Is it love you're after, or just a good time? Eh? I want to know, I want to know. The God debate rolls on - surprisingly we weren't able to conclude whether He existed or not within a fortnight. I've asked for a miracle, in the shape of a lottery win for myself. So far, nothing. Clearly God - if he exists - will at all times have a fulsome Things To Do list, and so I'll give him until the end of the month to come up with the goods. Otherwise, I'll have to consider ways of expressing my disappointment. And God wouldn't want that, let me tell you. Let's explore philosophy. Next week we may move on to philately. There seem to be three schools of thought. Firstly, the Believers. Moses, God, Jesus, Easter Eggs, and Big Hats in Church. `We're all God's creatures'. That means God created Jonathan King. We all have off days, however, even God, if he was to be honest (surely a prerequisite for the role) would admit that some days are better than others. Friday is clearly better than Monday. Perhaps Jonathan was Monday's child - the unwelcome runt of the litter. However, if you believe in God, you believe in the Devil. So the Jonathan King thing may still hold good. I have serious doubts about the God thing - these would, as I've said, be immediately alleviated by said lottery windfall. I would happily act as an advocate of God for the rest of my days, if he'd see me right financially. I think I'm being fair. Intriguingly there is the matter of the second coming. This would clearly answer a few questions. I'm just concerned in case it doesn't happen on my watch. Should God be in any doubt as to what to do to put me fully in the picture, I can assure him I'll very happily take the money. If you believe in God, you'll have a view on how the second coming will happen. Clearly a change from the first coming would be appropriate. I can't see mangers and shepherds being involved. I reckon Jesus will turn out to be a plumber from Wallsend. Fans of The God Thing, are by nature optimistic, imaginative, and well-meaning failures at work. Secondly, there's The Big Bang Crew. I like their records. I'm conscious that although some of you are bright, the majority of you aren't exactly nuclear physicists, so I won't go into the detailed complexities of The History Of The Earth, even though I yearn to. All the credit seems to have gone to Stephen Hawking - the injustice of it all. In short, the Big Bang is about particles and that. Sort of coming together. And then fish start to try walking out of the water. Using their tiny fins. Which turn, over a really long period of time, into legs and feet. Fish turn into men - the Latin term being Billius Fishius. Dinosaurs eat Billy The Fish. Ice Age kills the dinosaurs. And then, thousands of years of evolution later - a continuous improvement programme without equal - you end up with Wayne Rooney. It seems flawed as an argument, does it not? Until you consider that somewhere between the fish, and the dinosaurs monkeys are involved, and in fact evolved. I think this is where the Rooney Gene, quite literally kicks in. Imagine if some mad scientist successfully cloned Wayne Rooney. A town full of Wayne Rooneys. All spitting and swearing. It certainly makes Blyth seem a little more attractive this morning, does it not? The Big Bang is upheld by the logical, the professionally driven ugly types who keep fit, continually cheat on their partners and cut you up on the motorway. Thirdly, we have The We're Not Alone Crew. The ones who believe that there are dozens of planets, in UFO's and alien abductions. They sit neither in the God nor the Big Bang Camp. They also sit next to us on buses. This is the choice of the lunatic aka IT professionals. The irony here is that those on The We're Not Alone Camp are all, to a man (no woman would adhere to this nonsense), alone. And quite right too, if you ask me. Am I being harsh here? Are you in The We're Not Alone Crew? Have you ever been abducted? Please let me know about your experience - head all correspondence Nutty As A Fruitcake. So, the choice is ours - and even though I know you lean on me, like an incontinent old smelly blood hound, to guide you through life's twists and turns, the choice is yours. My decision is totally dependent on those big money balls. Any views? ********** What Men Want changes with age Thanks to Mark for his views on What Men Want, which he believes is all around the ageing process. "In my younger days, What I Wanted was Percy Filth (I have cleaned up Mark's beastly language dear reader) regularly and with as many different females as possible. It was the Eighties, I was at Sunderland Poly and Political Correctness was at its height. "In order to be successful with the ladies it was necessary to become a card carrying feminist and equal opportunities champion. "I not only refused to open doors for ladies but actually barred their path to make the point that I was totally PC. I read poetry in public and drank wine. I joined the Gay and Lesbian Society. My strategy was hugely successful, I certainly got What I Wanted. "So why is it, 20 years on, that my Sundays involve joining my father-in-law at the bar of his Working Men's Club, where women are not allowed to buy drinks or make direct eye contact, to enjoy a couple of pints and a ribald joke or two before returning to an enormous Sunday lunch prepared by my mother-in-law and on the table at EXACTLY 2pm (God help her if it isn't) and falling asleep in front of the telly while John Wayne gets off his horse and drinks his milk, and the women do the dishes? The truth is that What Men Want changes with age and circumstance. "As a married father of two What I Want is to be left alone. And power tools, obviously. Getting What I Want now involves spending as little time as possible in the company of my immediate family, breaking wind a great deal and being as obnoxiously un-PC as is humanly possible. "Tell a woman her brain is smaller than yours and explain that this is why she can't read maps and watch how quickly she leaves you alone." I'll happily supply Mark's address to anyone enraged by his diatribe. Pip Pip. | 
