The Rebel
Ivy strained the fat from the custard and sighed. It was the Lord's fourth portion that morning and she was bored. When she first got her job with God she'd been really excited, but now, after 320 years, her heart had begun to pine for the men of a shipyard or barracks.
"Ivy..? Ivy..? Iveee?"
She tutted and, casting a casual glance at her untouched lager, picked herself up.
"Here you are, God," she said, placing the pudding before him.
"Cheers, Ivy love," God blessed heartily. "Yer a cracker, even if I did make you myself."
Ivy blushed and tried to cover her two massive wet breasts with two tiny dry hands.
"Give over, God," she giggled.
"'Ere." God got serious and, turning the sound down on the television, forgave the custard for a cigarette. "Where's that bloody Jesus, then?!"
"God knows."
Just then God moved in a mysterious way. "What's got into that lad, he's out all the hours I send!"
Suddenly, Jesus flew in. "Hi, Dad." He landed.
"Where the bloody hell have you been?!" asked God.
"Look, I'm sick of your holier-than-thou attitude!" Jesus flapped. "There was a stay-behind in The Wilderness, so some Romans put me up for the night. Anyway, I'm off to The Last Supper for a pint with the lads".
The Lord mumbled and pulled out a small sack. "God's speed?"
"Thanks Dad. I'll need it!"
SNORT!!!
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