Baby won’t you dance with me

Ace of spades


‘What Gods’ despised with no less than Godly intensity, ha ha, is the touchy-feely-love-one-another, do-good, hand-holding, hallelujah-eliciting, soft-willed set.  And, they particularly detest organists.  Passionately.  The one the thing ‘The Gods’ hate more are people of the belief that they, ‘The Gods’, owed them something, or that ‘The Gods’ should perform at least 80% of prayers received.  “A get off your bum, and sort your own problems out.  We gave YOU life, food, shelter, and a place to live didn’t we?” was the attitude ‘The Gods’ took.

Lastly, ‘The Gods’ could not abide those fanatics being sold ‘God’ by men with ill non-Godly intent; always done without God’s obvious approval, or actual knowledge.  Resultant actions lead to wanton loss of life, all with the false lure of reward in the hereafter.  A reward that after the fact, amounts to a short stint for all eternity in that God forsaken country of bad jokes. A place that is often confused with ‘Hell.’

It’s God’s joke.

God, currently posted to “The Now – Arab Sector – 5000 to 500 BC Common Deity Office”, staggered through the detritus of a party from the evening before.  Fractured memories washed over him.  Wearing only a pair of well-worn, much-loved undies, the sight of the lounge room sent a scant shiver up his spine as He vaguely recalled inviting the entire pub home after closing; horror-struck as He recalled the fuzzy image of Mrs. God in her pink dressing gown meeting them at the door to the sound of drunken revelry.  Apparently she had been sleeping?

Outside a bird chirped.  Sneaking suspicions thumped Him between the eyes, alluding to the fact that the noisy bloody bird was probably an emissary from God, “Then – Middle East Sector – 100,000 to 100 BC Water to Wine and Hangover Affairs Office”.

The bird, whilst deploying evil head-splitting chirps soaring to what he guessed to be around 92dB, had strategically positioned itself on top of the wheelie bins near God’s driveway; offering a perfect position to send waves of sound at God’s front window.  Window status – ‘Open’.  Once inside, the sound now trapped indoors did its best to get out.  It reverberated around the lounge, across the now cigarette and beer can littered dining table, over a recumbent post pub reveller (God, “The Now” – European & Near East Sector – 600 to 1900 AD – Plagues, Pestilence, Poor Health Office”), via the ground floor toilet.  Status – ‘Occupied’; (Goddess, “The Now – Greek Sector – 5000 to 1BC – War, Love, Lust, Seduction Office.”) unconscious, seated on toilet, skirt and undies on the floor, tangled around her left foot.

As far as an unfair cacophony insinuate’s its way through time, space, and cranium, this beastly sound moved in a fluid, cunning and wavy motion. The ‘chirp’ sped on, finding a possible escape route; the main passage to the master bedroom, via an open window.  Bedroom status – “Occupied”; Mrs. God.

It struck her with the fury of God “Then – Norse Sector – 1 to 1500 AD Rape, Pillage, Plunder, and Burn Office”; she awoke in the manner of angry Mrs. God’s the polyverse over.

Lying in wait, the now very awake Mrs. God remained in the soft folds of the marital bed; relishing the bollocking she was about to inflict, but waiting long enough to text Mrs. God “The Now – Christian Sector – 500 BC to 1500 AD Common Deity Office”, to bring her up to speed on the fun she was due to have.  That done she had a quick look at DeityBook, distributing one or two pictures of cats; cats with not particularly humorous captions, but worth an ‘distribute’ to everyone on her ‘really just acquaintances’ list.  From there she went on ‘bleeter’, and ‘bleated’ about the state of God’s House; with stele and poise, she rolled out of bed, and stalked after God.  Mrs. God’s anger now honed to optimum levels for God bothering and pain infliction.

God didn’t know what hit him.



It’s Saturday morning here in good old Western Australia, and a little rock and roll to get it going. So, click the picture, click it real good.



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11 Comments Add yours

  1. Do you still have gods in Western Australia? I imagine Mrs God rather like Dame Edna and God’s Holme much like the media’s image of Moonee Ponds. Go bust up a few more daft delusions—there are plenty left. Unfortunately 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

    1. I don’t believe the Gods ever made it this far. If they did, it is not yet a joke anyone else seems to have picked up on, let alone advertised. I suspect those that may have come along for the party down under got horribly sunburnt within an hour, chronically inebriated in the two following, and awoke the next morning with the hangover that killed Elvis and blisters the size of the Israeli defence budget. My next guess is that phrases like “Bugger me! What fresh hell is this? This would never happen in the tanning salon?!” And, “what the hell does XXXX actually stand for? That’s it Gunga Din, you can throw your own shrimp on the barbie from now on.” and that is possibly the very last we saw of them. However, and quite sadly, when put into the context of Neil Gaiman’s ‘American Gods’ those deities that often defined folk lore/life/culture of the veritable plethora of people to reach these shores, they were either never fully believed in or had a following strong and long enough to take hold. As a personal note, I really believe it is immensely tragic that entities like the ‘Green Man/Woman’ have never really found their way and place into this very Australia’s colourful bastard veins.

      To the left, I was thinking of Mrs. God as someone more akin to Mrs. Bucket, or at least the blonde lass from the Vicar of Dibley, with God more in line with the old drunk Father from Father Ted.

      Digressing. I must away.


      1. Don’t you have the Bunyip though? They/It must be handy for dealing with dead drunk gods who missed the last plane home. By the time your shores were discovered by superstitious Europeans their old gods were well and truly dead—except for the Irish, and their gods are still alive and kicking.

        Liked by 1 person

        1. Yes we do, although they fall into the same category as things like ‘dropbears’. There are a certain amount of aboriginal folklore(ish) creatures, the Wogal. Sadly, again, these creatures have only been made known when ever land regarding native title comes into question. Ordinarily I would think to be a great thing, protecting cultural and folk related area’s. Sadly, the Wogal gained notoriety when the Swan Brewery’s location on the Swan River in Perth (Western Australia) was argued over as being a sacred site, as it is apparently where the Wogal comes from/sleeps/was born. Sadder is the fact that the brewery in its current location is built on reclaimed land.

          Oh, the first Irish to come to Australia brought spirits rather than Gods.


          1. I have much more time for spirits than gods. I’m not a loyal supporter of tribal customs and beliefs just because. There are some pretty horrible customs and beliefs around. I don’t support them when they’re part of the Big Three’s rule book, so it seems hypocritical to applaud horrors just because it’s native people doing it. However, it’s equally hypocritical to call the Big Three’s guff ‘beliefs to be respected’ and the Aborigine stories as ‘ignorant superstition’. I’d rather listen to stories about the Dreamtime than any of that other bilge.

            Liked by 1 person

            1. I unequivocally concur. What particularly gets up my nose is that what little remains of the culture of aboriginals, plus those stories/oral histories is very close to nought. One of my favourite dreamtime stories is that of Gaiya(?) the Devil Dingo. Essentially it is the tale of how a giant scary dingo became a friend to man. However, as aboriginals were nomadic and tribal, therefore separate in specific social culture, the tales of the dreamtime, which is something specific to northern Australian tribal culture, leading to the stories of lesser tribes being the first to disappear. It is a gross tragedy, and something Australia has lost forever.


              1. Oral traditions are precious, but as you say, fragile. The bulldozer of institutionalized superstition tends to crush it out of existence. Another thing that’s so sad is that these stories are only saved when they become trendy. Like tourism. The ruination of culture.

                Liked by 1 person

                1. Indeed. As if there aren’t enough factors defiling oral tradition as it is, it wasn’t until 1966 that aboriginals weren’t legally able to integrate with white society. They weren’t even allowed into town. So between 1788 & 1966 imagine how much oral history was lost. Deplorable.


                  1. Might is Right in action. Sad.

                    Liked by 1 person

  2. Funny and twisted. What an amazing imagination you possess!

    Liked by 1 person

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