In The Name of Solidarity Let's See More Burqas Outside The Vatican! You Know It Makes Sense!

"Among the Democrats, the Catholic governor of New York was clearly striving for nomination. In anticipation of objections to him on religious grounds he's sent a letter to the 'Atlantic Monthly' denying the power of the church over the state, while an Episcopalian lawyer named Charles Marshall challenged Smith's assertion, citing Joseph McVey's 'Manual of Christian Doctrine' and its assertion of the supremacy of church over temporal authority."
- set in 1927, "Marblehead" by Richard A. Lupoff shows that we don't move much forward.

By Charley Brady

I love the Catholic Church. And the government, of course. Without them I wouldn't be able to have half the laughs that I do; and as usual Pope Bennie and his gang of worshippers outdid themselves again this week, as did our freeloading politicians.

How can you not admire them? When they're in a hole they just keep on a- digging.

More of that later, because at the moment I am happy out.

Whatever Pagan Gods still exist on this island, let me thank them. Yes, the dreaded Galway Races are over for another year.

It is now safe to venture into the streets without being accosted by some drunk who has donned his one and only pinstriped suit (if he hasn't hired it that is) and stuffed the red pocket hankie into his upper pocket, the one that was given to him by his mammy during his first confirmation.

He has probably washed it the night before so that he can look good during the horror that is known as Ladies' Day of the Thursday, where a group of publicity-hungry women line up like pieces of preening meat in order to show that they deserve to be adored because they have the astonishing ability not to dress in the dark.

They don't care that it's tacky, they don't care that they are making milliners a fortune by being talked into wearing a hat - sorry, a creation - that would have most sane women reaching for the straight razor and the happy pills. As long as they are featured somewhere - dear God, anywhere! - in a couple of photographs that will be dumped the next day, then they will feel that they have reached the pinnacle of Creation.

You always hope that it will be easier to venture each year at this time out into a bar in order to have a coffee or a cranberry or a beer, but it never is.

What you will get are the sad sacks who would never gamble in their lives except for this week, so that they can scream at the endless television screens and tell the jockeys - the guys who are actually doing this - what they are doing wrong.

Here's a typical example from this afternoon:

"GO ON YA GOOD THING! GO ON, YE BOLLIX YEAH!

"RIDE, YE BASTID YE! YE HAVE HIM NOW. OH, NO, OH CHRIST, YE'RE NOTHING BUT A BOLLIX! JESUS CHRIST ALMIGHT I HAD A TON ON YE, YE MISERABLE F****** HOOR YE!!"

At this point of course he (invariably but not exclusively a he) starts to bang the counter like a demented gobshite from Hell while bewildered children look on and think that this is the way to behave since, well, their mammies and daddies are behaving in this manner.

Here's a thumbnail sketch of how not to answer a worked-up clown who has probably just gambled away his mortgage/ rent/ food for his kids.

When he says to you: "What did you have on it yourself?" then don't ever say "I have no interest in either the horses or gambling so I couldn't care less".

This is a bad idea, because the next thing that will happen is that this half-wit will stare at you as if you had twenty heads sitting on the end of your neck; and then he will go on to explain all the rules of racing to you. Why he does this is a mystery to rank alongside how Noah's Ark got all of those animals, two by two, into a big old boat that saved every species from distinction.

So he stares back at you and you stare back at him and it turns into a contest where the one that can outstare the other wins. Pathetic or what?

Since I genuinely couldn't care less about this nonsense I just keep staring anyway while wondering why Noah thought that it might be worth saving the genes that eventually led to this saps' parents giving birth to him.

Some triumph, I don't think.

He will then, having lost his dozy staring contest, go back to screaming at the screen: "YE GOOD THING YA! GO ON YE...etc."

Of course, I don't equate this kind of clown - and trust me you can multiply an unreconstructed idiot like him by about a thousand times in Galway this week - with genuine racing fans.

The thing is, they don't go on like that and indeed are as irritated as I am by the fact these twits even exist. The couple that I was with this afternoon take their betting seriously. You will never hear Pete and Chrissie behaving like complete twats. They are too busy waiting to see if their horse comes in.

These one-celled amoeba-brains are no different to the once every four year guys who came out to show their knowledge of soccer during the World Cup. They are no different to the guys who have never played golf in their life and yet who must be seen and more importantly heard to scream advice to guys that do this for a living.

If it were a competition in swimming they would do exactly the same thing - "Ye feckin' eejits, ye!" they'd be screaming from the safety of the bar counter, even though they may not be able to swim a bloody stroke themselves.

You wonder why I hate these idiots so much? That's why. Although not quite as much as I despise parents who bring in bored children to pubs so that they can hear the language and the nonsense that comes out of their stupid gobs. That's just not right.

Another thing that got on my wick this week was seeing our beloved Taoiseach Brian Clown swaggering his fat ass around the races and boasting about how he was looking forward to having a few 'ould pints with his former master Bertie Ahern.

Fair play to both of you! While myself and so many like me are wondering how the hell we can pay our endless bills it is truly inspiring to see you leading by example in the middle of your three-month-holiday and hearing you boast about meeting up with the chancer who STILL hasn't answered all the questions about how he came to be in receipt of so much money.

Still, he did explain that he won it all on the nags; but... since he is on record as saying that he is not really a gambling man what the hell is he doing there? Isn't gambling part of the fun of going to the races?

I would love to be a betting slip on the wall when you two get together, that's for sure.

Listen: the country is going along just fine without you. Why don't you take an extended forever holiday along with your mentor Ahern? We sure as hell couldn't do any worse when every time you open that big gob it is to blame the media for all of your problems.

Thanks for that by the way, what do you want us to do next we see politicians scamming and thieving their way into money that we can't possibly imagine: just pretend that we write for Russia in the 20s and thirties or even Ireland under Haughey in the eighties and nineties?

I suppose that the journalists who broke the latest on Ivor Callely, the crooked Senator, this morning will be held as terribly negative people by you, Cowen. Not this time: even you can't say that you are helpless this time since we know now that he is actually guilty of FORGING documents so that he could make a few greasy shekels from taxpayers that he was already screwing to the hilt anyway.

It surely has to be the Fraud Squad this time and I hope that you sweated over that as yourself and Bertie Ahern counted out your winnings from your despicable visit to the Races in order to shove it in the faces once more of people who can't afford to go there.

This is a police matter this time, Brian. You surely won't get away this time with saying that there's nothing that you can do about the THIEF and presenter of FORGED INVOICES Ivor 'the cheap crook' Callely because as you have hung onto in the past it was your gambling and drinking buddy Bertie Ahern who gave him a seat as a Senator after he had been voted out of his constituency by people who could see through him.

Let's hear you waffle your way out of this one, you big gouger in a rumpled suit. It's not even as if Callely is a very good crook like most of you are. Hell's fire, he's forging invoices for a company that went up the Swanee River 16 years ago!

Back to our old pals in Vatican City who once more this week made a 'holy' show of themselves by coming down hard with all the force of their leader's fascist past on tourists entering St. Peter's Square. In fairness the mad Catholics have never even pretended to be democratic in their medieval way of thinking - I should know, I grew up as one - so when I heard that they had come down hard on the Faithful who are visiting and paying towards the upkeep of their great City-State I just assumed that they were talking about louts trying to enter the aisles of the Basilica with no shirts on. Even I would find that disrespectful.

Not a bit of it.

Now when you enter the border area that goes into St. Peter's Square you are not permitted to wear skirts above the knee, shorts or any top that might give a glimpse of a woman's bare shoulder.

Now I personally would have thought that Bennie's fascist goons would have more to do these days by keeping their priests in order. You know, the ones who can't contain themselves at the sight of an alter boy or an underage girl who might just lead them astray. No, this is a strict dress code for any fool that would even bother to enter this anachronistic State.

One tourist, James Smith from England was dressed in shorts when going into the sacred square with his wife and their two children. He said:

I knew that you had to put trousers on for the Basilica but to keep them on when you are just wandering through St. Peter's Square or going into the museum is ridiculous.

"My wife had a strappy top on but she has a wrap in her bag and she will follow the rules and put it on inside St. Peter's.

"But when you are wandering about it in this heat it does seem a bit silly that you have to be covered up.

"The Church has more important things to worry about than how tourists are dressed. They should look at the behaviour of some of their priests."

Yes indeed. Even just last week an Italian magazine ran a story about casual sex amongst gay priests attending homosexual events in Rome nightclubs.

A lady friend of my acquaintance who wishes to remain anonymous came up with a rather good solution while we were talking about this latest lunacy from the Holy Catholic Church.

Perhaps, she suggested, the Pope should encourage the use of all over burqas for both men and women who are visiting St. Peter's Square.

I think that this is an excellent idea. Not only does the gown-wearing Pontiff not run the risk of being insulted by the sight of a bare shoulder or knee but the Holy See gets to show it's solidarity with our mad Muslim friends.

After all, they would bend over like that for us.

Wouldn't they?

Hope to see you all in various stages of undress once again next week, since I have no rules as to how you read this column.

Same bat-time!

Same bat-Channel!

The quote at the beginning of this piece is from "Marblehead: A Novel of H.P. Lovecraft" by Richard A. Lupoff. Although a fictionalised account of the great writer's experiences in 1927 the background of growing global unrest and the depictions of New England at the time are riveting and authentic. A fascinating read from Ramble House.

You can reach Charley at chasbrady7@eircom.net