Padre Pio The Silicon Saint

They dug up Padre Pio after forty years and put him in a glass box so the faithful can trudge past and see the great man in the flesh.  I understand they’re booked out for years in advance with people who want to see their favourite old fraud. 


I was listening to people on a radio phone-in during the week, including, for Christ’s sake, the mother of our Minister for Education.  True believers every one in the healing power of Padre Pio.  Mrs Hanafin (the Min’s Mum) has a blood-soaked mitten from the old monk, and apparently you can borrow it and take it home to heal any lepers you might be keeping in the coal shed.  The only stipulation is that you must bring it back to Mrs H by midnight, in case it turns into a bat.

You can bring it to the hospital if you like, but for some reason it doesn’t heal everyone there.  You have to point it at the person you want to make better, and even then it doesn’t always work.  You see, it’s a great deal for Padre Pio.  A no-lose situation.  If you recover, it’s a miracle.  If you don’t get better, it’s God’s will.

Isn’t that brilliant?

Here you have all these desperate people with appalling diseases and illnesses.  Scrofula.  Burst eyeballs.  The doctor tells them they’re probably screwed, so of course they’ll grab at any old horse-shit if they think there’s the remotest chance they’ll get better.  Here.  Have a stinking old glove.  That’ll fix ya!

Of course, it won’t rid the hospital of MRSA, for example, or instantly re-knit a broken leg.  No.  Nor will it grow back a finger that got bitten off by Amy Winehouse.

You see, it has to be God’s will, so Padre Pio has to persuade God to make you better.

Go on, God says Pio.  Go on, go on go on go on go on go on go on go on!

And God gets so pissed off listening to the nagging, he cures you to get rid of the bilocated old bastard shouting into both his ears at the same time.

Padre Pio is like a sort of holy county councillor, ideal for Irish people.  Instead of doing things straight, they’d rather have a word with some gobshite who knows some other gobshite and see if he can pull a bit of a stroke.

Some gobshite of a priest came on the radio to talk about the state of the body.

Incorrupt, he said.  Science can’t explain it.

Oh, really?  Can’t it, you slippery, conniving arsehole?  Listen, Father O’Cretin.  The old fraud has been buried in a very cold, dry place for forty years. 

He’s freeze-dried.

He’s a fuckin mummy!

And as for these perfectly preserved facial features all the old true believers are so astounded by — another miracle — well, Father Halfwit, you know perfectly well that it’s a mask.  A mask, you fool!  A silicon mask, made at great expense by the same company that supplies Madame Tussaud’s.

Look.  Let me put it bluntly.  Padre Pio is in bits, because he’s been dead for forty years, and what you’re looking at in that glass case is nothing but a pile of bones stuffed with newspapers and a rubber Hallowe’en mask.

There’s your fuckin miracle!

But, they object, the stigmata.  Didn’t the stigmata disappear just as Padre Pio prophesied?

Of course they did, when the old bastard stopped pouring acid on his fuckin hands.  The stigmata disappeared a few weeks before he died. Why?  Very simple.  It isn’t so easy to buy bottles of acid when you’re on the flat of your back in a hospital.  The nursing staff take a dim view of elderly patients pouring acid on their hands, no matter how saintly an old fucker you might be. 

For all this, they keep telling us about miracles.

Miracles!  What the hell is a miracle?  A miracle, by definition is something that can’t happen.  Perhaps, when they talk of miracles, they really mean things that are highly unlikely,but still possible.  I’d like to think so, but I’m afraid I’m probably wrong.  They really do believe in magic.

Jesus, do you know what?  Sometimes I despair of this country.  Really, I do.




Austin Cline

The First Morning


25 thoughts on “Padre Pio The Silicon Saint

  1. well said bock. for fuck sake the only reason they have him a glass case is to hide the wang off him….

  2. Gah. You and your secular ways. Always looking for the cynical ‘explanation’. Well you and your ‘science’ may have the answer to Padre Pio but I’ve been to Ballinaspittle. You can’t tell me that when I saw a moonwalking statue that I didn’t witness a bona fide miracle.

    Huh? Huh? I thought so.

  3. Thriftcriminal: I know. Yeah, I know, but it’s just a tad pedantic, maybe. No?

    Perjhaps I should have said “Silicon-based compound”.

    Gimme: Me not smart enough for that. Me stupid. Sorry.

    Artyeva: Wait till you hear my next idea for Padre Pio. I think you’ll like it.

    Mr Trousers: So you’re still alive? Wonderful! It’s another miracle.

    B’dum: Your father’s obviously quite mad.

  4. I believe the bould pio was fond of passing on his genes. Had quite a name for himself in the local town.
    Saved his hands on those cold lonely nights, I suppose…

  5. my father was raised very religiously to the brainwashing point, has practically no education and is ill…. so I’m gonna give his madness a waver.

    number 9 is right except it’s not money… just to regain some shred of importance.
    “Padre Pio is our era’s Jesus” is a popular line by his fans, I heard that Hanafin bitch’s mother say it and many of my fathers PP cult too.

  6. Snookertony: Indeed. The beloved saint seems to have been very fond of his knob, God bless him, the old saint.

    Thrifty: What’s with this craic stuff? Why re-spell an old English word? (Without meaning to be disrespectful to you).

    Sam: Money. No other reason. But that’s what PP was into in the first place, so there’s no real problem. Wait till I get on to the Medugorje scam.

    B’dum: No disrespect to your father, but this stuff is stilll bollocks.

  7. i dont mind bock, i find it all hilarious myself.

    have you ever seen padre pio statues? there with the hoods over their heads and all, they look like some evil b@$tard hiding in an alleyway.

  8. I don’t understand what is your problem with Padre Pio and his followers.
    I know some very close people that have seen, met, spoken to, and have withnessed miracles through his intersession.

  9. Bock and Others,
    At last, people. I’ve met my match. Why didn’t they leave the poor bastard rest in peace? ’cause some of you hit the nail on the head, MONEY. Yes it’s a big fucking scam by the church, again. I am an ex-cleric, it is one of the best paid jobs ever. One is paid for doing sweet fuck all.

  10. All my life I wondered what an asshole looked like.Now ive finally found one named bock

  11. Thank you, thank you, thank you. Really. It’s been great.

    You’ve driven me to tears. A masterwork.

    I just wanted you to know.


  13. I once had a splitting pain on my right elbow and my rural grandad fetched a bottle of poteen, poured a good nip on a handkerchief and rubbed it on the offending bruise. The pain disappeared within an hour. The sniff off the poteen was wonderful too. Was this a miracle?

  14. A waste of good poteen, all this to make padre pizzas followers jealous. The only thing that auld cunt rubbed onto any part of his scabby fucking body, including his knob, was a certain womens perfume

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