Showing posts with label Michael Mann. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Michael Mann. Show all posts

Sunday, 26 August 2012

Parish of St Daryl the Apostate

Father Arthur writes:

REINTERPRETING ST PAUL. Today's epistle of St Paul to the Ephesians is a challenge to us, isn't it? How can St Paul's words "Wives should be subject to their husbands as to the Lord" possibly apply in the 21st century?

Of course, what Paul really meant was that one member of each married couple should be designated the "husband," while the other should be designated the "wife." It is not necessary for the husband to be male, nor the wife to be female. Indeed, in our modern world, where couples may be same-sex, transgendered, or "don't-know," it is important to escape from sexual stereotyping. St Paul, although he suffered from the disadvantage of living in a world where access to birth-control, abortion and pornography were severely limited, would certainly have agreed that this is the only way to go.

The blessed Sally Bercow

In our family, I'm the one who wears the trousers.

FREE MASS ON. This week, St Daryl's was pleased to welcome our Masonic brethren for a truly ecumenical Mass. Although, technically the Vatican has shown a slight disapproval of freemasonry in the past, as in Pope Ignitus's frankly-worded Encyclical De Masone Comburendo, we freely admit that we at St Daryl's are in the vanguard when it comes to liberal thinking. We all had a great time at the "Free Mass," especially when I said "roll up your trouser legs" and the congregation replied "we roll them up unto the Lord." Moreoever, the "funny handshake of peace" with our neighbours was another innovation that we may well use again in future weeks.

Freemason Mass

Masons - helping us to build bridges.

PUSSY RIOTS. Likewise, we at St Daryl's are showing our support for the so-called "Pussy Riot" girls, who attempted to bring the fresh air of liberalism into the stuffy old Orthodox church. We are making a humble gesture of solidarity with these heroic rebels against misogyny, capitalism and (Fr Pau, please find out what they were actually demonstrating against and fill in something here. Thanks) as this photo, taken before Sunday's Mass, indicates.

Pussy altar-servers

Our altar-servers, in their new vestments, waiting for "kick-off."

ST DARYL'S CAR PARK. In this era, when the main spiritual issues that concern us are global warming, climate change, the melting of the ice caps, and the extinction of fluffy polar bears, it is obviously unreasonable for us to come to church by car (Michael Mann, our churchwarden, has done a statistical analysis and says that every time a car parks at St Daryl's a fairy dies). Therefore, we have begun work to convert the church car park into a bus station, complete with a fast food outlet, newsagent's and "gay" bar (all profits to church funds). Unfortunately, this has necessitated the demolition of our shrine to the blessed St Daryl, but we must all make sacrifices in the name of progress.

Bus to Mass

The environmentally friendly way to travel to Mass.

LATELY DEAD. Keir Bertrand Russell Lenin Jones, age 85. Stanley Baldwin Kitchener Allenby Robinson, age 94. (Miss) Laurel Hardy Chaplin Groucho Brown, age 83.

RECENT BAPTISMS. David Harper Seven United Smith. Gaga Beyoncé Wilson. Julian Assange Ecuador Asil Nadir Taylor.

THOUGHT FOR THE DAY. Go up, thou bald head; go up, thou bald head. 2 Kings 2:23.

Tuesday, 17 April 2012

Yet more bloggs

Mary Drilled
St Gordon of Kirkcaldy
By Mary Drilled






Mary Drilled's photo marks the 100th anniversary of the death of Bram Stoker
 
Gordon Brown now spends his days in retirement in a darkened room in Kirkcaldy, his only reward being an MP's pittance of £65,000, together with necessary expenses (most recently, an invoice from Jock McBogey's Glazing Repairs, for a window damaged by a flying laser-printer, £300+VAT). But until 2010 he was the most powerful man in the free world, the saviour of civilization as we know it. The verdict of history on Gordon Brown will surely be: We Owe So Much.

 Of course Ed Miliband is wonderful too, so handsome, so masterful. He can't make his eyes revolve in opposite directions at the same time, as Ed Balls can, but let's face it, is that really a necessary qualification to be PM? But it is Gordon whose photo I have on my bedside table, the Pride of Scotland.

Gordon Brown

Surely this man is a god?
 


James Hordes
Viagra, sex, and pianist envy
By James Hordes







As a famous but iconoclastic pianist  - I'll get a better picture later, but I never really understood the instructions in those photo booths - I went to a concert recently. It featured a new sensational Chinese pianist, Miss To Tee. I can't remember much about what she was playing (it was one of those seriously uncool dudes, Beethoven, maybe) but I did notice that she certainly wasn't "flat". As I munched my way through a packet of Viagra tablets, and swelled to a climax with the melody, I said to myself, "Yes! This is what classical music is all about!"

Damian Thompson can keep his Bach (that Baroque wig he wears when he thinks nobody is watching doesn't suit him anyway). Give me To Tee tickling the ivories any day. Or the new CD set  from Cora Bimbo, in the deluxe edition with extra photos. YES!!!

Piano players

Playing Fauré's Dolly Bird Suite
 




James Goldenpile
Is Monbiot trying to kill me?
By James Goldenpile








I was eating my cold toast for breakfast today (no warming required), when I was struck by a terrible thought: is George Monbiot trying to kill me? Call me paranoid if you like, but I remember that the last time I appeared on Any Questions? with him, he was carrying an umbrella, and I am fairly sure that it was he who jabbed me in the leg half-way through the programme. I was explaining once more how Michael Mann had produced his hockey-stick graph by massaging his data, adding in his friends' telephone numbers and converting them to Fahrenheit. But the warmists are up to their dirty tricks as usual.

There's definitely a Libtard conspiracy to suppress the truth. Indeed, the man on the Sainsbury's fish counter looks suspiciously like Al Gore, and is obviously ready to slip me a poisoned haddock if I let my vigilance slip. But Monbiot is at the centre of it. He's a master of disguise too - the old lady who nearly barged me off the pavement yesterday didn't look anything like him, so that proves it.

Phew, it's cold today, isn't it? I told you there was an ice-age coming.

George Monbiot

There's something sinister about him, don't you think?


Concluded here.