Matthew’s Blog: Family Values

Firstly, some of you regular readers of this blog may well have noticed comments popping up below-the-line over the past few weeks from a certain Bryony Ditty who leaves embarrassing, hysterical, incoherent and foul-mouthed tirades directed at yours truly. As you may have divined from her surname, Ms Ditty is indeed my sister. I have chosen not to respond directly to her messages but have left them on display as I think they only reflect badly on herself and they demonstrate the aggression and hostility which a well-meaning organisation like Dawn Rescue is subjected to by the secular establishment. You’d think she’d have better things to do seeing as she works at the BBC and should be addressing her complicity in the Jimmy Savile sex abuse scandal. How much did she know? Why didn’t she challenge BBC top brass over their decision to shelve the Newsnight broadcast? Ok, admittedly she only works in the production office of CBeebies, (she’s the diversity and equalities co-ordinator, natch) but surely all the more reason to have investigated the rumours more thoroughly, considering the “diversity” of victims coming forward who were all children at the time (although admittedly not quite in the Cbeebies age bracket- so far as we yet know!). Or does she think the limits of her job merely entail ensuring that Pakistanis are properly represented in ‘In The Night Garden’ and that the ‘Teletubbies’ caters to transgender toddlers (is that still running? I have no idea)?

Family is something of a running theme this week as Dan’s mum Linda is gifting us the pleasure of her divine company. She arrived yesterday afternoon whilst Dan was out. There she was on the doorstep in her trademark pink Adidas tracksuit, swigging water from her bottle, looking not a day over 40 even though she must be, ooh, at least…. (but no, naughty me, I shouldn’t spill the beans!). She seemed slightly crestfallen to see me, no doubt quite understandably preferring to see her beloved son.

“Where’s Dan?” she asked, (refreshingly to-the-point, as always!).

“Hello Linda,” I replied, “Dan’s meeting with investors. Do come in.”

But Linda had already pushed past me by that point and had jogged straight through to the kitchen, making herself at home, sat down with her feet (in sparkling Nike trainers) up on the kitchen table. As ever she took a kindly interest in my welfare and what I was doing, firing off various friendly questions. What was I doing? Was I bringing any money in? Why not? What’s all this about some boy called ‘Zac’? Was I pulling my weight? What the hell was I playing at? Was I fully committed to the cause? Did I want to end up in the ‘Garage’? I was doing my best to field all these enquiries when I heard the key in the front door and Dan entered. Well it’s always a joy to see those two when they meet, there is such shared love between them! “Mummy!” cried Dan. “Danny darling!” cried Linda and they ran to each other and embraced, immediately launching into singing their song “Daddy’s Burning!” (a family tradition this, it’s sung to the tune of “London’s Burning” and goes, “daddy’s burning/ daddy’s burning/ In hell/ In hell/ Pour on petrol/ pour on petrol” etc)

A little background here; Dan’s father was an Anglican vicar who met with national tabloid disgrace in 1995 when he was discovered in a public lavatory drilling a “glory hole” in a cubicle wall. The Sun and Daily Star ran stories about the “Bent Vicar” and “Pervy Parson” (he wasn’t a parson, they just liked the alliteration). It was all too much for the Reverend Giles Erpingham, who hung himself in the vicarage attic on the day he and his family were to be evicted. Mother and young son were of course in complete shock, but every cloud has a silver lining and from behind this sordid, seedy cumulus eventually emerged the bright sun of Dawn Rescue, which Dan set up to prevent more tragedies like that of his father, (with his mother’s blessing and encouragement of course!).

Matthew’s Blog: A Ripping Day Out In Whitechapel!

This morning Dan and myself made a visit to one of London’s hidden gems, the Ripper Museum. Located in Mitre Square in Whitechapel, East London, it is owned by the Guild Of Ripperologists and it’s four artefact-crammed rooms are devoted to the unsolved ‘Jack the Ripper’ murders of Victorian times. But this is no ‘Chamber of Horrors’ or ‘London Dungeon’ but a serious, rather old-fashioned, somewhat antiquated museum, (let’s just say, it could do with a good dusting!). And it’s aim is to commemorate the sad victims of the murders, as well as to serve as a warning from history to young ladies of the present day that there can often be a heavy price to pay for sexual ‘liberation’!

There are shelves stuffed with various odds and ends connected with the case. Framed on the walls are the actual “Dear Boss, From Hell” letters, (purportedly written by the killer himself!). Perhaps most ghoulish of all the things we saw was a jar containing the preserved human kidney (see left) that was sent by the Ripper to the police, (believed to belong to one of the victims). Various press cuttings hang on the walls alongside police photographs of the bodies and crime scenes, (be warned- you’ll need a strong stomach to view those!) and perhaps most intriguing of all are some very peculiar looking waxworks of the murders from a display which appeared at the time of the killings, way back in 1888. As you leave the exhibit, you are faced with the Wall of Suspects; pictures of all those who have been suggested as possible Rippers down the years. (We checked, and Oscar Wilde isn’t up there yet!)

We were shown around the museum this morning by its curator, Mr Geoffrey Kensal, a rather rickety but amiable old man with a cheery grin and a twinkle in his eye, who was a fount of macabre information. (Exciting news flash: Mr Kensal has agreed to host a special event for us at his museum next month to help publicise Dan’s forthcoming book The Importance Of Being Jack. More details soon!) (above: one of the framed ‘Ripper’ letters on display at the museum.)

After our little tour, we went downstairs and perused the fabulous gift shop selling mugs, tea towels and stationery as well as dolls of the victims (complete with removable internal organs- yikes!). Then we went to the café and sat down with Geoffrey to have a nice pot of tea and some scones and a jolly old chat.

“So what do you reckon to our theory?” asked Dan, as he spread clotted cream and jam onto his scone.

“Oh, Oscar Wilde?” asked Geoffrey with a chuckle. “It’s bound to ruffle a few feathers, I shouldn’t wonder. But it’s all fuel to the fire. If it gets more people through these doors then I shan’t complain!”

“But you don’t believe it?” asked Dan with a raised eyebrow.

Geoffrey chuckled again. “I look forward to hearing the full irrefutable facts and finding out what damning evidence you’ve unearthed.” I thought I detected a hint of sarcasm in Geoffrey’s tone and I think Dan did too. I saw his fist tighten around his jam-stained knife.

“Oh,” said Dan calmly, “and who in your expert opinion was the true culprit then?” (Sarcasm detector pinging again!)

“Oh, some nobody,” said Geoffrey with a chuckle, “his name lost forever in the mists of time. Serial killers are always nobodies, and London was as full of nobodies back then as it is now, but by the sounds of all these books you’d think the only people in London in 1888 were the Duke of Clarence, Walter Sickert, Dr Barnardo or whatnot.”

Dan put down his half eaten scone and leaned back in his chair.

“Would a nobody have had the surgical expertise required to carry out those murders?” snapped Dan.

Geoffrey snorted derisively at this, “surgical expertise? Oh, please, not that old codswallop! And anyway, unless I’m vastly mistaken Wilde wasn’t a surgeon, was he?”

“His father was!” Dan shot back triumphantly, “he learnt at the feet of a master!”

“Those killings displayed no surgical expertise whatsoever!” snapped Geoffrey, no longer chuckling, “That’d be an argument only if he’d managed to keep the poor women alive somehow, but any damn fool can hack someone to pieces if they feel so inclined. Just look at Jeffrey Dahmer or Dennis Nielsen, neither of whom were trained surgeons!”

“Ah,” said Dan, “but they were both homosexuals, just like Wilde!” (Dan had got him there!)

“Yes, well,” said Geoffrey, shifting uncomfortably in his seat, and clearly unable to formulate an effective response, “I’ve got a spot of work to do so I shan’t detain you chaps any longer.” I thought I detected some slight reddening in his cheeks. And with that he got up, shaking both our hands and bid us adieu. (No wedding ring, I noticed.)

But anyway, do pop along to the Ripper Museum. It’s a great day out, (perhaps not for all the family, though). Open Mondays to Saturdays 10-5, and Sundays 12-4. They also serve a range of pies in the café named after each of the victims and filled with various offal. (Although Dan and I weren’t quite brave enough to try them!) They’ve got Nichols Pie (steak and kidney) Chapman Pie (chopped chicken liver) Stride Pie (cow lung) Eddowes Pie (sheep’s stomach) and Kelly Pie (pig intestines in congealed pigs blood). Remember to keep checking back here for further details of our special event at the museum next month!

Matthew’s Blog: Were You There, Were You There? (Part 2)

I can scarcely be bothered to pick up where we last left off but here goes. I’d fainted in front of the blue whale (which as one of our BTL commenters has so kindly pointed out is NOT in fact a real whale. Yeah thanks for that chum, any other illusions you care to shatter while you’re in the mood?)

The dastardly young Zac and a kindly member of the museum staff had escorted me to a table in the café just behind the main hall, where Zac sat with me, glugging tea and stuffing his impish face with ginger cake, whilst the embalmed corpse of Chi Chi the Panda covertly observed us from behind its glass case. I sat in silence enduring Zac as he gloated over my damp squib recruitment day and lavished scorn upon our website. “I can’t believe what you wrote about the dinosaurs,” he chortled, spitting cake crumbs across the table, “the dinosaur bones are black because they’re plaster casts, they aren’t real but there’s no secret about it.” I didn’t say anything to this. (But don’t you think it’s a teensy-weensy bit convenient that they have to lock the “real” skeletons away from scrutinising eyes and substitute them with plaster ones?)

On the tube on the way home I flicked through the ‘God Is Not Great’ book that Zac had given me. I must say I was a little shocked. The author Mr Hitchens has always seemed to me (from his various Question Time appearances and Mail on Sunday columns) to be a pious and principled man, a committed Christian (albeit an Anglican) bracingly intolerant of gays and liberals, yet here he was denouncing religion and all its works for being, (guess what?) intolerant and illiberal! Well, this really set my head reeling! Was he yet another Anne Widdecombe, a media hypocrite indulging in secularism behind closed doors? T’would seem so, alas.

When I got home that day Dan was still out, at ‘The Garage’ with Joel, and I still felt a little poorly so I went and had a lie down. Bad idea! I had a very disturbing nightmare involving Aaron Johnson (in his ‘Kick-Ass’ costume) Andrew Garfield (in his Spiderman outfit) Rory from Doctor Who (in his Roman Centurion get-up), Ron Weaselly (naked) and David Miliband (with his banana).

Above; boyishly handsome Blairite MP David Miliband. (You don’t know want to know where he was putting that fruit!)

I woke up with a start, the ghastly images still cavorting in my brain and I quickly gathered up my pyjamas and bed-sheets and hastened to the washing machine in our kitchen but to my horror Dan was sat in there waiting (he had arrived home whilst I was sleeping) and was sternly skim-reading the Hitchens book (I had foolishly left it on the table). He wrestled my bed-sheets off me and gave them a cursory inspection. Well, I just wanted to die right there and then! I shrank to the floor, my head in my hands as Dan stood over me. “Shall we take a little trip to The Garage, Matthew?” he asked. “No, no,” I pleaded pathetically, tears streaming down my face as I cowered at his feet, “please, Dan, don’t take me to The Garage!” “But Matthew, it looks to me like you might need a little ‘M.O.T’?” “No! No!” I shrieked, quaking with terror “please, no, anything but that!” (Golly, it really does shame me to think of my behaviour now!) Thankfully Dan was merciful and merely sat me down and we both prayed for my soul. “And how about Zac?” asked Dan, as he switched on the washing machine.

“What about him?” I asked, as I began to make us some supper.

“Well, if he’s so troublesome, perhaps he needs to join Joel in The Garage?”

“Oh no,” I said, “Zac’s not worth bothering about.”

Dan stared at me suspiciously through narrowed eyes.

“You’re not protecting him are you?” he spat.

“Of course not,” I protested, (quite truthfully, he can go to hell as far I’m concerned- and he will of course, LOL!)

“Good,” said Dan, and he lit a candle and thrust the Hitchens book into the flame whilst we both held hands and watched it burn.

Support “gay marriage”? You must be QUACKERS!

The “Twitterati” has become the “Titterati” (as in “tittering”, i.e; laughing) over the above letter to a New Zealand newspaper by a brave 14 year old girl named Jasmin (surname redacted to protect her identity from assassination attempts by the “gay rights” lobby!) which has become a subject of scorn on social(ist) media (“gone viral” in their hideous parlance) to various “intellectual” types who thinks its awfully clever to sneer and poke fun at children, (there’s a name for that, peeps; it’s called “bullying” yeah? Hello!)

So what does young Jasmin say to earn such derision? Well here she is on the subject of “gay marriage”;

Homosexuality, including same-sex marriage, is not an enlightened idea. The Romans practised homosexuality. Surely, after 2000 years, our level of intelligence should have evolved somewhat, so that we can truly pride ourselves of being cleverer than our forebears.

If homosexuality spreads, it can cause human evolution to come to a standstill. It could even threaten the human position on the evolutionary ladder, and say, ducks could take over the world. Ducks always next in pairs and if we allow same-sex marriage then the ducks will have evolved further than we have. We will be in danger of all being equal, with ducks more equal than us.

Ok, you might think; Jasmin is saying ducks are going to take over the world? Ridiculous, right? LOL! Isn’t she stupid? Let’s all have a good laugh at her!

Well, let’s back up a moment and read that again. What she is actually arguing is that once we have “gay marriages” instead of traditional marriage, the human race will stop reproducing, (because, duh, gay people can’t reproduce!) and once that starts happening humans will start to die out. In that scenario, any other species of animal could soon start to outstrip us and ultimately take over. Yes, so she cites ducks, but she makes clear this is an example cited at random. It might be foxes, badgers, sheep or even puffins! The example of ducks is indeed ridiculous, but intentionally so! With their absurd quacking and comical waddle, the duck is a ludicrous animal, but that is precisely Jasmin’s point! Even the absurd duck could soon outnumber us if the gay lobby has it’s way! Jasmin goes on to say;

None of this really bears any weight for me, because I do not believe in evolution. However, the powers that be believe in evolution, and have made many decisions based on it. They should be consistent: If you believe in evolution, you can’t be in favour of homosexuality, or the ducks will get you in the end.

Well, hear, hear! Of course many people have used the apparent contradiction in Jasmin’s above argument as a stick with which to beat her with; “how can she argue on the basis of evolution when she doesn’t even believe in it?” they crow. But regardless of the pseudo-science of Evolution (quackery?) Jasmin’s argument still stands and is watertight, because the point she’s arguing is one of demographics. As is already happening with the Muslims, the ducks would soon outnumber us and we would be competing with them for scant resources. Laugh as much as you like now, but if you were alone and defenceless in a duck-ruled dystopia and having to fight a million ducks for your next meal, I don’t think you’d be laughing then!

Carey, Widdecombe compare Christians to Christ-Killers!

Deeply distressing and disappointing news has reached us here at Dawn Rescue towers regarding the Tory party conference. We are sad (and furious) to learn that former Archbishop George Carey (above) and former Tory MP Anne Widdecombe were headline speakers at an event on “gay marriage”. The Conservative party under David Cameron is of course fully in favour of “gay marriage”, but we were dismayed to see formerly upstanding allies such as Carey and Widdecombe joining the enemy and backing “gay marriage”.

Apparently, Carey compared opponents of same-sex marriage to Jews! “Lets remember the Jews in Nazi Germany,” he stated, “what started it all against them was when they started being called names.” Now, not only is this derogatory comparison hugely offensive and insulting to all true Christians, such extreme language is also totally disproportionate.  When you start hurling abuse like this you’ve really lost the argument! So why have Carey and Widdecombe turned on their fellow Christians? Perhaps it was those appearances on Strictly Come Dancing (Anne’s, not Georges’*) rubbing up against various “confirmed bachelors” in the light entertainment industry? Well, Anne and George, it takes two to tango! (geddit?) The real Jews here are in fact YOU!!!

*Although I wouldn’t be surprised if George did appear on Strictly Come Dancing! If you catch my drift!

‘Meteors’ over Britain, End Times at hand?

Yes September has been a jolly quiet month news-wise, hasn’t it? Not much has been going on at all. Unless of course you count the Para-Olympics (a celebration of people who quite clearly sinned egregiously in their previous lives! Err, no thanks!) Or the latest Muslim hissy-fit in the Middle East over something or other on YouTube (the less said about that lot the better! But I will pause to say this for them- at least they know how to stand up for themselves!)

No, nothing much has been going on in the world at all. Until last night, that is!

Millions of people across Britain looked up at to see huge bright glistening streams of light shooting across the night sky. One man who contacted the BBC described it as a “mass of gold light, everything moving in unison.” Another described it as a “bright yellow and orange ball.” Someone else said “I’ve seen shooting stars and meteor showers before, but this was much larger and much more colourful.”

So what ‘in the blazing heavens’ was going on? The internet was abuzz last night with these exciting sightings, so I expected to wake up today to find it front page, wall-to-wall news, but strangely no, an ominous silence has descended. Where it is reported, (such as here by our old “friend” the BBC) it is naturally dismissed as mere “space junk” from a satellite supposedly “breaking up in the earth’s atmosphere”.

Yeah right! And I suppose the fact this has happened at the exact same time as the English and Scottish governments are trying to push through “gay marriage” is “pure coincidence” isn’t it? “And I saw another mighty angel come down from heaven…..and his face was as it were the sun and his feet as pillars of fire” (Revelation 10:1) I think we all know what’s really going on, don’t we, friends? I suspect even the decadent, atheistic BBC does too, and is quaking in its boots!

Matthew’s Blog: Were You There, Were You There?

Well, this is jolly awkward isn’t it? I was hoping to report on a highly successful and fun-packed recruitment jamboree at London’s Natural History Museum on Saturday, and perhaps announce a few new members to the world wide web, but alas, no, tis not to be. WHERE WERE YOU ALL?!!? ‘Smudgie’? You said you’d be there! ‘Randall99’? I believe you used the legally-binding term ‘Deffo!’ did you not? And you reading this now, (yes, YOU!!!) what of your no-show, hmm? I’m disappointed (to say the least!), but lest we descend into a festival of finger-wagging and tut-tuttery, let us quickly glide over Saturday’s damp squib in silence (for the moment!) and move on to other pressing matters (for now!). (Although as it happens, one person did show up, more on him later!)

Firstly, apologies as its been a while since I last blogged,  and I know there are a vast multitude of you eagerly hanging upon my every word as I occasionally toss you morsels of my day-to-day struggle to remain on the “straight and narrow”.

You may recall in my last blog my encounter with the demonic young Zac. To my relief I had seen neither hide nor hair of this dangerous succubus in the weeks immediately after. I had spent many an hour trawling through Facebook and Twitter in an effort to locate his whereabouts (so as best to avoid ever crossing paths with him again) but whilst to my surprise I found a legion of Zacs and Zacharys in London and environs, none seemed to be the young chap I came across (so to speak). Perchance some serial killer had taken him home and gobbled him up for supper? It would be a certain kind of justice, I mused. But, alas, as I was soon to discover, t’was not to be!

Also, we have very sad news to relate regarding our admin assistant, Joel. (You’ll have seen Joel in our little promo video. He’s the boy with the dark curly hair in the nightclub scene, re-enacting his emotional first encounter with me back in May last year.) Joel had been sleeping on our couch for the past few months as his parents, two militant lesbians, had angrily cast him out of the family home for becoming a Christian, (The modern world, huh?)  But he’d had a phone call from one of his mothers on Friday night extending an olive branch of rapprochment. Apparently she’d read some leaflets and realised Christianity wasn’t all bad, because, (get this!) “some of Christ’s teachings sound almost Marxist.” (Completely untrue btw, Jesus despised Communists.) So on Saturday morning as I entered the kitchen I found Joel cheerfully announcing to Dan over coffee and croissants that he was off back to Brighton to stay with his mum and err…mum. Dan nodded and smiled at Joel and offered to give him a lift to the station, but of course I divined Dan would not be taking Joel to the station, Joel would have to be taken to ‘The Garage’ to be “fixed” as there was no way he could possibly be allowed back into the “community” to backslide into his bad old ways, not after all our hard work! (The Garage is a lock-up somewhere in East London, location unspecified! We don’t want our various foes finding it!)

Dan noticed me in the doorway and flashed me ‘The Look’. I knew this was my cue to fetch the ‘Tool Box’ from the broom cupboard. I surreptitiously slipped it to Dan as he escorted Joel to the door. I could see Joel’s eyes dart nervously towards the ‘Tool Box’ and for a second he stopped in his tracks and seemed poised to ask what it was, but Dan blustered on with something about having to “crack on as we’ve got our recruitment day later,” and with that he bustled Joel out the flat and down the stairs. Of course in reality I knew that Dan would have his ‘hands full’ all day with Joel in ‘The Garage’ and I would now have to oversee the Recruitment Day all on my tod.

I arrived early at the Natural History Museum, at about 1.45pm. I had a quick scout around and it seemed like there might indeed be a few Dawn Rescue types in the vicinity but I waited until exactly 2pm until planting myself firmly at the rear end of the “diplodocus.” A likely looking young ginger chap with a backpack was already there, frowning perplexedly at the very tip of the tail. He looked not unlike Ron Weaselly, (the co-star of the Harry Potter films, lately blossoming into a fine figure of manhood). I cleared my throat and he looked up at me, startled. “Do you know why the blood of Jesus poured out of him on the cross?” I enquired with a cheery wink and a smile, expecting to be met with a joyful cry of recognition, but instead my earnest query was answered with pure incomprehension. Then an angular blonde girl rushed towards him, saying, “Dieter, Dieter! Kommen Sie und sehen Sie die prähistorischen Fisch!” And with that they departed to view the hideous Coelacanth, suspended in formaldehyde in its little alcove. So I was left alone to linger at the “tail” of the fraudulent fabrication, this supposed “giant reptile” that had allegedly “once stalked the earth.” And so the minutes ticked by. And yet more minutes ticked by…

By 3pm I had decided, with great sadness, to call it quits, but as I was there I thought I may as well have a quick gander around the exhibits. So, fighting back tears, I made my way in the direction of the ‘blue whale hall’ (as I’ve always known it) my favourite haunt as a child, and one that I can still enjoy seeing as the blue whale, (and the various other mammals that surround it) are unquestionably the creation of God, (unlike the “dinosaurs” which are of course the creation of one C Darwin). It’s always amazed me how they managed to transport this mighty beast from the depths of the ocean to South Kensington. I mean, how did they get it through the doors? (Bet it caused a right stink when they were dragging it through the streets of London, LOL!) But just as I was gazing with child-like wonder at the excellently preserved specimen, imagining myself as Jonah about to be swallowed up by this majestic leviathan, I was jolted out of my reverie by the sound of someone panting at my shoulder.

“Jeez, Matthew! Thank f***, I thought I’d missed you!”

A shudder of recognition passed through me as I turned to face him. I knew that voice anywhere, it had haunted my nightmares constantly these past three weeks!

“So you’re Dawn Rescue, are you?” said Zac (for it was he!). “Thought so!” And with that he pressed a paberback book into my trembling hand.  “It’s a present, “ he said. “You should read it!” I looked down at the cover. ‘God Is Not Great’ it said in big letters. I felt dizzy. I grasped hold of the rail but it was too late, I was going down. “Hey, Matt,” I heard him cry as the world darkened around me and I plunged to the floor…..

To be continued…

Not The Change They Voted For!

The video cannot be shown at the moment. Please try again later.

Have you seen this new US ad on behalf of Romney/Ryan? It’s called ‘New Morning’ and by golly it’s good! An engrossing litle mini domestic drama that’ll really knock you for six. She’s reading the paper, he’s making coffee, just a regular American couple living in domestic bliss. But there is a dark cloud in their blue sky- the dark cloud of “gay marriage.” The script is superb, the dialogue is tight and punchy and to the point, as good as anything by David Mamet. Particularly love the line “That’s not the change I voted for!” And the actors are both excellent (although sadly I doubt liberal Hollywood will be calling these brave dissidents anytime soon considering the principled stance of the ad!) Love the music too, sounds eerily like the enchanting piano-based melodies which accompanied our own little promo video! And that was filmed in a kitchen too! ‘New Morning/Dawn Rescue’? Hmmm, perhaps the Romney/Ryan team have been watching our humble movie and taking notes? (No, we know that’s very very unlikely, but it’d be nice if they had!)

Recruitment Day- Saturday the 15th September!

Yes, it’s that time again! We’re having one of our recruitment days to meet new members on Saturday the 15th of September, 2pm. Meet by the “diplodocus” in the main hall at the Natural History Museum, (“tail” end). Why there? Well, because it’s the Cathedral of Secularist Darwinian Mumbo-Jumbo, is it not? So where better?

 

(I say “diplodocus” in inverted commas because of course it’s so blatantly a made up, fictional creation- clearly just a bunch of rocks strung together to look like the sort of ludicrous monster Tolkien or CS Lewis would have rejected at the planning stage for being too implausible. I mean, come on scientists, you’re seriously telling us those are meant to be bones? Bones aren’t black, THEY’RE WHITE!!! Oh, and apparently scientists say dinosaurs had feathers now- have you heard that? MAKE UP YOUR MINDS, SCIENTISTS- you said they were scaly a while ago, then you said they walked upright, then you said they didn’t, I mean, it’s almost like, I dunno, like YOU’RE MAKING IT ALL UP AS YOU GO ALONG!!!! Hilarious, and they have the gall to accuse us of being “irrational” and believing in “fairy stories.”)