Posts Tagged ‘Catholicism’


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A Hard Lesson to Learn

‘One year on and they still haven’t learned their lesson.’ This is the message being sent by religious leaders to the survivors of the Charlie Hebdo attacks of last year.

Henry Samuel, writing in the Telegraph informs us that:Charlie Anniversary Edition

Anouar Kbibech, head of the French Council of the Muslim Faith, CFCM, said he was “hurt” by the [anniversary] issue while Abdallah Zekri of the Watchdog against Islamophobia group said it was “very violent and insulting towards religions”. Catholic leaders also expressed shock. Abbot Pierre Amar of Versailles said: “Among the dead were believers who were buried in churches. Victims’ families will be insulted when they see this caricature. I don’t understand, I’m speechless.

Hurt? Violent? Insulting? Speechless? Hardly. This lack of understanding regarding freedom of speech, freedom of expression, the freedom to mock ideas that others see as both harmful and beyond reason (or not) is merely an echo of last year’s papal forthcomings which informed the survivors of the cowardly attack that one should expect to be hurt if you go around insulting religion. Any religion.

Must Try Harder

Of course, for the fundamentalist the ability to take offence doesn’t stop at ink. Is that hair you are showing? Did you just smile? What was that you just thought? Come November’s other grim Paris anniversary will they be saying ‘Look, there they are, still laughing and drinking and joking and singing and playing music and prostituting themselves on the filthy streets of Paris. One year on and they still haven’t learned their lesson.’

Just how much more insulting to religion could these disgusting Parisians have been?

Oddly enough there doesn’t yet appear to be people dying in the streets following Charlie Hebdo’s portrayal of God as a killer, still at large. Perhaps attacking all Abrahamic religions in one go was a wise decision by the satirical publication, perhaps not – either way I need not wonder what would be happening this week had they portrayed the prophet Mohammed in such a way?


Interesting, then, isn’t it, that an image of Allah doesn’t stoke the ire in quite the same way that an image of a mere prophet does. Surely, in Islam, this behaviour would be classed as idolatry or shirk – an unforgivable sin in Islam if it remains unpardoned before death.

Still, idolatry, like all forms of blasphemy, are victimless crimes, aren’t they? Oh, wait…

Thus endeth today’s lesson.

Vive Charlie Hebdo! Vive la liberté

Anvil Springstien.

Share the fear – it dilutes it… No, really, it does [above images are facebook banner size]. Oh, and below, one of the best bits of satire you’re ever likely to see: “The Idiots Killed Me…” [by Dilem. Algerian Cartoonist. Credit: @DilemAli] Share this image at your leisure – no,  no, wait, sorry, no, don’t wait… share it now, make it viral. It’ll take ten seconds to put it on your facebook page or place it in a blog post. Do it. Let’s make people bored shitless by this image! “The Idiots Killed Me“:

The Idiots Killed Me

#ToryTown #MotherTeresa

This Just In…

[Click to Enlarge]

Mother Theresa

Original Source:

Loosely Related:

NewsGrab™ ©

Old Man on The Moon Advert ‘Faked’!

Foodbanks to get Child Snatchers!

Lord’s Rebellion.

Tory Turkey’s to have ‘Own Union’.

Austerity Deterrence.

NewsGrab Collected Werks

Anvil Springstien.


Added Bonus Content:

Christopher Hitchens on ‘Hell’s Angel’ Mother Teresa:


His book ‘The Missionary Position‘ (wiki-link) is available on Amazon here.

Interview: (.pdf) Hitchens on Mother Teresa. by ‘Free Enquiry‘ magazine.


#TysonFury #DonaldTrump #TrumpFacts

Honestly, I’m Busy

Yesterday I signed two petitions. I’m not normally one for petitions. Social media allows me to sign forty or fifty a day – more if I had anywhere near the time that the good people at Change.Org obviously think I have. I, however, being busy, use my signature rarely as, for good or ill, I hold the belief that by using it willy nilly I devalue its efficacy – its use as currency. I have no scientific proof that this is indeed the case. It could simply be due to an over-inflated sense of self-importance on my part. Perhaps I’m lazy? I’m not too sure? Like most people, some things I do with little or no thought. I simply believe this to be the case.

The two petitions I signed yesterday, I thought about long and hard. I signed them both even though I would disagree with the outcome of either, should they come to fruition.

The first petition signed was for the removal of World Heavyweight Champion, Tyson Fury, from his nomination as one of the twelve choices for the BBC’s ‘Sports Personality of The Year’. It’s an annual event of considerable import here in the UK which is ultimately voted on by the British public from an apostolic list contrived by some grey eminence in a back-office at Broadcasting House.

The second petition I signed yesterday was to ban the United States republican presidential candidate, Donald Trump, from ever alighting on these fair but damp and weatherbeaten shores.

As I write, the numbers who have also signed these petitions are at 132,000 and 515,000 respectively. In both cases, I believed it was the only way I could be part of a collective voice that showed my disapproval and disdain whilst positioning myself as far as is possible from the recent outbursts of either.

Hell Hath No Fury…

For Mr Fury’s part, following his recent and emphatic points victory over the great Wladimir Klitschko, he opined to anyone who would hold a microphone in front of him – which, believe me, was many – that the place of women was either in the kitchen making him a cup of tea, or on their back in the bedroom – presumably engaging in activities not entirely unconnected with satisfying more of his needs.

tyson fury

He further informed us that The End of The World is Nigh – well, almost nigh – explaining that it only took the acceptance of homosexuality, abortion and paedophilia before the Devil would return to signify the End of Days. As the first two abominations were already upon us, Mr Fury was awaiting the imminent legalisation of child sexual-abuse to complete the three-part Millenarian jigsaw and bring the whole apocalypse thing down around our heads. Horsemen, Angels of Death, Zombie Jesus with laser eyes, the lot.

Any day now, apparently.

When questioned by the massed ranks of the world’s press as to where this analysis had come from, they were informed that it’s ‘all there, in the Bible’. Specifically, ‘somewhere’ in the Bible. Of course, like most Christians who believe the Bible is the inerrant word of a God, Tyson Fury has obviously never read it, content to imagine that whatever he thinks of as a mortal sin must be in there ‘somewhere’. With little or no thought he simply believes this to be the case.

Bible Class

Yet the Bible says little regarding abortion or paedophilia, leastways not in the fashion that Tyson Fury believes: the Bible certainly condones and engages in the killing of foetuses and newborns as punishment; demands that toddlers be dashed to pieces; sends bears to kill insolent kids; asks that parents murder their children, or offer them for sex to rowdy mobs; implores child kidnap; child rape, child genocide and forced miscarriages; it even provides a recipe for a ‘bitter’ drink that may be given to a wife suspected of infidelity so as to abort the fruit of her womb and provide the added bonus of rendering her forever barren.

A bitter drink indeed. That’ll teach the Bitch to stay in the kitchen making the tea, or, at least, be on her back in the correct bed.

In Fury’s defence, there is – how many times do we have to be told – the injunction against homosexuality (Leviticus 18:22, Leviticus 20:13, 1 Corinthians 6:9-10, Romans 1:26-28), but after reading the innumerable and insufferable nonsense portrayed as advice – supposedly from an all-wise deity rather than a middle-east version of a retard from Buttfuck, Alabama – it has to be asked why on earth anyone would take anything in this book at all seriously?

Still, one out of three, ain’t bad, eh, Tyson.

Fury has a loaded shotgun full of lunacy and he’s not afraid to give it both barrels – straight to his own head. Hard to imagine that his comments will be anything but detrimental to his career. I’m sure his sponsors, past and future, will be having similar thoughts.

Danger, Will Robinson!

A far more monstrous madness lies across the Atlantic where Donald Trump, as the whole world now knows, has called for Muslims (along with those thieving raping murdering Mexicans) to be collectively considered personna non grata, to be detained, marked, returned, barred, banned, beaten, and, where possible, killed.

trumpA presbyterian who knows little of religion, and is as equally skilled in foreign affairs, international relations and diplomacy as Tyson Fury, Trump has courted the traditional whack-job evangelical republican base by assuring them he has ‘drank the wine and eaten the little cracker’ of the Lord. Initially nonplussed, they have now seen his long-form concealed-carry permit, applauded his condemnation of the thousands of mythical New Jersey Muslims celebrating the fall of the Twin Towers, and have taken to him with a fervour that can only be described as messianic.

He can, it would seem, do no wrong, for even as Tyson’s star wanes with each opening of his mouth, Donald’s own rises. It would appear that the greater the stupid, the more the poll’s show him in the ascendent.

Trump, along with his followers, are beginning to build an impenetrable wall around his own form of idiocy that can only be shared by the illiterate, the ill-educated, the scared, the heavily armed, the easily led, the religious and the hard of thinking.

As each increase in stupid shows an increase in voter satisfaction, we enter a vicious circle where Trump is encouraged to turn up the stupid-dial way beyond eleven. Given a few short months, it is entirely possible that republican America will enter the primaries with what appears to resemble a two-legged copy of the British tabloid newspaper, The Sun – albeit with a hamster finely balanced above its red-top banner.

Praise The Lord!

Could the larger American public (no pun intended) vote for a man so imbecilic that even Danny Dyer could recently tweet: “Is it me, or is this geezer completely off his strange-looking nut?” (I hope Danny didn’t mind me correcting the grammar or adding the question mark), don’t worry, I have faith that they won’t.

I have faith that Trump and Fury, and their ilk, will be eaten by their own words – consumed by the very unreason and irrationality that presently propels them. I am also confident that my faith is stronger than either of theirs, for I have faith not in Goblins or Wizards or other Magic Men in the Sky – I have faith in free speech. This is why I hope these petitions will do little more than express the outrage, shock and sarcasm that many of us feel and wish to portray towards the nonsense spouted by people such as these.

Let Me Read You Your Rights

Am I offended by their bile? Of course, I am. I have the right to be offended. I do not have the right, or the desire, to not be offended. It is both their right to offer offence and mine to take it should I so choose – and respond proportionally within the realm of free speech.

Without the right to offend, freedom of speech does not exist.

Trump And Fury have shown that free speech has its problems – it means that idiots, as well as clever people like you and me, can have their say – but these problems are all dealt with by the simple application of more free speech – not less. It is difficult to curtail the rights of the stupid to free speech, without inadvertently stitching our own mouths tightly shut. I’m sorry if people are offended by Trump or Fury’s comments. I am offended, too – tough. Develop a response, formulate an argument, speak out, write a letter, stamp your feet, march. Sign a bloody petition, for Christ’s sake!

 Just don’t sign one that demands that they shut up!

The criminalisation of speaking, as we see in some European countries with Holocaust denial laws, leads to the criminalisation of giving offence. The cry of ‘I’m offended’ should lead to discourse with the opposition, not force silence upon them – yet over and over again this is exactly how the taking of offence is now used – to silence the offending (or dissenting) voice – often with the accompanying convenience that the accusations of misogyny, racism, anti-Semitism and islamophobia can provide.

As we speak, (the God of good-timing shines upon me) the news feeds are reporting that Tyson Fury is being investigated following an accusation of ‘Hate Speech’ after further comments he made regarding homosexuality on the BBC’s Victoria Derbyshire programme: “We take every allegation of hate crime extremely seriously and we will be attending the victim’s address to take a statement.” said a spokesperson for the Greater Manchester Police.

We should be asking searching questions of Tyson – not turning him into a criminal for saying the same stupid and bigoted things – however confusedly – that all religions, and many religious people, think. There is an opportunity here to make Tyson, and people who like him, consider their views.

Still, that said, I sincerely hope that the Victim, especially after having to re-live the ordeal of listening to Tyson Fury – yet again – in front of the Police, is doing well and on the road to recovery. Apologies to all who have been triggered by my mentioning the word hate. I hope you all find your inner safe-space.

As for Donald Trump, well, that cunt can fuck right off!

Anvil Springstien.


Links & Sources:

Tyson’s interview with the BBC’s Jeremy Vine on BBC Radio 2:

The Bible on Stupid:

The Petitions:



“A BBC journalist has been suspended after saying that he was “ashamed” of his employer for including Tyson Fury in the shortlist for Sports Personality of the Year.”

Update: 12.30pm 11/12/2015:

Tyson Fury has been, thankfully, cleared by police over allegations of Hate Crime. What has this ‘accusation’ – and its subsequent dismissal, done to Tyson’s views? I imagine it has done nothing more than entrench them. Shame on the ‘accuser’, who, apparently, is no longer a victim.

On this day in 1973 I awoke to find I was fifteen years old. I was a man. I wore flares, penny-round collars, and my hair, when wet and with my head arched as far back as it would go, would touch my protruding hip-bones.

My ‘mates’ had decided that the evening would be spent celebrating in a pub. Underage and attempting to avoid recognition we caught the 61 bus and travelled about five stops before reaching a place called West Derby Village. Originally a real village until an ever expanding city of Liverpool engulfed it with a tidal wave of post-war slum-clearance housing estates, West Derby had retained its high street quota of watering holes which seemed to be perennially packed to the gills.

David Bowie blasted from the jukebox of the first pub we visited. Commandeering a table in a smoke-filled corner we argued as to who would be the first to try and get served. Being the ‘birthday-boy’ and looking by far the youngest of our motley crew it was decided that I would be exempt from this element of our daring-do. “What you having, then?” said the nominated bravest. “Er, just a pint.” I replied. “Yeah, duh! Dumb cunt! A pint of fuckin’ what, yer spastic?” I reddened with the realisation that I hadn’t a clue what to ask for. I’d considered mouthing a ‘pint of beer’, but after seeing the vast array of pumps as we passed the bar I knew this would be received with another hail of teenage testosterone-filled abuse.

As it happened, my ‘Mam‘ had a penchant for the Bingo, and would, on the occasion of a win, return home with a couple of bottles of beer. Specifically ‘Guinness Stout‘. It was her favourite along with another stout called Mackeson. I’d tasted both, of course, but hadn’t liked either, gagging at the bitterness before being laughed at in the way that adults do when they let children take a sip of their drink. The word ‘Guinness‘ floated to my tongue. Saved for the first, and not the last time that night, by my Mam.

Six pints of draught Guinness later we were back on the bus. Singing and talking to girls just like what real men do. Graham Roberts pissed on the floor of the upper deck of the bus.

Returning to our estate we had lost all fear of recognition and decided to try our luck at St Philomena’s Catholic Club. There was a band on. I danced with innumerable friends of my Mam, “You’re Phyla Lafferty’s son ain’t yer?”. I swapped spit with two of them on the dance-floor and drank three more pints of Guinness.

I can’t remember leaving the club but recall the drunkards long walk home. Arriving at the house my key took about fifteen minutes to make contact with the lock. I recollect the brief joy as it eventually slid into position only for the door to disappear leaving me holding said key where the lock had once been. A hand materialised out of the darkness and grabbed me by the hair, dragging me into the house, another simultaneously slapping the illicit cigarette from my mouth.

It would be hard, and unnecessary, to describe the torrent of invective and abuse that railed from the lips and fists of my Mother. Suffice it to say that I ended up horizontal on a black vinyl couch with my head spinning. “Mam… I’m gonna’ be sick

No sooner said than done. I erupted somewhat whale-like toward the ceiling. Instantly the uncontrollable anger dissipated to be replaced with maternal concern. Within seconds she disappeared only to reappear with a red plastic bowl that normally resided in the kitchen sink, and a sponge.

Oh, Son… oh, my lovely Son…” She cleared most of the vomit from myself and the vinyl couch but struggled to remove it from my hair. So she took a pair of scissors and cut it all off. All of it.

I love my Mam.

Anvil Springstien.


I’d been taken out last night for a lovely birthday meal by my brother. We then went to an old watering hole of ours called The Cumberland Arms. By the time we’d returned home and I’d drunkenly finished writing this it was past midnight, so not quite ‘on this day‘. Ah, well. Fuck it. Fuck ’em all!

So proud to be Irish today…


Anvil Patrick Michael Seamus O’Springstien

Loosely Related: ‘Good Morning, Ireland’ – ‘Talking Out of Your Hat’

Good morning, Ireland.

Today is your big day. Today you get the chance to show the world you have shaken off the shackles imposed by that most corrupt of institutions, the Catholic Church. Today you get the chance to take your seat at the grown-ups table. Today you get the chance to lead the world by stating in three small letters that equality is a bigger word than inequality.

Today you get the chance to shout ‘Yes!’yes image

It really is your Rosa Parks moment, isn’t it. How are you coping? Bit stressed? I’ll bet.

I’ve been watching the debate from this side of the water. It’s been impassioned and heated and those opposed to equality have at times resorted to equivocation at best and downright distraction at worse:

The church, in the shape of the Iona Institute and Mothers & Fathers Matter, have been busily tugging at the proverbial ‘What About The Poor Little Children‘ heart-strings by stating the obvious fact that you can’t replace the love of a mother (in the case of two gay fathers), or the love of a father (in the case of two gay mothers) without ever telling us just exactly how they know this?

In the absence of facts I’ve yet to see any of them pointing at Elton John’s kids saying, “See! See what a pack of bastards they turned out to be!” Or Rosie O’Donnell’s kids. Or Jodie Foster’s kids. Or any gay couples kids for that matter.

They fail of course to mention that this irreplaceable love is not so much replaced as lost completely in the heterosexual divorce courts on a daily basis. Or, for that matter, where research does exist, that it would seem to show that gay couples divorce each other less frequently than ‘normal’ couples.

Yes, when it comes to family values and obvious facts, it would appear that, along with dress sense, gay and lesbian couples can really teach us straight buggers a thing or two.

So much for the threat to the institution of marriage that allowing all citizens equal rights before the law will bring. Kinda’ strange to hear that giving others the same rights that you have will somehow dilute those very rights rather than strengthen them.

The more shameless of those opposing equality have also – quoting US statistics – insinuated that ‘fatherless’ children are more likely to end up in prison, or on drugs, though what this has to do with the argument at hand is quite frankly beyond me? Are these US statistics stating that the offspring of lesbian couples are more likely to commit crime or be addicted to drugs? Of course not. No more so than they state that offspring of lesbian couples will be green with purple hair. It is patent nonsense.

Then why mention this at all?

The answer is obvious. It is the scatter-gun approach to argument:

Smoke and Mirrors; Confusion; Obfuscation; Equivocation; An appeal to tradition; An appeal to the norm.

These are the tactics employed by a regime that has watched its power base being swept from under it by reason, rationalism, and the very public exposition of its own corrupt, malign, and immoral nature.

Interesting, then, to observe the obvious frustration at their inability to play the ‘kiddie fiddler’ card – the unspoken assumption that historically associates gay men with paedophilia. The unspoken assumption that I’ve seen reflected in the vox-pops of your older generation nightly on TV, the, “It’s not right” and, “Think of the poor children“, where the agents of the church can only nod in unspoken agreement, hands clasped in a tight-lipped communion of deceit.

When the lies and the fear-mongering are swept aside there is only one question that you have to ask yourself today: are you in favour of equality?

Well, are you? Do you think that anyone should be treated less equally than you? Do you think that other people should be allowed the same rights as you under the law? Do you think that we should all be allowed to sit at the same table… on the same seats… on the same bus? Or do you think like one ageing Irishman I recently spoke to who was “All for Equality…” but thought that this time it had, ”… gone too far”.

What part of equal do you think goes too far?

This is your Rosa Parks moment, Ireland. It’s time to make history.

Depending on the turnout it may yet go down to the wire. The polls all say it is the youth of Ireland that will carry the day – if they get out to vote – that this referendum is about a young and vibrant new Ireland facing up to the challenges of a modern world. That may be so – I hope it is, but perhaps it may also be worth sparing a thought to the many gay and lesbian Irish people among these older generations. There is no less a percentage among them than among these vibrant Irish youth.

Homosexuality is not a lifestyle choice.

They are there. They are many. They have been there forever. Hidden by dogma. Condemned to isolated, lonely, loveless lives – or forced into living one hell of a lie. The youth of Ireland are not just voting for themselves. This vote will be for those older people, too.

This is your Rosa Parks moment, Ireland. Grab hold of the seat in front of you. Don’t budge. Not one inch. It’s time to stop this bus.

Anvil Springstien.

Loosely related: ‘Talking Out of Your Hat’. –  ‘Dear Tom Daley…’