Thy doth love to be pampered, it hath grown with thee. Thee can't even make thyself a cup of tea. Thy art useless at it, so thee hath someone else to do it for thee. That's the kind of environment a God lives in, deareth! " Thee liketh to be carried about by six Nubian slaves with palms and all.

Thy teeth protrudeth but hark, thou art perfection! Thee thinketh thee art going to go mad in a few milleniums, Thee art going to be one of those insane musicians/Gods.

Art thee not God? Thee shall always walketh upon the Earth as a Persian Poppinjay and no man shall stoppeth thee.

Thee art well pleased with thy scriptures on Mr Bad God. Liketh verily much do thee, thy husky voice. 'Tis all thy smoking. Why doth thee foreart smoketh, thou asketh of Thy Heavenly Father? -- to get that husky voice deareth and to pisseth off Brian the Wise!

How foreart doth thou get the high notes thou asketh? Thee doth use the Demis Roussos method, Thee taketh a pair of pliers under the frock and go cruncheth! Eeeeeeeeooooooooohhhhhhhhhhhhh !