Ben vs. God's Spokesperson #54012254

If you've been reading this tripe as long as I've been throwing it out, you'll know [if you're still yet to kill off the majority of your braincells with drink and drugs like I'm constantly suggesting] that I'm not all that favourable of religion. This isn't quite the case [I'm breaking the fourth wall here folks... if blogs have walls that is]. I put forth the militant Atheist vibe because a) it's funny to do and b) I'm fucking good at it, but in reality I'm more of an Atheist with Agnostic tendencies; I believe/know there's no deity out there, yet I really couldn't give a fuck about it. I'm passed it. You guys can squabble about it to the cows [that you may or may not worship] come home.

That being said/written, I had an encounter today on my way to work, in which I was stopped by a lady that handed me a leaflet about God. I'm used to this, it happens a lot, I think believers must see me with a large neon light above my head spelling out; “heathen”.

Yet this time was different. It wasn't a simple; “Here's a cheaply made leaflet with more spelling errors that a thousand page novel about a quantum physicist written by a dyslexic toddler”, NO! This time God's Spokesperson #54012254 wanted a chat with me and she hijacked my walk to work! Which I thought was pretty shitty, but in context it's better than Allah Spokesperson #54012254 hijacking my flight.

You see, I'm not that much different than religion fundamentalists; as I'm not going to change my stance or beliefs, no matter what. Whatever they say will wash over me like the water from John the Baptist's hands washed over Jesus' head.* If I woke up tomorrow with stigmata and God appearing at my bedside... I'd brush it off and call up work to tell them I can't come in due to an accident with my hands and I'm having fucked up hallucinations, to which they'd respond; “Put the bong down, sober up and get to work!”

Now back to the God Squad member [*penis joke censored in proofread*], seeing as I was missing out on listening to the latest episode of Bill Burr's Monday Morning Podcast, I thought I'd at least have some fun with this lady to keep myself amused [*rape joke censored in proofread*]. Now, I don't want to belittle anyone's religion to their face [because I have a blog for that], so I kept it decent and bit my tongue at certain points.

The following is some dialogue between us both, you're smart enough to figure out whose talking, [dialogue in square brackets is my tongue biting bits].

“Do you see yourself as a good person?”
“[If you don't count the my 'somewhat' illegal hobbies;] Yes.”
“OK, so have you ever taken something that didn't belong to you?”
“[Not counting the virginities that were wilfully offered to me;] No. [In fact, what the fuck are you talking about? Aren't you taking something right now that doesn't belong to you; MY TIME!]”
“Have you ever lied?”
“[Yes, who hasn't? C'mon you stupid bitch, you're believing in a God that doesn't exist; you're lying to yourself and yet have the nerve to ask me if I've ever lied!] Yes, I suppose I have.”

“Have you ever looked at a women and had sexual thoughts?”
“[What? That question should be; 'Do you have a dick and an imagination?', Clearly you didn't go through puberty as a boy!] Yes”
“Have you ever taken the Lord's name in vain?”
“[Erm... Jesus Christ... I've really got to think about this question... um... Oh my God, I probably have.] *Chuckle* Hell yes, I have.”

Taking my answers on board she informed me that I wouldn't get into heaven and I'd be banished to hell – it was like the shittest game show ever! Then began a debate over whether or not heaven and hell existed at all. One of us [rightly] thought it didn't, while the other [wrongly] thought it did.

I tried to bypass the fact my 'sins' wouldn't get me into Heaven by telling her I'd use my charm to sweet talk Saint Peter. She told me that wouldn't work although I am very charming ['whose having sexual thoughts now?' I thought to myself - before realising it was still me].

I was then informed that by accepting God, my 'sins' [or 'lifestyle' as I call it], would be forgiven. At this point I wanted to test the waters, as lying, blasphemy and having a dick and an imagination could be forgiven, what else could I get away with? So I proposed a hypothetical situation in which; a) I stay as myself [the lying, blaspheming, penis owner] and I die in two days time or b) I [the lying, blaspheming, penis owner] murdered someone tonight but except God into my life tomorrow, yet still die in two days time.

Which one would get into Heaven?

It turns out the due to fact the murderous Ben accepted 'The Big Guy in the Sky' into his life; he gets a 'Get Out of Hell, Free' card. While run of the mill Ben, that never murdered anyone has to perish in fire and brimstone for entirety, just because he didn't follow the herd.

After hearing this news, it quickly dawned on me that it doesn't matter how immoral, evil, sadistic, pain-inflicting you've been you can still get into Heaven if you've accepted God. So if Hitler had accepted God in that bunker before his suicide; he'd have got into Heaven [although, killing all those Jews would have given him a free-pass into Christian Heaven anyway], if Jimmy Savile was a believer, he'd be in there too trying to pin-down little cherubs and arse-fuck them! Plus all those inmates on death row over the years that find God after all the pain and suffering they've inflicted on innocent individuals and a trillion more scumbags that have done deeds that are unbearable to think about are all begging forgiveness... and due to the fact they've turned to the 'one true God' their slate is wiped clean!

… “Well, if murders can get in for free upon admitting their sins to God, I don't think I want to go to Heaven” I told the lady.

But with my points made, if you start to think a little more deeply on the matter, Heaven isn't just filled with priests, good-doers and nice guys, it's also filled with the scum of the Earth, that just so happened to cut a metaphorical deal with God before they bit the dust. On this basis, Heaven probably has more murders and rapists than hell. And whose in hell; a bunch of people that didn't believe in God. OK, cool, I'll take hell please. I'd love to have a chat with Charles Darwin, thanks. Plus the devil is a fallen angel that went against God, so he's in charge of all the non-believers? How exactly does that pan out?

Devil: “Hey, you didn't believe in that guy I have an eternal grudge with and I'm supposed to punish you for it... and for all the actions you did that he doesn't agree with... which I'm now against, as I'm the complete opposite of him... so fuck it! Let's get some illegal downloads on the go, roll a couple of joints and a burn a Bible or nine!”

[Dragging you back to the story:] God's Spokesperson #54012254 then began to get into a confusing metaphor about a parachute. I think it started out as God being the parachute and life being the skydive and having to rely on 'God/parachute' to survive. I can't confirm this because I was already thinking of my next sentence and this lady was still rambling on even though she'd lost the metaphor two minutes prior.

When she finally took a breath, I hopped on the chance to hijack her parachute metaphor with; “Minds are like parachutes, they only function when they're open [a beautiful quote from Sir James Dewar - that I once saw on Facebook]... so shouldn't me and you question whether or not Christianity is the one, true religion?“

This 'making someone question their own religion' question went down like a 'making someone question their own religion' question [sorry, there's no funny metaphor for that analogy]. She went on to quote; “Jesus stated he his the prophet of the one true God” [or words to the effect]. To which, I said; “I'm sure Mohammed would have said the same in the Quran.” Which to be fair, I'm not 100% on, but I'm just going on my knowledge of the bullshit religions churn out.

She then began to interrogate me on other religious texts, to which I have little experience outside of Buddhism [but that's not technically a 'religion' and wasn't an '-ism' until white folks turned up – that's not a diss on Buddhists, by the way]. To which I countered; “I obviously can't state that as fact, due to growing up in a [somewhat] Christian country I wasn't granted all the in depth learning of each religious texts when compared to the Bible.”

But that's simply the truth. Religion is usually deemed by your region [of the world], no wonder those words are so similar. To me, religions are just like supermarkets, it doesn't really matter which one has the best stuff on offer you just go to the one that closest or you align with the one your parents took you to.

[Dragging you back to the story, again:] I continued to walk towards my harrowing destination of work as God's Spokesperson #54012254 forced her religion on me. I'll skip ahead to the ending as all of that riveting back-n-forth dialogue quickly evolved [although she'd deny that] into benign banter.

We said how goodbyes and she committed that she hopes she sees me in Heaven, which was spooky, and sounded like some murder, suicide plan she'd hatched for me.

And that's it.

*Wait, that was a terrible metaphor as that NEVER HAPPENED!

From He's Smoking to E-Smoking; One Man's Journey

I'm a walking, talking oxymoron; in equal parts I'm an immature child; from temper tantrums to a diet of Haribo, and an old, out-dated curmudgeon; not prone to new fads. For this very reason I don't like any major changes in my life, so nobody was more surprised than myself when I successfully gave up smoking.

Before this point, I'd attempted to give up smoking maybe once or twice, but both times were an extremely half-hearted affairs. They were in that late hours of the night, those times you sit up in bed with every possible fear, worry or life problem announcing itself into to the forefront of your mind, clouding your inability to sleep.

“I'll quit tomorrow... for good... cold turkey. I'll be healthier and have more money in my pocket!” I'd unwittingly try to convince myself. Eventually those fears, worries and life problems would retreat to where they belong; the back of my head, not to be thought of again until the next time I can't sleep. Then I'd drift off, wake up, forget about the previous late night promise I'd made to myself... and smoke to my lungs content.

I had less will power than a paralysed Fresh Prince. Smoking wasn't just some addiction or habit, it was a part of me, deeply integrated into the soul of my being, the fabric weaved into the tapestry of Ben Broughton. It was a friend, a confidant, a support system and one of very few things that produced a sense of coolness or an air of mystery about me. Why would I want to give that up?

So why did I give up?

I'm not entirely sure. I never minded the stench of stale smoke that constantly clung to every piece of clothing I owned, it gave me character. I was a smoker after all, my senses were easily dulled so that I'd never really notice them too much. I never truly worried about my health too much, like 95% of tobacco inhalers I'd deem myself indestructible and simply think any disease or ailment caused by smoking would only happen to some other poor schmuck. One aspect that did play a factor was that of financial costs. I knew I'd be better off if I quit due to the amount of cash I was shelling out to wake up each morning with a dry, hacking cough that made me heave.

The one major factor that even bought about the contemplation to quit was my BFAM*/Spiritual Advisor/Constant Alibi Provider; Frenchie. He had managed to throw off the shackles of suckling on the tobacco teat and that was all the inspiration I needed. Some may see this as 'monkey see, monkey do', but as we are both Richard Dawkins praising Atheists and great believers in Darwin's theory of evolution, our retort is simply; “aren't we all a bunch of overachieving intelligent monkeys?” Frenchie acted as a trailblazer for me. I've seen acquaintances and previous girlfriends quit smoking before, but I'd never seen someone I respect do it. So I put the wheels in motion and bought myself an E-Cig.

After spending a pretty penny and more importantly two purple slips of credit on my 'start-up kit', I realised I'd have to stick at this for at least two weeks to cover the costs of the thing. To my surprise, it worked much better than I expected. You see, I tend to lean towards being constantly pessimistic so when something good does happen, it's quadruples the impact. And since starting on my vapour E-Cig thing [I'm not entirely sure what you call them] I haven't touched a cigarette since [please hold your standing ovation until the end].

I'm reaching the four month mark now, so substituting tobacco for a different array of fruity vapours does actually work. But do I miss real, proper, Cowboy smoking? Do I still yearn for that orange-tipped white stick of death?

YES; more than an amputee misses a limb.

You see, the vapour contraption is good, but it'll always fall short of the original. It's like comparing a light snooze to a deep slumber, a cold, crisp fresh pint of larger to the warm dregs in a stranger's glass, a hand-job from Abu Hamza to the best sexual experience of your life, weapons-grade weed to a bushy bag of sticks, stems and seeds, a beautiful Shakespearian sonnet to a drunk karaoke rendition of “My Heart Will Go On”, iPhone 5 to a Nokia 3210 … you get the picture. But what keeps me sticking to it? Let's just say the Fresh Prince has made a miraculous recovery and is Boom Shake-Shake-Shaking the [muh'fuckin'] room.

There are some other drawbacks, despite the blatant one. The second biggest flaw is a personal one. It may seem a little strange but making the switch has made me question my morals. As a smoker, I saw myself as some sort of Black Lung Ambassador; fighting for smokers' rights. Now, I've jumped ship and left it on cruse control directly towards an iceberg... in shark infested waters... and the sharks have guns... with heat-seeking missiles. I feel as if I've put the 'Ben' in 'Benedict Arnold' [no homo].

Not only that but I'm put into situation in which I have to defend myself against the very people I used to represent. “I wouldn't smoke one of them, you don't know what you're inhaling or what's in it!” They wheeze at me, in between spouts of coughing fits and chest convolutions. Which is true to a certain to degree, I don't know what's in it. But please examine the “Smoking clogs arteries and causes heart attacks and strokes” warning and picture of some guys second tumorous chin on your cigarette soapbox before you start preaching to me. Because despite the research into what you're smoking and the negative effects they carry, you continue on. [That's the 95% I was talking about.] At least I'm brave enough to take a gamble. Then sometimes they wave their yellow, tar-stained finger at you and you get the old; “Only quitters' quit!” [as if it was half as funny as when I used to say it]. “Only quitters' quit... only quitters' quit” … I wonder if people say that to reformed paedophiles too?

Then there's the practical drawbacks. I'm a forgetful type of person, it takes me around 10-15 minutes for me to leave my house because I have to repeatedly do an inventory check to make sure I have everything. Yet, I still forget things [the system isn't yet flawless]. One time I forgot my E-Cig, not a problem when I was a real, actual, man's man smoker [no homo] and I forgot my cigarettes because fags are easy to come across [no homo – Jesus, the gay sounding comments are coming thick and fast], but now I have to power through.

Despite popular belief most places don't welcome the E-Cig to be smoked inside, so we're still cast out into the cold with the clan members we desperately tried to separate ourselves from. And they only serve as a harsh reminder to the good ol' days that we eagerly try to forget. We're treated like some half-breeds, shunned by our former comrades and not yet accepted by the 'clean-lunged'.

There's also some shitty attributes to using the actual device. One being having to remember to keep the fucking thing charged. The battery life is brilliant on mine, but it's so good it's lured me into a false sense of security and when it does die I'm usually without my charger. Plus there's the risk you run when choosing a vapour to smoke. With more flavours in front of you then an overturned truck carrying every single kind of Haribo, it can be difficult on what to chose first. I regrettably ran the risk of trying a Dr. Pepper flavoured vapour, called Mr. Pepper [see what they did there?] and it was vile. It was more of a white powdered pepper taste than that of the popular soft drink and that's people why doctors are better than misters. I still smoked the thing, just as a punishment to myself for taking a risk.

But enough about the negative aspects, there's got to be something good about it; do I feel any healthier? Does food taste better? Has my sense of smell improved?

No, not really, maybe it has and I'm too idiotic to realise, although I'm quite self-obsessed so that'd be hard to sneak passed myself. I did manage a three minute jog to my local shop the other day without having one of those vivid hallucinations bought on by lack of oxygen, so perhaps my health is improving, although I did like those hallucinations.

But hands down the greatest aspect of making the switch is that for four months I haven't had some scum-bag interrupt me as I walk around begging me for a cigarette. Nobody has barged into a conversation I'm having as I walk by with; “Giz a fag, mate!” No longer do I have to pull my earphones out to listen to the pitiful, needy plea of some bottom-feeding reprobate craving for the devilish kiss of nicotine. So if I can put up with this shitty substitute and all the drawbacks that accompany it to save myself 10 seconds of unwanted dialogue with someone that doesn't deserve to be breathing fresh air let alone someone else's cigarette smoke, it's well worth it.

[Proceed with standing ovation I halted before.]

*BFAM; Brother From Another Mother

Poorly Timed Xmas Blog

Blogs are like buses, you wait ages for one then two come at once plus they're both filled with misery. 

This is something I was writing before Christmas, but never got around to finishing due to it being Christmas...

Christmas shopping ... it’s a burden we all share [like Chlamydia], but if you’re yet to run the yearly gauntlet of frenzied, consumer driven zombies clambering over each other to buy material possessions that are meant to define your love/respect/admiration for a person you share your miserable life with; “I feel bad for you, son, I got 99 problems but ‘buying-shit-for-people-I’m-supposed-to-care-about-for-Xmas’ ain’t one!”*

“Hit me!”*

I’m not much of a man’s man; my unintentionally hairless chest and my physique; similar to that of a 15 year old… hermaphrodite… would prove that! But I easily earn some hairs on my balls for extreme levels of hatred I have towards shopping. Shopping is like eating out an arse; I don’t like it, I can’t do it right and the thought of doing it again makes me sick. But this year I actually made an effort. [Add sentence here to prepare reader for long-winded and unnecessary back-story].

As I live away from my [shitty] hometown, my two younger sisters used to take on the duty of buying gifts for family members and adding my name to cards/presents, then they’d hit me up for the cash I owed them later down the line. They don’t do this anymore, probably because they have their own lives and enough money to buy things separately… or maybe they’re just cunts. On top of that; I’m a terrible gift-giver, I don’t know what people like, but those are my short comings of being so self involved and if my family love me, they’ll learn to get over it.

This year was different. My mum had scheduled to visit me [with less than a week’s notice] to drop off my Christmas presents. This basically set off a fuse of the time period in which I’d see a family member before Christmas – without doing it off my own back! So in the few days before she arrived I spent what seemed like two lifetimes going in and out of shops trying to find my family [mother, her husband, two younger sisters and younger brother] gifts – I think it actually turned out to be three hours and I went to a restaurant in that time too.

I also had to buy something for my mother as I hadn’t got her anything for her birthday [yes I’m a terrible son… doomed with two terrible sisters that don’t seem to give a fuck about adding my name to a card anymore]. Worst of all; I had to buy something for my brother. Now you may be reading this thinking that should be easy enough, brotherly love and all that… but that’s bollocks. As much as I love that uber-computer-game-playing son-of-a-bitch, we’re very different people; I’m the handsome, wise-cracking, ladies man, toast of the town, intoxicant binging reprobate, everyone’s favourite yet to mature man-child, he’s the… weird brother of ‘that dude’. So Jack, if you’re reading this; it’s going to be Game vouchers again, mate, sorry. [Note: Still haven’t actually bought them]

Obviously I have a life outside the family I only see a handful of times a year, the main part of which is the lovely lady I trapped into a relationship and she stuck around [Stockholm syndrome, bitches!]. Now this is slightly easier, as I see this wonderful woman daily, so buying for her doesn’t present such a task. What she likes, her hobbies/interests should be embedded in my brain. But if I chose wrong, the repercussions are much greater, it’s not as if I get a wrong present for a family member they’ll stop sleeping with me – they can’t, we’re from Sutton, they make you do it!

I was struggling on a ‘big present’, I’d got a couple of bits and pieces [cheap, random shit] but luckily she knows me too well so she pointed me in the right direction by suggesting a film camera. A film camera is not a video recorder by the way, I recently learned that, about a sentence after she proposed it [Yes, I’m that stupid]. I know what you’re thinking; “but digital cameras are so much better, no film, no paying for having your photos developed… blah blah blah.” But let’s please not dwell on my younger girlfriend’s attraction towards the out-dated relics. I’d like to add I’m such an idiot that the pure suggestion was not enough to for me to go about finding one myself, I had to be aided with a direct link online to the one she wanted. Yet I still bought another one out of spite.

There are some gifts I haven’t purchased yet, the main ones being for my two comrades in smoking, drinking, joking, thinking and intense games on Worms; whom I constitute as my family away from family [although we don’t sleep with each other]. I’m almost sure on what I’m getting one of them. The other one’s a Sikh, so he has no right celebrating Christmas really [said the devout Atheist] and I know what to get him, but a punching bag with the prophet [censored]’s face on it, is hard to find seeing as the EDL doesn’t have an eBay account.

All this Christmas shopping has rekindled a little obsession I had last year with Amazon [website, not rainforest]. I know buying stuff online isn’t a big deal to most people, but as an out-dated relic I’ve never really done it. The main reason is due to my vast amount of [what some would call; illegal] downloading by PC’s have constantly been hit with viruses or malware, this has always made me cautious towards online shopping in case some computer nerd [Jack!] steals my bank account details. But now I just do it on my phone, like most ‘look-at-me-I’m-tech-savvy’ mindless drones inhabiting each others’ lives. I fucking love Amazon it’s like window shopping form the comfort of your own toilet seat, plus you can get anything on there, I recently bought a novelty toilet seat [it’s strange how my mind works].

[This Blog stops here because I didn't finish it]

*that was an adaptation and reference to Jay-Z; 99 Problems from The Black Album [Roc-a-Fella / Def Jam]. 2004.

Breaking Bad Book Store Etiquette

So, I was recently in a branch of the UK's most popular book store, and to save them getting any free publicity let's just call it 'H2O-pebbles' when I unintentionally overheard a conversation between a couple, that got me slightly irked.

Now, I understand that H2O-pebbles is not a library, although enough people treat it like one. But there's that unwritten rule that you should keep your voice a few decibels below your usual inside voice, yet this couple didn't seem to follow that rule. That fact alone made it easier to hear what these two fuckwits were talking about.

At first I attempted to block it out as I rooted around for belated Christmas presents [yeah, don't you wish you were in my inner-circle], but they kept congregating around my general vicinity, like flies to shit [could have picked a better metaphor that didn't label me as shit]. It didn't take me too long to clock on that these two were either on the cusp of getting into a romantic relationship or had just began one.

The biggest tell tale signs was their inability to stand in silence. Because when you've been together for a while there's no need for you to open your pie-hole and let a random barrage of words waterfall from the back of your throat. I do understand that in new relationships silence is deadly, it needs to be filled with inane chatter … “Have you read this book...”, “I heard they made it into a film...”, “Hey, that moody looking geezer looks irked that we're talking TOO FUCKING LOUDLY...”.

That's fine. Do what you gotta do, love birds, just do it quieter and away from me, please.

But the metaphorical straw that broke the metaphorical back of the metaphorical camel was when the female said; “Will you explain Breaking Bad to me, I was texting you when I was watching it so I kinda lost track.”

For some reason, unbeknownst to me, instead of giving the correct response; “No, you silly bitch, go back and watch those episodes again, in fact, what the bloody fuck are we doing in H2O-pebbles if you haven't watched those episodes of Breaking Bad I suggested?” [I myself would have thrown a couple of C-words in there too, to be fair] and breaking her fingers to stop her texting in future, the guy actually starts to catalogue what happens like a spineless, pussy-whipped C-word!

Deep down, I know this shouldn't frustrate me to the levels it does, but I can't help it. Honestly, this really fucking frustrates me.

Breaking Bad is a masterpiece of television and deserves to be treated as such.

You wouldn't describe a Picasso; “Well it's all like square bits and the faces are all mixed up and weird.”, you'd simply show it to a person. Just as you wouldn't half-heartedly hum a Beethovan symphony, instead you have the person listen to it. Breaking Bad is the same, you have the person watch it, for Heisenberg's [read as Christ's] sake!

I sincerely hope they went home and he [A] Clockwork Orange'd her [Ludovico technique scene, not the "Singin' in the Rain/Rape" scene]. If he didn't I hope they have a truly unhappy life together and they spawn stupid children that struggle to tie their shoelaces and get bullied everyday by my kids; Walt, Jesse and Saul.