Paintball Pete Is Dead

It is my sad duty to inform those few people in the world who thought Paintball Pete was a cool guy, that he’s dead. Gone to receive his eternal reward at the right hand of God. More about that later. For those of you who are elated that he’s pushing up daisies, firstly, let me tell you that Pete is personally asking Jesus to curse you with intestinal worms the size of a large black man’s well-hung member. And secondly, allow me to tell you that those daisies are flourishing in rainbow colours brighter than any paintball Pete has ever shot at an ungodly reprobate child celebrating Halloween.

Right, more about the death of Paintball Pete – may he rest in peace. This is how it went down ...

As you know, Pete was pretty far-right of your average right-winger. And he was never in any doubt that Jesus justified this position. I mean, have you ever read a Bible verse that says Jesus is sitting on the left hand of God the Father? Hell no, not in my version of the Bible. The right hand of God the Father, you biblically illiterate son of Satan! The right-eous will rule the planet with King Jesus. So anything on the right has to be right, not wrong. Pete was a natural left-hander, but he trained himself to do everything right-handed, including shooting his beloved paintball gun, smacking his Sudanese garden boy across the back of the head, and stroking his ... wait, I digress.

Pete was always upset about the state of things since the blacks took over. He was always trying to get as close as possible to one of those filthy heathens responsible for stealing the Christian white man’s land and leading us down the same path to hell as Rhodesia (Pete refused to call it Zimbabwe). His plan, if he could get close enough, was to launch one of his paintball missiles from the toe-tip of his customised James Bond-style assassin shoe, up the ass of an unsuspecting corrupt politician. His right shoe, it goes without saying.

Pete got the chance to put his ass-shooting paintball skills to the test when he was checked into hospital for a routine procedure. He had shrapnel lodged up his ... let’s just say it was a very dark and private place ... from some or other bush war injury, but he was never specific. He was hardcore that way. There were rumours that it was a self-inflicted injury – that he'd accidentally impaled himself on a sharp object while he was spying on a liberal secular humanist communist politician who had moved in next door to him. But I’d rather think of Pete surviving an exploding rocket that detonated near him when he was bending over tying up his bootlaces on a mission to Sudan. It's just like those cowardly heathen terrorists to attack a white man when his back is turned and his ass is exposed.

So who should get checked into the ward alongside him? None other than the heavy boozing, garlic-chewing, potato-growing health minister. Pete wasted no time at all going on recce missions from his private ward to hers, late at night when she was more drunk than usual. It was during one of these recce missions – so those close to him suspect – that he accidentally slipped on a frozen paintball pellet, and as destiny would have it, he landed headfirst on a discarded scalpel, which pierced his right eye socket and plunged its hell-forged steel tip into his brain.

He was found dead by a male nurse (of all things – a goddam homosexual), who at first thought he had pinched the minister’s supply of expensive whiskey and had passed out in a drunken stupor. The queen nurse told the media that the wall opposite his fallen body was splattered with obscenities about the minister and her communist-loving regime. And that Pete was wearing nothing but his right shoe and was clutching the remains of a paintball pellet – possibly the very one that had brought him down – and with which he had scrawled his final words. This is where the media lies stem from about Pete trying to rape the minister in her sleep, or worse, having an extramarital affair with the minister, and being murdered by a jealous gay nurse who also had feelings for Pete.

I was able to take a photo of the offending graffiti with my cellphone camera just before secret service agents whitewashed the wall. It was nothing obscene. It was a biblical-style curse aimed at the unholy poopholes of the unrighteous, whom Pete had fought against his entire God-fearing, biblical-curse spewing adult life ... may we never forget him!

His message read:

"Thou art the mistress whore of the Devil and will be sodomised with more than a piece of shrapnel if you do not repaint ... re ... "

He must have died before he could scratch out 'repaint' and finish his final warning of eternal damnation.

And so fell one of the finest warriors of Jesus, pierced for the transgressions of our communist, land-grabbing, God-hating regime, just like Jesus for all our sins. I don't think he could have chosen a better way to die. Pierced through his right eye. Clutching a paintball pellet. The bit about being found butt-naked by a homosexual nurse will be denied by all God-fearing, gun-toting fundamentalist Christians until Jesus comes back.

To all those who remain, who love paintball, Jesus and the missionary position almost as much as Paintball Pete ...

Fight the good fight

PS Pete's secret horde of *research material* that he kept *for research purposes* in the not-so-secret bunker under his garage is being auctioned at the Jesus and His Saints Shall Rule The Heathens Bush Baptist Church in aid of the People Opposed to Reprehensible Pornography (PORN) ministry on Friday.

PPS Latest news reports about the health minister are that she has checked herself back into hospital for a routine cavity removal. I suspect that Pete must have fired off at least one of his frozen shoe pellets up her ass before his spirit left to be with the Lord. A warrior for Jesus right until the very end.

Borat Does It Backwards

You may remember how Satan used to deceive masses of youth through backward masking – if you played a rock music record backwards, nasty lyrics like Satan is god would emerge from the distorted, demonic sounds. Today, it's not really necessary to play rock music backwards – if you play it normally, the messages are perverse enough. And who can play a CD backwards anyway?

But who would have thought that subliminal messages were still being used by the Dark Horny Beast to deceive the masses? The Borat movie was full of obscene perversions, so I wasn't expecting anything to bombard my subconscious, what with the full-frontal assault on my righteous mind all over the screen. But I've subsequently learned that the wicked actor speaks Hebrew – so when viewers think he was mumbling in Kazakh, he was actually speaking Hebrew. So I got my hands on a pirated copy of the movie – when it's holy research, I'm always happy to break the law – and carefully examined what Borat said, looking up the English in my Simple Hebrew Made Simple For Simple Fundamentalists dictionary.

This time around I made sure I did not eat popcorn while watching the movie – I've had enough near-death choking attacks to last me a lifetime of movies. But I couldn't help wetting myself again ... praise Jesus, in the privacy of my secret underground bunker, embarrassing leakages are no problem.

So, there I was, carefully trying to figure out what Borat is saying in fluent Hebrew that most people, including stupid Kazakhs, think is Kazakh. And then I hear it, clear as one of those distorted backward masking lyrics that could just as easily mean Santa is a cockroach as Satan is the one true master out to destroy your soul ... I hear Borat in Hebrew saying stuff like – Christians are to blame for all the world's problems ... they should be fed to the bears ... I like naked men ... I serve Satan ... I want have sexy intercourse with Pamela Anderson ... Niiiice.

This is further proof that you should not go and see the Borat movie, unless you want to be possessed by Satan in the cinema of your choice and most likely become a homosexual Satanist five minutes after the film ends.

God has given me special powers to resist all subliminal temptations, so please don't be concerned that my spending the entire night re-watching the Borat movie will adversely affect my spiritual state. But the wet pants are piling up in the laundry basket! If you want to feel sorry for someone, feel badly for the maid.

Fight the good fight.

PS tsinataS a si taroB

Borat Hates Christians

I watched the Borat movie last night. I feel that I have an obligation to research potential threats to the only true gospel of our Lord Jesus Christ, in order to let the faithful know what Satan's next movie is ... I mean, what his next move is. By the way, if you haven't already figured this out, the Dark One loves the movies. He hurls all the filth and smut of hell at audiences, corrupts minds and turns masses away from Jesus. The Borat movie must have been in production in the fiery dungeons of hell since Lucifer was cast out of heaven. Yes, it's that bad, my paintballing Bible-believing friends.

The offensive film is about a reporter from Kazakhstan who goes to US and A to learn from American culture and thereby benefit his glorious nation. From the outset, I almost choked on my popcorn as Borat introduces us to his sister, the fourth best prostitute in Kazakhstan. Then he arrives in New York and masturbates in public outside a lingerie store—I know how he feels as I've been tempted to do the same thing quite often, but I draw the line when this kind of perversion is displayed on the silver screen by a Jew impersonating a Kazakhi infidel. What would Jesus think?

I had just managed to dislodge the popcorn kernel stuck in my throat when a disgusting display of homosexual behaviour spilled off the screen and polluted the entire cinema. Borat engages his producer in a naked wrestling match, which must have excited the entire gay community but revolted my godly heterosexual eyes. Yes, I did laugh at the scene and urinated slightly in my pants in the process, but this does not mean I have homosexual tendencies and it does not justify this foul act. If true Christians like me ruled the world, sinners who ran around hotels butt-naked would be publicly stoned. And movies like this would never be produced.

The most offensive scene was yet to emerge from Lucifer's dark imagination ... Borat visits a fundamentalist Pentecostal church and takes the piss without these dear Christian brethren sniffing the sulphur. Jesus is not to be mocked, my friends. Borat clearly hates everything Christian—he has prostitute family members, engages in perverted homosexual acts and behaves like a demon-possessed fool in the Lord's house.

I left the cinema still coughing up pieces of popcorn, trying to hide a wet patch in my pants and vowing to let the world know that Borat hates Christians like me—and we should hate him back. How? By not going to see his movie. I know I can't actually not go and see his movie as I've already seen it, but I can warn you not to see it unless you want to offend God and also explain why you have wet pants when the video tape of your life is shown in heaven on Judgment Day.

Fight the good fight.

Crime Doesn't Pay But Guilt Manipulation Does

Don't worry, friends, I'm not dead. Bad luck, enemies, I'm still alive and paintballing the world for Jesus! I've been fighting the good fight on a whirlwind worldwide tour, promoting paintballing as a mandatory church recreational activity, and re-emphasising the missionary-only position for all true fundamentalist Christians in this age of unbiblical kinky perversion. My laptop was stolen during my American-leg of the tour—hard to believe that I left crime-ridden South Africa to visit the greatest nation in the world, only to become a victim of crime. This is the reason I've not posted a blog for weeks.

But I'm back with a vengeance. I have a new laptop, thanks to a kind old donor who felt led by God—and possibly guilt-manipulated by me—to buy me a state-of-the-art replacement for my stolen laptop. What else was she going to do with twenty grand at her age? I must point out that the stolen laptop will be completely useless to the wretched criminal who nabbed it from me at the airport while I was trying to convince a Hare Krishna that he was going straight to hell when he dies and will be tormented by paintball-wielding demons chanting Hurry Curry Your Ass Is Mine for eternity. A dormant virus programmed into my laptop formats the entire laptop if an alien lifeforce tries to log on, and then a clever little piece of electronic engineering detonates a small explosive device in the machine, which would most likely result in permanent genital injury to a user stupid enough to have the laptop on his lap at the time.

This clever little act of counter-terrorism ensures that no-one can access my personal documents—I have all sorts of sensitive data on my laptop that I wouldn't even want my dear warrior wife to see, let alone a semi-literate criminal. You don't have to be able to read to know that porn is ... porn. Sure, idiot celebrities like Brittney Spears may be happy to flash their female parts to the paparazzi, but I am not willing to expose my naughty pics and give my enemies further ammunition to shoot my good reputation down.

I'm back. I have a new laptop. I have endless tales from my travels to further enhance my heroic image as a crusader for Jesus. This blog is going to ignite! I'm off to watch the new Borat movie. Don't miss my review of it in tomorrow's post.

Fight the good fight. And if you're the sorry bastard who stole my laptop, hope you're enjoying your new life without nads.

Ambush

I've just come back from a whirlwind trip to the US. I was deep in the South – you can still smell the gunpowder lingering in the air from the Civil War and garden trees are often decorated with lynch rope. It's a great place to be. A great place to spin your missionary tales to a really gullible bunch of God-fearing, communist-hating, patriot-flag-waving people.

I was spending the weekend with a group of saintly aged folk who are more than happy to part with their dollars to aid my cause of converting the heathen masses to the Christian way of dress, sex and general behaviour. And to replenish my supply of paintballs.

But I was ambushed. It was a lot like having your nads bitten by a baby croc hiding in your toilet bowl while you're attending to your morning ablutions.

I've mentioned those pesky documents doing their rounds, accusing me of all sorts of evil behaviour, like embellishing details of my military history and sexually harassing a few women. So what if I exaggerate a little about my military accomplishments ... I mean, it's not like Jesus didn't use hyperbole to great effect. Have you actually seen Christians lop off their hands after they pinched the waitress on her cheeky bottom ... or pluck their eyes out after they snuck a peek of a bare boob? But please understand, I'm not saying that evangelical leader who opposed gay marriage but was buying drugs from a male prostitute should be let off the hook ... if it was a female prostitute, I'd have more sympathy for the guy.

So there I am, addressing a group of retired Christian folk, using my tried-and-tested but often challenged stories of gung-ho military adventures, when this wrinkled prune of a woman stands up in the middle of my presentation, and calls me a liar. She also has the audacity to call me a child abuser – all because I paintballed a few kids on Halloween. Like I said, it felt like a baby croc was hanging onto my genitalia.

But I have not likened myself to Chuck Norris in previous blogs for nothing. Just like I could shake my balls loose from the grip of a croc without much damage to my manhood, I easily shook myself loose from this geriatric's absurd rant about my supposedly fictitious and abusive missionary work. I quoted a tirade of biblical verses about not challenging the anointed servants of God. It also helped to have the pastor on my side – I had given him a special custom-made paintball gun before the meeting, engraved with the words I Aim to Please Jesus. The ranting old duck was swiftly ushered outside and I completed my presentation without further rude interruptions. The offering was especially rewarding after that visual demonstration of how God's faithful soldiers are persecuted, even by so-called Christian folk.

Fight the good fight.

Punk'd

I was interviewed by a radio station long distance from the States over the weekend. Or so I thought ... turns out I was hoodwinked by a young punk impersonating a rightwing radio personality. I'm not proud of the fact that I was deceived by this infidel (who will be publicly executed when I become world ruler), but I've published a few extracts below to document how the righteous are mocked incessantly by infidels ...

Are you really a medical doctor? I see that you add this title before your name ...

No, I have a doctorate in missiology, but I know where to aim my paintballs to inflict the most possible pain in a human being. As you know, my brother, in America you can buy anything, including your educational qualifications. So I found one of the most fundamentalist Christian Bible colleges in the South to read my lengthy thesis on the work of white fundamentalist missionaries – conversion under threat of death, Western clothing to cover heathen nakedness, missionary position-only sex education, how to work in a white man's garden, that sort of thing. They gave me a doctorate in about as much time as it took to read my thesis.

This thesis must be fascinating ... does it include details of your gun running to the Sudan?

Umm, I'm not sure what you mean by gun running, my brother .... I have delivered millions of Bibles to persecuted Christians. And yes, I'm always armed to the teeth when I travel through Africa ... but that doesn't translate into gun running. If I've ever handed over a gun with a Bible (or buried beneath the cargo of Bibles and cheap genetically modified food dumped on Africa), it's been a gift out of the kindness of my heart. Missionaries often take gifts of Western clothing and medicine when spreading the gospel ... why not guns?

So you're not denying these claims of gun running ...?

I do not deny my love for guns and my reliance on them and my lobbying for the right of Christians to defend themselves against infidels by force of arms ... if I'm going to run around Africa, I'm going to carry a few guns with me. That's my definition of gun running ...

Fair enough ... So, Dr Pete, have you ever shot someone ...? I don't mean with a paintball. I mean with a real bullet ...

If you've ever taken a hit at close range with a frozen paintball dipped in battery acid, you'd not suggest that it were not a *real* bullet. My Sudanese convert garden boy will testify to this ... and so will those trick-or-treaters. But it's not really appropriate for me to disclose any military actions I've taken while doing missionary work ... but if I had to discharge a shotgun blast into some ungodly person's sorry ass, or even one of those liberal Christians, I'd happily do it.

You teach converts that God intends sex to —

Commands!

Sorry – commands – sex to be enjoyed within a committed heterosexual marriage only and that the only position permissable is the traditional missionary position. Have you tried any other positions with your wife ... or with anyone else, such as Liberty, for instance?

No ... WHAT??!! How dare you insinuate that I am homosexual, you little f**kwit .... I have only ever had sex with my virgin wife and I may have tried a few variations of the missionary position but only because those prostitutes were up for it and you are treading on thin ice, even if you are on the other side of the ocean .... homosexuality is an abomination in the sight of God .... I have fantasised about many, many different women and mentally explored every sexual position possible, but never in my wildest dreams would I ever – EVER – think of having disgusting anal sex with another man, let alone a smelly heathen convert to Christianity who was created to work in my garden ....

[Laughter in the studio ...] Doctor Pete, have you ever heard the term, 'You've been punk'd...?' This is Thabo from the States ... The Free State. You've been punk'd on Radio Fuck The Fundamentalists ... or as we prefer to say, you've been proper fucked!

I cannot repeat what I said to Thabo from the Free State. But I've now destroyed the second cellphone in a few days and exhausted every biblical curse known to fundamentalists. This, my friends, is how the righteous are being mocked in this apostate world ... I declare a jihad against all those who insult the anointed servants of Jesus Christ and will be sending out recruitment documents shortly.

Fight the good fight.

Krokodil Resurrection

I spent most of yesterday in mourning after learning that the great Krokodil has croaked. PW Botha was a great man who should never have lost power to that sell-out FW de Klerk who released that commie Nelson Mandela from prison and drove our once God-fearing land into utter secular humanist darkness.

Everyone who knows anything knows that PW Botha was a great politician who stood on the broad shoulders of the Voortrekkers and Boer commandos, who showed both the native black savages and the Nancy-boy Brits that the Bible and the bullet are lethal soul mates. So he supposedly has gone to his grave with a whole lot of secrets about his apartheid reign. Liberals are all pissed off because he refused to testify before the Truth and Reconciliation commission. Good for him. That commission should have been called the Torture and Rape commission – torturing good citizens like me who fought communism by raping us with details about how we enforced apartheid. The Krokodil was too great a man to be tortured and raped by liberal commie sympathisers in his old age.

Rest in peace, PW Botha. I always understood that you had the best interests of this country at heart by insisting the black man knows his place and the rest of the world mind their own business. I'm praying that you will be raised from the grave and appear one last time in the once hallowed halls of Parliament, wearing your trademark National Party hat and wagging your finger in the face of this God-hating liberal government who have ruined your good work. I also pledge to restore your political vision to this land when I'm made President.

Fight the good fight.

Osama Does Halloween

I hate towel-heads. But I respect them. Any religion that sanctions conversion under threat of death has to garner at least some respect. After last year’s botched paintball mission to teach those little devil kids that they should not be worshiping Satan in my community, I was simply not going to risk jail time this Halloween by driving around in my own car paintballing kids. I needed a disguise.

Sympathetic readers of my blog suggested that I send Liberty out to do my dirty work and be the fall guy if the paintballs hit the fan. I was grateful for the suggestion and wouldn’t normally mind sacrificing my Sudanese convert garden boy for the sake of the gospel, but that would take all the fun out of Halloween. I’m not like those military generals who watch the action from way behind the frontlines – I want to taste the action for myself, to see evildoers get a taste of hell. At the very least, I want them to get smacked in the chops with a frozen paintball and taste the righteous indignation of Paintball Pete.

So to come back to my respect for towel-heads and my need for a disguise … you’ll remember that I scared the bejesus out of Muslims to celebrate 9/11. The last thing those Muhammeds saw was a mad fellow-Muslim racing away from the scene of the crime. You got it … that was me. I still had the Osama look-alike outfit at home in my secret bunker, so last night when the darkness of hell crept in, I hotwired a car in my street and drove around looking for trick-or-treaters to paintball, dressed like a mad Muslim fundamentalist terrorist.

I spent a few hours committing glorious drive-by paintball attacks, teaching the occult followers that their way will lead to eternal destruction and that my way leads to eternal life with God, Jesus, the good angels and all those who have lived the Christian life like me.

The papers this morning report that a copy-cat paintball terrorist has been on the loose, and that he resembles Osama Bin Laden. I even had one cocky reporter call me to quiz me about my possible links to Al Qaeda. I told him where he could stick a paintball in no uncertain terms, then I pronounced an explicit biblical curse that I can’t repeat here and slammed the phone down on him. I need a new cell phone, by the way.

So there you have it. I keep to my word. Halloween is a demonic celebration of the devil’s birthday. The only gift I’m ever going to give Lucifer is a frozen paintball up his horny ass – and one for each of his followers. I have no doubt that both military and church history will record yesterday’s resounding paintball mission as a dual victory. The treat part is that I taught kids not to dress up like demons and celebrate evil, and the trick bit is that I made sure Muslims pick up the tab. Someone who looks like Osama is going to be gang-raped in Pollsmoor when the cops catch him.

Fight the good fight.