Day 16

Oy, Ye, Mah Purdy Jeezus Holiday Camps

04.32 Flaky skin; Unable to sleep
Subject: On Brilliance

Dearest Darling Forsythia,



Well, here I am again, just in case you had forgotten about me (being the heartless chieuse you are) and assumed the world would continue regardless.

Some were born brilliant; I was hatched both secretive and furtive. Actually, I was spawned fully lacking in depth and impassioned wit, which means the more blatantly secretive I am, the less likely I am to be found out. And when I am absolutely putrid, I am able to fool everyone. My abysmal secret is safe! This is indeed a great trick, only, unfortunately, I must remember to exercise the iron discipline necessary to glue my lips to my gums and refrain from all speech. Oh, to be a faerie at the bottom of the garden, and not a gurka in a jar of pickles!

Having got that off my chest I shall refrain from referring either to myself or to my undoubted genius for the remainder of the day. Instead, we must confront the problem of the Amurkun Suthren Baptit Convinshun (oh, why oh why do I obsess over them), those cheery and cheeky, merry but nevvah gay, band of twenty million (give or take a thousand zillion) chicken fried steak eaters. It is their attitude towards bicuspids and bivalves that frightens me, devours me and causes me to have little faith in a world beyond this afternoon. Have you heard about their stance concerning noble, sexually active porcines? Horrific and savage I call it. Most reprehensible.

Oh, Forsythia, most beloved esplanade of my soul, why do they obsess me, today more than any other day? Until last week, I had never given them a second thought. Until three weeks ago, I’d never heard of them. I’m being driven mad. My mind is a thicket of mire and viscous turbulence. Not only that, but my gonads are lonely and unloved, untouched even by me, for I cannot find them in this cramped space and utter darkness.

But to return to my joyful obsession. I heartily, though unfortunately not urgently, wonder what it takes to be an Amurkun Suthren Baptit. Chronic insomnia? Acute hormonal rages? Lethally Compounded Haemorrhoidal Activity Ventilator Syndrome (CHAVS)? More to the point, however is the question, are you one yourself? Are you thusly closeted, and if so, do you long to be outed? NO! I hear you shriek. NEVER! Well, perhaps I shall go along with you, at least to your face, even though, as an apostate atheist Joo your chances of being a potential savee are really quite remarkable. If I may say so, even greater than my own, although to be completely frank, mine are not all that good. Comparisons, however, are odious, considering (as we must) that the prospects for a gay, non-joosh ex-calflick of fallen persuasion and nasty disposition are bleaker than that of a privet hedge in the face of a chainsaw. I would say that my future in the jolly babty-wapty community might entail more than a little torture, to be followed by disembowelling, quartering and burning at the stake. This to be followed by hanging, beheading, odd forms of public humiliation and twenty years locked in a tiny, windowless cell with a Truly Cheerful Person named Patience MacCheerful MacSmile and her twin sister Simper the Proctologist.

All that, however, is for the future. For the present I am, as I keep telling you, being slowly and inexorably digested by this virulent computer of doubtful heritage. You, on the other hand, are free to roam, propagate and corrupt, liberated even from the shackles of responsibility and bodily functions. How lucky you are to be immune from the adorational magnatism of Miraculous Almostasanta Ruchl™ Immaculata™ Ultimata™ of the Holy Receptacles®. How blessed it is to be a daughter who holds her mother in disrespect and revels in her bilious revulsion! And I thought I was the only one to have made the ultimate sacrifice.

Before you instigate a backlash against me, I must point out the reason I am submerging your conscious mind into this well of sludge at this particular time, is that at the more appropriate and opportune moment you were somewhat occupied with the resplendent agonies of labour. Even I know that the sacred joys of postpartum depression take precedence, but only just, over last season’s hottest red carpet event, the unveiling of the year’s platform for the Amurkun Suthren Baptit Convinshun. As their Number One Priority, they came up with the startlingly original target, never before dreamt of in the history of western conquest: the evangelisation and conversion of the Jooz. They had (it was rumoured) toyed with submitting the Arabs to a similar joyous salvation, but weren’t sure if they were acceptable in the eyes of the Lord, what with them worshipping a regular trunkful of satan-loving ram’s testicle eaters, known as Turr and Mommied and Ella Mercifried and Sammabinnaladdy, as well as practicing suspect, heathenistic sphincter-cleansing rituals wherein they wiped themselves with their neighbour’s left hands while chopping off their right hands because they didn’t know what their left hands were doing. Naturally, the first thing I did was seek out the first rabbi I could find and convince him to write a letter to each of the twenty million Amurkun Suthren Baptits explaining that their automatic Amurkun doctor circumcisions had been performed on the wrong end and were, therefore, an abomination in the eyes of the Lord. This move, of course, proved once and for all that I am a beacon of moderation and common sense. Anyway, in view of a quickly revised platform, in which the Jooz have been displaced by the board of Director of the UncleWaltieSneezy Company for daring, a few years ago to accept the need for humane and socially acceptable benefits packages for their employees’ live-in partners, irrespective of gender and marital state or whether they may have coveted their neighbours avenues d’enchantement. For what it is worth, all this has inspired me to adjust my own social agenda accordingly, and I wish to propose the following evil conspiracy.

Should we, surreptitiously and under the cover of night, offer discount salvation memberships to all twenty million fully paid up Amurkun Suthren Baptits to Bagel-in-the-Bare Theme Parks® and Lap Dancing Bingo Bars®? We would, naturally, wish to segregate them from our other members for health reason, and as a consequence will make this offering through a subsidiary company, Oy Ye, Mah Purdy Jeezus Theme Parks and River Jordan Waterslides and Dilapidary Factories®. The actually ownership of this enterprise will, of course, be callously siphoned through the various off-shore shell corporations negotiated by The Swaggly Tits and Shag Shacks of the Tropics Trust®, but that is neither here nor there nor, for that matter, any of your business what with you being a judge and all that. The important thing to consider is that lifetime memberships in the Oy Ye, Mah Purdy Jeezus Theme Parks and River Jordan Waterslides and Dilapitoriæ®, with facilities to be erected in the recently evacuated and bombed-out Solomon Islands, will be sold at a once-in-a-lifetime exclusive, guaranteed eternal-life fee of €1,200,00 ($5,962,359.99 US) per annum (“per year” for Amurcuns), payable in weekly instalments until such time as the Rapture a-takes ‘em up and lays ‘em in da arms a Jeezus. Interest rates have not as yet been computed by our director of marketing and finance, but if you want salvation, you gotsta pay for it, boyo, and I don’t envision it being for the fainthearted or faintfaithed. What has been put in place is a bonus package. For an additional (modest) donation of € 15,000 ($427,954.99 US), we will provide self-adhesive, though not prepaid (meaning customers will have to buy the stamps themselves) envelopes for a’sindin’ in thur tithes.

Lest you worry, it should be made clear (in dizzyingly beautiful; illuminated contracts written in classical DuDu™, encrypted to discourage sloth and other shortcomings) that severe penalties shall be incurred should contractees default on the agreement, even for a minute, or otherwise lapse in a heathenistic and ungodly manner, or think liberal thoughts or convert. God hates defaulters, godless heathens, liberals and converters even more than he hates sheepfuckers, and they will burn.

We should immediately put this plan in action. There is no way it would not be a good money-maker for our humble enterprise, especially with all the attention the eternal salvation and rapture destination resorts are attracting at the moment. Strike, I say, before the pendulum swings the other way and we have to dig out the little red books again. And if you’re worried about building and maintenance costs, let me put your mind to rest. Our only expense will be the giant, one hundred metre high photograph and CGI representations at the airport, plus the disposable hyper-virtual-reality headsets featuring Jeezus proclaiming many impossible things. Trust me, with investors such as ours, they’ll think they’re already through the pearly gates. All we will have to do is usher them into prefabricated white-slave bunkrooms and feed ‘em a gourd of gruel. They’ll be convinced it’s purgatory (and don’t worry about purgatory having been abolished; that was only a joke) and will only redouble their giving. They’ll be like pigs in shit, if my porcine friends will forgive the analogy, only not as pleasant to be around.

You must pardon me if I seem to overdo the virtual reality bit, but people really are fooled by it, aren’t they? At least three-quarters of the population in unmentionable countries are now convinced that CGI creations are more realistic than life, and nine-seven percent of those experience severe hysterical denial whenever they encounter anything or anyone on the physical plane. Even better for us is the indisputable fact that (1) virtual reality is far cheaper than the real thing, (2) it is much tidier, and (3) it is easier to control. Computers are incapable of surprising you, unless they choose to eat you, but that is another story, and only rarely are they overtly evil. Virtual reality also gives employment to engineers who otherwise would exist only in basements. Such employment keeps them occupied and away from dam-building projects, at least most of the time.

But once again, I digress. Back to the holiday camps. I was considering the provision of one bathroom for every ten to twelve bunkrooms, but, hélas, we must be wary of unwarranted compassion. In a dream last Tuesday (or was it Wednesday?) I was visited by my spirit guide (Pommes Dauphinoise, not the other one), and instructed to supply our patented Ever-Shifting Porta Thunder Pots™ to our lucky campers. You remember the ones to which I’m referring, don’t you? Every night, as fog descends and the Voice of Rapture™ booms forth its sepulchre aphrodisiac, these ingenious devices will merrily move to new and ever-more obscure and treacherous loci on the distant and slime-encrusted cliffs on the edge of each Oy Ye, Mah Purdy Jeezus Theme Parks and River Jordan Waterslides and Dilapitoriæ® holiday camp. What fun and excitement for our campers when they are violently roused for their four-in-the-morning scourging sessions, and seek a sanctuary of bladderial relief where one no longer lingers! Now try telling me that Ever-Shifting Porta Thunder Pots™ don’t have a sense of humour!

If you are as excited by this new direction for Bagel-in-the-Bare Enterprises® as I, please proceed as quickly as possible. I fear the odds increase every day for a universal endgame. The greenhouse effect is so very boring, don’t you think, which is why we shall have to purchase the entire centre of the earth as soon as possible. If we don’t, the wrong sort of people will, and we certainly wouldn’t want them living down there with us, would we?. We do not want to be caught with out pants down, not on this occasion. A mission statement is needed. And how do you visualise the involvement of our director of marketing? May we trust her to contribute her customary efficient and sincere deliberationary expertise? Or is she on holiday? - HWISGAAOMRIU®
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09.15 Expounding the advantages of starvation
Subject: Addled Titbits

Dearest Darling Forsythia,



The reason I neglected to adequately describe the physical amenities of the forthcoming Oy, Ye, Mah Purdy Jeezus Holiday Camps and Spay and Neuter Clinics® is that there will not be any, and it goes beyond the Virtual Reality Fool ‘em Every Time™ strategem. There will be, as previously mentioned, the Ever-Moving, Hanging Bogs of Babylon Experience™, but as you, being a discerning intellect of passionate absorption, are doubtless aware, there are some dribbling faucets who maintain (in their myriad learned dissertations) that these conveniences were inspired by the ancient, cliff-hanging outhouses found at Acoma. What rot, I say, and piffle besides. We were there first; by right of imminent domain (such a lovely concept, and one for which we shall be eternally grateful), our merde is better merde; our merde is sweeter merde; our merde is God’s chosen merde. It is the only merde that shall bless and spread its shining rays upon this Holy earth. If I may be so bold as to open my mouth and sing the truth unto the Heavens, This is the very shit that Jeezus shat! Hallelujia Hallelujah, Sallabin Sallbunkle Chim Biimini Charooo! Please forgive me for getting carried away, but I just love that old time religion, don’t you? Now where was I? Oh, yes, the honey houses of Acoma and the rewriting of history by the insidious tempters of Haavard (who, although I cannot prove it, are in league with the vile and spungeous Raclette the Dripping Pustule™); why else would they invent such insidious lies at the expense of the guardians (i.e. us) of Miraculous Ruchl™ Immaculata™ Ultimata™ of the Blessed and Porous Vagina™, Preserver of Hearts and Defender of the Bilious? Sacrilege it is, and may they receive many unpleasantly obscene telephone calls in the middle of the night! By their foul deeds and usurpation and distortion of All That is True™ they have committed a gross injustice and must be punished beyond recognition. May the US congress convene a special session at twice their salary and pass special legislation restricting the right of foreigners of garnish their anal passages with lettuce and pesto zabaglione! How dare they slander the origins of our uniquely designed and rendered Movement While You Move Mooning Units®! Isn’t our patent one which supersedes all other patents, and haven’t they copied our blueprints in the most dire and flagrant manner? They are nothing but thieves. They are worse than thieves. And do you know what? We will sue the very shit that shoots from of them and from their firstborn, and all others back to and including the Anazazi, as well as everyone born or whoever was born and drew breath and made shit after or before eating in a freeloading manner while the sun rises and shines. Or sets. These descendants of the insidious legions are guilty of raping and pillaging our very innards, and the innards of our loved ones, even down to the innards of our beloved SOG, Miraculous Almostasanta Ruchl™ Immaculata™ Ultimata™ Patron Practicallyasaint™ of the Unjustly Washed™ and Stainers of Urinals™. We simple cannot and will not stand by while they refuse to pay royalties for breathing our air, or for defecating without a licence. Such flagrant disregard for the law is not to be allowed. We shall also demand damages for those among them who have not only shat illegally and without permission, but flaunted intentionally retro hair and listened to 1980s house music at the same time! Remember: litigation is joy; litigation is Holy; litigation is God’s way of saying You’ve offended my eyes by breathing through your unclean mouths, by infringing the trademarks and copyrights, and restraining the trade of my most succulent daughter, Miraculous Almostasanta Ruchl™ Immaculata™ Ultimata™ Abdulla Ahblongattah™, Patroness of the Underprivileged, Children’s Television Presenters and Opposition Politicians™. Listen well, all ye unrepentant sinners, for ye are dog meat and I am the dog. Make a joyful noise unto to Lord.

You ask if I forgot those indigenous people who have actually benefited from casinos. The answer is no. I’ve hired them, or at least virtual representations of them. They will make our gaming enterprises look so much more sincere. So much more magnanimous.

Movement While You Move Mooning Units® are but one of the many attractions our planning experts are envisioning for Oy, Ye, Mah Purdy Jeezus Holiday Camps and Fried Chicken by the Tonne Trough O’Food ‘n’ Fun All You Can Eat Restaurants™®. And, of course, I haven’t mentioned the accompanying Thriller Cages™ for hyperactive children, have I? Well, with these babies, the movement never stops. Linked by chains to the Movement While you Move Mooning Units™, not one square inch lurches in the way direction twice. In fact, nothing in our definitive Thrill-a-Minute Salvation Kingdom Themery™ will not keep our guests guessing. We guarantee that none of these lucky Rapture Riders™ - yes, that’s right: Rapture Riders™, for once they check in they’ll get the ride of their lives – will ever know where their bottoms might come to rest. Will it be on a fragmented toilet seat in Heaven, or at the bottom of the burning cauldron of Beelzibubble?

This truly, once in a lifetime experiential concept will be expanded to all areas of the franchise. A Virtual Holiday in Hell™ (for those lucky punters who want to experience Hades without going to the muss and fuss of doing anything naughty). It will be a regular Dante/Bruegal, with the best of both all rolled into one. And note that kids under five will be admitted into the Special Blood Lust and Lascinvium Neverending Sauna and Disembowelling Chamber™ for a modest additional cost of €5 ($4,722.57 US) and two thirds of the subscriber’s excess soul. Just think! No more tedious reading of scriptures or sitting through all those bottom-numbing, boring sermons! Rapture Riders™ will experience the real, honest to God, thrill of biblical life, as lived all those years ago when Our Saviour was King and Lord and walked among us just as close as you and Whatisname when you’re doing whatever it is you do. They’ll get to know life as it was before Our Saviour rescued them from Eternal Damnation, when there were Jooz everywhere, just a’waitin’ and a’plannin’ to kill Our Beloved Lord Almighty. And even before that, when Egyptians had organs like donkeys and were slaughtered by our Almighty God as He was preparing to give His only begotten Son to be kilt by the Chews. ‘Course, it goes without saying that His son had been extremely naughty. There were the Chews, happily smelling moneypots in the temple, when along He came (the Son called He and not the Father called He, which I realise confuses the lesser intended) and threw them out of the temple and stole all their moneypots. They weren’t doing anything with them in any case, other than selling them over The Chopping Channel, and he wanted them to fund a One-World-Gov’mint. Little did He know that they (the Chews) had horns, which is why they kilt our baby Jeezus and used his blood in round, flat cakes on Easter™, instead of giving the glory and mammon to their pastor for new pews, valet parking and a new Cadillac for Dr. Bob. That’s why we love Jeezus, and that’s why we will be saved and will rise after three days and be taken up in a truss. We will sing bible himses and prey on tongues, and you can prey on as many tongues as you want and it won’t count and you’ll starve to death, because He hates you. So there.

Please advise our director of marketing that it is highly inappropriate to open a heathen yoga studio in back of the Holy Relics™ Massage Parlour®. She should keep to what she knows best, which unfortunately does not include using either her imagination or her initiative. She must be reminded that good taste must be our by-word and constant companion. - HWISGAAOMRIU®