Showing posts with label Satire. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Satire. Show all posts
Dr John Coulter  Firstly, a Happy Christmas to one and all readers, writers and editors of The Pensive Quill. 

Well, what a bagful of goodies Santa has brought you - namely, the results of the 14th annual very irreverent, downright rude and totally satirical Coulter’s Coveted Cock-Up Cups and Awards for 2023.

The Top Tit Trophy goes to the DUP for failing to jump at the almost £4 billion boost from Westminster to kick start the Stormont Executive and ensure the hard-pressed workers and those struggling with the cost of living crisis had a pleasant Christmas.

Let’s face reality; forget all the DUP spin about wanting to get the right deal for Northern Ireland and that talks were not over and there’s still wriggle room to make changes to the Windsor Framework.

The real reason the DUP wouldn’t trigger a pre-Christmas Executive relates to the splits in the party and the backlash from hardliners in the TUV and extreme loyalism. It’s amazing what a wee poster can do!

Significantly, there’s no messing about with the rapidly declining Ulster Unionist Party - it collects The Asshole or Elbow Plate for having policies which no one understands what the UUP now stands for! Will the UUP go into opposition if there’s a new Executive, or take up a ministerial post? It is a liberal unionist movement, or socially progressive … and so the list of confusing policies goes on and on.

And as for the Shinners, they march away with the Satan Under The Sofa Shield - sponsored this year by the North Korean Positive Thinking Department - for Sinn Fein’s ability to totally rewrite Irish history leaving out the ‘RA and clamping down on any media outlets which dare to criticise the political wing of the republican movement.

Mind you, the militant wing of Christian fundamentalism pushed the Shinners all the way for this award. A section of the so-called street preaching fraternity have taken up the theological cudgels left behind by 1950s American McCarthyism; its no longer Reds under the bed, but militant fundamentalists are now seeing satanic plots and deceptions in every aspect aspect of life - have you tried looking in the mirror lately, lads?

And what of the poor Stoops? Has the party with no seats in any future Stormont Executive managed to feature this year? Yup, the SDLP does! By a squeak, the party scooped the Crumbs in the Barrel Cup for its disastrous showing in council elections this year, losing seats hand over fist to the Shinners. Makes you wonder, what’s the point of the SDLP. Indeed, after next year’s expected Westminster General Election, there may not be a decent Stoop party of any influence. Looks like the Foyle seat is already a goner!

And there’s a special award for the TUV, but it is only getting this cup as I don’t want any ‘sell-out’ posters plastered outside my home! This vote transfer unfriendly movement picks up The Spitting Feathers Plate for having the most positive policies as to how Northern Ireland should move forward as a community. I actually couldn’t find them, but as I say, I don’t want the hard lads in the middle of the night decorating my street lamps.

As the middle ground Alliance Party, it rolls home with the Avoid Pressing the Nuclear Button Shield for constantly dodging the question how it would vote in the event of a border poll. If my schoolboy geography is correct, east of the River Bann, it is Orange Alliance to get unionist transfers, and west of the Bann, it’s Green Alliance to soak up nationalist transfers.

Naturally, the Conservative party runs away with The Thick as Pig S-H One T Trophy for its sheer brilliance in converting an 80-seat plus Commons majority in the last General Election to a place where it is now facing electoral oblivion in a single Parliamentary term. What was a satirical jibe on the Alas show, namely a new Tory Party led by BoJo and Nigel Farage could be the only option in the future, otherwise the UK is looking at a Labour administration in power for possible a generation.

And this year’s Booby Prize goes to the struggling Dail coalition government of Fianna Fáil and Fine Gael for off-loading millions of pounds into Northern Ireland before the Shinners get their hands on a social housing budget and bankrupt the South within five years.

And being a preacher’s kid, no awards ceremony would be complete without something for religious folk and The Blasphemy and Heretics Memorial Cup is won jointly this year by the militant fringe of the pro-life movement and the ultra Right-wing faction of the militant fundamentalist street preacher movement.

As a Presbyterian minister’s son married to a Baptist pastor’s daughter, I was brought up on a diet of sensible and responsible open air Christian evangelism. But the strategies of both these joint winners have resulted in draconian laws having to be implemented in terms of licences for preaching on streets and safe access zones at health clinics.

The problem is that these laws and by-laws will affect all Christians, not just the lunatic fringes, who want to use open air evangelism as a means of preaching the Gospel or defending the rights of the unborn.

And so we come to the most prestigious of all - The Gobshite Cup - dedicated to those who criticise me the most as I’m a great believer in the freedom of the Press and in freedom of expression.

In spite of all the ‘shite pumping’ (sorry, that should read informed political comment!) about my published and broadcast work, The Gobshite Cup for 2023 goes to my co-host, Mattie James, on the new political satire radio show, Alas Coulter And James, which is broadcast on Sundays.

The amount of name-calling he’s heaped on me makes the horrors of growing up as a teenage minister’s son in the Seventies in the heartland of the north east Ulster Bible Belt pale into insignificance.

Most Sundays in the New Year, we’ll be on air in the North Coast from 1 pm and in the Newry, Portadown and ABC council region from 2 pm. Here’s the link.

A word of warning - this is not for the woke, fainthearted, or easily offended. It’s hard-hitting, edge of the knuckle political satire as at the age of 64, I really have become a grumpy old git!

Enjoy your turkey dinners. Even before I get to dessert, I’ve already received nominations for the 2024 awards from a right bunch of assholes (apologies, that should read experienced political activists and religious campaigners).

Follow Dr John Coulter on Twitter @JohnAHCoulter
Listen to commentator Dr John Coulter’s programme, Call In Coulter, every Saturday morning around 10.15 am on Belfast’s Christian radio station, Sunshine 1049 FM. Listen online

Coulter’s Coveted Cock-Up Cups And Awards 2023 - The Results!

Dixie Elliot ✍ Ryan Tubridy's new agent, Danny Healy-Rae, has told an RTÉ News reporter that he has applied for the vacant newsreader's job with BBC.

 

Healy-Rea said that Ryan Tubridy isn't available for comment at present as he doesn't know yet that he's his new agent and that he applied for the job without telling Tubridy.
 
"Would you be havin' a pint with me before you be on your way?" Healy-Rea asked the reporter.

"I will indeed, thank you."
 
"Then it's your round, that'll be €150!" said Healy-Rea.
 
"A €150? That's a bit steep for two pints!"

"It's traditional that new-comers buy everyone a drink in this pub." said Healy-Rea.

"But there's only you and me here!"

"Ah now, don't you worry a thing about it, I'll see to it that everyone else gets a pint when I open the bar... Will you be havin' a wee whiskey with that pint?"

"F*ck no!"
Thomas Dixie Elliot is a Derry artist and a former H Block Blanketman.
Follow Dixie Elliot on Twitter @IsMise_Dixie

RTÉ News

Dixie Elliot ✍ In other words, stay off Facebook Timothy or you'll be going straight to hell.


The day before the Last Days everyone will be on Facebook posting photos of the giant meteorite hurtling towards the earth wondering will it hit down around Sydney Australia or in the Shantallow area of Derry.

The day after the Last Days the last person left on earth will still be on Facebook tagging all their friends to see if they heard any craic about the end of the world and if it was all a mix.

Of course, no one will respond and 28 days later this Omega Person will start sending out friend requests to people across the world.

Twenty-eight years later, someone finally accepts a friend request from the Omega Person but that other person is still using a fake name.

"Hi Kissmyass, it's amazing to find another friend on Facebook who's still alive after all these years. What's your real name?"

"Oh I can't tell you that, you could be working for the dole."

"When was the last time you got any dole Kissmyass?"

"I forget now, but I know I'll be getting a lot of back money. Anyway, I see your name is Sausage Doherty. Are you from Londonderry?"

"It's Derry... Up the RA!

....Fucksake, Kissmyarse just blocked me... well two of us can play at that game, I'll block him straight back."

The End. . . .
Thomas Dixie Elliot is a Derry artist and a former H Block Blanketman.
Follow Dixie Elliot on Twitter @IsMise_Dixie

You're Going To Hell . . . Timothy

Dr John Coulter presents his annual highly irreverent and satirical review of the year with loads of awards for people, some who deserve them - but others don’t!

Now in their 13th year, these are the gongs everyone in politics and religion craves, although the looney ultra-fundamentalist wing of the Christian faith will probably want me as a diehard Presbyterian burnt at the stake as a witch.

The DUP collects the Top Tit Trophy for the second successive year for failing to nominate an Assembly Speaker, thereby enabling the much-needed Executive to be formed in the midst of a cost of living crisis.

The Tories ran the Duppers a close second, copying the latter’s ‘three leaders in a year’ tactic as the internal Conservative rebellion produced three British Prime Ministers in the space of three months.

As for the rival Ulster Unionists, they snatch the Whingeing Cup for telling humans not to whine like folk, people, constituents, audience … just don’t mention the word ‘girl.’

The Up The RA Plate goes to the Shinners for now trying to airbrush the Provos completely out of history as part of Sinn Fein’s cunning plan to present the party as a dark green version of the rapidly crumbling Stoops.

And speaking of the SDLP, it picks up the ‘What’s The Point Of This Party’ Cup after the disastrous May Stormont election saw the Stoops lose their sole Executive Minister.

Maybe Stoop boss Comrade Colum’s New Year resolution could be to announce a formal merger with the Irish Labour Party and ditch the ‘SD’ bit of the title.

The late former West Belfast Westminster MP Gerry Fitt would be so proud as a founding father of the Stoops if the party went back to its socialist labour roots. It might even attract more Prod votes in the same way as the old Northern Ireland Labour Party achieved before the proroguing the original Stormont Parliament in 1972.

And talking of mergers, The Civil War Cuddle Up Cup (also known as the Panic Plate) goes to the Fianna Fáil/Fine Gael coalition in the Dail as they desperately try to concoct some kind of policy which will prevent Shinner boss Mary Lou McDonald from becoming the South’s next Taoiseach following a future Leinster House General Election.

Mind you, as the past couple of years have witnessed commemorations to mark the centenary of the Irish Civil War in the 1920s, it should be noted that the pro-Treaty Free State army executed more anti-Treaty IRA members than were killed by the British in the previous War of Independence.

Makes you wonder how long the Troubles would have lasted if the British and Irish governments had adopted the strategy of the Free Staters and put convicted terrorists up against a wall and shot them?

And a special award must go to the hardline loyalist Traditional Unionist Voice (TUV) party.

It collects The Nobody Loves Us Cup for notching up around 66,000 first preference votes in May’s Stormont poll, yet could only muster one seat. Maybe Harry and Megan could use their PR skills to help the party up its councillors in the expected 2023 council elections.

Speaking of the Sussexes, after their nauseating Netflix series, they pick up the Traitors Trophy for single handedly demolishing the monarchy. Then again, as an ardent monarchist myself, perhaps I’m not the best judge to award this to the Sussexes. The Tower of London would be a better home for them if they ever decide to return to the UK.

The Please Bog Off And Leave Us Alone Plate goes handsomely to the European Union, which doesn’t seem to be able to accept the result of the Brexit referendum in the UK. It’s simple, EU - we’re gone! And to mis-quote one former Sinn Fein Northern Ireland MEP, the EU can stick the Protocol where … well, you know the rest of the phrase!

The Pharisee Plate goes to that section of the anti-vaxxer movement who peddle the myth that the Covid vaccine was made from the foetus of an aborted baby. Those specific anti-vaxxers should try going to a concert by the hard-hitting comedian Jimmy Carr and push that agenda!

And so to the ultimate prize - The Gobshite Cup. I normally award this to the person, people or organisations which are the most critical of my work as a journalist as I’m a great believer in the freedom of the Press and people’s rights to democratically express their opinion.

But this year, I’m giving it to a section of the ultra fundamentalist street preachers who use public address systems to target sections of the community with their ‘Turn or Burn’ strategy.

As the son of a Presbyterian minister married to a daughter of a Baptist pastor, I’ve been brought up on a diet of open air evangelism and I fondly remember the summer months when the Clough and Killymurris Presbyterian Youth Fellowship would spend Sunday evenings in an open air witness on the green area of a local housing development.

But I don’t ever recall us having to resort to the ‘in your face’ tactics of some of these so-called street preachers. As a born-again Christian myself for some 50 years, I’ve always believed the conversational approach is one of the best methods of open air evangelical Christian witness, not yelling into a microphone.

However, a section of these ‘street preachers’ will take the view that because of the growing secularism in society, it is necessary to use such shock ‘Turn or Burn’ tactics to get the Christian message across to the community. I strongly beg to differ given my own personal experience of open air witness.

The real danger is that the ‘OTT’ antics of a few of these ‘street preachers’ will end up in all open air evangelists being tarred with the same brush and draconian laws introduced which will greatly inhibit the preaching of the Gospel message.

The perception that some of these ‘street preachers’ give is that they are purely attention seekers, hell-bent on getting themselves arrested so that they can portray themselves as modern day versions of the famous early Christian martyr, Stephen.

Its days away from 2023, and already there’s an impressive bunch of nominees gathering for next year’s Coveted Cock-Up Cups. Keep an eye, too, for my predictions for 2023.

Follow Dr John Coulter on Twitter @JohnAHCoulter
Listen to commentator Dr John Coulter’s programme, Call In Coulter, every Saturday morning around 10.15 am on Belfast’s Christian radio station, Sunshine 1049 FM. Listen online

Coulter’s Coveted Cock-Up Cups And Awards 2022 👀 The Results!

Steven Are 😈 Due to the sheer incompetence, indifference and lack of foresight displayed by the PUL parties in ‘Norn Iron’ I reluctantly accept absolutely no-one’s recommendation for the role of Benevolent Dictator.

First order of affairs…

1. All the so called “Peace Walls” are to be removed and the residents of both sides are just going to have to get used to it. If you don’t get used to it I will dump 10 thousand Ukrainian refugees in the area because there’s nothing quite like solving a problem by creating another, far larger one in it’s place.

2. Irish Language Act. Irish will be taught in All primary schools as a class. It will be entirely optional in Secondary education. Some kids will have an aptitude for it and some won’t. This will stop the nonsense of making language a political weapon and allowing the kids to pursue it if they choose will stop it being shoved down their throats.

3. Education up to and including University will be free. No bollocks “Gender Studies” or other woke nonsense will be considered a worthy subject and not allowed to be taught.

4. Healthcare will be properly funded via taxation of corporate profits. Businesses don’t like it? Others will take your place. Pay your fair share, arse wipes!

5. Protocol? Shove it up your yer hole. Let Norn Iron take advantage of it’s unique spot by being a strategic staging post between the EU and the rest of the UK. There’s jobs to be created here, and taxation for the rest of my diktats!

66 Historical justice? Amnesty across the board. Let’s see who knew what and when. There will be no prosecutions and I know both sides will feel hard done by but Both Sides Will Feel Hard Done By. Suck it up and get over it. Looking backwards means you walk into things.

7. Parades? Not on the bloody streets you don’t. I’m sick of the mess you lot leave behind whether it’s the 12th or St Patrick's Day. If you act like children you’ll be treated like children. Consequently I’m shifting parades to a suitable area in the country side where you can bang your drums all you like. None Of You Get To Leave Before You Clean Up After Yourselves.

8. All Churches and faith based groups to have tax free status immediately removed. Howl all you want, you lot have created enough shit in the six counties for long enough.

9. Any day over 25oC is a public holiday. But for crying out loud keep your clothes on. Nobody wants to see a sea of fat verandas on the way to get cheap booze and an inflatable pool at Lidl’s. Anybody caught wearing a teeshirt hanging out of their shorts will be kneecapped.

10. On Mother’s Day all the Mums get one thousand pounds. I may be a Dictator but even I’m scared of the Mums and there telepathic abilities to know us inside out!

That is All 

General Mayhem.

Steven Are is a Belfast quiller now living in Australia.

Benevolent Dictator

Health Warning if you are a sensitive soul who is uncomfortable with blasphemy and the mocking of religious opinion, the following satire is not for you. Just give it a miss.


If you are a religious zealot intent on shoving your religious opinion down the throats of everyone else, or a holier than thou puritan terrified that somebody might be enjoying themselves, maybe even a  flagellant, or perhaps a woeful woke practitioner determined to set up a dictatorship of the woketariat, please watch as often as you can, even until you are red in the face, frothing at the mouth with eyeballs bulging out of your head. And remember:


We understand that you are really expressing your love for us and that our reward shall be an eternity burning in hell.

Hallelujah. Hosanna in The highest. 

Zombie Jesus Chocolate Day

The Big Yin ✒ pours scorn on evangelists and Jehovah's Witnesses in equal measure.





Evangelists & Jehovah's Witnesses

Michael Praetorius ✒  Long overdue is a bit of recognition for the discreetly stalwart service rendered by we Catholics who, for whatever reason, have ended up living with a Protestant (not the same one, mind you). As I've said before, Jean’s a Protestant.

She is, for example, and to give just one instance of what we have to put up with, very disrespectful towards the Blessed Virgin. When I listed many of Her names - Blessed Mother, Virgin Mary, Mother of God, Our Lady, Star of the Sea, Queen of Heaven, Cause of Our Joy, Mother of Mercy - Jean cackled and said, What a load of simpering, mammy's-boy rubbish . . .  And you supposed to be an atheist . . .  ! 

Setting aside all the religious stuff, I replied, the fact is that the Blessed Virgin had to cope with a son tramping around the countryside, roaring his head off about Kingdom Come, like in Pasolini's film The Gospel According to St. Matthew; a space cadet in her neighbours' eyes no doubt. And with zero help whatsoever from St Joseph, for we have no evidence that he ever lifted a hand outside of his carpenter's workshop. Plus, she had Jesus's brothers and sisters to provide for. 

Brother and sisters?!? said Jean, real virgin . . . 

This lack of fellow feeling towards a poor, struggling Catholic woman with a big family (featuring plumb loco son), is, in fact, precisely indicative of the mind-set that prevailed here, and led to 60 years of discrimination and gerrymandering, and padlocked swings on Sunday.

I looked at Jean; she was sitting comfortably on the sofa with her feet up, shopping. But really, I thought, nothing has changed with this privileged, Proddy crowd. It's rarely I succumb to agreeing that the only definitive solution would be to put them all on a boat back to Scotland . . . 

Dr No

So, said Jean, let me ask you, just so I can understand what you've been saying:

Is there such a thing as meaning or value?

No I replied.

Is there any inherent meaning in the universe?

No, I replied.

Has the pursuit of meaning any meaning in itself?

No, I replied.

Is an individual's construction of any type of objective meaning possible?

No, I replied.

So is there any authentic resolution to the individual's desire to seek meaning?

No, I replied.

Don't Let It Bring You Down

Consider the ex-English teacher busking. He begins Neil Young's waltz-time version of Don Gibson's wonderful Oh, Lonesome Me. All is as well as can be expected, until this verse:

Well, there must be some way I can lose these lonesome blues,
forget about the past and find somebody new.
I've thought of everything from A to Z ...


Aaarrggghhh . . . ! He has to pronounce Z(ed) as Z(eee) so as to get the rhyme with final line, Oh, lonesome me ...

He winces every time at this naff American pronunciation.

I love that song, says a woman passing by, unaware of the suffering that underlies all great art . . . 

An Apology

Like many other people who are a bit nervous and anxious, or sometimes depressed, or rather impulsive, or not always great at mixing, or somewhat volatile, or bored and moody once in a while, or subject to feelings of low self esteem now and again, or rather overwhelmed by events occasionally, or a little lonely, or a bollix at relationships, and so on, I have always been under the impression that these characteristics were all part of the necessarily diverse, normal and rich pageant of human psychological make-up.

I now understand that nothing could be further from the truth, for the reality is that I, and almost everybody else, have, in fact, been suffering from Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD). Furthermore, contrary to what I may have believed before diagnosis, I now appreciate that any rudeness, selfishness, stupidity, arrogance, laziness, incompetence, bloody mindedness, sheer awfulness, or lack of sympathy exhibited by me in the past are symptoms of this devastating condition over which I have no control, and therefore entirely nothing is my fault or responsibility.

In addition, it goes without saying that BPD is not only the root cause of all my personal failings, but also explains any absence of success in my career, finances, sport, and so on.

I apologise unreservedly for any misunderstanding caused.

Ralph Mclean Is Simply Dreadful ...

Radio Ulster's Street-Star Profile feature on me goes out next Saturday, 7pm. In case you're not familiar with the format - friends, colleagues, etc. are interviewed to help illustrate your stairway to excellence in whatever it is you do. Thanks to these, and the others, who took part:

Classmate at St Colman's College: Musically, Michael told me the sky was his limit . . .  but, like, he spent months trying to do that wolf-whistle thing on Jennifer Eccles, without ever getting near it . . .  Definitely came natural to him to be sort of at two with the guitar . . . 


Fellow busker: He has that single-mindedness . . .  I mean, the number of times I've suggested an electronic tuner . . .  but he thinks it's in tune already  . . .

Ex-work colleague: Everybody else was in NIPSA . . .he set up a branch of UNISON with just himself in it . . .

Man who sat listening for half an hour one day: I mean, he just plinked and plunked out the same old thing over and over. There was no Eagles or Gary Moore or anything. Then he took the huff when I told him he was absolute shite . . .

Woman met on a dating site: He said he was a jet pilot . . .

Losing Your Religion

But why did you lose your faith? a Jehovah's Witness asked me last week.

Gaelic football, I replied.

Really? she said.

Yes, I told her, we were caned at school for playing real football - soccer - with a tennis ball in the handball alleys.

Handball alleys? she echoed.

Nobody played handball any more, I said.

There must be other reasons, she said.

Missions, I said. We had to get up really early and trudge off to Chapel for a half hour session, go straight to school, then go to the Chapel again the same night for two hours. For a whole week. Once a year.

But those are harmful symptoms of a corruption of the Word and its true delivery, not of the message itself, she assured me.

Well, maybe, I said, but at least my mother always got me a little scapular from the Mission stall - we thought they were dead-on back then.

A little what? she asked.

They know nothing, these people . . . 

It's All Good

New year, and thanks largely to Jean's presence and influence, I at last have a much more positive, optimistic outlook on existence.

You’ve changed my life, I told her.

For the better, I hope, she said.

Oh yes, I replied. Entering old age, for example, no longer depresses me. With you at my side I now see it in an upbeat fashion. I am merely entering a scrubby twilit landscape where the previously wide road of life stutters into a path, and that path into a slender track, going nowhere, squeezing toward the end of ambition.

Furthermore, it's wonderful to be at that point on the living road where there are no more signposts, no way-markers, no ambition, and not many other people. All happy surprises are in the past. No more miracles, nothing to be expected, no good news, no hope even, only those rocky heights and the barren hills, and oblivion behind them in unreadable shadow; but pushing on, destiny long behind me, with every turnoff looking treacherous, the whole way forward tending toward darkness.

Life growing thinner and emptying out, travelling in that harsh hinterland of aging, on that narrowing path where no one willingly accompanies you.


Glad I was able to help, said Jean.

Another Apology

Over the years I may have given the impression that, like many high achievers, I've suffered bouts of personal listlessness and fatigue, including many varieties of nervous exhaustion. I may have attributed this draining of the spirit to the speed, variety, complexity, pressures, and so on of my striving relentlessly at the coal face in our modern technological, global workforce.

I may even have looked for, and apparently found, cures in a whole range of physical lifestyle changes, encompassing everything from yoga to diets (including an evangelism for the eating of muesli).

It may also be the case that I have at various times diagnosed my condition as neurasthenia, or existential tiredness, or angst, or anomie, and so on.

I now realise how wrong I have been in any such diagnosis. What I am actually enduring is burnout. This term makes clear that the sufferer, in this case myself, has selflessly just given too much of himself, with the further implication that I have done so for the greater good. Thus am I absolved from the suggestion of self indulgence that accompanies those said to suffer from 'fatigue' or 'ennui'.

I apologise unreservedly for any misunderstanding caused.

I Went To School In Newry

No, answered the man handing out the saved-type leaflets in Newry, when I asked him if Miss Lotte Lenya can come to Heaven with me. His was a strictly subdue-and-have-dominion-over approach, to a wholly unrelated category of creature he called 'the animals', as if, somehow, and just as one example, his bones aren't nearly identical in form and function to those of the other mammals.

Ah, but, I said, consider me out walking with Miss Lotte Lenya: there is complexity to my and her make-up, compared to the relatively simple structure of the inanimate universe we inhabit, in as much as we can know it at all. Thinking about this as we walk, I'm striving for some shallow, uninformed significance or insight. But Lotte isn't. She holds no grudges, asserts no doctrine or creeds, flies no flag, imposes no meaning, demands no faith or formulas. In other words, a more innocent and deserving candidate for a place in paradise would be hard to find. And certainly when I get to Heaven the first thing I'll do is call her name and take her for a walk.

A dog has no soul, God's frontman pronounced witheringly, from the lofty heights of sterile enlightenment and banal revelation.

Look at her, I told him.

She was wagging her tail.

Michael Praetorius spent his working life in education and libraries. Now retired, he does a little busking in Belfast ... when he can get a pitch.

Black Prods ✑ My Part In Their Conservation

Brandon Sullivan ✒ I recently heard that Jim Allister, like me, an Ulsterman (him from Crossgar, me from the Falls Road, Belfast), bestowed upon Ben Habib the title of “honorary Ulsterman.”

At first, I felt that this was typical of a certain type of right-wing unionism. But then, having thought about it, maybe Jim has a point.

Ben Habib does have some traits that make him quite similar to me, an Ulsterman, born in County Antrim, part of the nine counties of Ulster. Ben was born in Pakistan – a country created by a British border commission, and which has seen ethnic cleansing, sectarianism, and relentless, bloody conflict – though on a much greater scale than in Ulster, or indeed, Ireland (in the 20th and 21st century, anyway).

Ben, also, like some other Ulster people, was elected to serve in a parliament that he believed shouldn’t return elected representatives from where he lived. Martin McGuinness; Gerry Adams; Ben Habib – two actual Ulstermen, and an honorary one, enduring the indignity of elected office in a parliament they don’t see as legitimate.

Ben, like some Ulster folk in ‘Derry, has also sought to cite the Russian invasion of Ukraine as having something in common with the situation in Northern Ireland. This type of persecution complex, and solipsism, is something that Ulstermen and Ulsterwomen, of all voting blocs, can have in common.

The similarities are almost endless. Ben has done well in property. The Ulstermen who make up the Provisional IRA’s Army Council have, allegedly, an impressive property portfolio.

I think that the next honorary Ulsterman title should go to Nigel Farage: a man who has led the way in seeing GB become an international laughing stock, and with a much depleted economy.
 
⏩ Brandon Sullivan is a middle aged, middle management, centre-left, Doors loving Belfast man. Would prefer people focused on the actual bad guys.

Falls Road Says YES ✑ Ben Habib Qualifies As An Honorary Ulsterman

A witty ditty taking a sideswipe at the gay haters.

Probably Gay, the Homophobia Song - Katie Goodman's Broad Comedy


Probably Gay

Dixie Elliot ✒ This photograph shows the last time Boris Johnson had his hair combed.
 

His mother said that his maid had combed his hair shortly before the photo was taken.

Shortly afterwards young Boris accidently went and got his father's hunting rifle, he accidently loaded it and accidently shot the maid dead several times.
 
Boris told his parents that he thought the hunting rifle was only capable of shooting deer dead, not real people like maids. "You kill fish with a fishing rod but you never hear of people being killed with fishing rods, do you? I thought it was the same with hunting rifles."

No one ever tried to comb his hair again . . . 

Thomas Dixie Elliot is a Derry artist and a former H Block Blanketman.
Follow Dixie Elliot on Twitter @IsMise_Dixie

Don't Comb That Hair

Contentious political and religious commentator, Dr John Coulter provides us with his annual irreverent awards for 2021. These serious or satirical awards - depending on how you view both him and them - have been running since 2009.

The Democratic Unionist Party, snowflake supporters of the French, and the Christian fundamentalist wing of the anti-vaxxer movement are the big winners in this year’s prestigious Coulter’s Coveted Cock-Up Cups and Awards.

One of the key awards, the Top Tit Trophy, goes to the DUP for its hilarious shenanigans over the leadership battles with the public infighting providing three chiefs and a few coups in as many months - a set of circumstances that would never have happened during the reign of the late Rev Ian Paisley.

However, some judges on the panel have suggested that given the DUP has romped home with the TTT, the award should be renamed The Perpetual Cup for the Truly Shortsighted.

Following hot on the DUP’s heels is the hardline Traditional Unionist Voice party, fronted at present by its lone MLA Jim Allister from North Antrim. The TUV collects the One Hit Wonder Cup for one of the LucidTalk opinion polls which showed the TUV a few percentage points ahead of the DUP.

And speaking of getting ahead, the Ulster Unionist Party heads off with the Beware Big Boots Plate as its latest leader ‘General’ Doug Beattie stamps his authority on the party and brings some much-needed discipline to the movement.

Try to politically diddle about with ‘General’ Doug, and you’ll be bounced out as part of the UUP’s ‘shrink to grow’ strategy!

Also on the topic of bouncing, well done to the Alliance Party for winning hands down the Go As Green As You Can Cup for rebranding itself as a soft ‘r’ republican party. For years since its inception, Alliance was viewed as merely a ‘wine and cheese supper brigade’ compared to the middle class ‘fur coat and no knickers brigade’ in Ulster Unionism.

For example, under the leadership of my former schoolboy chum, John Alderdice (now Lord Alderdice), Alliance was seen as a soft ‘u’ or ultra liberal pro-Union party.

But Alliance is now sucking up to the Stoops and Shinners in terms of trying to soak up republican transfers west of the River Bann. Maybe Alliance could celebrate this Cup win by having its party name (Votail Comhar) emblazoned in the Irish language on its election literature in next May’s expected Stormont poll?

Sinn Fein collects the We Will Do As Many U-Turns As Possible To Get Into Power Award. Based on the party’s showing at the funeral of veteran republican Bobby Storey in 2020, the Shinners - who were once vehemently anti-European Union - are now big-time supporters of the Northern Ireland Protocol because they see it as a weapon to bring about a border poll.

With those Stormont elections due in 2022, I wonder how many other political flip-flops will be done in the Assembly and Dail simply to get into power on both sides of the border?

As for the Stoops, they collect the Can We Please Please Please Be Your Friend Trophy as the SDLP is still frantically looking for a partner to team up with in its bid to gain an all-island identity - will it be Fianna Fáil, Fine Gael, or Irish Labour?

Seems no one wants to climb into bed politically with the Stoops! Instead of a former UUP leader’s slogan, Vote Mike Get Colum, its a case of Vote Colum, Get Ignored!

The Divorce Diploma goes to Fianna Fail and Fine Gael as their historic coalition in the Dail to keep the Shinners out is backfiring as the opinion polls show support for Sinn Fein in Southern Ireland continues to grow. This could lead to one of the messiest coalition implosions since the Irish Civil War of the 1920s in the history of that state come the next General Election for Leinster House.

The Watch Your Back Or Else Cup was easily won by the European Union for its dogmatic insistence on implementing a Northern Ireland Protocol.

The EU is really using the Protocol as a warning to other member states thinking of quitting this bureaucratic balls-up, such as Poland and Hungary. Its a blunt threat - look what happened to the Brits! By the way, Scotland voted ‘remain’ in the 2016 EU membership referendum and the Scots didn’t get a Protocol!

The British Labour Party gets the What The Heck Are We Shield for being totally confusing in its political message. What exactly does the party stand for? Is it a hard left party, or a centre left movement, or maybe even a social democratic party? You tell me!

And, of course, we cannot forget The Boris Bowl which goes to the Tory Party for its ability to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory. The Conservatives ran away with this award - in spite of enjoying a Maggie Thatcher-style massive Commons majority - with several superb nominations, including: the Tory sleaze tsunami, the Prime Minister’s Peppa Pig CBI car crash speech, Partygate, and not forgetting the North Shropshire Westminster by-election humiliation which saw a Tory seat of around 200 years with a majority of almost 23,000 collapse into a Liberal Democrat majority of about 5,000.

As a Presbyterian minister’s son married to a Baptist pastor’s daughter and presenting a weekly religious discussion programme on Christian radio, my awards ceremony would not be complete without the much sought after Pharisee Plate dedicated to us Bible-believing hypocrites, with me as the biggest hypocrite of all for actually paying lip service to the winners.

After all, the Good Book does tell me to take the beam out of my own eyes before I start taking the mote out of other people’s eyes.

This year’s award goes to the Christian Church’s anti-vaxxer movement, who in the midst of a terrible Covid pandemic, steadfastly refuse to get themselves vaccinated whilst peddling their Area 51-style myths about vaccines coming from the foetus of an aborted baby and the vaccine being a mark of the Biblical beast.

Meanwhile, hundreds of their fellow Christians fall prey to Covid and its variants and sadly die. Some of these fundamentalist Christian anti-vaxxers have even contracted Covid themselves. Given the total nonsense which this section of the Christian community spews out about Covid, I’m awarding fundamentalist Christian anti-vaxxers an extra special trophy - The Delusional Cup.

I was originally thinking the Pharisee Plate would be won by an element of the rapidly emerging fundamentalist street preachers who seem hell-bent on provoking sections of the community rather than genuinely preaching the Gospel of Salvation, but to award them the Pharisee Plate would only tarnish the work of genuine open air evangelists.

Then again, these street provocateurs posing as street evangelists might turn on me and say - Coulter, what are you doing in your Christian witness?

And so to the premier award in Coulter’s Coveted Cock-Up Cups and Awards - the highly prestigious Gobshite Cup for the person or persons who criticise me the most either in print, mainstream media, or social media.

The 2020 winners, some fans of Leeds United Football Club, made a sterling attempt on social media to retain this coveted trophy with some really hard-hitting analysis of the terrible start to the English Premiership by my beloved Gunners.

Arsenal found themselves going into the first international break in late 2021 with no points, no goals, a hat-trick of humiliating defeats and firmly rooted to the foot of the table - the club’s worst start for almost 70 years.

Over the following weeks, some Leeds fans lashed into me on social media, especially Facebook, about the crisis at the Emirates. Indeed, Arsenal knocking Leeds out of the League Cup and thumping them 4-1 in the Premiership did not stop them spewing out their vitriol and venom in a last ditch bid to do the ‘double.’

Instead for your persistence, I’ll give you Leeds fans this year’s inaugural trophy - as named above, The Perpetual Cup for the Truly Shortsighted.

However, sadly this social media spurt by some Leeds fans was to no avail. The 2021 Gobshite Cup goes to the French-loving political snowflakes who were up in arms about my comments on the GB News TV channel that the Royal Navy should be deployed against French fishing boats if the French government supported a threat to blockade some ports to prevent certain goods reaching the UK in time for Christmas.

And as The Pensive Quill has been hosting this year’s awards, I’d better say a heartfelt thanks to all the contributors who have taken the time to read and critique my regular Monday columns on this site. Your hilarious and colourful comments are much appreciated.

With only days to go until 2022 kicks off, there’s already a fine array of assholes and pillocks queuing up to enter next year’s awards. In the meantime, a happy new year to all - and please stay safe as we face the continued challenges of Covid.

Follow Dr John Coulter on Twitter @JohnAHCoulter
Listen to commentator Dr John Coulter’s programme, Call In Coulter, every Saturday morning around 10.15 am on Belfast’s Christian radio station, Sunshine 1049 FM. Listen online

Coulter’s Coveted Cock-Up Cups And Awards For 2021 ✏ The Results!

Join God's Department as it deals with some callers experiencing difficulty reading what it says on the tin. 


 

Reboot Earth

Davy Clinton ✒ Do not believe all that you hear about this coming storm. 

This is coming from those with a vested interest in keeping you afraid and keeping you locked in your own home. 

There is no real evidence of a major storm. This storm will in effect just be like a normal windy day. There are always windy days. 

Do you actually know anyone who has been killed by a storm? No. You may know people killed by being out in a storm but is there any actual evidence that the storm itself has killed them? No.
 
So, tomorrow go out, do not wear clothes to keep you either dry or warm ... again all part of a plot by Robin Swann and Bill Gates to control your life. 

Do not tidy up your gardens or add extra weight under the trampoline. Leave as many windows open as you like and to prove this will be no more than a light wind do a couple of washes and get them out on the line.

We will not be subjected to tyranny and oppression by a wind that wouldn't blow out a candle.

Davy Clinton is a life long Glasgow Celtic supporter. 

Fake Storm

Michael Praetorius ✒ I was talking to Jean last night about Jean-Paul Sartre, the big cheese of Existentialism. 


I pointed out that as an ex-boxer and confirmed womanizer, he was ideally equipped, physically and mentally, to tackle the no-laughing-matter issues head on.

But, because she is a Protestant and therefore sees all non-scholastic philosophy as treasonable conspiracy, she wouldn't listen.

I merely wanted to enlighten her as to what Existentialism teaches us about the human condition. It's all quite simple:
 
  • there is no God;
  • you're on your own;
  • you're a pathetic, useless fraud and waste of space, whatever you do or tell yourself to the contrary, and everybody else can see it;
  • everything is your own fault;
  • life and the universe? - random, meaningless, pointless;
  • default emotional responses to living? - dread, alienation, angst, apprehension, anomie, inauthenticity, estrangement, terror;
  • nobody likes you;
  • to be happy is to be a fruitcake;
  • there's nothing else for it but to look back with embarrassment and forward in despair;
  • you can't choose not to choose;
  • something terrible will happen soon;
  • you're about as funny as a migraine;
  • you're shite at everything, so get used to it; not that it matters, since everything is appalling anyway;
  • you'll die roaring.
 
I have to say, with all due modesty, I wouldn't be the fully formed, relaxed, self-assured man I am today if my life hadn’t been informed by these insightful truths.

Michael Praetorius spent his working life in education and libraries. Now retired, he does a little busking in Belfast ... when he can get a pitch.

The Existential Question

Political and religious commentator, Dr John Coulter, presents his usual very irreverent series of awards for the year, an annual event he has been running since 2009.

The five main Northern Ireland political parties, the Southern Irish Dail coalition parties, militant ‘Christian’ (I use the term very loosely) fundamentalists, and Leeds United soccer fans are among the big winners in this year’s Coulter’s Coveted Cock-Up Cups and Trophies, now in its 11th season.

The Top Tit Trophy goes to diehard fundamentalists who refused to listen to the advice from the Stormont Executive on Covid 19 restrictions and held religious services and events as normal, and then wondered why so many Christians were falling victim to the pandemic.

Indeed, such was the unfortunate list of nominations for the Top Tit Trophy from militant fundamentalists, that I’ve had to introduce a special award - The Complete and Utter Bollox Plate - for the ‘fundies’ who can come up with the daftest analysis of coronavirus.

Its a dead heat between those ‘fundies’ who say Covid 19 is the Lord’s punishment on the world because of people’s lifestyles or because of the treatment of the unborn, and those ‘fundies’ who maintain an anti-Covid vaccine was made from parts of aborted babies.

Sadly, in both cases, such ‘fundies’ have run aground as tragically many born again Christians succumbed to the virus, including some strongly evangelical preachers, and the health department has shot the ‘aborted babies’ conspiracy theory to pieces.

Speaking of running aground, The Titanic Iceberg Trophy is lifted by the DUP for allowing British PM BoJo to totally outwit the party over the Brexit leaving deal. This award comes with free rubber dinghies (Orange in colour of course!) so that the DUP can row out into the middle of the Irish Sea to collect the award.

Northern Sinn Fein is the worthy winner of The Sod Off We Are Ourselves Alone Shield because of the party’s funeral organisational skills during a pandemic.

The party’s partners - Southern Sinn Fein - collect The Dry Your Eyes Shield as none of the main parties in the Dail want to form a coalition government with the Shinners.

As a special prize for Southern Sinn Fein, I’ve awarded the party The Do Your Sums Properly Bursary to enable their activists to calculate the number of candidates the Shinners should run in an election given the mathematical screw-up they made in the past Dail General Election.

If Southern Sinn Fein had run more candidates, either Fianna Fail or Fine Gael would have had to include the Shinners in any agreed coalition partnership in Leinster House.

The bursary will allow every Sinn Fein member to get at least a Grade C or equivalent in their GCSE Maths in time for the next election. The bursary will be part-funded by the intelligence communities from the UK and Ireland given the number of touts such organisations have managed to place inside the republican movement.

Speaking of the Shinners, too, The Kick The Shinners In The Balls Cup has been won jointly by Fianna Fail and Fine Gael for brushing almost 100 years of Irish Civil War bitterness under the historical carpet and agreeing a coalition partnership which keeps Sinn Fein out of office.

I would have thought the last thing the FF/GF coalition wants is a united Ireland and the impact of Northern Shinners votes on a final all-island Dail Parliament.

Just remember the 1918 Westminster General Election when Sinn Fein won almost 80 of the 105 Irish Commons seats when Ireland was still under British rule.

The Alliance Party romped home in the tussle for The Bursting Bubble Cup for continuing to hoodwink folk in Northern Ireland that the party really is a significant liberal third force in Ulster politics and not a protest party against the ruling DUP/Sinn Fein antics at Stormont.

And hot on Alliance’s heels is the Ulster Unionist Party, which collects The Rambo Shield for continuing to persevere as a political movement against the odds. This award was sponsored by the Vanguard Unionist Party, the Ulster Popular Unionist Party, the British Ulster Dominion Party, the Ulster Loyalist Democratic Party, the United Ulster Unionist Party, the pro-Assembly Unionist Party, the United Kingdom Unionist Party, the Northern Ireland Unionist Party, the Real Unionist Party, the Ulster Monday Club, the Unionist Party of Northern Ireland, the Loyalist Front, the pro-Union faction of the Northern Ireland Labour Party, and the United Unionist Assembly Party.

The SDLP runs off with The Who The Feck Are We Now Cup, for its links with Fianna Fail, Fine Gael and Irish Labour. If only the late Gerry Fitt and the late John Hume were here to sort out the party’s direction in terms of who it should climb into bed with politically.

The Earbashers R Us Trophy has been presented to the new generation of street evangelists who can be found in many town and city street corners hammering out their unique brand of the Gospel Message. Let’s hope this special brand of tub-thumping doesn’t make its way into our actual church buildings as the last time I checked, Our Lord Isn't deaf!

The What An Arsehole Of An Idea Award goes to any politician or political activist who gets involved with the Dail’s Shared Island Unit planning for a post-Brexit Ireland.

The bottom line is - Brexit will seriously economically bugger Southern Ireland, so any talk of a united Ireland in the foreseeable future is being uttered by people living in political la-la land. The South cannot afford the North, and the Brits won’t fund a united Ireland.

Maybe Northern Ireland can declare itself a tax haven like the Isle of Man or the Channel islands, and urge Russians and Arabs with money to burn to invest it in the New Bank of Northern Ireland?

Coulter’s Commendation and automatic elevation into Coulter’s Hall of Fame goes to the Northern Ireland Executive for its collective working in combating the effects of the pandemic.

A lot of folk from various parts of the community want to boot the Executive in the political groin for its handling of the coronavirus thus far.

But I think the Executive is doing a magnificent job against all odds and those yaps slamming Executive decisions should just eat some more Brussel sprouts and make it a New Year resolution to grow a set of balls and actually listen to Executive guidelines. Obey the Executive rules on restrictions, you silly wee ass wipes!

And so we come to the coveted Gobshite Cup awarded to that section of society which has given me the most lip personally on social media during 2020.

In the past, I’ve been the butt of comments by liberal Unionists, mainstream and dissident republicans - you name it, they’ve all exercised their democratic right to have a go at yours truly.

My stance is simple; I believe passionately in the concept of freedom of expression and freedom of speech - and a free Press. So slabber away all you like at me.

But this year’s Gobshite Cup has a sporting theme. Its been awarded to fans of Leeds United football club for constantly reminding me how awful my beloved Gunners have been this season.

Previously, the Man United and Spurs supporters have been having a go, but Leeds fans have been very vitriolic in their criticism of Arsenal’s crisis.

It’s been 1972 since Leeds fans were this gobby. It was the FA Cup final that year and Leeds narrowly defeated my beloved Gunners 1-0. As a young 12-year-old, I was reduced to tears.

My dad was then minister of Clough Presbyterian Church, near Ballymena, and he gave me stern advice that I was not to start a fight with Leeds fans in the Sunday school the following day!

Now in 2020, we face a potential relegation crisis not suffered since 1975 when for a period of time, Arsenal found themselves bottom of the old First Division and narrowly avoided the ‘drop’ by a squeak that season.

In spite of winning the FA Cup and Community Shield earlier this year, we are now fighting for Premiership survival as we enter 2021. Our record of being the only leading club not to have been relegated since 1945 is in danger once more.

The days of my beloved Gunners enjoying a top-four finish in the English Premiership, a good run in the European Champions League and a couple of domestic cups for the trophy cabinet seem like ancient history now.

Of course, its been some 16 years since Leeds were last in the Premiership so I suppose I’m due a right yapping from their fans. Still, be positive, the Gobshite Cup is probably the only trophy Leeds will win this season.

In the meantime, a happy and blessed New Year to everyone on social media, and especially to those who take the time to publish and comment on my articles on The Pensive Quill.

Let’s hope 2021 is the year we finally as a community defeat the Covid 19 and its various mutations once and for all.

Many congratulations to all the award winners in this year’s Coulter’s Coveted Cock-Up Cups. Some of you know where to find me to collect your awards.

As 2021 beckons, there’s already an impressive array of arseholes, ass wipes, pillocks, and weirdoes lining up to claim a nomination for the 2021 awards.

 Follow Dr John Coulter on Twitter @JohnAHCoulter

 Listen to Dr John Coulter’s religious show, Call In Coulter, every Saturday morning   around 9.30 am on Belfast’s Christian radio station, Sunshine 1049 FM, or listen online   at www.thisissunshine.com

Coulter’s Coveted Cock-Up Cups And Awards 2020 - The Results!

Dan Lawton with a a short fiction piece, in the style of a news article, satirizing cancel culture in the time of #MeToo.

In the latest iteration of the recent torrent of stories concerning sexual harassment in media, accounts emerged this week concerning a disturbing tale of the behavior of the late actor Charlton Heston on the set of the film “The Planet of the Apes” in 1967.

According to multiple members of the film crew, Heston was heard to remark, “How about those jugs,” on the set in between takes one day in May 1967. (In the late 1960s, the term “jugs” was sometimes used as a coarse synonym for the word “breasts.”) The remark was heard by a young female stagehand just before the shooting of a scene in which Heston’s character, Taylor, lays on the straw of his jail cell, points to ceramic water jugs nearby, and motions to the soft-hearted chimpanzee veterinarian, Zira, that he is thirsty. (The former stagehand’s name has been withheld here. The policy of The Pensive Quill is to not publish the names of victims of sexual harassment without their consent.) The former stagehand was 22 years of age at the time, making the married Heston 22 years her senior.

Last week, the former stagehand reported that Heston arched his eyebrow as he uttered the “jugs” remark, letting his gaze drift from the prop ceramic jugs to her eyes and back, as though to imbue the remark with a suggestive double meaning. In aggravation, at the end of shooting that day the married Heston laid his palm on the young woman’s shoulder and asked her if she would mind joining him later for a drink. She agreed. A late-night tryst and secret on-set affair between the two soon followed. Their couplings continued afterward for several weeks and ended only after shooting of “The Planet of the Apes” wrapped, in August 1967.

With Heston’s aid in 1967 and afterward, the former stagehand found success as graduate student at the USC School of Cinematic Arts and, later, as a movie producer. Today, she produces feature films and owns a majority stake in a large production company. On and off over a period of several years, Heston boosted her career, by introducing her to studio heads and other influential people in Hollywood.

Nonetheless, she has felt ashamed about the jugs-and-palm incident since it happened. Too, she experiences an occasionally-recurring nightmare which her therapist thinks has its genesis in the episode. In the nightmare, a strapping Heston appears, clad in a NASA astronaut flight suit but wearing a gorilla head instead of a space helmet. The grotesque figure serves her several rum-and-cokes at a ‘60’s-themed bar, then makes love to her with passion and skill after his shift ends while other astronaut-simians watch, applaud, hoot, and seemingly enjoy themselves.

In a possibly-related incident first reported in Variety this morning, vandals spray-painted the word “PERVERT” over Heston’s terrazzo-and-brass star on Hollywood’s “Walk of Fame,” on the 1600 block of Vine St. in Los Angeles, during the wee hours yesterday morning. Also, within hours afterward, a person or persons unknown left a nine-foot-tall maroon-colored balloon in the shape of an erect male sexual organ outside the gate of Heston’s former mansion on Coldwater Canyon Drive in Beverly Hills. The mischief-makers were possibly unaware of Heston’s death in 2008 and the ensuing sale of the home to a third party, whose caretaker first reported the balloon’s placement to police. LAPD officers impounded the bulbous object this morning after combing the scene for forensic evidence. A department spokesman declined comment about the matter today, citing an ongoing investigation.

The domino effect triggered by the stagehand’s tale reverberated in the halls of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences, which yesterday convened in an emergency session to discuss posthumous rescission of Heston’s Best Actor award, bestowed in 1960 for his work in “Ben-Hur.” In addition, the La Paloma Theatre in Encinitas, California, announced a cancellation of its scheduled screening of “Ben-Hur” over the Thanksgiving holiday weekend, citing concerns over the “appropriateness of displaying the film at this time.” MGM (the studio which owns the rights to “Ben-Hur”) also announced plans to suspend further distribution of the film indefinitely.

“MGM and its subsidiaries have a policy of zero tolerance for sexual harassment in the workplace,” said studio head Gary Barber. “Chuck was an icon here for many years. But his legacy cannot overshadow the need for a thorough investigation of this matter.” When told that the former stagehand-victim had asked that there be no investigation and Heston’s public image respected, Barber declined further comment and referred further questions to the office of MGM’s general counsel.

The shock waves have also reached the halls of U.S. Postal Service headquarters in Washington, D.C., where a spokesman announced suspension of further printing of postage stamps honoring the late Oscar-winner. The stamps first issued in 2014 to no little fanfare, which included mention of Heston’s having marched with the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., in support of civil rights for African-Americans and served as president of the Screen Actors Guild.

An internal investigation of an attempted groping by Heston’s co-star, the late Roddy McDowall, on the set of “The Planet of the Apes” is also pending at this writing. Several sources told The Daily Transcript that McDowall tried to make unwanted physical contact with stuntman Jim Sheppard in a dimly-lit area backstage during June 1967. According to one account, McDowall, who was notoriously near-sighted, was not wearing his eyeglasses or contacts at the time and seated in an easy chair. As Sheppard walked past, McDowall lunged at him – but missed, and was heard to mutter, “Don’t play hard to get, Linda.”

When interviewed for this article, Sheppard speculated that McDowall may have mistaken him for Linda Harrison, a then-22-year-old actress who played the role of Nova in the film. Harrison had earlier declined when McDowall had asked her to meet him for a meal in the MGM commissary.

“I never had any problems with Roddy,” Sheppard said, shrugging. “He acted like any other movie star at the time – no better, no worse.” When asked whether the attempted-groping incident had caused him after-arising distress or unwanted feelings, Sheppard chuckled and hung up the phone.

In what has become a familiar pattern of late, the recent reports concerning Heston and McDowall have seemingly prompted other complaints and ensuing investigations. A Hollywood source who was not authorized to speak publicly about the matter identified the following men as targets of fresh investigations concerning unwanted advances made on film sets: Gary Cooper, Henry Fonda, William Holden, Jimmy Stewart, Burt Lancaster, Gregory Peck, Kirk Douglas, and Sean Connery. Connery, the only one of these still alive at this writing, declined comment through a publicist.

Dan Lawton is a lawyer and writer in California.

Shocking New Allegations Naming Late Film Stars Heston, McDowall Rock Hollywood

Eastern Herald ➤ Ever since the coronavirus pandemic began, we have managed to convince ourselves that it was Godly or natural providence.


We did not pause to think much about our contributions to wildlife trade and wild meat consumption and how that may have brought the disease amongst us, but instead, social media was flooded with how 2020 was simply an ‘unlucky’ year. 

And therefore, wherever there is a question of an Act of God, purported men and women of faith are there to sermonize and preach to all of us. This article lays out the various acts of divinity which were visited upon people by common men who saw this as an opportunity to justify their faith. 

For those easily offended and who have trouble comprehending exaggerations and satire, let it also be clear that this is not an attempt to generalize religion but simply call out only those who peddle in faith as an object instead of a tool to achieve personal tranquility. 

Let us also take the opportunity to thank in the same breath the doctors, healthcare workers, and scientists who are working round the clock to find an actual solution amidst this all.

Act 1: It is a conspiracy versus it is all God’s plan!

As the scientists and doctors started to hog the limelight, to justify their continued existence, the bloviating blowhards of bigoted babble needed to assure their followers they were already forewarned and even had it under control.

Continue reading @ Eastern Herald

Religious Quackery ➤ Divided in Preaching, United in Deceit