19 January 2006

Ginger ail

“There's nothing wrong with fantasizing about shagging nuns - if God hadn't wanted us to do that he wouldn't have given them such sexy uniforms.

But you coveted a ginger. That is a crime against humanity and you will burn for it.”

Writes the HungBunny.

Well, yes, undoubtedly, but in due course.

I don’t expect a bolt of lightning to strike me down this instant; that mostly happens on golf courses, which I try to avoid (I take our Japanese visitors to strip clubs rather than golfing. They seem to enjoy it more, the pervos. I just go because I am obligated to entertain our clients. All the other times were just to insure quality control).

Now, I am not sure why God doesn’t like golfers, they seem like decent enough fellows. Maybe it’s the Argyle sweater vests, jodhpurs and pastel shirts, which in my mind are a worse crime against fashion and humanity than me lusting after gingers, Nuns or no.

Gingers are all freckly, giving the appearance of a “Magic Eye” puzzle. The trick is that you defocus your eyes a wee bit and then you can see the naughty bits.

I find that a quite charming diversion during long, boring conference calls.

Besides, as long as I ground my tin foil hat, I should be quite safe.

Sure, God could drop a meteorite on me, rather like he did the dinosaurs; but then he’d run the risk the only human survivor being a annoyingly happy purple-furred gayer with an attraction to the children of the next ascendant species.


And that's the way I likes it.