Religion Society World

No Condoms For Africa, Says Pope

The Pope is worried about a contraception mentality threatening the fabric of Africa’s life, hope and stability. He thinks the only way to tackle the AIDS epidemic is through fidelity and abstinence.

Well why the hell didn’t I think of that? AIDS is caused by condoms. I’m going straight over there to Africa and explain to people that their problems are at an end.

It’s simple, I’ll say. You just have to stay faithful, abstain from sex with anyone but your spouse, don’t put a piece of rubber on your knob, and all the AIDS in Africa will go away.

And you know what? That’s exactly what they’ll do. People, being highly rational, will immediately see the sense of what Ratzo has to say.

You mean, they’ll ask, astounded, all we have to do is stay faithful and only have sex with one person?

Yup, I’ll tell them. But you can’t put a bit of rubber on your knob either or you’ll get AIDS immediately.

Well dang me, they’ll say, why didn’t anyone tell us this before? Right guys. Everyone stop having sex and AIDS will go away. The old white guy from Germany says so.

And you know what they’ll do? That’s right. Everyone in Africa will stop having sex with strangers, and that will be the end of the problem. AIDS will disappear overnight, and all because Ratzo clicks his heels and thinks of Loonie-land.

But why talk just about Africa? Why just talk about AIDS? Let’s talk about sex, Baby. Unprotected sex. We haven’t got enough children on this planet. Let’s double the population of the world. Let’s fucking treble it. That will really help our future, won’t it? Let’s quadruple the number of people burning fossil fuels, demolishing tropical rainforest, demanding clean water.

What a fucking genius Ratzo is. We could do with a man like him in charge over here. Haven’t we a problem in this country with the contraception mentality? Let’s encourage all our people to have dozens of children they can’t feed or clothe or educate. Let’s fill this country with kids who have no future except poverty, crime and ignorance. Let’s breed the fuck out of ourselves until we’re up to our necks in babies we can’t afford. What a fucking great idea.

Down with the contraception mentality. Down with that sort of thing.

Up with the Pope.


Previously on Bock:

Save the Planet:. Spread AIDS

Ratzo – First Blood


Bishop Magee of Cloyne Finally Steps Down

Not before time, John Magee has been replaced as bishop of Cloyne, though he retains the title in a futile attempt to save his dignity. The official explanation for his replacement in the day-to-day running of the diocese is that Magee will now have the necessary time and energy to cooperate fully with the government Commission of Inquiry.

I don’t know how this move increases his energy unless it all turns out to be some sort of ecclesiastical first-person shoot-em-up and he picked up a health pack from an enemy priest.  And as far as I know, he had plenty of time for obfuscating and obstructing all inquiries, so I don’t know why he’d need extra time to cooperate with them.  All he has to do is answer questions and open files.  It’s not as if anyone would trust him to carry out the inquiry himself.

Magee, we’re told, asked Ratzo last month to appoint an apostolic administrator to carry out the ordinary governance of the Diocese of Cloyne. In other words, he wanted someone else to do his job instead, and so, in due course, a neighbouring bishop was installed today in his place.

According to Cardinal Seán Brady, The decision of the Holy Father to grant that request is an indication of the importance which the Church gives to safeguarding children and caring for the needs of victims.

Is it now?

This church which moved abusing priests from parish to parish and from country to country gives importance to safeguarding children?

First I heard of it.


Previously on Bock:

Cardinal Seán Brady’s Weasel Words

Abuse of Power in Ireland

Cloyne Sex Abuse Case — Cardinal Brady Stands By Magee

Bishop Magee — Where Do You Go To My Lovely?

John Magee, Bishop of Cloyne — Resign You Fucking Bastard

Civil Partnership — Cardinal Brady Makes A Fool Of Himself Again

What Is Desmond Connell Trying To Keep Secret?

The Brothers of Charity:– Raping Your Children Since 1883 !!

Cardinal Error: Brady Gets the Red Hat

Oh those feckin old bishops!


Pope To Excommunicate Holocaust-Denier Bishop Again

I believe there were no gas chambers, said Bishop Richard Williamson.  I think that 200,000 to 300,000 Jews perished in Nazi concentration camps but none of them by gas chambers.

This is an insane proposition by an insane man, but I don’t know why it comes as a surprise to anyone.  After all, isn’t it part of the Catholic church’s stock-in-trade to believe insane propositions?  For instance, you can’t be a member of the Catholic church unless you believe that Jesus turns into a biscuit, and if you can swallow that, you can surely believe there were no gas chambers.

Williamson is one of the four bishops who were consecrated in 1998 by the dissident French bishop Marcel Lefebvre, who split from the Vatican because his mumbo-jumbo was a bit different from their mumbo-jumbo.  All four bishops were automatically excommunicated.  Ironically, Lefebvre’s own father died in a Nazi concentration camp in 1944.

Ratzinger, of course, is going crazy, because he recently signed a decree reversing Williamson’s excommunication, and if there was ever a Pope who can’t afford to be associated with Nazis, it’s him.  After all, wasn’t young Ratzo a member of the Hitlerjugend?  Not an accusation you can successfully fling at too many popes.

It seems Ratzo didn’t know that Williamson was going around denying one of the worst crimes ever inflicted on mankind, and you’d have to wonder what kind of people he has around him.  I’d say he’s kicking the stuffing out of his papal chaise longue with his curly slippers. Was in den fuck hat on-ge-going hier in dem Vatikan mit diesen wichser mutterfickeren arschloch fuck fuck FUCK!!

There was not one Jew killed by the gas chambers, according to Bishop Williamson.  It was all lies, lies, lies!

Six million Jews were murdered by Nazi Germany during World War II, and the number is important.  Huge numbers of people were sytematicallly exterminated in the Nazis’ gas chambers at Auschwitz, Treblinka, Sobibor and elsewhere. 

And Ratzo didn’t know Williamson was denying this?

Jesus Christ!  Ironies abound in this story.  Isn’t this the same church that for centuries denied the Earth’s orbit around the Sun and only recently rehabilitated Galileo?

I’d say there isn’t a leg or a lamp-post safe in the Vatican tonight.


Here’s Williamson:



Also on Bock:


Das papahundchen

Humour Religion

Lourdes Vomiting Bug

I hear there’s a vomiting bug in Lourdes.

Oh God, that’s fucking great.  That’s the funniest yet.  Lourdes is infected with a vomiting bug.  Imagine: a town up to its neck in healing holy water has an incurable vomiting bug.

Can you just imagine it, Atheist Volunteer Vomit-Commandos turning up at the shrine, projectile puking at the priests.  Cure that ya bastard!

What’s more, this is no three-day vomiting bug.  Christ no.  When you get the Lourdes vomiting bug, that’s it.  You’re infected for all eternity.  From now on, it’s heaving all the way for you, my fine true believer.  That’s the end sociable drinks after a good craw-thumping session.



It’s over.  The holy party is ended.  No more solemn midnight processions for you.  From now on, everybody in Lourdes will be slipping on barf, and I can guarantee you one thing: that’s the last they’ll see of old Ratzo.

Your Holiness, the people of Lourdes would like you to visit the shrine again.

Shrine schmine!  I will not the gut-flinging-up risk taking making.  Nein to the shrine!

Oh it’s just great.  I fucking love it.


More disrespectful stuff on Bock:
Irish Television Reports On The Pope’s Visit To Lourdes
Still stuck in Knock
Saint Bock’s Gospel
Padre Pio The Silicon Saint
Di and Dodi Done Down in Dastardly Deed
Battlestar Catholactica


Irish Television Reports On The Pope’s Visit To Lourdes

We have a national broadcasting station called RTÉ, which is paid for by licence fee.  These fees are collected by the State, and RTÉ is the only broadcaster to benefit from them.

RTÉ is a State-funded and controlled operation, as is the BBC.

Now, we also have a provision in our constitution, Article 44.2.2, which says that The state may not endow any religion, and this is more than the Brits can claim.  After all, their Head of State, Queen Elizabeth the Second, is also the head of their established church, the Church of England.

Good for us secular Paddies then, yeah?  Good for us.

Well, not exactly.

I was listening to RTÉ yesterday, and they were reporting on the visit of the Pope to France, and more particularly, to Lourdes.

Lourdes, you know? Where miracles happen.  The place where people come out of the water in new wheelchairs.

So what?

Nothing.  If you want to roll around in a filthy, cholera-infested pool full of piss, that’s your business.  The Lourdes story is uplifting to some people.  For Christ’s sake, even Leonard Cohen, a Jew, wrote a beautiful song about it: The Song of Bernadette.

But unfortunately, it’s also a load of bollocks, in the very same way that Medugorje is, though less sinister.  After all, the Medugorje thing only started up when Church authorities decided to close a notoriously corrupt Franciscan friary.  Somehow, as if by a miracle, three astoundingly telegenic children saw visions there, just beside the friary, and of course the poor Franciscan friars were taken completely by surprise when the money started rolling in.

What a miracle that was.  A miracle so enormous that even the three factions in the Bosnian war observed a truce around the shrine.  Including the Bosnian Muslims!  And this truce had absolutely nothing to do with the huge amounts of tourist cash the thing was bringing in.  Of course not.

Interestingly, the bishop dropped his plans to close the friary, but anyway, I digress.


Look, we’ve all had hallucinations, so I won’t blame poor little Bernadette.  I’ve had hallucinations. My friends have had hallucinations.  Turn on the TV and look at the American election candidates.  Tell me that’s not a hallucination.

So we’ll make room for poor deluded little Bernadette.  What we won’t make room for though, is the money-grabbing racket that sprang up around this little town of 15,000 souls, with a capacity to process five million visitors every year.  Serious cash.

And another thing I won’t make room for is our national broadcaster reporting that Pope Ratzo the First visited the shrine where Bernadette saw the Virgin Mary.

Not “claimed to see”.  Not “was said to have seen”.  No.

Where Bernadette saw the Virgin Mary.  Reported as fact by a national broadcaster in a country whose constitution guarantees that no religion will receive special treatment.


And while I’m on the subject, who exactly is this Virgin Mary person?


Let’s not be too curmudgeonly though.

Here’s Jennifer Warnes with Lenny Cohen’s beautiful song.


Also on Bock:

Still stuck in Knock

Religion Sexual abuse

Pope Apologises To Australians For Clerical Sexual Abuse But Still Fucks Up

I see Ratzo has finally said Sorry, but should anyone be grateful?

I don’t think so.  This statement was dragged out of him, kicking and spitting, and even then he couldn’t bring himself to say categorically that priests had abused children. 


He had to qualify his apology by saying that the abuse was committed by some priests

See?  Some priests. 

These fuckers are incapable of saying a single direct word.

What would have been wrong with Ratzo talking about abuse committed by priests and leaving it at that?  Nothing, that’s what.  Absolutely nothing, but Ratzo had to follow the instinct of his kind and talk about some priests, to diffuse the accusations.  What a miserable, begrudging way to treat rape victims.

Look, Ratzo, we know they weren’t all child-rapists.  We know that some of them were all right, so what’s this some priests shit about?

Stop insulting my intelligence, and maybe I’ll start taking you seriously, you silly old gobshite. 

No.  Wait. Here’s a better idea: stop insulting the intelligence of abuse victims.

How about it, Ratzo?

Politics Religion

Eucharistic Congress for Dublin in 2012

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

Das Papahund

Ratzo’s Leap

Cardinal Error: Brady Gets the Red Hat

The Mobile Consecrator Rises Again

Half God, Half Biscuit

Superstition, Witch-doctors and Other Religious Bullshit


The green Pope

I see the Vatican has come up with a new list of deadly sins. Fuck it anyway. Just when I was working my way through the old ones, here comes Ratzo with a whole heap of extra work for me.

It strikes me, though, that the new list isn’t nearly as much fun as the old one. Environmental blight. Stem-cell research. Drug dealing. Excessive wealth.

Wait a minute! Excessive wealth? What? Isn’t that a bit rich coming from the head of the Catholic church? Excessive wealth, by God, from an organisation that owns vast amounts of property right across the face of this planet. Gold. Diamonds. Art treasures. Land beyond measure. The Vatican Bank: secret repository of money from every crook who ever bribed a bishop and hiding place of Mother Teresa’s missing billions (the bucks that somehow didn’t reach the poor).

Nice one, Ratzo, telling the rest of us not to be too rich.

As far as drug dealing is concerned, I wonder what Ratzo’s buddies have in mind? I wonder are they condemning the cigarette companies, brewers and distillers? Or maybe they’re thinking of the giant multinational pharmaceutical companies who created the medical myth and now grow rich from a spurious anti-depressant industry?

What would you think? Is that what they have in mind, or are they thinking of scumbag heroin and coke dealers?

Yeah. I’d say they’re thinking of the scumbags in tracksuits. I’d say the scumbags in business suits are off the Vatican’s radar. What do you reckon?

I wonder if they’ll come up with a few more? Such as priests screwing little boys and going to court to try and stop it being investigated? Or nuns forcing a crooked politician to put a children’s hospital in the wrong place? Or clergy taking a huge pile of taxpayers’ money to cover the costs caused by their own abuse? Hmm?

Maybe when Ratzo and his pals deal with the problems in their own house, we might be prepared to listen to their lectures. What do you think?

In the meantime, I’m sticking with the old favourites: greed, envy, lust, wrath, sloth, pride and of course, miserable, small-minded envy. It’s part of what we are, so look lively now, y’hear?


The Brothers of Charity:– Raping Your Children Since 1883 !!

What Dirt Have the Nuns Got on Bertie Ahern?

Das Papahund

Ratzo – First Blood

The Catholic Church

New Pope



JC Skinner

Head Rambles

Jazz Biscuit


Bock’s Office Hits – Highlights of 2007

I started this site in March 2006, intending to post the occasional narrow-minded, drunken, parochial rant, but I’m afraid the site hasn’t been an obedient child and — in spite of my best efforts — has grown far beyond what I expected.

Since changing over to the dot-com address this year, I’ve seen a steady increase in the number of goose-milkers, heron-stranglers, headcases, lunatics, maniacs, the occasional imbecile, and of course, a growing band of fucking crazy people perfectly normal, well-balanced regular contributors.

I didn’t know, until somebody told me, that this was a political site. I thought it was the usual blend of enraged muttering, drunkenness and low menace, which is how how my associates approached it when they attended the Blog Awards on my behalf in March.


I didn’t win anything at the Blog Awards, despite the obvious consequences for the judging panel, but my associates did manage to bring back a bottle of bubbly as the Best-Dressed Men consolation prize. That didn’t save the judges, who now sleep with the fishes.

It also didn’t save the idiot who threatened to kill me in September. This fucking fool works for a chewing-gum company and didn’t like me calling for a ban on the disgusting stuff. That post was rapidly followed by The Silence of The Chewing Gum Killer and The Confession of The Chewing Gum Killer.

People disagreed with me about a lot of things, but that’s all right.

Some people didn’t like my views on the conviction of Joe O Reilly. Others didn’t like my views on the conviction of Wayne O Donoghue. A lot of fuckhead right-wing Americans didn’t like me laughing at the idiot Bush. They don’t believe Bush is behind this kind of thing, or they don’t care, or they’re too fucking stupid to figure it out. Whatever. Then, of course, there were the people who wanted to convict Niall McElwee of things that aren’t a crime — like getting promoted instead of them, the small-minded jealous fuckers.

Perhaps the most small-minded were the crowd of fuckers who wanted to believe, more than anything else in their miserable little lives, that the McCanns had something to do with the disappearance of their daughter. The internet was full of them, though the comments on this site tended to be relatively restrained.

My post on Sikhs joining the police raised the blood pressure for a lot of people, but at least the discussion was relatively civilised, unlike some of the Nazi maniacs who responded to the later item on Wernher Von Braun.

There were a few fucking reptiles during the year. For instance, we had this fraudulent homeopath who threatened the mother of an autistic child. Funnily enough, the fraud didn’t have the balls to follow through when exposed. Then we had those fools at Ace Internet Marketing, who stole material from other people’s web sites and then threatened various bloggers, including myself, with legal action. To their eternal credit, my hosts told these people to go fuck themselves. But of course, these cretins were harmless compared to the Irish Independent, the newspaper that stole content from an Irish site and, when contacted, re-published the material under a different title. They were also the hypocrites who contributed to poor Katy French‘s delusions and went on to make money from her death.

As the year went by, I began to realise that everything is about politics, especially as that egregious, slithery fucking crook Bertie Ahern continued to lead our government despite being exposed for the fucking reptile he is.


As I write, the Planning Tribunal is stripping away Ahern’s lies, exposing him for what he is, and the people are finally beginning to realise in their little peanut-sized brains that maybe they made a mistake re-electing this fucking criminal, though they can’t say I didn’t warn them. So much for democracy. Do you know something, you should have to pass a special exam before being allowed to vote. A basic intelligence test along the following lines: do you know as much as a penguin?

The disgrace of this crook leading his corrupt party in government occupied much of my year, and much of my waking life. I eventually ended up with so many posts about him that he earned a special section at the top of the page. The fucking crook.

Wrinkly Paddy went deaf in January, giving us all a laugh, and we sure needed a laugh when we read about Adam Keane, a rapist who received a three-year suspended sentence. At the end of the year, the same judge, Paul Carney, astounded us with another lenient sentence, prompting some people to speculate that he might actually not be as stupid as he seems. Adam Keane’s sentence was increased to ten years by the Court of Criminal Appeal, setting a cast-iron precedent. Perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps we should be saying Clever old Judge Carney?

The gloom in January was lightened for us by the idiot Jade Goody , and also by memories of Wirey, but there was other grim reading to come during the year. We had the Kerry rapist – a complete bastard, and suggestions of possible official collusion in a dark story from the past. This prompted me to write again about the cannibal murders and to ask why the only person now facing charges is the policeman who told the truth.

There were some outstanding moments, including February’s two rugby matches at Croke Park, and the playing of GSTQ: The Croke Park Trilogy – Part One, . Ratzo had a plan of his own for the Ireland – England match, the little Pope-Dog swine.


But for us in Limerick, the joy was punctured by crashing out of the Heineken Cup: Llanelli 24, Munster 15.

Internationally, we had the Virginia Tech massacre, an event that prompted lively debate on this site, and sometimes heated discussion about Gun control in America, and the Second Amendment.

Thanks to this guy in March for lightening the mood with a magnet up his arse. And then, in April, we had the traditional Bock blasphemy which, unfortunately, offended nobody. Thank the Lord for my dogs.

In April, we were lectured on information technology by Bertie the polymath: e-voting was his chosen subject, and we were all idiots and Luddites for raising concerns about the safety of our democracy. In my opinion, they should all be dumped in the canal like we always did with rubbish.

I started to get excited in May at the prospect that the people would re-elect the same gang of crooks, which they duly did, and from there, things only got worse. The Serbs won the Eurovision, proving that the entire thing is a fucking zoo and that the genocide in Bosnia is forgotten. Bock moved to WordPress, proving that I’m insane, but of course, on the bright side, it was time to start thinking about the Midlands Music Festival, which I later told you all about here, once my brain and liver had bounced back a little. Oh, and May also brought us the Pulp Muppets.

June brought some interesting developments. The government finally got tough on crime and the Niggar Family brought us all a laugh. Tony Blair got a new job, giving us all another laugh — a bitter little chuckle.

And I embarked on my first special mission!

Jock Hunter read one of the Bock’n’Paddy fairytales for us and I told you a little about him here. Then we had Jock reading a rather darker tale from Bock.


People seemed to like the photos of this old town


and others seemed to like the photos of Istria.


They also liked the later pics of the Cliffs of Moher, though they were sobered by this collection from Auschwitz. When anybody starts to tell you about the disgraceful conditions workers face in China, agree with them, and then draw their attention to these pictures, showing how child labour built America.

June was the month I bumped into my old buddy, Paul, and keeping the musical theme, I got to utter an immortal phrase.

Things weren’t all bad in July either. For instance, we had the spectacle of hundreds of Barbra Streisand fans getting mud all over their fur coats, the fucking eejits. I laughed and laughed.
There was plenty of music. Lefty left me still puzzled, and no-one could offer help. Everyone enjoyed Leon Redbone, and we started looking forward to the Festival.


In August, it was Princess Di’s anniversary and I was finally able to reveal to you what really happened in the tunnel.


Then we had this little video about the Catholic Church. On the subject of bastards, we had the government finally shafting Shannon Airport by failing to intervene in Aer Lingus’s decision to move its Heathrow slots to Belfast. That was when I had the brainwave: since Dublin and Belfast are the only parts of Ireland that matter to politicians and the media, let’s secede. Let’s set up the Mid-West Party, with only one policy: money for us. Fuck, if it works for Dublin, it can work for us. Speaking of Dublin, I received a bit of personal abuse for this post, including some from a young man who really should know better. I changed my comments policy as a result and banned a few people.

Of course, I mustn’t forget the Midlands Music Festival, which knocked out a good section of my liver and my brain cells.

It was also the month when Ratzo set up his low-cost airline, flying deluded cripples to Lourdes where they could be fleeced and pick up diseases from the filthy water.

Only one thing happened in September, Northern Rock collapsed, triggering a chain reaction of banking failures.

In October, Sean Brady was lightly cardinalised, and of course, obviously I had an opinion on it. I also had a view on McBrearty getting €3 million from the State for being framed. October brought the first bomb attack on Benazir Bhutto, and it seemed like only a matter of time before an assassin would succeed, as happened on the 27th December. Who was surprised? Not me. The same month, in India, we saw the Mayor of Delhi murdered by monkeys.


That month, we enjoyed the Stargate puppet show and the eviction of 150 nuns from a Polish convent. We also got a laugh when Australia and New Zealand both crashed out of the World Cup the same day.
In November, Sudan blew its top over a teddy-bear.


Pity I didn’t think of setting up a chain of effigy shops there while I was at it. If things turned too nasty, I was all ready to deploy the military version of my mobile consecrator but luckily the Sudanese saw sense. I hope they’re as understanding when they see the lard Muhammad planned instead of the chocolate Jesus. I came in for a bit of stick after criticising people who use Islam as an excuse for savagery, but hey! I’m a big boy now, and all grown up and everything, so I tried to balance things out a bit. Oh well.

November brought us yet more government disgrace with the breast cancer scandal. It’ll only annoy me if I have to tell you about it again. Read it here, and then form orderly mobs with flaming torches.

November was the month a man was jailed for shagging his bike, which struck me as a bit odd. Getting jail, I mean, not screwing the bike. Fuck it, whatever floats your boat, is what I say. November was also the month when I wrote about a violent teacher and received a good amount of private correspondence as a result. There are a lot of angry people out there, let me tell you. Robert Plant and Alison Krauss made an album together, which I liked for a while, though I’ve grown weary of it now, and I still haven’t finished decorating that room. Apart from that, I was still asking what dirt his former employers have on Bertie Ahern. I await an answer.

In December, the Tribunal got the first firm evidence that there was no dig-out among friends, but a concerted attempt to channel funds corruptly to Bertie Ahern. As the month went on, Bertie’s story became thinner and thinner until he finally snapped and revealed his ugly side, telling the Tribunal his private life was none of its damned business. I’ll bring you the whole story when it emerges.

It was also the month I visited the cardiologist for a check on the oil, water, plugs, points and filters. Hmm. I’ll do my best to be good. Promise. Also health-related, but much more serious, was this story about a woman being disgracefully mistreated by our pathetic health service. And of course, we had the inevitable child-raping clerics managing somehow to organise a cover-up of a report exposing their abuse, though the report was so insipid as to be almost a cover-up in itself. The police, as usual, deferred to the abusers, and launched no investigation of their own.

In December, I embarked with Parkenstein on our second mission, hunting Disparager, and I suspect there might be many more before we’re done.

The month was nearly over when Pakistan exploded with the murder of Benazir Bhutto, and things are very unclear as I write this.

So that’s where we are now. A crazy weekend beckons, and I’ve decided to go to press a little early while I still can.

I’d like to thank all the kind people who’ve put up with my ranting over the past year, and also those who took the trouble to disagree with me. I hope we can have as much fun in the coming twelve months.

Best Wishes


Favourites Humour Religion

The Mobile Consecrator Rises Again

Looks like time to wake up the Machine.

All this talk of religious bigotry and madness reminded me of an old project that got shelved last year, and I suppose it would be no harm to tell you about it again. Especially since I came up with a few tweaks.

You see, it all started when I heard of a truly insane idea to bless the roads by some fool in a local Council .

Eh, what?

Yeah. That’s what I said too. Some idiot responsible for safety promotion decided to get the fucking roads in his area blessed as a kind of a PR stunt.

I know. I know. Sad.

I know.

There’s your witchdoctor, out on the road with his dress and his little wand-thing in a bucket, and he’s flicking holy water at the fucking road and going Hubba Hubba Jesus Jesus Hubba Hubba Jesus Hubba Jesus Hubba. That’s really going to keep down those accident statistics, isn’t it?

Especially when some demented seventeen-year-old coked out of his head comes zinging down the wrong side in a fifteen-year-old souped-up Honda Civic with dem speakas pounding out some ear-bleeding Unce Unce Unce horseshit, and before you know it, Father McDingbat is just one more pile of roadkill.

Not a great plan, though it has its obvious good points in ridding the island of priests.


We needed industry to deal with this problem, and that was why I set my research teams to work in the caverns beneath the mighty Bockschloss. We laboured long and hard. We tore up blank sheets of paper. We tore up blank computer screens.

And eventually, we came up with the Mobile Consecrator.

Here it is.


You see, the great thing about this is that it can be towed behind a Council truck, blessing the roads at high speed. The blessing penetrates the road surface to a depth of about 15mm, making it much more resistant to wear, which was a problem with the old manually-applied blessings.

Not only that, but you can reverse the Consecrator over a grave and set the dial to whatever religion you want. It will consecrate a perfectly rectangular patch with no overspray at all. This used to be a bit of a problem in the past, with our non-denominational burial grounds. You know, you’re planting your relative, and your priest might be a bit shaky after the party, and before you know it, he’s overblessed the Muslim next door. Or the Jew up the way got a little Catholic benediction drifting in the wind. Not good.

It comes complete with a built-in Mecca-Checka that that ensures people get buried facing true Mecca, and not magnetic Mecca, which was a bit of a problem in the past.

So this is a real technical advance. One Council driver can bless thirty or forty graves a day in every known religion, correctly orientated, without overspray.

Of course, it was only a small step from that to developing a military version. By fitting it with huge speakers, it became possible to fire loud curses horizontally at your enemy, while at the same time defiling the ground beneath your wheels with filthy abominations concerning his tenderest beliefs, his womenfolk and his work-ethic. We call it the Mobile Desecrator, and Halliburton are testing it at the moment in Iraq.

I’m working on the latest version, which will come with a Sacrilege-Finder. If it detects that someone has disrespected any religion, a giant arm shoots out of the side and delivers 200 high-speed lashes. Then it empties half a ton of rocks over them before anyone can object.

I’m exporting four dozen to Saudi Arabia and I’ve sent an evaluation model to the Iona Institute  with one of the speakers permanently set to lecture mode.


Ratzo — First Blood


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