Wednesday, 10 September 2014

Old Knudsen Finds God

Do you hear that? ..... aye that was me, good arse, I thought you were dead.

When Old Knudsen was a young and vital sex stallion of a man, no I'm not talking about last week but tell yer Ma to go get tested by the Doctor. 

I was in my traveling phase going from town to town, beating up bad guys, saving the day and snogging the lass. I had me sidekick back then, Ralph the amazing brow wonder, named so because his uni-brow was so thick and luxurious that it controlled the minds and the will of others. No one means to stare but they do and before they know it their mouth is open catching flies and drool is dribbling doon their chin. 

Like a deer in the headlights, someone with no conscience could very easily pick their pockets, take them roughly from behind or sell them to a slave trader as long as the brow was there to amaze. 

So it was back when those people went mysteriously missing in the north of England, me and Ralph had plenty of money so we traveled doon to Yorkshire to confront God on how he could let all those Africans starve in Ethiopia .... is God in Yorkshire?  Well it was nicknamed God's own county and we'd looked everywhere else, me arse was still bleeding from all the prisons we searched. 

The plan was actually to overthrow God as we had made a deal with the Devil. Thanks to Satan I would be able to turn into a gigantic Hell hound and kill him. It was a sound plan. 

We searched the moors of Yorkshire, all the hills and all the fucking dales .... whatever a fucking dale is but no sign of the almighty. Man cannot slay deities on an empty stomach so we hit one of those quaint Yorkshire pubs. 

By quaint I mean old with no money having been invested into it in the past 20 years cos the only people who go there are old stingy farmers who nurse one pint all night unless someone offers to buy them a drink.    
 Get off my land!

Old Knudsen fucking well hates Yorkshire men, even the young ones are old with their self entitled attitudes, flat caps all thinking they know best .... no maybe I do like that, it sounds comforting and familiar, no I hate the sweaters with the built in beer bellies, the smell of dung and the ruddy complexions that have. Why couldn't Hitler have exterminate the farmers? 

The pub was full of regulars with warm moldy pints, 'oh ya can't wonder the moors, you'll get sucked down by a bog or just vanish like that lad did 10 years to this very day.'

After 12 warm pints of ale that tasted like ale does .... like flat homemade beer, it was off to the moors to find God. The full moon shone the way and it was easy to stay on the path as the locals had advised. 

Well it was, until I looked right at Ralph's amazing uni-brow, I couldn't turn away I just walked open mouthed while Ralph talked away thinking I was interested in hearing about his toe fungus collection. 

Knudsen, Knudsen, KNUDSEN! I woke from my daze my puffer jacket drenched in drool. I heard something, it was like a whoosh behind us, said Ralph on the brink of panic. 

Maybe it was a whoosh bird, I said trying to reassure him, aye whoosh birds swoop doon and steal yer eyeballs, happened to this bloke in Devon once, I had to bash his head in with a rock he was making so much noise, you know how Old Knudsen doesn't like screaming .... unless it's yer Ma of course. 

Not even my sage words could calm him, whoosh, from behind us again, then to the side, then the other side, then my backside .... blame yon can of beans I had for that whoosh, my bad but what else do ya eat when camping? 

Then all of a sudden Ralph was grabbed and swiftly dragged into the shadows, he just had time for half a scream. 
For fucks sake, he still had my pen ... never lend pens to people for they are bound to disrespect yer property and try to steal it. Oh I forgot to return yer wallet that you left on the table .... how would you like that?  

Pen thieves need to be whipped, skinned alive and ripped to pieces by hungry hippos.  Time to hero up and get me pen back, Old Knudsen charged right into the shadows, following the trail of blood. Then he saw it.

He gazed upon the face of God. Standing 8 foot tall wearing tracksuit bottoms, trainers and a dark hoodie God stood there over the mangled body of Ralph, not even his uni-brow could save him. 

So we meet at last Lord of the Heavenly host eternal. I did not find you in any of yer homes, I did not find you in prison or on the 700 club as shown on the Christian Broadcasting Network, instead I find you in an arsehole end of England what gives? 

'God does not have to explain himself to a mere fallen angel, fuck off custard fornicator.' 

Old Knudsen chuckled when he heard God speak in the third person, only a nut case does that, he did not however like his sexual preferences being mocked.  Time to change into a Hell hound and take this cunt doon. 


By the power of Greyskull! Old Knudsen started to transform, God stood there curious as to what would happen next as he sucked the marrow out of Ralph's bone. 


After what seemed like 7 minutes and 14 seconds Old Knudsen had transformed into a dread Hell hound of such ferocity that God dropped his guard and just stood there .... long enough for Old Knudsen to pounce. 

It was a battle unlike earth had ever seen. We both hit, bit and shit hard, holy blood and holy shit spraying the air. I had me spine ripped out and me throat slit but I've had worse so I kept clawing at the old deity and knew his heart wasn't in the fight ... no I had ripped that fucker out, he let out an enormous scream, grabbed my pen and vanished to lick his wounds which is why you don't see him around these days, not even in Yorkshire. 

I lay there bleeding but victorious and lost consciousness. 

I awoke in a hospital, they had not expected me to wake up and the pathologist doing the autopsy was really irked that he had to put everything back in .... I don't think he did put everything back in or even in the right place which is why you can only take my pulse on my erect penis .... that's my story and I'm sticking with it. I also burp farts, now that can't be right can it? 

Nurse Price was very attentive during my stay in hospital, when I was fit to leave I didn't have accommodation lined up so she asked if I wanted go stay at her place and fuck in the shower, nurses do that all the time it seems. 

The Devil paid me what we had agreed for the deal .... well sort of, I eventually grew fond of my 12 inch pianist, not quite what I had asked for and why the fuck can he only play The Entertainer? That's some kind of Hellish torment right there.



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