The Holy Wormhole
Posted on Wednesday, July 5, 2006I went to Part One of a funeral tonight: The Removal. I rarely go to Part Two, unless it’s someone big from Work, when maybe it would be important to be seen there, considering you got the day off to somehow cope with your grief. In those situations, I go along for the Saluting, which is the bit after the religious ceremony, where everybody mingles coming out of the church, and nobody can say for sure if you bothered your arse or not to turn up in time.
How’s it goin’ there. Tom!
Good man, Mikey!
Howya, Bridie!
That kind of thing.
This evening was a bit different, as it was somebody I kind of knew. A friend of the extended family. You know these guys; they all wear tackies and arse around Kilkee for the summer catching mackerel and drinking Guinness with the Older People. Of which group, I think I’m now a part, but sin scéal eile, mar a deirtear.
Anyway, I did the usual saluting, and was about to fuck off: I never go to the church if I can avoid it. I actually cycled down, so I had the bike ready, because my next plan was to skedaddle into town to watch the France -vs- Portugal game, so I obviously didn’t want to get caught up in a load of prayers and shit like that.
It must be to do with getting older, and it must be somehow that my finely-tuned senses are becoming blunted, because, as I turned to get my bike, a voice came over some hidden speaker beside the hearse, and some fucker started saying the rosary. A priest. I could tell it was a priest because they all have the same stupid accent, and away the fucker went with his fuckin rosary. Haily Holy Moly Mary over and over and over and over and over and over and over and these fuckers laugh at other religions for having mantras. I always lose count. Was that nine? It was. And we’ll be finished after this. But no. It isn’t nine. It’s fucking ONE!!
It’s a strange strange time distortion, this Rosary thing, and if the scientists had any sense at all, they’d study its properties to see how to make a worm-hole. To an external observer, a decade of the Rosary goes on for about, what? - four minutes? But to a non-believer, accidentally sucked into its vortex, it goes on for about a million years. And then there’s that bollix next to you, who you know for a fact is also a complete heathen, and there he is making the sign of the cross and mouthing the prayers like he does this kind of shit all the fuckin time and you’re thinking hypocrite fucker, I’ll get you yet you bastard making me look like a fucking fool.
I found myself standing beside a guy who, for years, has believed I’m a Ninja. This is because at a drunken house-warming party years ago, he jumped on my back while I was clearing the records off the floor (that’s how long ago it was) and I somehow managed to get him in a stranglehold causing him to pass out, thank fuck, because he’s about fifty times stronger than me and would have killed me otherwise. So he thinks I’m a Ninja. Long may he continue. The gobshite.
I don’t know how it happened, but some force broke open the Holy Wormhole, and I was flung free, ending up in The Bank, in front of a big screen, alonga Jimmy the Wop and the Duke of Leinster, who was pissed as an Earl.
As you know, France won with a dodgy penalty, and now we have the prospect of an Italy-France final. Come on Zizou!!
Stumble it!
July 11th, 2006
I think your readers would be interested in the latest exploits of the Duke of Leinster who narrowly escaped a major bust up with an MI5 agent who had eventually tracked him down to the Warrior Princess’ party last weekend. The Duke was as per usual well in his cups but still had sufficient perception to spot the agent of the crown, who had been sent to discredit him! The Duke himself has to take some responsiblity having corresponded with the Keeper of the Rolls at Buck House setting out his claim to Leinster.
The Duke confined himself to the safety of his own domain over the weekend. Army intelligence (an oxymoron if ever there was one), were in touch with the Duke but he confirmed that he would be unable to attend at the viewing of the World Cup final as he was still under surveillance and did not feel confident he could throw off the MI5 guy before getting to the pub. This left Bock the Bullet and QJS to enjoy the match in relative peace, save for some loud mouths from Dublin 4 who were silenced by a few stern words from Lord Bock.
The Duke suspects a dirty war involving the Brits and Italy who are bent on destroying the international reputation of France with a view to invading Algeria!!! I wasn’t able to follow the Dukes analysis but apparently it has something to do with the futures value of copper. This is the reason Zou Zou stuck the head in your man. I don’t get it either but in the Dukes world it is as clear as day. Go figure.
I threw in the inslut to army intelligence just for fun becasue I am a bad man!
QJS
July 11th, 2006
I threw in the inslut to army intelligence just for fun becasue I am a bad man!
Don’t worry about that bit, QJS. Everybody likes an inslut!
Bock