“Loopy” Dawkins, “Mad Phil” Pullman and “Foggy” Williams

It’s Easter. As we live in such a rabidly secular society I thought I’d remind all my readers that, if you’re not working today, it’s because you’re ill, retired, unemployed, or you’ve been given a few days off to mark the anniversary of the crucifixion and resurrection of Jesus Christ some 2000 years ago.

Within a few short years Easter will no doubt have morphed into a celebration of The Triumph of Atheism or the imposition of Sharia Law on the UK – it’s too close to call at the moment.

In the run up to Holy Week, those home-grown enemies of Christianity - Phillip Pulman, Richard Dawkins, and the Archbishop of Canterbury – have carried out a series of bombing raids on the last tattered remains of the faith that for centuries  underpinned the way of life – the way of thinking – of generation after generation of Britons.  

First to shout “chocks away!” was Group Captain “Loopy” Dawkins, who called the Pope “a leering old villain” responsible for the death of “countless AIDS victims in Africa”, and described the Catholic Church as a “profiteering, woman-fearing, guilt-gorging, truth-hating, child-raping institution”. Now, I’m not saying that the professor has gone completely tonto, but, judging by his Washington Post article, I’d say someone should seriously think about increasing his meds.

No sooner had the priests, nuns and brain-washed congregants of St. Peter’s  revved up the Ack-Ack guns and erected the medical tents to treat Rome’s dead and dying than news came through of plans for a parallel attack on another Axis HQ, masterminded by Squadron Leader “Mad Phil” Pullman, who was rumbling towards Canterbury, loaded with thousands of copies of his new novel, The Good Jesus and the Scoundrel Christ, in which “Jesus” and “Christ” are , in fact, twin brothers, ready to bombard the cathedral. The really unbelievable thing about all this, though, was that “Mad Phil” was originally urged to write about Christ by one of his fans - none other than Rowan “Foggy” Williams, the Archbishop of Canterbury!

But Mad Phil had a problem – Canterbury was shrouded in a dense fog of confusion and uncertainty created by “Foggy” Williams’s endless vapourings. How would Pullers find his target?

But at that very moment, just as the priests of Canterbury and their followers were preparing for a massive counter-attack on the planes flying blindly overhead, Foggy Williams blew away the protecting veil by rounding on his own people and telling not to fire on their enemies: just when it seemed as if brave resistance on the part of the church would save the day, the “Archbishop” shouted: “…we need to keep our own fears in perspective. It is all too easy, even in comfortable and relatively peaceful societies, for us to become consumed with anxiety about the future of Church and society.” When no one at first paid any attention (their standard response to one of Foggy’s ecumenical easter letters) he raised his voice above its customary indistinct woofle and screamed: “Stop firing! We’re in no danger! Nobody’s attacking us!”

At which point a vast, infinitely deep voice sounded from on high. “Wrong again, beardy!” it boomed. As Foggy looked up, muttering, “I wonder if this means He acrually does exist,” a copy of Pullman’s novel caught him on the bonce and, much to the relief of every believer in the land, Foggy Williams fell unconscious. When he woke up, he’d forgotten he was the Archbishop of Canterbury, and no one felt the need to enlighten him.