Shut your trap, you deluded imbecile

A gentleman told me the other day that, unless I believed in Jesus, I was going to go to Hell. I tried to make the point that a lack of belief in Jesus would necessarily imply a belief that Hell does not exist, but such finer metaphysical points were beyond him. I then tried to sympathise with his viewpoint. I had just come off an eleven hour flight from London in the tender care of United Airways, and felt well qualified to comment on life in Hell. He insisted that Hell was much even worse, that Hell was a walk in the park compared to United Airways, that it was a place of pain, and misery, and the wails of those tortured souls who know that it is too late to reverse the decisions that have led them to eternal damnation. 'Have you ever been to Heathrow?', I asked, 'Pretty much the same thing'. That shut him up.

What is it about lunatics that they always seem to catch me when I am at my lowest resistance? Many years ago, when I was moping around France in an adolescent fashion after some doomed romance or another, a Lutheran Minister from Korea decided it was the perfect moment to collar me and canvas my views on 'ungodly' modern pop music. Did I know, for example, that scientific experiments had shown crops to flourish when played Beethoven, but to whither and die when played heavy metal music? He then went on to assert Simon and Garfunkel's Bridge Over Troubled Water was all about oral sex.

That's the trouble with lunatics. It isn't enough for them to live in their own delusions, they need to share their demented ravings with me.