O death, where is thy sting? O grave where is thy victory?

We've got a lot to get through today so if you've an appetite for tales of hardship, bravery and woe, let's get started.

This morning an elderly couple wanting recruits in the services of Jesus Christ paid me a visit. Anyone who knows me will understand how bad an idea it is to wake me up before 2pm. I once had to stove a close friend's head in for coming over to my house at 9:30am with some money he owed me. He was survived by his two sons and wife Laura who I then shagged.

Anyone coming to my house in the morning to talk to me about Jesus Christ is going to be meeting his father very shortly. However, because it was an elderly couple and they were probably mental and have a Polish woman feeding them soup for dinner, I took pity on them. At least they were asking too. Had they been Mormons they'd have just drafted me and probably not even told me.

I explained how I was able to cope with the concept of death without resorting to super natural consolations and that I appreciated their faith but it wasn't for me. We left on good terms and I returned to my bed in the hopes of re-connecting with the dream I had been enjoying involving Lois Lane and some innovative use of fruit salad.

These people were from a different time. A time when science had not yet been able to fully expose religious scripture for the absolute shash we now understand it to be. Had that been a couple under 40 I would have pounded in their skulls with a hard backed copy of Richard Dawkins' The God Delusion. I would then have smeared them with Jam and disturbed the wasps nest next to my front door. People of my generation you see, ought to know better.

The lost and found: An elderly couple who found Jesus
while wondering about aimlessly in a field yesterday

Speaking of my wasps nest. As I had blogged recently, I thought I'd discovered the mysterious buzzing noise I'd been hearing in my living room for the past few weeks when a few nights ago a wasp appeared from nowhere. I captured it and released it assuming it wouldn't be back and my living room would be buzz free.

No. In fact I have a nest of the blessed critters in the vent in my wall. A bluey-grey spherical cocoon with a wasps arse usually sticking out the bottom. I vowed to deal with it once I'd been to fill my car up, whizz it through the car-wash and of course purchase a sammich.

A silly place to put a vent, yesterday

The wasps nest this morning

I spent £80 doing those three things!! What the fuck! Instead of a referendum on the voting system which means nothing to nobody when our politicians take all their orders from Germans in Brussels via Spaniards in Strasbourg, let's have a referendum on whether we should pay for petrol.

By my way of thinking air is free. And we need air to survive. We wouldn't be able to walk anywhere if we couldn't breath. Well I can't go to the sammich place without my car and my car needs petrol. I couldn't walk cause obviously my sammich would be cold by the time I got home so petrol should be free shouldn't it? Or as a compromise, how about it it's not 90% fucking tax anymore.

And relax.

I chose to go to Domino's for a meatball Sub today in fact. My first one. I'm always nervous when I try a new sammich place. What if it's cack? I'll have wasted a lunch. Fortunately it was OK. Meatball subs from Domino's are OK. And only £2. I wouldn't say they're as good as Subway of course, but definitely worth trying.



Anyway, I digress. Back to this wasps nest. I frequented a popular DIY store for some poison. I wanted something that would really cause a lot of suffering to them as the compassionate route I had chosen three days hence had clearly been misguided mercy on my part.

The woman at the DIY place - if indeed she was a woman - recommended NIPPON wasp nest foam. Nippon brilliant! That sounded Japanese to me and you know what the Japs are like when it comes to torture. They invented it. They make the Saudis look like a bunch of massage therapists. Plus the label had the word "destroyer" on it! I bought two cans.

After I'd eaten my sammich my hunger had been sated. My thirst for wasp blood had yet to be quenched however. Initially I directed a targeted strike at the cocoon with the aerial of my car breaking open the shell exposing the goo inside.

I took great care to observe all safety recommendations. Do not spray in babies eyes it read. Do not use to light barbecues. Do you not use as a mixer for cocktails. It recommended I keep within two arms' lengths of the nest, however I wanted to hear their screams so got right up close and emptied almost the entire can right up the arse of an exposed wasp.

Tora! Tora! Tora! The unsuspecting wasps meet their fate

Do not ask me to pity those wasps. If that nest had got any bigger it may have increased my council tax. I only hope they were listening to those pensioners this morning wittering on about God this morning and are now nesting in the good Lord's living room wall vent as we speak.

Amen.

Terminated