A Eucharistic Congress in Ireland, by Jesus. How appropriate, and not a second too soon.
How we pine for the glory days of 1932 when priests stalked every dance-hall and evil literature was censored. Don’t we miss the Irish Enlightenment, when foreign books were unheard of and a local filth-monger like Seán Ó Faoláin called himself The Leader of the Banned?
Happy, happy days, when nobody needed to think. Great days when a kindly Church would do any thinking you required, and tell you what your opinion was.
Great days when a Catholic Archbishop had the final say on drafting our constitution. When nuns used unmarried mothers as slaves in their laundries. When Christian Brothers abused, raped and tortured little boys in their industrial schools. When contraception was illegal. When clerical child-abusers were above the law. When mad, religious gauleiters turned this country into a Catholic Albania.
Isn’t it fucking marvellous?
Another Eucharistic Congress, by Jesus, and how apt.
It’ll fit in just fine with 2012, by which time we’ll be out of the European Union, and it’ll be just like back in de Valera’s day. Our politicians will be down on their knees again, kissing some bishop’s fucking ring. With a cultural and economic wall around us, we’ll be the envy of the world, as we gather together in our cosy mud cabins, telling each other the old, old stories, in between drug-addled bursts of the fucking Rosary. Proud, uncorrupted and strong in our beliefs.
Christ, the blood stirs in my veins as I think about it. All those legions of staunch Catholics marching behind their frilly banners in their monochrome trench-coats and flat caps. A new Ireland, by God, and none of those foreign European johnnies telling us how to run our business. And what a wonderful job we’ve made of it so far, with a health service that leads the world, an education system second to none, and a twenty-fifth century public transport system.
Just nod and say yes.
All we need now is a Dev figure and a crazy bishop. We already have the mad, fascist Catholic gang: Youth Defence, or Cóir as they prefer to call themselves now that they’re no longer so youthful. Maybe Sinéad O Connor might volunteer as the bishop.
I’m a bit stuck for the Dev candidate, and any suggestions would be welcome. I’m thinking that Declan Ganley, another foreign-born leader, might fit the bill, but these are trifling matters. What counts now is that Ireland is back on the right track. Strong, individual, Catholic and in its rightful position, with its back turned firmly to the world and its head in the sand.
God will provide.
Previously on Bock
Superstition, Witch-doctors and Other Religious Bullshit