The 48th Eurachistic Conference.

Pope Benjidict the X vee eye called the 36th Euchratistic Conflagration in the year 200diddlysquat to be held in Dublin, Ireland for the celebration of Eric Clapton's birthday. The proceedings were renamed "Ecumenical Congress" as the word eucharistic was considered to be offensive and frankly racist to the hindus, muslimists and protestants. The actual event itself was not, however. Well done yet again catholic church.

Day 1 began with a huge procession from Bird Avenue, Clonskeagh to the Pro-Cathedral, Marlborough Street, which was hampered by a large number of pigeons and junkies, but got there eventually. Benediction was pronounced (or whatever verb is correct with benediction, given, benedicted, popeified, etc.) outside the Pro at 5pm just as all the whitecollar types were going home from work.

Now most of these types didn't give a rat's flute about the holy proceedings happening outside the Pro. As a matter of fact, some of them downright despised catholicism, the pope and the chorch. Two of these were Wes and Brian, a pair of queers who lived along Grand Canal Street, Dublin 4. Wes and Brian were two nice chaps in their 30s who had been husband and husband for a few years now and loved nothing more than an evening drinking a nice bottle of mid-range wine followed by a session of weird sex games where they shoved parsnips up each other's noses and smeared gooseberry jam over one another's arses. But of course that was fine in our Tolerant Modern Society where Anything Goes.

Sadly, Wes and Brian had to get divorced in 2004 because one of them discovered the other had raped his dog. Jeesus. However, they met weekly thereafter in the sleaziest joints in Ballsbridge for a quick parsnip and a royid.

The end of the Eorcastic thing was interesting because of a scene which occurred just there beyant O'Connell Bridge. Mary Robinson was there to review the proceedings and it just so happened that she mistook Brian Cowen's wife for the pope, which was very embarrassing, considering there was no pope there at all. Now that was a faux-pas if e'er I saw one.

Well done Mary. Well done Brian's wife. Well done Wes and Brian. Well done Clapton. Well done pope.

Well done all round!

Excuse us while we consecrate a new host!

More Dublin Vignettes.

—Hi, can you help me? Like, um, what’s a euro? I’ve just like arrived from the states and I really don’t have my bearings yet.
—Well, a euro is a little small thing you use to buy things.
—So, um, it’s kind of like a dollar?
—Yes, but not quite as thick.

—Hmh. Losing focus. Eat face. Hmh, hmh.

—Come on Samsonite, you’re embarrassing me. You’re slowly ruining my social credibility.
The dog begins barking incessantly.
—Just shut up you little bastard or I’ll have you neutered. Yeah, I mean it this time.
That’ll shut him up.

—But EOB! What am I going to do with this potassium permanganate all over my hands! My social life is ruined!
—Don’t be ridiculous. It’ll fade away in a couple of days. Social life!

—I’ll have twenty Marlboro lights and a pack of those faggy cigarettes for women.
—Excuse me?
—You know the ones, with the flowers on them.
—I don’t know what you’re talking about.
—Jeesus! And you call yourself a newsagent.

A drunk aulfella in Ranelagh.
—Can you spare some change or something, I’m staying in the hostel or whatever.
—You’re not very good at this pretending to be homeless thing, are you?
The aulfella knocks his head against the cash machine outside Ulster Bank.
—Ah jaysus, don’t I know it.
Have two euro for your trouble and buy yourself a Kinder Bueno in Centra.

For the way we live today.

Now to ride Mrs O'Leary.

Dear Mary Robinson, only son of the father. Eternally begotten, light from light, true god, etc. One being. Well done to Mary, with her father being pope and all. Shame he died, got love him. Pope Jonny Greenwood of Radiohead, the newest and hippest thing to come out of Ocksfurd this side of Tuesday.

Two people riding against the gate of the Pro-Cathedral.

"Jaysis Damo, have ye not got a jonny? I never took me pill on Wednesday and if I end up havin another bleedin child me gee will end up the size of Tolka Park."

"Fuck sake Bernadine, don't ya know I don't? I've only got this bag of chips from Beshoffs and they taste fuckin shoie."

"Trow dem on the ground then Damo and cover yer flute with the bag."

"Wha? What sort of dozy aul cunt are ya? I wouldn't fuckin feel anythin with a brown paper bag on me cock and you'd end up with lacerations all up yer fanny."

Eventually Damo dropped his chips, but Bernadine didn't drop hers as she didn't have any. Archbishop Dearmit Martin later condemned their riding against holy gates, but nobody batted an eyelid. Sure it didn't stop de Valera.

NO MAN has the right to set the boundary unto the march of 31st. The end of the world is now says the nordies. Well, April fools!

HAH.

The end.