My gift for the child:
No money sense. Unemployable.
Friends, yes. But the wrong sort
The workshy, women, wogs,
Petty infringers of the law, persons
With notifiable diseases,
Poll tax collectors, tarts;
The bottom rung.
His end?
I think we’ll make it
Public, prolonged, painful.
Right, said the baby. That was roughly
What we had in mind
This was in 'The Times today - a poem by U.A.Fanthorpe
A friend of mine thinks Christianity is 'Songs of Praise' instead of an entertainment for mostly elderly people (like me)
I always try to imagine Jesus as a fat short man-maybe with bad breath! If we are to think of him as a handsome young chap, tall bearded, cutting a fine figure in flowing robes this is a bit of a cop out. It has always been a shame to me that he died so young and we do not know how he would have coped with older age and declining health.
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