The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe

This befel in the year of the Great Pussy Christ 2010 when the Bandy-Legged Gentile Babies fell into the land of the Mennonites Retail Park that formerly did shelter the Cursed Offal Eaters when they were banished from the Land of Tripes by the Black Pudding Jesus. And the littlest of the Seed-Bearing Mammalians, a smirksome Caucasoid, hight William, was tempted in that time by the bulging figs of confection that fell from the Whirring Fingers of that Womb-Wearing Lucifer, hight ‘The Witch’. “Ha Hee” cries she. “For your betrayal you shall live with me in my Sexy Hell with the Frosty Philistine Babies for a sweaty eternitude”. “But” says the recalcitrant sinner “it wert only fudgelumps good dame. Ye art o’er-hasty with talk of damnation”. But his protestations boot nothing. Bootless it were to fumble in wordy-ruffianplay with that terrible Busty Witch. Off to Sexy Hell with thee tiny scabrous infant.

Shortly in the afterwhiles, Jesus the Lion, that sleek, whiskered Messiah (lock up your springboks), did come to know of poor William’s fate. “Miaow” he spake. “To the Crucifixion Machine, children”. Leaving a devasted platter of breakfast bones jangling in his wake, Jesus the Lion sprang forth to sacrifice himself. “Checkmate” he roared at the sky, as he died on a special cross made for cats, thus absolving little William and a thousand other freckled satsuma-faced Sons of Adam with him. “Yeah” cried William. “I got to eat Turkish Delight and I escaped Sexy Hell. Double Whammy! Thank God for the Quadruped Christ!” And that is how, once again, the world was saved from unChristian folks.

Merry Christmas everyone.