ve got a bit of an elbow injury. It was knighthoods last week. So uh, can’t I’m afraid. Have you got any nuts?”

And the barman said, “That’s a bit of a personal question.”

And Queen Victoria said, “No, I just meant nuts? Not really into puns.”

And the barman said, “Yeah we got salted or dry roasted.”

Queen Victoria said, “I’ll have salted, please. … Nononono- dry roasted.”

And the barman said, “That’ll be six pence.”

And Queen Victoria said, “Have you got any crisps?”

And the barman said, “Don’t push your luck.”

I guess to understand this John, we have to understand the thought processes of the looters as they were looting. And I guess what they were thinking was, ‘Oh look at all that looting, I wonder if I should join in. There are a number of factors urging me to do so. I feel a sense of social alienation as if people like me have been abandoned by mainstream society as the unwanted dregs of a skewed and unfair system. I feel a lack of hope - there are few jobs even fewer good jobs. I just can’t seem to find the opportunity to escape from a cycle of poverty, broken homes and broken communities around me. From generations of decline and neglect, let down by the state, let down by my family, let down by a pitiless capitalist system which has scant regard for the unfortunate. I feel disenfranchised by political system and class that fails to engage or represent me and when I see the excesses and unbridled inquisitiveness of the economic food-chain, the corrupt and self-interest in my nation’s media and politics I feel even more abandoned not of my making.

Adding all that up and seeing the opportunity for some seriously cut-price bargains - well, no price bargains - well I still don’t really feel like looting.

Oh hang on, I just remembered. I’m a cunt. Count me in!’

Buglers may or may not be aware that I have a personal connection to this particular roller coaster of pain: my wife is an Iraq war veteran. She was a combat medic with the U.S. Army and deployed to Iraq during some of the worst moments of that war. I was and I still am hugely against the decision to go to war in Iraq and equally couldn’t be more proud of what she and those she served with were able to do in the conditions that I’m extremely glad I can only imagine. The war lives on with us in our home and will do until the day she dies. Some of the blood spilt in Iraq was hers, alongside those that she tried to save in the midst of streets of violent chaos - some successfully, some not.

Now if you have any question about how well-supported the troops were, you would not believe the lack of equipment, lack of body armor, lack of desert boots, even lack of vehicles with doors on them that she and so many other brave soldiers from the U.S. and the U.K. were generously not provided with. And for that, I would like to say to Donald Rumsfeld, thank you very much. Uh, sorry, did I say thank you there, Andy? I mean to say fuck you very much. I’m always getting those two words mixed up, Andy, thank and fuck.