apologia pro religious mania mea

My spies in international finance rang me with some interesting news.
A few days ago, senior staffers at the Johnston Press had bought small blocks of shares in their own company.
According to my spies five Johnston Press officials had purchased four hundred shares each.
I don't know if these figures are correct.
I don't know if Johnston Press board members are buying small packets of their own company's shares to send a message of confidence to the market.
And I don't care.
Frankly I don't think any shares are worth buying.
Let alone Johnston Press shares.
I'm telling people to stay away from the stock market generally.
My analysis is that the whole thing is banjaxed.
The stock exchange is banjaxed in general.
The Johnston Press is banjaxed in particular.
I'm hardly an objective judge.
I hold the Johnston Press in such supremely low regard.
Since the great men of the Johnston Press fired me from the Leinster Leader newspaper last November, I have been profoundly convinced that the company would go bust without me.
I wonder will it.
Four of the five senior officials are now said to have a share holding in excess of a million shares.
One of them has a little under a million.
When the Johnston Press fired me, a million shares in that company, would have been worth several million pounds.
A million shares in the Johnston Press today would supposedly be worth around two hundred thousand.
I say supposedly.
Personally I'm not convinced you could sell em.
You all know my analysis of the Johnston Press woes.
I believe God is punishing them for firing me.
I wonder could it really be true.
I wonder have they fired other people in other newspapers the way they fired me.
I wonder.
God could be really annoyed about something like that.
I don't want to seem like a religious maniac.
But I'd advise any Johnston Press staffers visiting my website who think they may have offended God to repent of the evils they have done.
Repent, I say.
Repent.
The end of the Johnston Press is nigh.

Arf arf.
A little end of the world humour there.
I wonder could I get a billboard to hang around my neck with that slogan painted on it.
"Repent. The end of the Johnston Press is nigh."
It has a certain ring to it.

Now I'm driving down south for an afternoon in the country.
I'm alone in the car when the ghost of Robbie Burns appears.
Robbie glances out the window at the sylvan frost silvered countryside passing by us and declaims his most famous poem:

"Oh my love is like a red red rose
That's newly sprung in June,
Oh my love is like a melody,
That's sweetly played in tune.
As fair art thou my bonnie lass,
So deep in love am I,
That I would love thee still my dear,
Till the Johnston Press share price gang dry.
Till the Johnston Press share price gang dry my dear,
And the rocks melt wi' the sun,
And God gives those parvenu pieces of crud a good kick in the goolies,
Each and every one."

When Robbie finishes his poem, he disappears.
My applause ringing in his ears.
It is the turn of the ghost of Elvis to appear in the passenger seat.
Together we sing:

"The Johnston Press fired Heelers.
A decision not really too bright.
Now their shares are worth next to nothing.
In fact they're a heap of shite.
I can feel it.
Feel it.
Feel it.
Feel it.
Feel it...
They're going,
Way down, like it used to be,
Way down,
Way down like a monkey's pee,
Way down,
Way down like a tidal wave.
Wayyyy dowwwn.
Way dowwnnnnn.
Oh wayooo downnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn.
Wayoooooooodownnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn."

Elvis and me just laughed and laughed and laughed at this.
You know folks, we all really should thank God more often for the gift of laughter.