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The Christian god, God, made an unprecedented appearance here on Earth recently in the wake of cricket's 'Hansiegate' match-fixing scandal.
The omnipetent creator of the universe was said to be "quite disappointed" that one of the more (seemingly) loyal of his flock, former South African Cricket Captain Hansie Cronje, should exhibit such naked greed, and contravene one of the seven deadly sins first penned by the God some 3500 years ago, when He created Heaven and Earth and chose South Africa for Dutch people.
"Wessel Hansie Cronje!" boomed God, speaking in Afrikaans through his mouthpiece here on Earth, a quivering, salivating and white-eyed Pope John Paul IV, "Sail under false colours in my name willl you, Satan's whelp? You'll burn in a pit of foulness! Drink from the poisoned chalice? Well Get the fiery lake swimmers ready buddy, you're off to see His Satanic Majesty, the arch-fiend of the bottomless pit, you lying, greedy, hypocritical, self-righteous little prick!"
Emphatic--and no doubt prophetic--words from God, and sure to send a shiver or two down those Christians foolish enough to be involved with Cronje's devilment.
Australian cricketers Shane Warne and Mark Waugh, themselves involved in a bribery and match-fixing scandal in 1995, appear to be under no such threat of eternal damnation as they, luckily for them, don't believe in God. The Indian bookmakers involved in the scandal are also billed with a clean bill of eternal health as their major deity Ganesha is an avid cricket follower, punter and vocal supporter of match-fixing.
Cronje however has no such recourse. A devout Christian who often prays on the way to the wicket ('please Lord, let me score less than 20'), it appears certain he'll be spending eternity in Hell making love with Mike Tyson. No doubt an uncomfortable way to spend eternity for a once-proud example of the Afrikaaner's Calvanist Christian value system.
Meanwhile, back at the Vatican, God was just warming up.
"Y'know, I don't get down here often!" he boomed, omnipetently, making the usually lifeless Pope's bodily vessel quiver with preternatural energy, mucous and spittle flying in all directions "So I'm going to make the most of it. Now, Get me that lying fuck O.J.! And while we're on South africans, bring me that poisonous right-wing broederbond Nazi bastard Louis Lluyt. I'll send him to Hell with the '95 All Blacks. Oh yeah, And get me Bert Newton. He's always shitted me the moon-faced fuckwit."
The Lord then turned to salt several priests who had been gazing upon his magnificence with slack-jawed reverance and kow-towing like so many Tripitakas.
"crawling pricks" he murmured, boomed, rather, before shifting the Pope's buttocks irritably in the Papal throne, as if an itch irritated his anus. "Ah, fuck this, I'm away to watch Matlock."
Then, in a flash of light, a bit like when heaven-bound souls departed dead people in the Patrick Swayze and Demi Moore hit movie Ghost, God left the building, leaving the Pope's lifeless carcass slumpled in the chair like a dead Pope's lifeless carcus would, if you ever happened to come across one.
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