Monday, 29 September 2014

Glory Godly Man United Part II (and what about City).

Dear Pope What's-His-Knickers,


Further to my previous email, I have received a follow-up phone call from God on my special satellite hotline to heaven. It was worse than last time and whilst he thanks you for saying mass in the "Either you love United or you are wrong" T-Shirt the other day, the Lord Our God tells me he is less than happy with a second long-term development involving the fact that nothing has been heard from the Vatican about the Manchester City situation. This is important to God, not least because his son, Jesus Christ, is a Bertie hater of galactic proportions and feels that the Vatican has lifted not one fingernail on a pinkie to assist Saint Michel Platini to fetch down the Evil Empire that has risen before our horrified eyes in East Manchester. I don't mind telling you, I could hear Jesus ranting and raving in the background during the call.

 "City are Champions twice in three years", I heard him say, and then he said. "The Pope is a stupid fucking bastard with the brains of a lobotomised gold fish. I swear to you, I am going downstairs right now to kill the twat. It is nothing short of fucking blasphemy".  

I heard this clearly, by the way, and it was chilling. Then at one point, you could hear a scuffle (if not a veritable fight) and Jesus could be clearly heard attempting to wrestle the phone away from his dad and wow, it sounded less than pretty. There were unmistakable slapping noises and wailing. Then we got cut off and I thought maybe they had killed each other. Thankfully, though, God rang back a few hours later with further interim instructions as to what the Vatican must do now. These are as follows

To be worn by the Pontiff at all times.

Much like his father before him, Jesus has designed a T-Shirt for you to wear as Pope. Once you have taken delivery of this garment (which is pictured opposite and is being biked over to you as I compose this email ) you must then arrange an impromptu tour of the entire planet and you must wear the T-Shirt at all times. God is also working on a sermon about the whole City thing. He says his son did not die on the cross just so those blue jokers could steal our title away from us (twice) and now he (God, that is) feels guilty that something was not done about this sooner and it is already too late. 

The Universe is on it's fucking head (God's words, not mine) and it has damaged all sorts of relationships up in heaven. There is brawling and drunkenness most nights and this has been happening on and off ever since City knocked our rag arses out of the FA Cup semi final in 2011 and then went on to win the thing the following month. Then, they stumped up in the Champions League, FFS. Of all the Goddamn places. There are pop up opium dens appearing across the length and breath of heaven, such is the extent of the celestial distress, denial and yearning to escape reality this is causing. And what the fuck were all the cardinals doing, by the way, whilst all this has been going on? Sleeping on the job as usual. God says they are sacked, the lot of them. You'd better tell them all to fuck off before he does. Also, God says Rooney is a fat, red-carded twatzoid.

I have to go now. God needs help with the aforementioned City sermon and he's also working on some new commandments. He is not happy having to put this sort of a shift in because of all this papal negligence, I can tell you. 

So anyway, see ya, see ya, wouldn't wanna be ya. 

Kind Regards 

Mrs I Liesalot.