Leviticus is so easy to take to pieces; it has most of the bibles most ridiculous passages. Rules on where to purchase slaves, who to stone, closely followed by an eye for an eye a tooth for a tooth; that old chestnut.

It does contain one of my favourite glaring errors of any holy book. You can make mistakes if you're in school. When you're a professional if you make mistakes you might get sued. When your god you can't make mistakes so I don't really know how you account for this. Is it the proof that God is dyslexic?

After a rant, of some significance to the Jews and Muslims about the shape of the feet of animals you can and can't eat Leviticus moves on to the less well travelled area of insects; edible vs. detestable.

"All insects that walk on all fours are detestable to you. There are, however, some winged creatures that walk on all FOURS that you may eat: those that have jointed legs for hopping on the ground."

I copied this quote from the first entomology website that came up on Google, it’s for kids; this stuff is basic:

"Adult insects have 6 legs. Each of the segments of the thorax bears 1 pair of legs. The legs are segmented. Often the last segment of the leg bears a small claw. In some insects, the legs are specially adapted for jumping."

If you haven't noticed; “insects that walk on all fours”. Christ God you made the bloody things didn't you notice when you put six fucking legs on them. Maybe they started off with four legs but somehow they changed into six legged creatures. Maybe some kind of accumulation of mutations over a geological time scale, but I thought everything God made was perfect and immutable. Religion is so confusing.

Also Leviticus includes the Bat in the list of birds you can’t eat; it is in my opinion a mammal but this of course is debateable. The insect leg thing is a simple hard fact. I could go on all day, read Leviticus you won’t stop pissing yourself.

The second best thing I have read in a while is this article in today’s Daily Mirror: Squirrel crack-kin. Its an article about squirrels in Brixton (London) digging up Crack that dealers hide in the ground, this quote is pure gold. One homeowner in Brixton, south London said…

“My neighbour told me that Crack dealers sometimes use my front garden to hide bits of stash. An hour earlier I’d seen a squirrel wandering around the garden digging in the flower beds. It was ill-looking and its eyes were bloodshot but it kept digging.”

I am sure the Met could use these guys; I always knew they would have some use. I don’t think we can eat them. Good old Leviticus rules out rabbits because they chew the cud and don’t have a split hoof, he doesn’t mention animals that eat Crack so I guess its up to your discretion.

Well lots of things have happened since my last post. Most momentous of all is the fact that I have broken up with my girlfriend. She comes back to the UK on the sixteenth of October, rather than picking up were we left off which wasn't a very good place, I made the difficult descion to end it. The obvious problem with this state of affairs is that this blog may require a name change; my girlfriend went to Greece and came back single perhaps, I'm not ready to make any big descions right now so I will continue the much more interesting saga of the alcoholic vagrant who lives in my house called Jon.

As mentioned in the comments section of the previous blog, Jon's meal ticket is a little black stray dog, Toots. Rather fortuitously for Jon but not for the dog, the very day that Peggy had planned to turf him out on his ear Jon and the little dog went to the vet, it turned out that toots had some tumours and Jon had a reprieve. The dog was booked into the vet for an operation last Friday, Peggy rang the house the night before to remind Jon, he forgot, but Peggy turned up and Toots made its appointment with the surgeon.

I will stop here to point out that Jon claims that he and the dog share the same soul; perhaps he was referring to the fish.

Anyway Peggy makes herself scarce to avoid having to pay the inevitable bill, Jon claims he is going to pay it and presumably had planned to stop getting drunk some weeks ago to save up the money, he may have meant to rob a bank but as it turns out he was too drunk. When it came down to it the sad fact is that Tootsies entire health care plan probably involved Jon putting his last fifty pence in the fruit machine.

Jon didn't win the 13 jackpots in a row that were required to pay the five hundred and eighty pound vet bill. This left him with something of a dilemma. Jon decided to regroup in the pub to plan his next move over a few drinks.

Luckily at this point I am offered a unique glimpse into Jon's state of mind, he slinked home last night for the first time since Friday, drunk, he relayed his version of events to my flatmate Gemma who has passed them to me for the purpose of recording them for future generations.

I won't lead you on any further, ultimately Jon got drunk and did nothing. He did tell Gemma that he had been formulating a plan with his 'mates' to bust the dog out of the vets, some of the flaws of this plan are: who else other than Jon would possibly steal a scrawny stray dog; his mates in the pub are retards whose loyalty stretches about as far as a packet of prawn-cocktail crisps they are unlikely to do time for Jon or his Dog; Jon speaks very loudly in the pub and the bar staff find him so irritating that they would happily tell the police everything they know.

Before Jon could action his plan Peggy rescued Toots. She knows the vet and he had called her as the dog was accruing kennelling fees while it was abandoned. Rather than paying for the dog she left Jons passport. Luckily for Jon it was relatively easy for him to adapt his earlier dog rescue plan to a passport, for the flaws in this plan see above, this time there is no one who would possibly want Jon's passport short of a Eastern European people trafficking ring; perhaps a half decent defence.

The outcome of all this is that Jon won't be leaving the country and unless he can get a good price for the passport from an Eastern European gangster, the vet won't be getting any money. Will Peggy eventually kick Jon out? I don't know, watch this space. The only good to come out of it is the dog is O.K. Jon has one more enemy with a whole cupboard of dangerous drugs and Peggy might realise that someone who treats their soul mate as badly as Jon does Toots might not be the best of boyfriend material.