And yea verily, did the Lord thy God Almighty Racket chooseth unto himself an race of people to be an Chosen People more chosen than all the other people who would not be chosen at all and therefore not chosen unlike the Chosen People. And thus, thoughteth Thy God, of all the peoples of the world, whomso shall I chooseth? For the Lord of the Dance Gorblimey Guv’nor was an indecisive God and Indecision was his name, as well as God. And all the other names what he had choseneth for hisself, like Yahweh. And Gob. Yea, and God. And other names. And thus did God/Gob/Yahweh/other names list all of the races of the Earth which he had so far created. And this is what he saw. And he saw this. He saw the Hittites with their many chart successes; and also Canaanites, with their fetish for mild S and M; and with them also the Socialites, Stalactites, Stalagmites, Satellites and Suburbanites. And the Lawn thy Mod sayeth, “Blimey – ain’t there be any races what don’t begin with the letter ‘s’?” and he smote all of the races who baganneth with the letter “s” for they displeased him; even unto their family pets, yea, even unto their family pets’ pets, and their family pets’ pets’ pets, and their family pets’ pets’ pets’ pets, up to the twenty-fifth generation. For the Bored thy Sod is an lisping God and was displeased by their cheekiness, yea, even their pisstaking, even though they did not know they had done wrong. And thus did God smote all day long, for he was an smoting Got and he smoted as you and I breathe. And thus did he smote all the races of the Earth: even the Dynamites and the Transvestites; also the Parasites and the Hermaphrodites; and there was no exscaping for the Marmites and Frostbites, nor the Appetites or Kryptonites; the Backbites, Luddites and Meteorites cameth unto an cropper also; and the whites and the Non-whites; the Pre-requisites and the Pre-Raphaelites; the Websites, Theodolites and the yea, even the Typewrites; and, ironically, the Smites, for the Lord thy Trod is an ironic Gotcha. And he had quite forgetted whatsoever was he doing? And then the Lord thy Gone to lunch retraceth his steps and remembereth that he was not supposed to be annihilating the races of the Earth. Just yet. He was supposed to be choosing an
Chosen Peoples. And thus he saw that there were only one race lefteth on the face of the Earth: the Impolites, and He choseth them, for the Lawks-a-Lordy thine Groat is an random Sod. And thus it came to pass. And it was all true because it has been written.