Tag Archives: Jesus

January 10th

On this day in 236 a bloke called Fabian became the Pope.

Does this seem a little dull? I’m sorry about that, but all the stuff I could find for this day more or less bored the arse off me, so in the end I just went with Fabian because it was that or write about four paragraphs about how bloody boring January 10th is. Which I might still end up doing anyway, but meanwhile, back to Fabian.

Jesus the Dove flies into JPII face. The message being "why did you make this idiot pope?!"

There is one interesting thing about him becoming pope. You see, it is said that he wasn’t a bishop or a priest, or anything like that. He was a a simple layman who just happened to be in Rome when all the bishops had got together to elect a new pope (Anterus, the previous pope had died about a week before after being pope for only one month and ten days. It’s almost certain that he was murdered for being more trouble than he was worth. Cf. Pope John Paul I who might turn up here one of these days). They were all up for electing a Bishop, as was the usual way of things, but as they all stood around nattering about who’d make the best pope and comparing frocks and jewellery and stuff like that, a dove came along and sort of fluttered about over Fabian’s head.

Well, being religious sorts who knew their bible and all the stories it contained they all went “Bloody Nora! That dove is totally like Jesus innit! He’s telling us to elect Fabian! Er, do we have to do that? Really?”

The dove did not move while they were all prevaricating, so they decided

Fabian's deadly poo. Bishops look on and are heard to say "that turd will kill him!"

they’d better do what Jesus was telling them to through a bird, the big thickos. To be honest, it wasn’t that difficult for them to decide to go along with the dove, because even though being pope was a top job with well nice frocks and the best jewels in Christendom, given that Anterus had probably been murdered and they reckoned that the next pope would probably be done in as well, none of the bishops were that keen on being pope as they preferred being alive.

As it happened, Fabian turned out to be quite a good pope, sending people to places like France to tell them how nice it was to be a Catholic and doing some nice building and stuff around Rome. Oh and he also did something with Chrism, which wasn’t as rude as it sounds. So, he wasn’t murdered and got to be pope for fourteen years. He wasn’t murdered to death, he died of bursting a vein in his head when struggling to have a poo, just like Elvis.

And that is the story of Pope Fabian. Oh he got to be a saint as well, which given what we read about yesterday, doesn’t mean much of anything at all.

Still, nice as it was to talk about bishops in pretty frocks, doves and getting to be pope in olden times, I bloody hope there’s something more interesting to rabbit on about tomorrow. Let’s hope there’s a semi-interesting birthday for today. Fingers crossed, I’m off to have a look now.

Today is the birthday of Roderick Stewart. I mention this not because I give a flying fornication about Rod the Mod, but because until today I had no idea that his given name was Roderick and it amuses me no end.

Imagine having that face looming over you?

I’m not totally anti-Rod. The man’s done some good songs and stuff, but anyone who can sing “do you think I’m sexy” whilst wearing the most hideous leopard print tight trousers in the world is a bit of a joke. That and the fact that he keeps marrying the same blonde woman, just changing her for a slightly younger model every few years or so, which is just too icky for words.

But, blah, it’s Rod’s birthday. He will probably put on a kilt and a tartan hat and go on about how Scottish he is, despite being from North London and being a plastic Jock. Or joke, whichever you prefer.

It was also the birthday of Mary Ingalls, the older sister of Laura Ingalls

The real Mary Ingalls.

Wilder who wrote all the “Little House” books. Unlike the pretty crazily blue-eyed girl in the tv series of Little House on the Prairie, Mary never married, although she did go blind and did go to the blind school that the TV Mary went to. But there was not crazily blue-eyed teacher for her to fall in love with and get married to and so her non-existent husband did not fall over and get concussion and magically get his eyesight back and take her to NYC where he could finally be a lawyer and not a crappy old teacher. Her life was slightly less dramatic than that.

When she finished school, she went back home to live with Ma and Pa, made fly nets for horses and when her parents died went to live with her sister Grace and then with Carrie, before dying herself. I note that she did not live with Laura, who was probably to high and mighty to let her blind sister live with her by then.

Despite her dull life, it’s fair to say that Mary was probably more worthy of inclusion in this little blog than Roderick the Mod, because while she never accomplished much, she also never put her flabby arse into stupid trousers and pretended to be a bit half gay when she thought it was trendy. All in all, Mary the bland trumps Rod the twat.

Happy birthday to them both! Sort of.

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March 21st

On this day in 1844 Jesus Christ was supposed to pop down to earth for a bit of a second coming according to religious nutjob William Miller. Funnily enough, he did not.

 

This failed to materialise. What a shocker.

William Miller was, what we’d call today, an Adventist. He was all about feeling the spirit and waiting for Jesus to turn up, tell him he was a godly man and spread the good news to him and his followers that they’d all got it right, Armageddon was about to take place but they, the good people, would all be going to heaven with Jesus.  So how did he come to the notion that he knew when Jesus was coming back to visit him and his mates?

 

Miller was born a Baptist, lost his faith for a while and became a Deist. What’s one of them? Deism is a philosophy that basically says that the creator (God) can only be known through reason and observation of the natural world, that the creator does not interfere in his creation and that manifestations and miracles are to be viewed with the utmost scepticism. In short, they’re almost atheists except for the fact that they do believe in a creator. Miller remained a Deist for many years, but after the war of 1812 (the Anglo-American one, Miller was an American) and the deaths of members of his family he got all caught up in considering what the afterlife might be and started edging back to his Baptist roots. He finally became a full on Baptist again, but because his deist friends were being all “What now? Miracles and shit? Do me a favour Willie, tell us how you can believe all that stuff and nonsense. You big git!” he started to read the whole bible not moving on from any one chapter until he felt he clearly understood it. It was while doing this that he came to the conclusion that the bible contained the prophecy of the second coming and its actual date.

The prophecy he found was in Daniel 8:14 where it says “la, la, la unto two thousand and three hundred days then shall the sanctuary be cleansed”. To you and I that means the square root of sweet F.A., to Miller it meant that Jesus was coming back and that instead of in 2,300 days in 2,300 years and those years should be counted from 475B.C.  I know, it seems that his notion of understanding the bible was to make it up as he went along, but there you go. That’s what Miller saw and for the next twenty-odd years (he came to this “understanding” in 1818) he based his life, his religion and his teaching on this fact. For years he was just a local oddity, but as it got closer to the second coming, Millerites (as they were imaginatively called) grew in number and were all well looking forward to going up to heaven with their man J.C.

To be fair to William, he was a little vague about the date, but his time limit was from somewhere between 21st March 1843 and 21st March 1844. As you may have guessed those days came and went and there was no sign of Jesus. William went back to his calculations and came back to tell his followers not to worry “I got it all mashed up” he said, “I was being all Gregorian calendar like a big dick and not using the Karaite Jewish calendar. It’s okay. Jesus will be here a bit later than expected on April 18th. He was not. By this time people were getting a bit pissed off with getting all dressed up for Jesus and  him not turning up, as you would be, but there was one more date to be considered. Another bloke, Samuel Snow, got involved and said “It’s fine, I’ve had a look and what’s happening is that he’s turning up on the tenth day of the seventh month of this year of our Lord 1844. No, that wasn’t the 10th July because Sammy was also using the Karaite calendar. It was October 22nd.

And lo, it came to pass that Jesus still failed to turn up. By this time most people were sick to the back teeth of the whole thing and felt slightly foolish about believing any of it in the first place. Some nutters continued to believe it. Of these some thought that they hadn’t been childlike enough so they began to act like children. Others thought they just needed to talk Jesus down off a big white cloud in the sky. But mostly everyone took the piss out of Willy, Sammy and their bunch of miserable mentalists. The end was nigh, but not for the world, just for Millerism.

By the way there was a name for this whole failure of Jesus to come down to earth and take this bunch of nutters back to heaven with him. It was called “The Great Disappointment”. Bless their deluded little socks.

 

Today was the birthday of noted tit-man and director, Russ Meyer. It’s hard to talk about Meyer without talking about tits, so I’m not even going to try. Meyer liked them big, bouncy and gravity-defying. That said, he also liked them on women who seemed like they might kill you with said tits if you looked at them just a little bit funny. One of his most famous films was Faster, Pussycat! Kill!

The man himself

Kill! which is the exact phrase I use to my own dear George if I suspect the presence of burglars. (That said, last night the little bitch scared the bejasus out of me when she got into the bathroom sink and managed to catch hold of the light cord and turn the light on and off again and then jump down and stand in the doorway looking at it like “Oh dear mum, what made that happen!” Whore)

 

He collaborated with Roger Ebert on Beyond the Valley of the Dolls which he saw as the epitome of his style and some reviewers saw as “as funny as a burning orphanage and a treat for the emotionally retarded.” I think the critics were too harsh and the only thing wrong with the film is not enough sex. For all Meyer’s obsession with the female form, his films were very much on the soft side and yet even with the rise of rampant pornography he made a good living and retired a very comfortable man.

Since his death at the age of 82 in 2004 (his gravestone bears the legend “King of the Nudies” and who can argue with that) Fox Searchlight have been negotiating the rights to make a biopic of his early years. I see a part for Johnny Depp on the horizon.

Happy birthday Russ, baby. I hope that the afterlife has provided you with many a bouncy bosom for a pillow.

 

Meyer's idea of heaven, aka one for the boys.

 

 

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