Day 20 - It's the jews

Ha! I have escaped the hoards of unbelievers that wish me dead by taking my holiday amongst them. What better way to hide from one's enemies than to live with them side by side. I instructed my newly appointed 3,000 bodyguards  to take me to a villa in the holiday village of Izmire-On-Sea in the county of Heathenshire. It is owned by one of the many industrialists to whom I have given a 100% tax break as long as he does what I tell him -- and lends me his swanky villa natch. What on earth is he doing having a villa in a Beach Party stronghold, my main political rival, I do not know. I shall have to have words with him. I suppose it's OK as long as the vicars don't find out -- and they do a very good infidel bacon and eggs at one of the bars down on the promenade.

I am working on my speech that I will give to the vicars. "We need a theme," I said to my advisors, as I munched on the extra crispy bacon butty which I had discovered tastes heavenly when dipped in egg yolk.   They came up with a load of stuff about the cause of the Brownie Revolt was me not listening to the people -- I don't know exactly as I wasn't really paying much attention during the meeting. Can you blame me ? That imported back bacon is sooo good.

So here goes with my excellent speech.

Ever since the beginning of time the jews have been out to get me and to kill God

Publisher's note:  Mister Thorn's visit to his fantasy world of make belief was interrupted by his nurse so that he could take his psych meds and to have his rabies injections. To keep you amused for the rest of this blog entry, here is some Thorn Porn.