Brothers and sisters, today is Good Friday. On this day in history, in 1066, Pontius Pilot and his brothers did a number on Jesus Christ, snatching him off the streets of Bethlehem and carting him out to Calgary (in the back of a horse and cart version of the Meat Wagon, like as not). And do you know why they done that, friends of mine? They done it, right, cos they deemed him to be a danger to the status quo.
I know what you're thinking. 'What the fuck has Easter got to do with heavy metal?' you're asking yourselves. Well, status quo ain't just them headbangers who done "Whatever You Want" and "You're in the Army Now", it is also a French word meaning, erm... hang on a min.
Alright, status quo means "the existing state of affairs" (according the Nathan the barman, so if he's wrong you can take it up with him). And Jesus was a danger to that, Pontius reckoned. See, Pontius was shagging a lot of birds behind his wife's back, and Jesus found out about em and was about to spill the beans to all and sundry, thereby getting Pontius in the shite with her indoors. But there was another thing as well, the thing what made up Pontio's mind to get some of the lads together with a few beers, a couple of pitchforks, some nails and a massive cross...
Jesus told things like they was.
Wherever you found him - down the market, the pub, the arcade... anywhere - you'd always find Jesus talking to folks, opening their eyes to matters and showing em how wrong they had it. And he weren't being nasty about it. He done it in a nice way, calling em his lambs and giving em fish and chips and glasses of wine and that. Because it weren't their fault that they had things wrong in their heads. It was the fucking powers that be, weren't it? And we're coming back to the Pilot brothers here.
Now, I want you to look at my current situation. The powers that be are trying to shut me down, just like they was with Jesus. Instead of the Pilot boys I got the publisher bloke and his cronies. It's cos I'm doing just what Jesus done, telling the truth to all who will listen, pulling the scales off their eyes with a quiet word, a loud voice or sometimes a slap, if they're a bit slow. Only difference is that they're too fucking scaredy to having a go at crucifying me. Folks have tried similar things before and they don't work on me, and every cunt knows it. So instead, right, they're refusing to publish my true story, WRONGUN. Jesus got nailed to the cross, I got my book held back.
It's the same fucking thing, separated by about two hundred years.
But Jesus rose again, didn't he? After forty days and forty nights, on May bank holiday or thereabouts, Jesus got up and went walkies, scaring the shite out of most folks I would reckon. And I can do that as well - Royston fucking Blake can rise up from the dead, in book form. And you can help me, brothers and sisters, by joining this here Facebook thingio.
FREE THE MANGEL ONE