FIFA to open sponsorship talks with Beelzebub

Satan is reportedly in negotiations with FIFA to sponsor the football World Cup, with Hades likely to bid for the 2038 or 2042 event.

A FIFA spokesman said 'Football is universally loved, so we have taken it upon ourselves to universally ruin it. First VAR, now selling the game directly to the Devil. If the host country keeps the cash flowing, executing journalists and criminalising gay people is practically encouraged. I silence my conscience with cash.'

'Plus, hosting a football tournament in Hell means the workers who build the stadiums are already dead so they can't die again. Result! In fact some of them died building the Qatar 2018 venues, so they've got the relevant experience.'

A spokesdemon distanced the Dark Lord from the project however, noting that 'FIFA is a bit evil for our brand right now.'

author: stewartbarclay

image from pixabay

UK to drill for oil in Hell

A government spokesperson said: 'We believe there are big gas reserves - mainly sulfur. Yes, there is a substantial risk of unleashing Satan's horde, but that's a small price to pay for not having wind turbines cluttering the landscape.'

Greenpeace was not as complimentary about opening up Dante's Inferno, they said: 'Play Oil Industry games, win Oil Industry prizes. In other words, in the true spirit of f$ck around meets find out, the UK will become a portal to Hell. Which is not a metaphor for Brexit.'

Nevertheless, drilling will start in earnest, with a direct tunnel between Lucifer and Downing Street, reopening the original link used by Margaret Thatcher. A contractor explained: 'We hope to pump thousands of barrels of black liquid, 10% oil, 90% the congealed souls of Tory ministers.'

Retired priest persuaded to take on ‘one last Mass’

He was home free. After a lifetime of saving souls, dipping into the collection plate and running from Satan, Fr Mackenzie finally had a shot at retirement. But the Bishop had other plans. And you don't bash the Bishop.

'It's the Randle brothers. They'll be in town next month. Sinners and filthy rich. Could be our biggest score'.

'I told ya, Bish. I'm never goin' back'.

The Bishop looked around the tiny apartment. 'Call this home? You could be in St Anselm's playing chess with the others'.

Fr Mackenzie sighed. He knew the conversation. 'I'm alone, Bish; I am not lonely'.

It was futile, though. For a man like Fr Mackenzie, the action is the juice. He knew it, Bish knew it. And Satan was hovering, waiting for him to make a slip.

'You live simply'.

'Yeah, well, a wise priest once told me: Don't let yourself get attached to anything you are not willing to walk out on in 30 seconds flat if you feel the heat around the corner. Remember that conversation, Your Grace?'

The Bishop shrugged. 'I'm not an Archbishop yet. My Lord will do. This score, though – the Randle Brothers – you could retire a Monsignor'.

He was retired already, but he needed the action. Bish knew it. They both did. He missed the juice.

'Ah, what the hell. One last job, yeah?'

The Bishop smiled. 'I'll bring the incense. Pack your rosary beads Jack, we're goin' hunting'.

Image: Kelly Sikkema (@kellysikkema) | Unsplash Photo Community