simon dunn: scriptwriter & comedian

Sometimes we don’t get enough time on the podcast to discuss some of the better articles in our supplements. I liked this one so much though that I’ve decided to reprint it in full, and hang the copyright implications.

I Did It Yahweh

It’s not often we journos get a chance to meet the actual man. You know, the one with the stick and all. That’s why we here at You were so chuffed when we ran in to Him on our travels. We took the opportunity to ask as many tough questions as we could, and what follows is dynamite stuff.

You don’t mind if I tape this do you?

Um … I’m not …

It just makes it easier to chat and not have to worry about taking notes.

Okay. I suppose.

Right good. I think the first thing our readers would love to know, is, as God, where do you buy your shoes?

Are you serious?

Of course. I mean, it’s hard enough for mere mortals to find a good pair, but what about God?

That’s your first question? Where do I buy my shoes?

Yeah. Why?

I’m God. You’ve managed to track me down and corner me into a universal exclusive with your magazine, I think most people would ask about the meaning of life, not where I purchase my footwear.

I think our readers would be more interested in shoes.

I know they’re more interested in the point of existence.

With respect God, I think I know what our readers want.

With respect, I’m omniscient.

I don’t know what that means.

I know.

God Shows Off His New No Beard Look

Look, can we just carry on?

(God sighs (What a diva! – ed)) Go on.

Okay, you want something more meaty. Um … what’s it like being God?

Well, I’m not even sure I AM God anymore.

Ooh, a crisis of confidence, what’s bought this on?

You’re recording this interview. Given that absolute proof of my existence can only be gained through faith, a magnetic tape with my voice on it would suggest I’m not actually God.

Can I ask you about the shoes now?

No. Look. Here I am, the supreme being of the Universe, and I’m not even sure what I’m doing here.

Exactly. If God doesn’t know the point of life, then why should our readers care?

Good point. I hadn’t thought of that. Argh, so now it seems I’m not even infallible.

What does infallible mean?

(God looks worried) I don’t know.

Okay, so, why not just tell our readers the meaning of life?

Um … I don’t … is it? Is it a good pair of shoes?

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I have a Ghost.

He’s called Derek.

Every morning I wake up and find a pile of vomit under my socks, and a mysterious shortage of toast in the bread bin.

So I decided to try and capture said ectoplasmic apparition on film. Well, video.

Having invested in a new camera, I realised it didn’t have night-vision, so I spent the next week painting my entire house in a pale shade of green, and found a pair of inverse contact lenses.

I made a film during the day, but obviously nothing happened. So I just stared into the camera, breathless and scared looking, because I realised I’d ruined my carpets with the paint.

The resultant footage was fairly convincing, and I’ve always wanted to meet Yvette Fielding ever since she appeared in Seaview, so I sent it to Most Haunted.

When a producer arrived he was horrified by all the green ectoplasm plastered all over my home and furniture, so decided it would make a good episode.

But it turns out Yvette has quit the show because it doesn’t find enough ghosts. Instead, they sent that twatwagon Acorah around. Without any cameras. Or production staff.

Venkmann never managed to stop him drilling a hole in his head

The producer just arrived with him on a leash, handed me the end of it, turned on his heels and legged it.

Now Acorah just wanders around the house jumping at any given noise and making stupid voices. Plus he shits on the couch.

And he gorges on toast every night, before puking it up in my laundry basket.

I hate my ghost. I wish Derek would fuck off.

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