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Today’s blog post does not contain swearing, apart from the word bastards, but come on, that doesn’t count, lighten up granny.
Yesterday, the people I’m living with and some other friends went out for the day, but I decided not to join them as I wanted to put the finishing touches to yesterday’s blog post, read the blog out for the podcast and upload it to my website. There is a certain irony in the fact that I plan to write about my life for 365 consecutive days, yet in order to do so I am declining offers to go out and actually do anything interesting. My efforts to constantly talk about my life mean that I might be running the risk of not living one.
So, today I was asked whether I wanted to go for a walk and for some lunch with some friends, and I decided to partake, although, I only did so because I thought something interesting might happen that I could blog about. I am writing this blog post in the car on the way to the place we’re heading to, while keeping one ear open for anything interesting that one of my friends might say which can be appropriated for today’s blog. So far they have given me nothing, the bastards.
Today’s blog post was meant to be the story I originally intended to tell yesterday, before getting sidetracked and writing nearly 2000 words about something else. However, I think I will save that story for another day, because part of the story hinges around the topic of cancer. I’m aware that many of you are probably heading back to work tomorrow after the Christmas holidays, and so perhaps a lengthy blog post which might be quite heavy going in places may not be fitting. I’m a little concerned that my last two blog posts have been quite sweary and included quite a few adult jokes, and the story I originally intended to tell today would have probably needed to have also followed that route. So I’ll come back to that story at some point, and for now, here’s a blog post for the whole family to enjoy. So, gather your children around you, tell your mother-in-law to stop watching Songs Of Praise and get a load of this instead.
My friend Emily, sitting next to me in the car, has just read a news article to me which has given me inspiration for a blog post. So, in a change to our advertised programming, here’s today’s blog post, which centres around a story from the BBC news website.
New Zealand has given approval to the Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster to carry out marriage ceremonies in the country.
Now, I don’t know about you, but I had no idea that there was a Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster. So, intrigued, I decided to conduct some research for this blog. You might be under the impression that this blog is essentially a one man operation, simply comprising a singular deluded self-aggrandising ego, but actually I have a whole team of people behind me, including a state-of-the-art research department, so it wasn’t long before I was put in contact with someone from the Church of the flying Spaghetti Monster. The person I spoke to was happy to talk, but didn’t want to be identified.
“Our pasta is delighted, and can’t wait to conduct his first ceremony,” said the unidentified sauce.
Unfortunately, that’s all the interview I got, as there was a glitch with the Church of The Flying Spaghetti Monster’s video conferencing technology. The picture went black and they stopped seeing me too. However, the audio hung in there for a little longer before cutting out, so I heard a few seconds of conversation between two Church of the Flying spaghetti members, before the line went completely dead.
“damn, the bloody Tagliatelly is on the blink again. Basil, Olive, can one of you fix this thing?”
“I’m afraid you won’t get anything out of Basil or Olive. Have you not heard the news about Basil?”
“No. What?”
“It turns out he wasn’t one of us after all. He was a spy for the Church of the romping Ravioli Dragon.”
“What?! The Church of the Romping Ravioli Dragon?! But everyone knows that that church is based on completely fabricated nonsensical flimflam.”
“I know, but some people will believe any old claptrap won’t they?”
“Very true. But I can’t believe that all that time, he was spying for them! I mean, Basil, a plant, who’d have thought it?”
“I know, I certainly didn’t see that coming.” Which is more than can be said for that punchline. “So Basil’s unable to fix your TV, and I’m afraid Olive says she’s too ill to do anything today.”
“Ill? She’ll be stoned, no doubt, as usual.”
“What about Betty? She’s good with technology. She’s a very clever girl. She got all A’s in her exams.”
“I know, well they don’t call her Alpha Betty for nothing.”
Unfortunately, the audio began to badly crackle and glitch. The last thing I heard before I lost them completely was, “I think we’re running out of electricity. Try putting a penne in the meter.” And then the line went dead, which I’m sure you’re all immensely sad about.
So, there you go, that’s today’s blog post. It was going to be another sweary and potentially offensive blog post, but I bottled it and opted to do a load of spaghetti-based puns instead. Still, let’s be honest, it beat watching Songs of Prays didn’t it mother-in-law? You wouldn’t get Aled Jones riffing on a news story about spaghetti. In fact, if the BBC want Songs of Praise to be more popular, they should ditch Christianity and broadcast live from the Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster instead. The ratings would go through the roof. If we all bombard Points Of View, they will have to take heed.
Thanks for reading and listening. Feel free to leave a comment, either telling me that I’ve made a big mistake with this ridiculous project, or to deluge me with additional pasta puns. Only 363 posts to go, my friends. Are we still friends? Back tomorrow, regardless.
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