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Tim Minchin

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Australian Atheist And Skeptical Comedian

He has written various songs and poems critical of religion.

"All religion should always be a target. There’s never a time when religion should be off-limits to satirists. It’s one of the biggest, most powerful and influential forces in the world, and its ridiculous and damaging hypocrisy needs to be pointed out over and over again. It’s just a matter of finding ways to do it that are interesting. Obviously the positive attributes of religion are substantial too, but talking about them is not in my job description." [1]



"If You Open Your Mind Too Much Your Brain Will Fall Out (Take My Wife)"

If anyone can show me one example in the history of the world of a single Psychic who has been able to prove under reasonable experimental conditions that they are able to read minds

And if anyone can show me one example in the history of the world of a single Astrologer who has been able to prove under reasonable experimental conditions that they can predict future events by interpreting celestial signs

And if anyone can show me one example in the history of the world of a single Homeopathic Practitioner who has been able to prove under reasonable experimental conditions that solutions made of infinitely tiny particles of good stuff dissolved repeatedly into relatively huge quantities of water has a consistently higher medicinal value than a similarly administered placebo

And if anyone can show me one example in the entire history of the world of a single Spiritual or religious person who has been able to show either empirically or logically the existence of a higher power with any consciousness or interest in the human race or ability to punish or reward humans for there moral choices or that there is any reason - other than fear - to believe in any version of an afterlife

I’ll give you my piano, one of my legs, and my wife



TEN-FOOT COCK AND A FEW HUNDRED VIRGINS

So you're gonna live in Paradise, With a ten-foot cock and a few hundred virgins. So you're gonna live in Paradise, With a ten-foot cock and a few hundred virgins, So you're gonna sacrifice your life For a ride on a UFO, And when the Lord comes down with his shimmering chariot of salvation, You're gonna be the first to know.

And so if... God was there from the very beginning He invented men and women, Then He also invented wanking, Then He said wanking was sinning. So if I'm feeling randy I'm not allowed to hand-shandy, But having sex with my family, That is just fucking great. It's all there in Ezekiel 8, Just before He opens up His big pearly gate, And says that it's a sin To take it up the date, Even if it's great, Even with your mate.

So you're gonna live in Paradise, With a ten-foot cock and few hundred virgins, So you're gonna sacrifice your life For a shot at the greener grass, And when the Lord comes down With his shimmering rod of judgment, He's gonna kick my heathen arse.

So if you... Cover the bodies of your women Everybody is grinning, Because black is so slimming, Though it's not great for swimming. But it gives me an erection, With the increased sexual tension, What with the U.V. protection That is second to none. You'll find it all in the Koran Just next to the bit that justifies guns, And says that it's a sin To take it up the bum, Even if it's fun, Even in the scrum.

So you're gonna live in Paradise With a ten-foot cock and a few hundred virgins, So you're gonna sacrifice your life For a shot at eternity, And when the Lord comes down And I haven't done my penance, He's gonna disembowel me.

You say that... If I... Stumbled on a watch I'd assume it had a watchmaker, That a muffin presupposes a baker, So you must agree sooner or later, That this proves that there's a creator. So if I put my foot in a stinker, You'd assume the existence of a sphincter, Thus you don't need to be a great thinker To conclude that God's a bum, Which negates the words of Genesis 1 Which made Him out to be so much fun, Until Adam succumbed To temptation, And then His only son Got nailed to a gum, Or the Middle-Eastern equivalent, Which suggests that God's omniscience Is nullified by His ambivalence, Unless it turns out that He's impotent, And if God can't get a boner, I guess that explains the plethora Of huge erections in His honor - Because we all know a steeple's just a subconscious compensatory manifestation of a huge stiff penis - Still He tells us that it's heinous To stick a penis up your anus, Even if you're famous, Even if you're good at tennis.

So you're gonna live in Paradise With a ten-foot cock and a few hundred virgins, So you're gonna sacrifice your life For a ride on a UFO, And when the Lord comes down with his big stiff rod of justice, I'm gonna be the first to go, He's gonna send me down below, He's gonna whip me like a cotton-pickin' negro, I'm gonna be the first to go.


Storm exert

Inner North London, top floor flat All white walls, white carpet, white cat, Rice Paper partitions Modern art and ambition The host’s a physician, Lovely bloke, has his own practice His girlfriend’s an actress An old mate from home And they’re always great fun. So to dinner we’ve come.


The 5th guest is an unknown, The hosts have just thrown Us together for a favour because this girl’s just arrived from Australia And has moved to North London And she’s the sister of someone Or has some connection.

As we make introductions I’m struck by her beauty She’s irrefutably fair With dark eyes and dark hair But as she sits I admit I’m a little bit wary because I notice the tip of the wing of a fairy Tattooed on that popular area Just above the derrière And when she says “I’m Sagittarien” I confess a pigeonhole starts to form And is immediately filled with pigeon When she says her name is Storm.

Chatter is initially bright and light hearted But it’s not long before Storm gets started: “You can’t know anything, Knowledge is merely opinion” She opines, over her Cabernet Sauvignon Vis a vis Some unhappily Empirical comment by me

“Not a good start” I think We’re only on pre-dinner drinks And across the room, my wife Widens her eyes Silently begs me, Be Nice A matrimonial warning Not worth ignoring So I resist the urge to ask Storm Whether knowledge is so loose-weave Of a morning When deciding whether to leave Her apartment by the front door Or a window on the second floor.

The food is delicious and Storm, Whilst avoiding all meat Happily sits and eats While the good doctor, slightly pissedly Holds court on some anachronistic aspect of medical history When Storm suddenly she insists “But the human body is a mystery! Science just falls in a hole When it tries to explain the the nature of the soul.”

My hostess throws me a glance She, like my wife, knows there’s a chance That I’ll be off on one of my rants But my lips are sealed. I just want to enjoy my meal And although Storm is starting to get my goat I have no intention of rocking the boat, Although it’s becoming a bit of a wrestle Because - like her meteorological namesake - Storm has no such concerns for our vessel:

“Pharmaceutical companies are the enemy They promote drug dependency At the cost of the natural remedies That are all our bodies need They are immoral and driven by greed. Why take drugs When herbs can solve it? Why use chemicals When homeopathic solvents Can resolve it? It’s time we all return-to-live With natural medical alternatives.”

And try as hard as I like, A small crack appears In my diplomacy-dike. “By definition”, I begin “Alternative Medicine”, I continue “Has either not been proved to work, Or been proved not to work. You know what they call “alternative medicine” That’s been proved to work? Medicine.”

“So you don’t believe In ANY Natural remedies?”

“On the contrary actually: Before we came to tea, I took a natural remedy Derived from the bark of a willow tree A painkiller that’s virtually side-effect free It’s got a weird name, Darling, what was it again? Masprin? Basprin? Aspirin! Which I paid about a buck for Down at my local drugstore.

The debate briefly abates As our hosts collects plates but as they return with desserts Storm pertly asserts,

“Shakespeare said it first: There are more things in heaven and earth Than exist in your philosophy… Science is just how we’re trained to look at reality, It can’t explain love or spirituality. How does science explain psychics? Auras; the afterlife; the power of prayer?”

I’m becoming aware That I’m staring, I’m like a rabbit suddenly trapped In the blinding headlights of vacuous crap. Maybe it’s the Hamlet she just misquoted Or the eighth glass of wine I just quaffed But my diplomacy dike groans And the arsehole held back by its stones Can be held back no more:

“Look , Storm, I don’t mean to bore you But there’s no such thing as an aura! Reading Auras is like reading minds Or star-signs or tea-leaves or meridian lines These people aren’t plying a skill, They are either lying or mentally ill. Same goes for those who claim to hear God’s demands And Spiritual healers who think they have magic hands. . .


[2]