When Bob’s On The Pot He Likes to Read A Lot (It’s A Man Thing!)

Hello,

I hope you are all well and your evacuations continue to be as sound as mine. I have been quiet of late. As you can imagine, losing the Papacy (which you can read about here) took a lot out of me, so I have been focussing on the new religion I founded. Potestantism.

The sacred texts of Potestantism, “The Toilet Scrolls” has the opening lines;

“And verily unto Ye, Man saw the Pot and he saw that it was good. And he lay down his beasts, smote his smiters, lifted the lid  and sat on the Pot. He became one with The Pot as The Pot became one with him. Together in Potted glory. And from that day forth the Pot was to be honoured. Each and everyday. At half eight, just after breakfast, preferably on the Company’s time.”

I contemplated my contemplativeness in my new local, The Wobbly Jowel with my mates, No Thumb Pete and Larry The Laminator. Great lads if prone to acts of cocaine fuelled mindless violence.  As I told the Constable, I didn’t witness the beating being handed out to the young lad as I was enjoying the WJ’s new WC. Nice to see carpet making a comeback in the smallest room.

My lovely wife Shirley won’t let No Thumb Pete in the house after she caught him stealing our roof and her mum last Easter. But not in that order I hasten to add.

But I know deep down she loves them both. Especially after Larry “Laminated” the hairdresser’s face after Shirl’s perm went a bit wonky a few years ago. Well, would you want a perm that made your head look like a toad stool? (the fungal variety and not the waste product of an amphibian).

So I have me first followers! Not your archetypal men of religion, but dead handy when it kicks off with the Salvation Army.  Which it will. Their tambourines are tipped with mercury. Nasty bastards.

Laters.

Bob