Irony at its most beautiful is terrifying

On our ill-fated and extremely expensive trip to Queensland I bought a couple of t-shirts from the famous Eumundi Markets. They weren't bought for style (although they did come in a delightful shade of blue) so much as for their value to society. Mine declares, in large capital letters "MEAT IS MURDER", then below, in a smaller tasteful italic lower case, "Delicious, tasty murder". The double takes I get while wearing it are wonderfully heart-warming. Especially from vegetarians. And I always know exactly who they are - the expressions of comradely admiration they beam upon me after reading the first line always melt into impotent humourless scowling when they have finished reading the second. As you can imagine, a man who dines on pig-nipple sauce is apt to find this as satisfying as the sound of crunchy cracklin' fresh from the spit.

The other t-shirt I gave to my father, for it was infinitely more appropriate.
What does his have on it?
Well, I'm not just talking about them for nothing - I have an anecdote to recount of Dad's trip to the market this morning:
He sets off, dressed in a stylish suede jacket and underneath it, his t-shirt.
He's going to meet a friend for coffee and to do some shopping, but he turns up early and his friend isn't at Lucia's yet. No problem, thinks Dad, and he decides to go to the health food store first - get himself some bran. He makes his way to the health food store and circles its aisles a few times to find the bran bin because there are no staff around to point it out for him - they're probably out the back thinking up ways to combat that wicked "Delicious, tasty murder" t-shirt. At last he finds the bran bin, scoops himself a few scoops and straightens up to discover a young man standing right next to him. The young man is dressed in long denim shorts, pulled up socks, t-shirt and peaked cap.
"CnIvvrrlkwhtyrt-shirt?" mumbles the young man.
"What?" asks Dad.
"Can I see your t-shirt?" he asks again, pointing at Dad's t-shirt, which is partially obscured by his jacket.
"Oh," says Dad. "Sure."



The guy's jaw drops. He's speechless. He coughs.
"He gave his blood for you!" exclaims the guy.
"No he didn't,' replies Dad, glancing around the store.
"He did!" retorts the young man. "He gave his blood for you!"
"No. He didn't," says Dad, calmly wondering how Chuck Norris would best employ a bran scoop in this situation. "It'll be okay, just increase your medication."
With that, the antisartorial evangelist turns heel and flees the health food store, proving that
A) Religion in the wrong hands is a scary thing, and
B) Jesus does not respond to t-shirts.

***
GTH - The points go to River for her multitude of goodbyes. Not for actually saying goodbye because it's the internet and no one actually leaves, least of all me, but for relating it back to my earlier post about languages. I'm sure I said that flattery would score points somewhere.