If my name had been Philip, I would have been a pharmacist

Le Cunt: People called Damien.

L’evidence: Legion, so it is. Damiens Rice and Dempsey. Singer songwriters so insipid as to make unseasoned, boiled to fuck cabbage soup made by grandmothers through the ages seem like a tasty night out in a high end curry house.

Damien Thorn, as featured in award winning seventies documentary “The Omen”. While Master Thorne’s aversion to all manner of Catholic priests and churches is something to which your correspondent happily relates, the whole  bringing about end times, employing snarky housekeepers and owning scary dogs pushes Le Beast firmly into Le Cunt territory.

Damien Macken. Called Damo by his  entourage . Anything and everything that does not meet with Damo’s exacting rugby-playing, knuckle-dragging standards is summarily dismissed as “gay”.  The intelligent, the slightly less well off, the nose breathers, all homosexual in the eyes of my erstwhile school chum. One confidently assumes that little has changed in twenty years.

Le verdict: Anyone I can think of whose name is Damien, and if there are others they are surely hewn from the same fossilised shit, is either a sinning against music, sinning against humanity or sinning against my teenage self Le Cunt.

L’evidence: The following footage, recently discovered in a cave somewhere in Navan, and authenticated by a team of experts (from Navan), proves conclusively that JC was a whiny bollox whose enduring legacy of misogyny, persecution and endless war is but the tip of of his cuntish iceberg:

Firstly Jesus, if that is your name, nobody asked you about the future, you were the one who brought up your amazing and as yet unproven powers of precognition. The good gyrating folks were merely asking “What’s the buzz?”. That’s “what’s”, present fucking tense. They then politely, if somewhat repetitively, enquire about the Jerusalem departure date. Your answer? A question: “Why are you obsessed with fighting?” Oh yeah, very fucking gnomic. You don’t know, do you? Not only can you not predict the future, you can’t even be arsed checking the timetable in the local donkey station. You dick. And speaking of obsessed, perhaps your holier than thou image might be better maintained if you didn’t have the local bike ‘cooling down your face a bit’, while you orgasmically groan “Mary, mmmmm, that it is good!”. We know you dig the dames, but perhaps a revolutionary strategy meeting is not the ideal place for happy endings.

And when the only sense-talking guy wanders in and tells it how it is, he finds himself shouted down like a Democrat at a townhall meeting. Is it because you is black, Judas? I very much suspect that it is. Jesus Christ? Fucking Racist Bastard Christ more like it.

Le  Verdict: This new evidence strongly points to the conclusion that Jesus Christ was a prejudiced,  peevish, petulant, unable to keep his dick in his pants, Saviour le cunt.