Michael Cargill

Regular updates of sarcastic and irreverent nonsense.

Tag Archives: heaven

Steve Jobs speaks from heaven

steve jobsHey there my good disciples, how y’all doing? Have you missed me? Of course you have! That turtle-neck sweater factory at the end of your road, I trust that it’s still keeping you awake at night as it churns out the old turtles non-stop? Or Turts as I like to call them. For those that don’t know, I had a trust fund setup in my name before I died. And when I say ‘died’ I actually mean ‘shot by that man on the grassy knoll’. Anyway, this fund was set up to ensure that there is enough cash to keep them factories ticking over so that there will be an ample supply of Turts for me when I return. And when I say ‘return’, I actually mean ‘immaculate resurrection’.

And why wouldn’t I want to return? It’s kind of stuffy up here sometimes and the bearded bloke who goes around telling people off is getting on my tits. He has a really weird name as well, something like ‘Dog’.

A while ago I had the neat idea of getting a drama group going so we could put on some shows for all the unhappy souls that end up here. I had this amazing idea for a play where I was this wise leader in a country known as ‘Few’ and I had the title of The King of the Fews. The play had a dramatic climax where some bad people come along and try to kill me by nailing my arms to two planks of wood at the top of a grassy knoll. I even thought up some nifty little ideas like me wearing a crown of thorns and some soppy bloke called Peter betraying me because he’s such a big pussy.

I wrote a huge ten-page script out on some really nice paper and proudly presented it to Dog; the miserable sod went bloody mental! I swear, there was steam coming out of his ears and he looked like he was going to start shooting thunderbolts out of his arse. It was then that I decided to make myself scarce and went away to hide under my Turt blanket for a while. All the excitement was wearing and it wasn’t long before I drifted off to sleep. I then had a lovely dream where everyone was walking around wearing white earphones and swiping their fingers across touchscreen smartphones. There were shops on every street corner, all of them bearing my name on the front and burning candles lined every pavement. A secret police force went around making sure that no-one picked their nose lest they dirty the front of their electronic devices.

Imagine Stalinist Russia but instead of that moustachioed twat, there are pictures of cuddly old me all over the place.  Now that’s what heaven should be like.

Princess Diana speaks from heaven

princess-dianaHello there Earthlings, it’s the former Queen of Hearts here. First of all, can I just say that if anyone calls me Di, Diana, or uses any of my previous names and titles from my mortal era, I’ll be waiting for you at the Pearly Gates when you finally cop it. Although me and St. Peter got off to a rocky start we’ve become good pals so just watch your mouths now that I’ve got the head bouncer’s phone number – he lets me out for a cheeky fag and I let him fondle my tiara on the way back in. He gets all the good gossip and he has such a nice bum too! Anyway, just drop all the soppy names that the shitrag journalists thought up after they chased me down that French tunnel and everything will be just peachy. I tell you something though… those journos with their cocaine parties and witty headlines think they are the smartest people in the world, but boy have they got a shock coming to them when they come up here.

Initially life was tough up here in the sky with the big, invisible man constantly talking to me from under my bed. I tried to set up a charity dedicated to landmine victims so I could condescendingly pat them on the head before retiring back to my trailer for a white wine spritzer and a spray of Christian Dior; unfortunately, poverty and war don’t exist up here so I had to reinvent myself like that Spice Girl with the massive tits did when her career went to shit.

Money and time are practically infinite up here which is a damn good job because that £17 million divorce settlement is still holed up in some bank vault – I even went and forgot me bleedin’ PIN number as well! Sometimes I am such a ditzy!

No doubt you’ve all got a hundred questions for me… does Dodi look buff when stepping out of the shower… how many cotton buds Charlie needed to clean out those big ugly ears of his… and just what happened that night in Paris…? Well, as much as I would love to answer these questions I’m afraid that our time is getting short and I can already feel myself fading away.
Actually that’s bollocks. St Peter is making ‘honk honk’ signals with his hands again – it’s chinwag and fag time again, yippee!

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