An Interview With Ray Comfort
Never let it be said that I’m anything but fair. Many, many moons ago I conducted an interview with then-doctor-now-heap-big-better-than-doctor Brian Cox and we discussed matters of science, said science being a subject very close to my heart as I have it on good authority that certain sciencey things occur in its vicinity; biology, chemistry, and physics (yeah, the big three!) apparently. Another subject close to my heart is religion – I once snagged my nipple on a rosary – and, till now, I’ve neglected to complement my interview of one of science’s finest with one of religion’s finest. Or nearly finest. Or adequatest. Or he’ll-doest. Website, let me now introduce you to Ray Comfort, kiwi by birth (not the species), evangelical minister, opponent of science’s rational explanation of evolution, and author of You Can Lead an Atheist to Evidence, But You Can’t Make Him Think. ME: Ray, I’ve finally given in and taken up your challenge to interview you but declined your more-than-generous offer of ten thousand recitations of the commandments as evidence for whatever’s in your head. Welcome to this little crook of the internet. RAY: Thank you for finally listening to me; many people don’t. And please, call me The Raymeister. ME: Let me just draw your attention to paragraph one, sentence one of the interview contract I drew up and you signed where it says "I’m not calling you The Raymeister." RAY: Whatever. ME: Don’t do that with your fingers; teenagers do that. Let’s start. Why don’t we begin with man’s descent from apes? What’s not to like about the fossilised and genetic evidence as uncovered by your archnemeses People Who’ve Actually Studied This Stuff? RAY: We’ve all seen the picture, right? There’s man and before him is an apeman and before him is an apeman laboratory assistant with a hunch and/or rickets and before that is an ape and before that is a monkey, yes? It looks sensible on the face of it and sure, there are all these ancient bones to back it up and the suspiciously difficult to see DNA which they claim supports it all. But ask yourself this: why does it stop at monkey? Why don’t they keep going back? Smaller monkey then tiny monkey then monkey insect and monkey bacterium? Why not? Because it’s ridiculous and all made up and they know it. Booya! ME: How would you respond to this statement by website interviewer me, right now?: just because you don’t understand something doesn’t mean that it is wrong; it could be right whilst, simultaneously, you might just not get it through either a lack of mental capability...
David Spates
And now it’s time for another in our fantastic series of I’ve Got Nothing For You At The Moment So Why Don’t You Take A Look At Someone Who Does Instead? That someone is David S. Spates (the S stands for Spates as well (maybe)) and that something that he has for you is short and well-formed and before you’ve finished enjoying it there’s another one primed and ready for your delectation. If you’ve instantly thought "penis?" then I’ve taught you well but the actual answer is "comedy" and he’s pretty damp good at it too, no bullship, I swear on a stack of mother fudgin’ Jehovah’s Witness pamphlets this high. David Spates (in case the words ‘David Spates’ in the bottom right corner didn’t give it away) David has been called "that comedian I’ve subscribed to on YouTube" and "really funny," both, coincidentally, by me when explaining to my wife what I was laughing at. If you’d like to say similar things to your other half or imaginary friend then you can watch or subscribe to David’s videos too by going here: David Spates’ YouTube Channel If you like "teh funnay!" (am I using that right?) then you’ll like David Spates. If there’s a funnier Canadian comedian now residing in Los Angeles with his own YouTube video channel and a penchant for holding random objects in his hand while talking then I want to...
A Gay Sex Date With Fred Phelps
"Fred, come in!" "Come in! Come in! Is that some sort of perverted double entendre? Come in! Is it?" "It’s generally considered an invitation to transpose one’s person from an outside area to an inside area and there absolutely, positively was no …" "My person? My … person?! Inside area! Inside area! Fag! Filthy, abhorrent fag! Inside area is a fag name for God’s Glorious Gaper! Are you a fag-supporting, fag-loving fag!?" "It’s raining outside and you’re getting wet so won’t you please just step through the doorway, think about leaving a few of your fag references behind, and get inside this fu … this house now? Please?" "I will enter your domicile, your shelter of sodomites, knowing I have the protection of the Lord!" "Well, that’s good. I was going to have to insist on protection anyway. No telling where you’ve been." "That is a sinful statement to make. I am as God made me, pure with His spirit flowing through me, uplifted by His power." "Hey, save the dirty talk for later. Why don’t you take your coat off. You’re dripping on the carpet." "Blaspheming sodomite-enabling heathen fag! The holy fluids are not to touch man-made fibres. May God’s wrath strike you down for your damned lies!" "The rain … rain! … is running down your coat and it’s falling … oh, forget it, it’ll dry out. Can I get you a drink?" "I wouldn’t say no to a Cosmopolitan." "Cocktail man, eh?" "Perverted sodomite! Your sick, moral blindness will be your undoing when the judgement of God is laid upon your soul and you are shredded and torn asunder and caused to flame in the furnace of hell!" "Tell you what: we’ll skip the drinks. You sound like you’ve had a few already." "Homo-fascist! My throat is dry!" "Well, I’m sure we can rectify that situation if you know what I mean." "So that Cosmopolitan’s still available then?" "Apparently you don’t know what I mean. I’m talking about the hot, gay sex we’re going to have. You know? You popped over here for sex with me … a man … to have sex … with. Yes?" "Popped! Popped! Popped is a fag word! You filthy disseminator of vile fagspeak! God hates you and your depraved kind!" "You’re giving me a headache." "Kneel down and I shall pray above you and beg your Creator to forgive your defiance!" "Kneel in front of you? Oh! Oh! It’s role-play! Role-play! I get you! The old religious disciplinarian job! Right, nice one. Okay … yeah, sure, I’ll kneel and maybe you can let me take your, er, communion wafer in...
Entrecard Advert Design
I’ve been a member of Entrecard for some time; it’s a fairly decent way (if you have the time) to find interesting sites more-or-less at random and at the same time drive a little traffic your way in the hope that you’ll interest other, new visitors in return. So long as you keep your content short and aimed at the lowest common denominator, that is. Oh, those rapid-fire Entrecard droppers don’t like your long posts, no sirree. Part of the "joy" (and by "joy" I mean "occasionally butt-clenching, stomach-churning, jaw-locking, eye-popping momentary flash of terror") of Entrecard is the variety of user-created adverts for their own websites. Some of them are very bad indeed. And most of the rest are worse than that. Parental Instincts With my personal opinion of kids in general I’m not entirely certain that this really is a bad card design. The site and caption are Parental Instincts and, if I’m seeing the selected picture correctly, the apparent instinct being demonstrated and promoted on this site is "to punch your child in the face until it loses most of the skin around the mouth." I’m not a parent but I do know the sentiment. My Beautiful Creations Every parent thinks their ugly, noisy, stinking creation is the most beautiful and precious thing in the world despite all evidence to the contrary and something similar apparently applies to the piece of art and craftwork chosen to advertise this particular site. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder but a two-headed, anaemic monstrosity with a superfluous third arm would surely have even the most beauty-appreciating beholder crossing his or her fingers even as he or she purported to find it positively lovely. Are You Hungry? Not after seeing that picture, no. I don’t know much about food and drink but I’ll tell you what doesn’t get my tastebuds tingling and my stomach growling with gastronomic anticipation: black coffee and a handful of tomatoes. Welcome To My … An advert should reflect something about the site; it might reference the site’s name; it might illuminate some aspect of the site’s content; a person should look at an advert and have some clue as to what to expect should clicking occur in the near future. Maybe it’s just me though, but I don’t like looking at an advert and thinking: "What in the name of all that’s holy does that say?" Welcome to my … Gatres? That’s not a word. Custard? Not enough letters. Ooh! Garter! No, no that’s not it. Galnet? A net for gals! I bloody hope so … oh … nope. Computer Aid If I...
UK National Lottery Online
This is a small gripe and a warning for those people who do the UK National Lottery online as I do from time-to-time as the less contact with "people" in person the better. You will have to pay a small sum of money if you happen to have funds in your online account and your debit card number changes. It’s not a lot; but it also seems to be not entirely fair if you ask me. Which you didn’t. The reason for this is outlined below: 1. If your debit card number changes then you won’t be able to add or remove funds to your account. 2. If you have money in your account then you can’t change the debit card number. This is a problem. On the face of it, point 2 appears to be to prevent someone else logging in and transferring cash out. Which would be fine until you factor in point 1. If your card changes but there are funds in your account then you can’t change the card number until those funds are removed … which you can’t do because your card number has changed. Classic Catch-22 situation. This means you will have to phone up a not free phone number and talk to a customer service person. After listening through a long-winded automated system. And there’s a special warning with regards to the automated system: even though you want to change your debit card number on no account should you press the option to "change your debit card number!" Why? Well, because rather than take you to someone or thing that can change your debit card number – as you might guess (you fool!) – you will instead be read back the same information you found online before you resorted to phoning in because it doesn’t work and you will then be returned to the main menu options where you will have to listen all over again and this time wait for the "for the love of zombie Jesus please put a human on this damn line!" option instead. And even that’s not a fun experience as you’ll need to still go through all the steps to setting up your new card online while on the phone so they can override the error messages. Several minutes on a not free call to change your debit card number. Just so you know. And, if like me you think "well, there’s only 5p in the account so I’ll just close the account and open a new one as that will be both cheaper and faster" then think again. You can’t close the account and, even...
Onomatopoeiapocalypse Now
I’m not a happy person. Never have been. The rain in this city has a way of washing happiness down the sewer. Splat! Splat! I’m looking at the door and thinking some unhappy thoughts – something like: that’s not the sound I expect to hear from a door – when it opens up and in walks Inspector Alliteration. That’s not his name, of course, but it’s the one that’s stuck in my head ever since the case of the stolen similes. "You look positively miserable Rick," he tells me. "Not happy, even." I try to catch a glimpse of my reflection in the top of the tumbler of malt to see if he’s right. It’s too dark to see much but he’s not wrong anyway. "You should water that down, you know? Bring out the aromas. Make it last a little longer." You learn something new every day. I’d just learnt that Inspector Alliteration must be taking whiskey appreciation classes somewhere in the city. I tell him I don’t drink for the aromas but I swivel around and stick the glass through the open window and get the rain from the filth-coloured sky to help out anyway. A large drip from the sill above lands smack in the centre of the tumbler’s contents with a loud guffaw. "Let me guess …" I start to say as I slide the drink away from me. "No dice Rake," he cuts me off. "I’ve not come here to play games. I’m gonna talk and you’re gonna listen. Then you’re gonna trawl the streets and crawl in the gutters and do what you do best." I’m not sure what it is I do best but I’m pretty good at staying quiet and listening unhappily to one of the city’s so-called finest letting me know what’s going down. "Tainted onomatopoeia," I say when he’s finished. "And no blackmail note? No suspects?" "The city’s full of suspects. Hell, you’re one!" "Me? Why, officer, I’m a paragon of legal virtue," I smile. Not a happy smile. "Don’t think we don’t keep tabs on all you private dicks whenever there’s a downturn in business. It wouldn’t take much for you to drum up some trade on your own now, would it?" I return to my whiskey and point out that there’s never a downturn in business. The cases keep on coming, one after another, each more soul-soaking than the last. * "You’re back from Literalville!" says Danny The Weasel with fake genuine warmth. Not a lot gets past street smart Danny which is why I’m talking to him first. There’s street smart and real smart and explaining...
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