The Gospel of Murphy-Book One

I describe myself as a Murphyist. For those who don't know Murphy is the true name of the Almighty, Creator of All. You may have been told otherwise, but I assure you that before some strange transliteration failure turned his name to 'Yahweh', The Greater Leveler of Conceit, the Lancer of the Engorged Ego, was, in fact, an Irishman. And here is the first of his gospels.


The Gospel of Murphy
Book One
How it all kicked off.

In the beginning there was fuckall. There was not a fuckin' thing, neither Heaven, nor Earth, nor any Superiority/Inferiority Complex Symbiosis, or any of that oul shite. There was nowt. Well, nowt but Murphy. And Murphy said, "I can't feckin' see shite!", and he fished an unfiltered fag from his pocket, struck a match with his thumbnail, and said "By me balls, we've to get somethin' going!"

Not knowing what to get going, there being nothing to provide the inspiration, Murphy tapped out his ash, spat on it, and rolled it into a ball. As will happen, unchanged for countless eons, a smoker with fuck all to do will amuse himself with his smoking materials, and bodily functions. As Murphy's pocket was ever full of fags and matches, there was much primordial puerile amusement to be had. The spit and ash ball was soon bloody gigantic. There was Murphy and his ash, just floating about.

Murphy realized that the sheer size of the thing was crushing it in on itself, until it was
1/1,000,000,000,000 the size, but still as heavy. Murphy tired of climbing it, and beating it, and attempting to break parts off of it, and of trying to light it on fire. He was so far past boredom that he had resumed experimenting with smoking materials and bodily functions. And thus was the first fart lit on fire.

That was all that had lacked in the attempts to crack the ash; an explosion. That mighty wind turned to fire, and shattered that dense rock into trillions of pieces, into the laws of gravity and relativity, and billions of proto-consciousness that came to believe themselves divine.

As this happened Murphy floated unconscious. He stayed so for eons. When he came to he couldn't decide if he was happy, or sad that none had seen his blunder, for on the one hand it had shamed him some proper to act the prick so totally, but had he seen another act so, by his hairy bollocks he'd have laughed. He kept that in mind for later.

The Gospel of Murphy
Thanks be to bollocks