This is me, Eccles

This is me, Eccles
This is me, Eccles

Sunday, 20 September 2020

Death of a Saint

Once in a while someone dies who is instantly recognised as a saintly being by our spiritual leaders. A few months ago it was George Floyd, the violent drug-crazed robber. His virtues were recognised by Fr James Martin, who instantly awarded him a place in Heaven.

Jimbo tweet

Well, I've tried praying to St George the Floyd in Heaven, but I keep getting the "number unobtainable" message. So maybe I am not spiritual enough to appreciate his saintliness.

Then, a day or two ago, we said farewell to top lawyer Ruth Bader Ginsburg, without whom many kids now dead through abortion might have been given a chance to live. Now, there are lots of good reasons why I should not comment adversely on the dear departed.

  1. De mortuis nil nisi bonum, attributed to Chilon of Sparta (600 BC), although he said it in Greek. This rather limits what we can say about anyone in history. Judas Iscariot knew how to make a quick buck (=30 pieces of silver), Henry VIII was a great musician, Hitler a promising painter. Ruth hardly ever tortured kittens.
  2. Judge not that ye be not judged. Awkward this one, as dear Ruth made a living out of judging people. Anyway, we can comment on her activities without judging her.

Chilon of Sparta

Chilon of Sparta - I have nothing but good to say of him.

Now, a lot of people have decided to go for the "Praise Ruth" option. Governor Mike Huckabee, who is an amusing Southern Baptist, and so slightly saved, and whose most irritating habit is to torment people with his electric bass guitar, goes for the "respectful memory" option - but then Baptists don't canonize people - reflecting on her friendship with the late Justice Scalia.

But it is impossible to know the ultimate destination of La Ginsburg until Fr Jim has pronounced. Since she was a Democrat, we know he will support her, as pro-life issues must always come second to party loyalty - except when Republicans do it, eh, Jim?

"May her memory be a blessing."

Apparently dear Ruth was also described a "champion of LGBTQ rights on the bench". There we must draw the line, since if the LGBTQ people wish to exercise their rights, a bed is surely far more appropriate than a park bench. But what do I know?

Anyway, that's enough spiritual nourishment for now. RIP, Ruth, and RIP all the unborn kids being torn to pieces before they have a chance to grow up and become lawyers.


  1. George Floyd killed himself. The Hennepin County Medical Examiner reported that Floyd's system contained four times the lethal amount of fentanyl, and that, in the absence of the controversial circumstances, the cause of death would have been unhesitatingly ruled an overdose. One symptom of an overdose of fentanyl is fluid in the lungs. Floyd was foaming at the mouth, and was saying "I can't breathe" while he was still in his car, while he was walking around. He said it seven times before he was on the ground. The pressure applied by the cop's knee was so gentle that there was no bruising. James Martin is a braying jackass. (That's not in the report.)

    1. Eight sentences, eight perfectly true statements. See, everybody, it isn't that hard.

  2. RBG was a inverterate baby murderer and we cannot wish her rest in peace. God forbid.

  3. Declaring misfits & Satanic Atheists as befitting of sainthood the usurper in the PO & his Sodomite Marxist following are playing the canonisation card as a provocation to faithful Catholics. As they don't believe in God or an afterlife, it is neither here nor there for them to do so but they will receive just punishment in due course.

  4. The Bald-Headed League

    I had called upon my friend Sherlock Holmes one fine autumn morning and found him engaged in conversation with a pale-faced man without a single strand of red hair or, indeed, of any color.
    In short, he was a splendid specimen of a perfectly bald-headed man.

    I was about to withdraw when Holmes said to me, “Watson, you could not have come at a better time. Allow me to introduce Jabez Martin.
    Beyond the obvious facts that at no time has he performed any manual labor, that he is a Freemason & LGBT heretic who has lately done a considerable amount of tweeting, I can further deduce that he is a Jesuit.”

    “Mr. Holmes, you are correct in every particular,” sighed Jabez Martin. “ I am also the victim of a cruel prank.
    As an American Jesuit journalist of great renown and special Consultant to the Vatican Communications office, the Pope frequently calls upon me to advise him on matters of import.

    One month ago, my clerk at the National Catholic Fishwrap informed me that the Vatican Bald-headed League was seeking the ideal candidate to tweet their views to the American electorate. Naturally I was eager to apply, particularly since the work was minimal & the pay exorbitant.”

    “And then?” I asked.

    “And then,” continued Jabez Martin, “I flew to Rome & applied for the position & obtained it immediately. The job was simple enough. I arrived at 9 A.M. & tweeted Democratic talking points from A-Z all day long.”

    “And then?” I pressed.

    “And then one morning I arrived at the office to discover that the door was locked & my job was finished. I was never even paid my promised 30 pieces of silver!”

    Sherlock leapt to his feet. “Warson, pack our bags. We are off to Rome.”

    Standing in St. Peter’s Square, Holmes and Watson studied the statuary of Apostles and Saints atop the Colonnade. Holmes observed, “It takes little power of deduction to see that the City of Saints has become a city of fallen angels. Perhaps we can add a measure of justice. May God have mercy on their souls.”

    Proceeding to the Secretariat Office of Modernist Communications, Sherlock tapped his cane along the pavement. “Apparently this hollow sound indicates that tunneling has advanced below our feet. We shall descend to the lower level & await the outcome.”

    Later that night as we waited in the darkness, I asked Sherlock what we might expect.

    Sherlock remarked, “We must consider the curious incident of the papal dog in the night.”

    “But the papal dog did nothing in the night,” I replied.

    “That is the curious incident.”

    Suddenly a figure broke through the floor tile only to emerge before our eyes.
    “Watson, apprehend that perp!” cried Sherlock.

    The perp was none other than Cardinal Paradigm who was hauling two large valises. One contained a vast sum of euros destined for Argentina. The other contained the long-awaited McCarrick Report.

    “Turn all evidence over to Inspector Lestrade,” said Sherlock, “And give the scoop to Bruvver Eccles.”

    Later, back in Holmes’ comfortable sitting room, I asked what it might all signify. “Is It all about catching Cardinal Paradigm red-handed?”

    Holmes sat smoking his oversize pipe, and it was some time before he mused aloud, “Watson, there is more to this than meets the eye. I see the hand of Professor Soros Moriarty, managing a world-wide web of modernist mayhem.”

    “His methods are certainly similar, I replied, “But could such a posturing man really be the Napoleon of Crime?”

    Holmes re-lit his pipe and, after some consideration, he sighed deeply & replied, “I deduce that one far more diabolical must be behind all this. One for whom Professor Soros Moriarty and his globalist & Vatican followers are mere lackeys.
    Watson, I believe this may be our final case: The unveiling of the Mystery of Iniquity. Then comes the Triumph of Truth.”

    1. Dear Chestertoniann, A kind word. Regards to Sue Perfluous when you see her.

  5. Thomas a Kempis is clearly far more likely to be praying for us...assuming he made it out of the coffin in time.

  6. Fortunately, these secular saints will come in handy for filling all the empty plinths in our public squares, once the statues of racists, imperialists and assorted historical bigots have been cleared away.