Monday, 23 February 2009


I need to bury my mop.

Turns out, Nietzsche was wrong: God was not dead. Turns out I was wrong: God existed. Turns out my magic mirror wasn't a normal mirror either. Being a skeptic, an atheist, a simple collector of strange items, I had to hide the body, because I really didn't want my family ending up being the Jews of the 21st century.
You see, this second coming dude walks into my shop, I show him some stuff, then show him the mirror because it's meant to reflect your soul or something. He stares into it and there's nothing there. The dude's like "eh?" and even I freak out a bit because I'm not used to real things being so unreal. Then there's a noise like a fart and the fella falls down dead, and now, there's this fella standing in the mirror. He's all like, "help", "I'm the christ and I need to get back into that body, put me back in", but the whole ordeal's got me confused and I trip over my own stock and end up on my back. I look up to see the mirror beginning to fall, probably from the bump of me landing, it's like super slow motion or something, I can see his terrified expression, then as it lands, there's like a crash for a split second, then a thump and there's blood everywhere. Little diced up bits of sequel jesus meat.

So, that's why I need to bury my mop. Cos it's soaked in the blood of sequel christ.

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