The Pagan Defense League

I’ve finally decided to come out and say what we’re all thinking.  This country is in a war of religion, and I’m sick of how no-one is doing anything about it.  Our beautiful land of Blighty is being infested by a monotheistic religion from the Middle East, whose followers are causing menace to honest blue-blooded Englanders.  You see them coming over here with a holy book that is absolutely filled with hate and bile and fire and brimstone, when taken mostly out of context.  Enough is enough; Christianity is paving over our home-grown Pagan traditions, and if we don’t act soon they’ll be taking it right into parliament and we’ll end up an entirely Christian nation of sissy choir singers.

Pictured: Immigrant scum

It all started long ago with them bloody Roman immigrants, who came to our country and bred like a plague, building temple after temple to their stupid Geesus, or whatever his name is; they all look the same.  Now, there are entire areas of this country that are populated almost solely by Christians.  When was the last time your local baker had a proper pagan name?  They’ve all got funny Christian names; our banks are staffed by Johns and Marks and Williams.  What kind of stupid bloody name is William? It’s got ‘willy’ in it, enough said.

You see them flocking to our sacred Stone Henge, taking patronising pictures with their camera phones, stealing the soul from our cultural heritage, and pointing and laughing at our traditions like we’re standing here worshipping fucking My Little Pony.  They are defecating all over traditions that date back to the birth of the British Isles themselves, when they were flung from the hallowed vagina of our sacred Mother Nature Divinia in 4,000 b.c. 

What’s more, you know what ‘b.c.’ stands for, right?  See, they even forced their stupid dating system upon us, making us refer to everything in relation to the birth of their stupid prophet Chris.  Even though they can’t even decide when the beardy bastard was born, so they just said it was the same day as the birth of our sacred Sol Invictus.  After that, they wiped their collective Christian arse with our spring fertility ceremonies, kept the bunnies and eggs and called it Easter.  So what you’re telling me, Johnny Bible, is that the day Chris was crucified changes every year in accordance with the coming of the full moon? Come off it, mate. I’m sick of all these Christians taking over Pagan holidays. You can’t even call it Winterfest anymore, it’s Christmas this, Christmas that.  They built a Santa-shop over my sacrificial pyre.  I inherited that pyre from my great-grandfather; it’s got virgin bloodstains on it that are older than Bruce Forsyth.  

Get off my heathen pavement you drunk heretic

Every day in the news we’re reading about Christians committing crimes. Of course, they don’t always say they’re Christian, but you can tell they are from their pasty white faces, knobbly knees and all the disgusting tea stains on their teeth. Christian man Raoul Moat shooting all those people in Cumbria.  Christian leaders going around telling us not to be gay like it’s any of their bloody business who I share my privates with.  Christians wasting trees printing out their phony scripture, as if passing on religious instruction by mouth isn’t good enough for them.  Christians littering our streets with their cigarettes and gum and drunkenly pissing on our pavements at two in the morning as they spill foreign burger lettuce from their fat ugly mouths.  What, you thought hamburgers were English?  Take another look at the word, mate.  Absolute foreign conspiracy in a sesame-seed bun of deception.

I see them coming over here and paving over our stone circles, replacing them with church after church.  I grew up in a tiny village outside of Cambridge, which now boasts three churches for less than four thousand people.  Yet when I tried to pray to my proper pagan British god of Anthwrara, the Lord of Darkness, Shepard of Death and Bringer of Righteous Suffering unto the Aberrant Masses, I managed to get barely five minutes into the Naked Mud Dance of the Triumphant before the Legoland security personnel were escorting me from the premises.  They even confiscated the little foam sword I'd nicked from the souvenir shop, a process which took at least another ten minutes as I had firmly lodged it halfway up my rear English channel, in a gesture of valiant assault against the profanity of sinful expulsions.  The PC brigade is slowly but surely stripping me of my patriotic right to be an utter cunt.

What sissy Prophets do when they're not spinning lies

I’m not saying any of this from a place of ignorance; I’ve skimmed the Wikipedia pages on Christianity and the Bible for enough time to find sentences that support my well-endowed prejudice.  I’ve read article after article from completely reliable anti-Christian propaganda blogs like fuckthemeek.com and shovethatwaferupyourdogmaticarse.blogspot.co.uk.  They all cite sources like the Daily Mail, together with general hearsay they gleamed from their mate down the pub what said this and that, and you’d be mad to tell me you can trust anyone better than your mates from down the pub what said this, or that. They’re your mates, for Anthwrara’s sake.  Thicker than water, they are.

So what have I learned from my exhaustive research?  Firstly, Chris was a carpenter.  What kind of almighty Messiah has a day job?  Obviously one who can’t be bothered to commit to his followers full-time without popping off to fix a window for cash-on-hand.  Beyond that, you know what kind of thing he used to bang on about?  He said when someone slaps you, you’re meant to turn the other cheek, like a little bitch or something. Blessed are the meek? They’re inheriting the earth, are they?  It’s like they want to turn our brave and fierce country into a pasture land for complete pussies.  Probably so they can bring more of their kind here to walk all over us while they stamp our history into the dirt. It makes me physically sick.  On top of that, their Bible says he once invited a load of mates to his for some bread and wine, only then telling them it was actually bits from his own blood and body!  God damned cannibal.  God damned sissy cannibal day-jobbing tosspot.  In my humble view, he deserves to be hung up and nailed to a tree or something with thorns stuck in his head and left to die there, see how he likes that shit.

The Britain we all dream of

It’s time to fight fire with fire. The only way to stamp out such an intolerant and misunderstood religion is with our own home-grown brand of proper British intolerance and misunderstanding. Aux armes, citoyens!  Let’s see how well they turn the other cheek when you’ve slapped them hard enough to snap their heretical necks in two.  Then let us piss their remains into the gutter so we can get back to the tolerant and peaceful Britain of the Hovis ads of yore.