OK. It’s tomorow.
Anyway, that was Knock. I didn’t go to the Basilica because there wasn’t time, and also because I was afraid they’d kill me if I tried to enter their church while wearing my Laugh at that, ye Dublin 4 Fuckers T-shirt, which I had made after Munster won the Heineken Cup at the Millennium Stadium in Cardiff (attended by myself and my beloved son the Bullet. Hahahahahahaha!! Sorry. Very sorry, but I just couldn’t help it, y’know?) Not really that sorry.
I thought maybe they might miracle up an old apparition or something. Do you know what I reckon they have in the Basilica, now that I think about it? I’d say they have a Stargate. I’d say they go to planets with names like P5C-768 where they meet and converse with new and interesting people. And kill them.
In real life, the SG-1 team are constantly finding themselves in caves where fuckers pop up out of tables and stone walls and the like to deliver some sort of Hail Stranger speech, and after a while they realise it’s a hologram put there by the Ancients, or some other crowd. So I think these people who saw the Virgin Mary were either
1. Very drunk
2. Very stoned
3. Both of the above
4. Members of SG-1.
I have to admit, I wasn’t entirely up to speed on the Knock story, and I had to look up the details, so let me just bring you up to date, in case maybe you’re a little hazy on the subject, like me. The apparition took place on the evening of August 21, 1879. Two women, going home in the rain, passed by the back of the town church, where, against the wall, stood Mary, St. Joseph, St. John the Evangelist, and an altar with a lamb and a cross on it. The women called more people who all saw various things. One boy even saw angels flying around the altar. Interestingly, the figures didn’t speak to the people, gave no message, and didn’t identify themselves.
Here’s the photo the villagers took:
OK. Where are we going here? This kind of thing happens in just about every Irish town in the middle of the night to an increasing number of people. It’s happened to me. Twenty years ago I saw the Red Army’s tanks hiding behind a ditch in Avoca after Gerry Doherty’s wedding. I saw bouncers in the disco made of wax! I saw nuclear fallout on the pavement outside the chip-shop. Basically, what I’m trying to say is, don’t tell me hallucination, already. I KNOW hallucination!! What I don’t know, however, is how the fuck anyone could identify St John the Evangelist. Do we have a passport picture of him or something?
– Look Mary – there’s an apparition at the back wall of the church.
– Well, Mary, so it is. And that beautiful European-looking woman in the blue rig-out must be the Queen of Heaven.
– It must surely, Mary. And that European-looking fellow with the spokeshave and the gimlet must surely be St Joseph.
– That’s right, Mary, and look at the lovely coffee table he’s making. But who’s the other European-looking chap?
– Oh, Mary, don’t you know by the gimp of him he has to be someone important. ‘Twouldn’t surprise me if he was the man who wrote the very Bible itself.
– Do you mean Edmund Rice, Mary?
– No, Mary. I’d say ’tis the beloved apostle himself. And can’t you see ’tis tattooed on his forehead for all the faithful to behold? Saint John the Evangelist, it says, clear as day.
– Well, Mary, isn’t that a caution, entirely?
‘- Tis, Mary. Run up to the pub now and call down all the people till they get a good look at this. Its like won’t be here again.
– That’s a grand European-looking goat they have up there on that European-looking altar, Mary.
– Oh, Mary, that’s a little European-looking lamb, what ails you at all at all?
Fuck it, let’s leave Knock behind where it belongs with the spuccers the League of Decency and all the fucking rest. Good luck to them if they think they’ll find a miracle cure there. I spoke to a man recently who seems to have fought back against a major illness, and he didn’t need to see Saint John the Evangelist. He only needed to see his son achieving wonders on the field of sport, and feel as proud as a man can be. So what exactly is a miracle, and since when did the Catholics take it over?
Let’s get on the road to Donegal.