I'm often asked how I came up with my translation of the Bible. That's a good question, so I thought I'd finally reveal the truth. One night as I lay in bed, I was visited by an angel called Idioti, and he told me he was a member of a lost tribe of Israelites who’d been banished to north-east England, and they’re the ones who built all the castles.
Anyway, he told me to go out and find some golden tablets, so I spent all of the next day digging up my neighbour’s garden to no avail. My neighbour was furious when he came home from work, so I blamed it on the gas company. The next night, the angel returned to tell me I’d been digging in the wrong place, so the next day, I dug up my neighbour’s living room.
So, anyway, when I finally got out of jail for petty vandalism, I set about translating the two golden tablets I found. The writing looked like crude drawings, kind of like what a three-year-old would do if you gave them a crayon, so translation was difficult. Luckily, the angel brought me a special device called a bong, and when I used it, the writing seemed to float off the page like smoke, and dance in a swirl of colours. I spent twelve weeks staring at a cobweb on my ceiling and giggling to myself.
At the end of the three months, I still hadn’t translated anything as the writing on the tablets made no sense whatsoever, so I did the only thing I could do: I made a bunch of shit up!
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