“Hey mate, do you believe in Jesus Christ?”
“First, I’m a Pastafarian. Second, I don’t believe in an invisible sky magician who doesn’t actually do anything apart from allow the suffering of the people he apparently loves to continue. Also I don’t hate gay people. Well, not that much. I don’t believe you’re supposed to shun menstruating women, as mental as they are. I like to covet my neighbour’s ox. We don’t need religious doctrine to enforce morality, seeing as we’re not stupid and in medieval times anymore. I don’t believe, if there was a god, he would say “it’s either believe in me or burn in eternal fire forever”, as that’s just not very nice – which would be out of character at the very least. There are other things, but I don’t want to sound like Richard Dawkins as he’s a bit of a prick. Also I need some pasta.”
At least, that’s what I would have said if I’d actually stopped walking. Which I didn’t.
To be fair, you have to admire the balls of the chap – no matter what way look at it, it’s a bold opening gambit to just hit someone with in the middle of the street. In Bournemouth he’ll probably be fine, but I’d worry for the guy in somewhere like Manchester. He’d be dead within the hour.
Though at least then he’d be with Jesus, I suppose.
I don’t understand the mindset of people who will approach you with nonsense like this, and this includes chuggers. At first I would simply avoid these louts who pretend to do good work, but now I have no qualms walking right past with a dismissive “no”. Well done, people who get jobs standing in the street demanding money off me, you’ve ruined the idea of charity for me.
You’ll be the ones crying when I make my millions and none of it goes to Oxfam*.
*None of it was going to them anyway.