Paisley, Sir Bono and a Chocolate Jesus

Excuse me for not blogging over these past seven days – but who could blame me? Because no sooner did something happen to inspire a line or two but up popped something else to put it completely in the shade.

Take Paisley and Adams at Stormont. Am I the only person in Ireland to see that coming? Judging by the comments so far, I think I am. But anyone who has monitored these two closely over the years could have seen the tell-tale signs of de Selby’s Atomic Theory happening before their very eyes. Readers of Flann O’Brien’s Third Policeman will remember that de Selby’s theory suggested that the more two things collide, the more their atoms are interchanged and the more they take on the characteristics of the other. His example cited a policeman and a bicycle. After years of contact over the bumby roads of Ireland, the bike ended up more man than machine and vice versa. Hence Paisley has recently taken to wearing the “broad black brimmer of the IRA” – the head gear favoured by the lads in days of yore:

 

And likewise, Gerry Adams has recently begun to look a little more clerical in his attire:

This time next year, you can expect Adams to be living in Ballymena and teaching Sunday School; and if you’re visiting a GAA match in Casement Park don’t be surprised to see Big Ian performing the honorary throw in.

Then came news that Bono had accepted an honorary knighthood, a la Terry Wogan and Bob Geldof. Apparently, Bono doesn’t want to be called Sir: “You have permission to call me anything you want – except sir, all right? Lord of lords, your demigodness, that’ll do.” Bless.

If that wasn’t barmy enough, we then had Christian protestors in New York force the cancellation of Canadian artist’s Cosimo Cavallaro’e exhibition which featured a nude 6 foot chocolate statue of Jesus. Having this banned in Ballymena I could understand – but New York?

Cavallaro is no stranger to controversy apparently and previous work includes painting a Manhattan hotel room in melted mozzarella and festooning a four-poster bed with 312 pounds of processed ham.” He had hoped that visitors might lick the sculpture. After all, he says, Christians receive the “body and blood” of Christ as food in the act of holy communion. Surely a case of My Sweet Lord.

But I’m surprised by all the fuss. The concept of a chocolate Jesus has been around a long time, as in the song Chocolate Jesus by Tom Waits:

Dont go to church on sunday
Dont get on my knees to pray
Dont memorize the books of the bible
I got my own special way
Bit I know jesus loves me
Maybe just a little bit more

I fall on my knees every sunday
At zerelda lees candy store

Well its got to be a chocolate jesus
Make me feel good inside
Got to be a chocolate jesus
Keep me satisfied

Well I dont want no anna zabba
Dont want no almond joy
There aint nothing better
Suitable for this boy
Well its the only thing
That can pick me up
Better than a cup of gold
See only a chocolate jesus
Can satisfy my soul

(solo)
When the weather gets rough
And its whiskey in the shade
Its best to wrap your savior
Up in cellophane
He flows like the big muddy
But thats ok
Pour him over ice cream
For a nice parfait

Well its got to be a chocolate jesus
Good enough for me
Got to be a chocolate jesus
Good enough for me

Well its got to be a chocolate jesus
Make me feel good inside
Got to be a chocolate jesus
Keep me satisfied

And who can forget chocolate Last Supper bars, as this from worldnetdaily.com suggests:

One day at a time, Sweet Jesus

‘Last Supper’ bars too tempting? (Bucks County Courier Times)

Speaking of appetite, in Pennsylvania, Jesus became the subject of a holy war over candy as chocolate lovers questioned whether they should consume bars featuring the image of the Son of God.

“I just don’t think that you should eat anything that’s Jesus,” Liz Samuel told the Bucks County Courier Times. “It’s OK to eat the cross as long as God is not on it.”

Chocolatier Pamela Roberts told the paper she was reluctant at first to sell “The Last Supper” bars: “Sometimes I think it could be a sacrilege. But the nuns just love them.”

Night night everybody – sweet dreams.