The Friendly Atheist just wrote a brilliant post on Gay Marriage, Religion and the U.S.A.
Well worth a quick look.
Thursday, August 28
If you don't like Gay marriage, Don't have one
Saturday, August 23
Friday, August 22
Church of Scientology to come to Bristol
According to a report on GWR. Bristol's local radio, this morning, the scientologists are thinking of starting a new Church here in Bristol. 
After handing out leaflets at the Bristol Balloon Fiesta the Church believes that the University town has lots of young fresh minds seeking answers and wants to set up here so they can help guide them.
Lets Review some facts about Scientology.
- Scientology was invented by the Science-fiction writer L. Ron Hubbard
- Scientologists believe that mankind is plagued by the spirits of Aliens, Thetans, that were brought to earth and killed by the Evil Galactic Warlord 75 Million years ago.
- The only yourself of the Thetans, which bring misery and depression, is to work your way up through the Scientology course towards the Bridge of Freedom.
- These courses are not free. To became a fully fledged Level 7 Scientology, and discover true peace, happiness, and enlightenment, can cost more than $350,000.
- Scientologists are encouraged to lie to their family about how much they are spending and what they believe
- Scientology breaks up families by pushing individuals to sever contact from relatives and friends critical of Scientology.
In Short
- Scientology is a cult, designed to brainwash people, separate them from their loved ones, and take their money.
If they do try to come to Bristol I will be more than happy to lead the Protest.
There's enough lying here as it is.
Wednesday, August 20
The Apartments Strongest Man
As I was walking through the apartment carpark tonight, I was approached by the kind of man one might more often associate with a Harley Davidson.
"Hello there, young man," he said. Well he certainly knew how to get on my good side. "Feeling strong?"
For a second I wondered if he was running a 'test your strength' stall in our carpark, but then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw the Van. He was moving someone in. Bugger.
Heavy lifting is not, in fact, my strong point. I understand that when you look at my photographs you may think, 'now there's a hunky, husky man!' but the fact is I just know how to dress well. In truth a resemble a Snowman that has been giving 2 pipe-cleaners for arms.
But of course, when someone comes up to you and says, "feeling strong?" there's any one answer you can give...
"I reckon so. You want some help?" Who says 'Christian Charity' is dead, huh! No really. Who? I'd quite like to meet him.
"Well, I've got a big old TV I need to carry up the stairs." A TV for Ganesh's sake!! How hard could it be.
"Sure, why not." And I walked to the back of the Van to see what I'd just agreed too.
It was like a palette of Breeze blocks in TV form; 32 inches of pure lead. For someone who struggles to lift 25kg at the gym it felt like I felt like I completed my entire workout with every single step. We only had to climb one flight of stairs, but by the time we got the top, some several hours later, I was sweating like a Eskimo in Disneyworld.
Finally, I reached the room, put the TV down and shook the bikers hands. Or at least I tried to, but suddenly realised my arms didn't work anymore. I wished his step-daughter luck in her new flat and half walked, half fell back down the stairs to my flat, where I've spent most of the night collapsed on the couch trying to recover.
Christian Charity indeed. I knew there was a reason I'm an atheist.
Entering the Forbidden Room
I emailed the landlord on Sunday night about the teenager’s abuse.
On Dan's suggestion, I also mentioned that our door was starting to lean off its hinges. It was a small meaningless issue and I hadn't even thought of raising it until Dan pointed it out. I'd screwed the hinges back on myself and, although the door was still slightly awkward to close, it was so minor an issue as to not even be worth mentioning. There were many other, much more important, issues I could have mentioned, like the intercom entry system to the apartment not working or the smell of Weed that hovers in our hallway, but I figured she know about these things already. And besides I’ve never met my landlady, having found the apartment through a letting agency, and have no particular desire to meet her now. For one thing I’d have to tidy up.
Imagine my annoyance then when, yesterday morning, I got a text message from her. "Hey Simon. Would it be alright if I come round about seven tonight to look at the door?"
Bugger. I forwarded the text to Dan, appending a footnote: "so we're tidying tonight then?"
Now, fortunately, Dan’s mum had been down the week before so the house was already reasonably tidy. All we had to do was Hoover, hide any stray underpants, and tackle the forbidden room.
The forbidden room lies behind a thick wooden door in our bedroom. There was a time, before the door was sealed and barred, when it was an ensuite bathroom, clean, pristine and with a beautiful power shower. Then one day the shower stopped working so well. And we started to notice that the walls had gotten damp. I bugged Dan to tell the landlord about it, that being his job in those days but he never seemed to get around to it and eventually, to save ourselves from having to think about it we shut the door and locked the damp away.
So with the imminent visit of the Landlady we faced a problem. What if the landlord decided to do a tour of the property when she came too look at our virtually undamaged door? What would she say when she opened the door to our ensuite and saw a new species of six foot fungus growing there. I can’t be sure, but I’m sure I wouldn’t be able to paste it here.
Drastic action was needed.
And so we rushed home, getting in about six, prised open the door and got immediately to work.
The next hour was a mass of arguments, dust, cobwebs and semi-nude cleaning. Walls were scrubbed, tiles wiped, mirrors polished and toilets flushed.
At five to seven, we found our clothes again, and sat down in front room, trying to look as if we had been idly waiting for her the whole time. The bathroom was as clean as it had ever been. The damp was still there, we couldn’t hide that, but that was hardly our fault. The important thing was that the room looked loved. We just might get away with it.
By 8.30 there was still no sign of the Landlady. We had Dinner, watched the Olympics, and then sat there to stare at the clock for a while. Finally at 8:50 my phone rang.
“Hi, Simon?” It was my Landlady.
“Hey ya. You ok? What happened?”
“Yes well, I turned up at seven to see you.”
“You did?”
“Yes," she said, "But I couldn’t get in. Your intercom system doesn’t appear to be working!”
And so ends our foray into the forbidden room. But join us again next time wont you, when the landlord comes to call...
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