And God created Yorkshire. And lo, God said Ave finished mgarden Gabs comen look at what ave done! The Archangel Gabriel did look at Gods greatest creation and sighed this is by far thy greatest work my lady. What will thy call this beautiful magnificence? And lo God took another long drag on her rollie, and boomed I shall name this green and pleasant land Yorkshire after mfavourite pudding, aye Yorkshire it is!Nar fetch us Mick will tha Gabs awant im tcheck this out, he as sum grand ideas that lad. Without a sound from his mighty wings Gabriel flew to find his brother Michael the warrior angel. After three score and twenty minutes they both turned up above Gods garden. Where the bloody hell ave you two been? I am so so sorry my lady. Gabriel snivelled I had to wait for Michael to finish inventing religion! Ive cracked it though Michael shouted excitedly Ive got three or four teams at the mo, all with a ever so slightly different take on you mlady...that could...if not managed consistently... could... disintegrate into a right free for all! Its a game of two millennia ending up with no outright winners! O.M.ME! Next time I shout ycome running reet, am tellinthee. Next time am sendin thee tfeight that grumpy bastard Satan, and eel kick thee arse Mick...dunt laugh! God was not best pleased with either of her favourites, pointing and staring from one to the other, one eyebrow raised, her mighty breast heaving. Reet come ere Mick and av a gander at this...tell mwhat tha thinks mind...and no bullshit! Being God she was allowed to curse and swear and not be bleeped. Michael peered through the clouds and mists. Eh, eh, whats tha think? God asked all smiles, swigging from her favourite Yorkshire Tea mug that she had already thought of and instantaneously manifested full and steaming. Truly my lady, its magnificent! It tops the Himalayas, it dwarfs the Amazon, it degrades the whole of Africa...Im gobsmacked Michaels words drifted in to an awe inspired whisper. Good init. Knocks everything else avdun into a cocked hat! God said, slightly hopping and clapping at the same time, tea going everywhere causing a landslide in Bulgaria. What day is it Gabs? Day eight my lady Reet; Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Footballday, Metime and...Yorkshireday a full week of days...am ace me!! God said, her grin of contentment lighting up the whole universe. Hands on hips she proclaimed Am gunna spend everyday in ere from nar onwards till end of time. Am only coming out of MY garden if summat kicks off big style! Both angels gasped...but my lady how bad does it have to get...?? Gabriel pleaded, hands clasped to his breast plate of shimmering gold. Reet bad am tellin thee! Am not coming out on ere unless friggin universe is abart tblow up! God wagged her finger from one to the other. That reminds me dont fek abart with that Higgs-Bosen av gid thee Mick, keep it safe in ypants from now till I ask for it back... Nodding towards his crotch. God carried on in a softer tone...Owt less send ouryoungun or one of ismates theyll manage. God smiled knowingly and gazed back at Yorkshire. So, youre saying if those bloody humans start kicking off send Jesus, Mohamed, Buddha, Jimi Hendrix or Kenny Dalglish?? asked a slightly perplexed Micheal. Mmmm or a combination God sighed not looking up from Yorkshire tears in her eyes. One gently fell to earth...hence Thrybergh Res. The two angels grimaced at each other and stomped away muttering and cursing under their breath something about their own standing in heaven. Suddenly Michael planted himself, turned and shouted And youve forgot a compost heap and an outside lav in that bloody garden!! And lo, God did rise up to face Michael (Gabriel had already legged it) A great wind blew as God answered the quivering angel. Well av not see...dickhead! Gods huge, but beautifully manicured finger pointed west of her garden, over a great range of hills, to a dark desolate area....There ytwat!...Lancashire! thats my compost heap...and thats my shithole!! Pointing to a brown stain at the bottom of Lancashire. Michael looked down as bolts of lightening struck Gods toilet bowl spraying crap for miles around. (But spookily no poo ever landed on Gods beloved Yorkshire). Good choice for the lavatory my lady, I like it, good choice! Michael said trying to make amends. God bellowed, knocking Michael from his sandals Dunt thee ttell me whats a good choice cock...I know its a bloody good choice, am God and that my lad, that shithole there is Manchester! And lo, need I say more?
Posted on: Fri, 22 Aug 2014 20:28:15 +0000
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