Selection From The Archives

Right.  You’ll remember that I threatened promised to bring you the occasional Bock post from the archives.

Well, here’s today’s offering.  Just ignore this if you’ve seen it already.

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Imagine Being A Muslim Martyr

I was out tonight in my pub of choice, having a few scoops of my drink of choice with my friends of choice, when the subject of Islamic martyrdom came up.  This is how sad I am, and how pathetically sad my friends of choice are too.

As we were all men, somebody was bound to bring up the matter of the 77 virgins. You just would, y’know? Somebody said, Well, it isn’t that bad. You have the 77 virgins waiting for you when you die heroically, after the martyrdom, which is probably painful all right, probably very fukken painful getting a spear through your chest or blown to bits, but still, 77 virgins, y’know. How bad?

And on the face of it, that’s probably true. On the face of it, you would certainly think, how bad could it be?

Well, here comes the news. It could be pretty fucking bad. There you are, newly-arrived in Heaven, and here’s your 77 virgins.

How’s it goin’, Boss? Satisfy us, ya bollix!

All well and good. You get down to business, and as it’s heaven, involving the afterlife where you don’t get tired or any of that kind of thing, you finally manage to satisfy the 77 virgins.

Jesus Christ, I need a pint, you gasp, and you’re about to slither off to the pub.

Where the fuck do you think you’re going? says the 77 ex-virgins.

To the pub!!

Without us? Not a chance!!

So there you are in the pub, eventually, having called 19 taxis. Right darlings, what are we having?

A stupid question. You stand at the bar, discussing your order with the barman who can’t believe what a stupid twat you are:

Let’s see if I have that, now. 32 Heineken with ice. 14 Heineken with lime. 4 spritzers. 2 gin and tonic. 5 Jagermeisters. 2 Fat Frogs. 11 tequila slammers. 3 pints of Bulmers. 3 Jamesons. 1 Black Bush. And a Guinness.

No bother.

The door swings open.  It’s your brother in martyrdom, Mikey.

Jesus, there’s Mikey. How’s it goin’, Mikey – what will you have?

Oh, I’ll have a pint of Guinness, 44 tequila slammers, 15 red wines, 3 Wild Turkeys, 12 Coronas and 3 Slivovitz.

Grand, says the barman. That’s 32 Heineken with ice, 14 Heineken with lime, 4 spritzers, 5 Jagermeisters, 3 Jamesons, 55 tequila slammers, 2 gin and tonics, 2 Fat Frogs, 3 pints of Bulmers, 15 red wines, 3 Wild Turkeys, 12 Coronas and 3 Slivovitz. 1 Black Bush. And 2 pints of Guinness.

That’s right. Oh, fuck it, here’s Tommy with his Mexican virgins. Tommy will ya have a pint? Grand. Barkeep, will ya make that 32 Heineken with ice, 14 Heineken with lime, 4 spritzers, 5 Jagermeisters, 3 Jamesons,132 tequila slammers, 2 gin and tonics, 2 Fat Frogs, 3 pints of Bulmers, 15 red wines, 3 Wild Turkeys, 12 Coronas and 3 Slivovitz. 1 Black Bush.  And 3 pints of Guinness.  Grand. Fine.

Finally, after eight of the lads turn up, we get a cosy little sing-song going, just the 702 of us, involving a medley of old numbers by Captain Beefheart and the Velvet Underground. Yet something isn’t quite right, though we don’t know what.  The 693 virgins seem a little pissed off at our lack of attention.

What’s wrong? we say.

As one, the 693 virgins fold their arms and reply, Nothing!

5 thoughts on “Selection From The Archives

  1. Well worth a second read.Getting great visuals
    of the like happening in The Pub of the King Billy Beer Bottle.Any room in the snug?

  2. Hehe… very good Bock! :) Apparently, depending on the translation in question it could also be 77 pieces of fruit. It makes me laugh to think of some of these eejits finding out their mullah was dealing with a crap translation upon arriving in heaven and receiving a very large fruit basket for their efforts.

  3. I’ve often wondered what’s in it for female suicide bombers.

    Having despatched herself and whoever else was around her to kingdom come, she finds herself faced with 77 spotty 16-year-old gimps, all trying to cop a feel and then presenting their middle fingers to their mates, saying “Shmell this!”

  4. I like to think of it more along the lines of my dear old spinster Aunt of 82, never been married, never had a boyfriend, or acquaintance. Then bang, all of a sudden into her (after)life, 76 other similar lived members of the knitting circle, and a slightly charred, bewildered looking fellow, suddenly in a rush of realisation that he’s cocked up on a mammoth scale, quotes the famous Western philosopher Homer – “D’oh !”

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