Sunday, 15 June 2008

Nothing to report

I wish I had something to say about the state of Grey Bloke, but everything is in pre-pre-production at the moment. Which means there are various scripts, images and snippets of video littered around my computer and none of them are very close to becoming a finished product.

All I know for almost sure is that the next one out will probably feature Ms Mysti Mayhem, and her new rival.

In the meantime, here's a thing that happened the other day. I found some evangelical Christians preaching in the centre of town, one of them standing on a box to talk to the (very small) crowd that had gathered. Her husband (I'm guessing they were a married couple) was translating her words into Spanish. The lady preacher was using an analogy I hadn't heard before:

"Imagine you're walking in the street," she said, "and you step in a dog turd. And then you go home, and your mother has just finished cleaning the house. And you stand at the door and say 'Mom, can I come in?' What's she going to say? She's not going to let you into her nice clean house with dog mess all over your shoes, is she?

"And that's like God in Heaven. You see, he can't let you into Heaven because you're full of spiritual dog shit*. You're dirty inside. And you need to get clean!"

No prizes for guessing who the only one is who can scour those filthy insides of yours and leave them spotless. Evangelical anecdotes don't offer many twists or surprises.

I was tempted to ask how the dog turd got onto the pavement in the first place. But I didn't, because I like to keep all my pointless futile discussions with fundamentalist wackjobs within the safe confines of YouTube.

*She probably didn't really say "shit", I may be paraphrasing.


organicprankster said...

This is great news. All we need to do to get into heaven is take our shoes off at the door. Excellent. Let's all party by stepping in as much shit as we can!

Mike said...

Ah, but your shoes won't come off without a Jesus-shaped shoehorn.

And anyway, she elaborated quite a bit on her simile. See, the shit isn't just on your shoes, it's inside you -- smeared all over the surface of your disgusting soul. Prodded into the crannies with stinking fingers. It's like the cherubs have staged a dirty protest in there. You're a walking festival Portaloo, a feculent shell filled with rancid ordure.

It's quite a weird way of marketing your ideology to people when you think about it; "You smell of poo, you do."