Yea, and the Lord said unto them, 'Thou shalt not send text messages unto Me in the middle of the fucking night, for I sorely need My sleep.'
But the people continued texting the Lord, well into the small hours of the morning, and some of them began to call Him.
The Lord again appeared before the people as a pair of disembodied eye-bags, and said unto them, 'Seriously, cut that shit out. The next jackass that wakes Me up at three in the fucking morning is going to suffer a plague of beat-downs.', for the Lord was really hacked off that the people couldn't do the simple mathematics required to calculate time-zone differences.

Apropos of Jamie's School Dinners, featuring the newly un-despisable Jamie Oliver (who, with Jamie's Kitchen and this latest series, seems intent on dispelling my long-held opinion that rather than a chef, he is, in fact, a fat mockney bag of quivering hedgehogs), I've been wondering how much of my early academic prowess can be attributed to my parent's refusal to buy, or perhaps inability to afford, preservative laden fat nuggets for my brothers and I.
I have vivid memories of my mother making bread at home in the days before bread makers, and I was at least fifteen before I took anything to school for lunch that wasn't prepared (or in later years, approved) by her.
I realize that there have to have been other factors, genetic and otherwise, but it's interesting to note that the steep drop in my grades during frosh year at Waterloo coincided with regular consumption of cafeteria slop and sugary sodas. Also, my eventual partial recovery of my form during my last year came with growing militancy about my eating habits, and increased time spent in the kitchen.
*Strokes beard thoughtfully*