Discordian Saints

The Five Apostles

1. Hung Mung
2. Dr. Van Van Mojo
3. Sri Syadasti
3. The Blessed St. Gulik the Stoned
4. Zarathud the Incorrigible
5. Malaclypse the Elder

Saints First Class: Lance, Lieutenant and Brigadier Saints

being fictional personages whose conduct is inspiringly Eristic.

Malaclypse the Younger
(Author of the Principia Discordia)
St. Quixote
(From Don Quixote, Cervantes)
St. Yossarian
(from Catch 22, Heller)
St. Bokonon
(from Cat's Cradle, Vonnegut)
St. Zippy the Microcephalic
(From Bill Griffith's Zippy the Pinhead comics)
St. Cosimo
(from Baron in the Trees, by Italo Calvino)
St. Caulfield
(from Catcher in the Rye, Salinger)
St. Bob the Silent
From Clerks

Saints Second Class

being Saints who, by their existence, are ineligible for higher levels of Sainthood, which are reserved for nonexistent saints.

Norton I, Emperor of the United States and Protector of Mexico:
The first and only Emperor of the United States, Norton made insanity work for him, and proved that reality is what you can get away with.
Other Nortonian links:

(See also the _Sandman_ comic issue 31: "Three Septembers and a January", which covers the story of Norton; annotations for this issue are here.

St. Edward the Spectacularly Bad (Ed Wood):
Unwittingly became the creator of a new, completely unintentional, paradigm in cutting-edge cinematic surrealism.
For more information, see The Ed Wood homepage.
St. Francis the Incoherent (Francis E. Dec, Esq.):
See the Kooks Museum.
St. Archimedes the Screwy (Archimedes Plutonium):
Advocate of the theory of Plutonium Atom Totality, Archimedes spectacularly unified ancient Greek religion and modern-day particle physics.
For more information, see the Psychoceramics page.
St. Jarvis Cocker
Honoured for his timely turkey-cursing of the puppets of Grayface.

Book of the Lives of the Saints

BY Pope Icky Fundament, PZK

Book One of the Lives of the Saints
How to Become Famous and Divine Through No Fault of Your Own


The Tale of Saint Emory Purblind
The man who was to become the great Saint Emory Purblind was a simple man. He had little education and even littler capacity for it. But there was one thing he was truly good at -- jigsaw puzzles. Now, the true and correct way to do jigsaw puzzles, as we all know, is to put the pieces where you think they should go and bang them in with a heavy blunt object (a hammer, your head, someone else's head). But Saint Purblind hadn't yet discovered this wisdom (like all True Saints he lived in the Dark Ages -- circa 1968 to 1981), and insisted on actually doing them incorrectly, by way of the Normal Instruction Book. Soon he had exhausted all the puzzles he could find, as well as his optic nerves.
      But then, by the Light of Eris, he saw what he should do next; and he went to Washington D.C. and bought a souvenir pen, one of the ones with the shredded one dollar bill in the top. And he spent many days and many nights by candlelight (his mother stopped paying his electric bill) putting together the tiny pieces of the bill.
      And when he was finished, his failing eyesight fell upon the Illuminati symbol on the back, and lo, it had been fnorded (see Fnording Dollar Bills if you're lost at this point), and he was enlightened, and passed from this mortal coil via a brain aneurysm.
      Now Emory Purblind sits at the right breast of Eris, and surely he has her ear, though she keeps asking for it back. Pray to him, though he'll probably end up misbestowing his kindnesses on the guy next to you. Or maybe down the block.

Book Two of the Lives of the Saints
How to Be Elevated to the Status of Divinity Without Straining Yourself or Your Credibility


The Yarn of Saint Lenny of the Holy Shell Game

Saint Lenny was born in a small town on the shores of the mighty Hudson River, in the days of old when faith was strong, miracles were common, and you could drink the water (circa 1960). His parents were poor, simple folk, given to uncomplicated pleasures like cock fights and tormenting their neighbors with the smell of boiling cabbage.
      The first mention of Saint Lenny that has been brought to light by modern historians shows us the promise that would be fulfilled by his later life. Disciplinary records dating back to the days of his childhood show evidence of his spending time in school selling passes to the rooftop swimming pool to unsuspecting lowerclasschildren. Later documents seem to point to his doctoring of his own school records (many reports are actually signed ``Saint Lenny Crabkvilowicz'' -- though how he could have anticipated his eventual canonization eludes even this historographier [Wouldn't you like to know? -- Lenny]).
      In any event, the Good Saint Lenny grew to manhood, taking it in his own hands as he did so. Soon he was tall and strong and handsome for a Crabkvilowicz; he was not bent and twisted by farm work, stunted by malnutrition, or burdened by morals. And he made his living dealing Four Card Monty Hall to the peoples of Decadent Cities who did truly deserve to be hoodwinked for the purposes of this narrative.
      One day it did come to pass.
      And then one day something else did come to pass, but it wasn't important so I didn't write it down and afterwards did forget it.
      But then one day something else again did come to pass; Saint Lenny came upon a holy man of the religion of Jehovah and the Covenant. And Saint Lenny beseeched him, saying,
      ``Hail and well met, old father. Wither goest thou with such wind beneath your wings?''
      But the holy man was from Brooklyn, and so was sore pressed to parse the speech of the hip Saint; thus he wondered mightily and said in the tongue of his native land,
      ``Oy vey.''
      And Saint Lenny perceived that they were separated by great gulfs of language and tradition. Wishing to learn more in search of a common ground on which to cheat the man senseless, Lenny endeavored to mock the speech of the holy man, and spake so:
      ``Och, mit der gribbenes moil meshugganah Hochmitkeitlich.''
      And then he added,
      At this the holy man thwackethed Lenny soundly upon the mazzard with his umbrella and shuffled on his way.
      Thus did occur the First Proverb of Saint Lenny.
      And Saint Lenny meditated on the First Proverb and sought to understand the behavior of the believers in this strange religion. Lenny sought understanding in the building of the Temple; and in the words of the Holy Writ; and finally in the space under the yarmulkes. And in that space, he spied a glimmer of understanding.
      Thereafter Saint Lenny spent his days in the practice of the Holy Shell Game, wherein he would gather a crowd of onlookers before three men, rearrange the mens' skull-caps, and beseech members of the crowd to ``guess which one's the Gentile.'' Incorrect answerers were rewarded by their forfeiture of their worldly possessions; many of these people became followers of Saint Lenny, trailing him from town to town, often asking after his whereabouts.
      Today, Saint Lenny's cult has grown so widespread that hardly a town exists without some follower of his in temporary residence. Saint Lenny, however, has gone into seclusion, where he has remained for the last nine years. He has been reported to have been seen selling used watches to the Dalai Lama, but when ten very large men showed up to ask the Lama a few questions, he returned the men unopened.

Book Three of the Lives of the Saints

Saint Andrew


There is perhaps only one man who has ever lived who has given up everything for his Joke (the Apostles don't count -- they didn't know they were kidding). That man is Saint Andrew, Martyr of the Missed Joke.

Saint Andrew appeared on the scene sometime around 1989, and Lo! did Saint Andrew perpetrate a Mighty Joke, whose humour was too subtle in its screaming audacity and thus was its Jokedom Missed and Misunderstood in the Realm of Thud, and Lo again! did the Thuddite Hordes flatten the career of Saint Andrew, whose Great Joke did maketh him a Demon to some and a Role Model to the Italians (who didst miss entirely his Jewish Moniker). And Lo once more! did Saint Andrew yet stand proud upon his Great Joke, and rode it into the Maelstrom of Public Disapproval with All Colours Flying, and did sink without a trace. And the Few, the Proud, the People With Three Fingers of Forehead, did mourn his passing, for they saw his Great Joke, made Greater by its force and subtlety, and knew it was Funny.

After a period of months, Saint Andrew resurfaced from the Dark Lands of Anonymity, having seemingly jettisoned his Great Joke in favor of the sitcom stereotype of the tough-guy-with-a-heart-of-gold dad. It did seem that Saint Andrew had sold out (at the least, it seemed so to the maintainer of the Unofficial Andrew Dice Clay Home Page).

Thus must it seem to the Uninitiated, who, though they might have known him to be a Saint, have failed to notice his Martyrdom. Those with the eyes to see know that, rather than subjecting himself to the possibly insurmountable temptation to renounce his Great Joke, Saint Andrew has chosen to run himself through with the venomous Sword of the Mediocre Sitcom, guaranteeing that he has suffered the Final Comedic Death and can never renounce his Great Joke.

For this sacrifice, we homer the Memory of Saint Andrew, Martyr of the Missed Joke, and visit his gravesite with teary eyes though his body doth yet walk the World. And we sit praying for his Rebirth (and a Rebirth would it truly be, though it taketh place in the same Flesh), and hope that Saint Andrew might walk amongst us again.

Hail Eris, Amen, Pass the Hot-Dog Buns.



By Tonisoa Postatis

St. Carmine Donatelli Crocco - the patron saint of peasants and cafoni,

was born in Rionero in Vúlture amidst the beautiful lakes and wooded

mountains of Northern Basilicata. After the unification of Italy, when

the Lucanian peasants were being oppressed horribly by the Polentoni

(Northern Italians), St. Carmine raised an army of "briganti"

(brigands) to set things straight. Enraged by hunger, the heavy

taxes and difficulties imposed by the new state, hundreds flocked to

his banner. He was called the General of the "Cafoni" (pejorative

for ill-mannered boor) by his enemies, but these so called cafoni

were able to hold off the Italian army in harsh fighting from 1861

until 1864. The sacred woods of Vúlture hid them from the aneristic

foe. It wasn't until he was betrayed by his compatriot, Giuseppe

Caruso that the Piedmontese forces were able to defeat him on July

25, 1864 in fighting near the Ófanto River.

The destruction of his forces caused St. Carmine to seek asylum in the

Papal territories where he was imprisoned. He died in an Italian prison

on June 18, 1905, but is still fondly remembered in the vicinity of Monte

Vúlture. His holy day is the 10th of Confusion (June 5th), his birthday

in 1830. Celebrate his day with a snazzy new hat (see his example above).


Saint George Carlin, Patron Saint of those suffering from Tourettes Syndrome

We're all here on a big rock, zippin' around a bad star for no good reason.

We don't know where we came from, we don't know where we're going, we don't

know how long it's going to last, and we keep having to go to the bathroom.

And on top of that, the whole thing is completely meaningless.

I sincerely believe that if you think there's a solution, you're part of

the problem.

I don't think we really have barbarism a fair try.

I have as much authority as the Pope. I just don't have as many people

who believe it.

The word bipartisan usually means some larger-than-usual deception is

being carried out.

Have you ever wondered why Republicans are so interested in encouraging

people to volunteer in their communities? It's because volunteers work

for no pay. Republicans have been trying to get people to work for no

pay for a long time.

Conservatives say if you don't give the rich more money, they will lose

their incentive to invest. As for the poor, they tell us they've lost

all incentive because we've given them too much money.

Hard work is for people short on talent.

Most people work just hard enough not to get fired and get paid just

enough money not to quit.

A pager is an electronic leash, the better for your controllers to

control you. One more sign that you life belongs to someone else.

And I know that every time something eats, something else dies. I

recognize the Earth is little more than a revolving buffet with weather.

So, the idea of eating animals is fine with me...

Some see the glass as half-empty, some see the glass as half-full.

I see the glass as too big.

Those who dance are considered insane by those who can't hear the music.

Intelligence tests are biased towards the literate.

The New Testament is not new anymore; it's thousands of years old.

It's time to start calling it the Less Old Testament.

St. George Carlin's day is May 12th, his birthday.


St. Robert Anton Wilson - America's resident genius and Patron Saint of

Zetecism (skeptic towards dogmas). His holy day is January 18, his

birthday in 1932.

St. Robert writes: 'Opinions result from perceptions further control

perceptions, in a repeating loop that logic can never penetrate. (Only

a shocking new perception, too strong to get edited out by Opinion, can

break this self-hypnotic loop.)… '(Erisian "religious works" consist of

mind-ƒ***s or "shocks" in the strict Masonic sense).'

Wilson's writings give that "shock." He wrote concerning his own

work: 'The usual hoax: fiction presented as fact. The hoax presented

here opposite of that: fact presented as fiction.'

'What I have been saying - the important lesson of this book - can

be put into two simple imperatives:

1. Never believe totally in anybody else's BS

(Belief System).

2. Never believe totally in your own BS.

Also, he wrote: "Communication is only possible between equals. In the power

game, the more successful you become, the more motive people have for lying

to you. They lie to flatter you, to avoid contradicting your prejudices,

to keep their jobs, to tell you what you want to hear, ect…. People say

what those in power above them want to hear. The power game creates total

communication jam and everybody near the top drifts slowly but inexorably

into a kind of schizoid fantasy. Working for wages turns everybody into

conformists and cowards.


St. Emma Goldman, who said:

"If voting changed anything, they'd make it illegal."

"All wars are wars among thieves who are too cowardly to fight and who

therefore induce the young manhood of the whole world to do the fighting

for them."

"If they do not give you work, demand bread. If they deny you both, take

bread. It is your sacred right!"

"Christianity is most admirably adapted to the training of slaves, to

the perpetuation of a slave society; in short, to the very conditions

confronting us to-day.... The rulers of the earth have realized long ago

what potent poison inheres in the Christian religion. That is the reason

they foster it; that is why they leave nothing undone to instill it into

the blood of the people. They know only too well that the subtleness of

the Christian teachings is a more powerful protection against rebellion

and discontent than the club or the gun."

"Resistance to tyranny is man's highest ideal."

" Conceit, arrogance, and egotism are the essentials of patriotism."

" How long would authority ... exist, if not for the willingness of the

mass to become soldiers, policemen, jailers, and hangmen."


St. Nicola Sacco & St. Bartolomeo Vanzetti, martyrs to the cause of


St. Bartolomeo said "If it had not been for this, I might have live

out my life, talking at street corners to scorning men. I might have

die, unmarked, unknown, a failure. Now we are not a failure. This is

our career and our triumph. Never in our full life can we do such a

work for tolerance, for justice, for man`s understanding of man, as we

now do by an accident.

Our words -- our lives-- our pains-- nothing! The taking of our

lives -- lives of a good shoemaker and a poor fish-peddlar -- all! The

last moment belongs to us -- that agony is our triumph!'

Judge Thayer by executing these men hoped to destroy them and their

cause demonstrating the Aneristic illusion. All he accomplished was to

make them martyrs and increase their importance. As St. Nicola wrote:

"It is true, that they can execute the body, but they cannot execute

the idea which is bound to live."


Saint Donatien, Marquis de Sade - Patron saint of being true to ones

self. His holy day is June 2nd (his birthday in 1740). Celebrate by

doing whatever to want to whomever you want.

"True felicity lies only in the senses, and virtue gratifies none of


"It is not the opinions or the vices of private individuals that are

harmful to the State, but rather the behavior of public figures."

"We are no guiltier in following the primative impulses that govern us

than is the Nile for her floods or the sea for her waves."

"All universal moral principles are idle fantasies."

"The idea of God is the sole wrong for which I cannot forgive mankind."


St. Ludoviko Zamenhof - Founder of Esperanto (the universal language) and

Patron Saint of the International Languages spoken by very few people

His holy day is July 26th (birthday of Esperanto)


St. Thomas Paine - Author of the Age of Reason and

Patron Saint of Dirty Little Atheists who believe

in a Supreme Being

His holy day is January 29th (his birthday)


St. John Stuart Mills - Author of "On Liberty" (1859)

Patron Saint of Personal Liberty

Quotable quote: "The only purpose for which power

can be rightfully exercised over any member of a

civilized community, against his will, is to

prevent harm to others. His own good, either

physical or moral, is not sufficient warrant."


The following Eristic individuals have been declared saints after being

highly recommended by the blessed Saint & Archpadre D. F. Picklestein, The

Nonprophet of The Fifth Cabal:

St. Philip K. Dick - Author of Valis, Radio Free Albemuth, etc.

Patron Saint of Paranoids with Enemies and the

subjective nature of reality. He was either a 1st

Century Christian hallucinating that he was a 20th

Century SciFi Author or the reverse. He believed an

alien intelligence/technology/God? was communicating

to him through an interface he called the

Vast Active Living Intelligence System (VALIS).

He wrote:

"Reality is that which, when you stop believing in it,

doesn't go away." and "The Empire never ended."

His holy days are 61 Chaos (his death on 1982.03.02)

and 58th The Aftermath (his birth on 1928.12.16)

"...towels shall be carried by all in his honor."

St. Douglas Noel Adams - Author of the Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy

Patron Saint of the Meaning of Life and Hitchhikers

His book stated that the "meaning of life, the universe,

and everything is forty-two". See link to the

actual Meaning of Life below.

He wrote: "Man always assumed that he was more

intelligent than dolphins because he had achieved so

much - the wheel, New York, wars and so on - while

all the dolphins had ever done was muck about in

the water having a good time."

His holy day is the 70th of Chaos (his birthday 1952.03.11)

Saint and Archpadre D. F. Picklestein, The Nonprophet of The Fifth Cabal is likewise

declared a saint for his high-caliber eristic e-pistle that was clearly

inspired by the goddess. Also, he is one of the few people ever to say

anything nice about my jokes. St. Picklestein Day is observed on the

61st of Discord (14 May). famous quote: "Observe everything, believe nothing."


The Story of Saint Elzafinagle


Elzafinagle was a little-known and somewhat obscure Discordian saint revered by peasants and country folk in rural Ireland during the eigth and ninth centuries. Like many Irish saints, Elzafinagle was not actually from Ireland but was brought to Ireland from afar by traders and unceremoniously dumped there, where she was taken in by a roving pack of feral Cheshire Weasal Hounds (who had also, not coincidentally, been brought to Ireland from afar), before she was discovered at the age of seven by the Holy Reverend Sisters of the Blessed Scabrous Blotch of Saint Francis, who cleaned her up a bit and raised her to be a nun.

Elzafinagle would have none of this, however. First off, she wasn't chaste. She had the gardening boy at sixteen, and by the time she was eighteen, she'd had trysts with five other men (two were priests), and at least two of the Holy Sisters. There wasn't a hell of a lot to do in the dark ages you see... The poor girl was bored.

Anyway, aside from Elzafinagle's lack of chastity, she showed a disturbing lack of piety. During Vespers, she was notorious for nodding off and snoring. At morning prayer, she would come in with tangled hair and complain loudly about the cold water at the pump (and coffee hadn't been invented yet, so you can't blame her). And when the Holy Father from the parish church tried to get her to confess her sins, more often than not she would call him a reisty old lech and throw him a turkey curse (the invention of which she is sometimes credited).

As you might imagine, Elzafinagle was not long for the nunnery once she reached an age where she could be reasonably expected to sort of take care of herself. Or, to be blunt, they threw her out on her callipygian ass.

Elzafinagle took to the life of a mendicant hermit, visiting strange, wild places and talking to the druids and (some say) the faeries. Honestly, the druids bored her incredibly ("You want me to play around with human heads?!" she'd said, "Toss off!"), and the faeries were great for parties, but she always had such horrible headaches in the morning that she dropped them as well.

Now one day, Elzafinagle was approaching a village, when she heard a wee voice say, "Elzafinagle! Elzafinagle!"

She looked down and there was a little cockroach talking to her. She picked it up. "Give me one reason why I shouldn't smash you," she said to the cockroach.

"Umm... I suppose if I get this wrong I'm really fucked?" the cockroach asked.

"Damn right," she said, raising her hand.

"Umm... Err... If you smash me you won't hear the really important message I have for you?"

"On with it," she said.

"Right... *ahem*... Eris Discordia says, 'Hiya,' and would like you to know that she's chosen you for sainthood. You are now promoted from pope to official saint, with all benefits there accruing, including a holy day, which you get to pick."

"What's today?"

"January 5."

"Fine. Now fuck off." And with that, the cockroach scampered away.

One couldn't exactly say that Elzafinagle used her sainthood wisely and entirely to the benefit of humankind, but then one can't say that about very many Discordian saints (with the possible exception of the apocryphal Chicken Boo). She did get a lot of free food out of it, however. Example:

Elzafinagle: Give me some free food.

Innkeeper: And why would I be doin' that?

Elzafinagle: 'Cause I'm a saint, the shite-eatin' cockroach said so.

Innkeeper: Sure'n your're crazy!

Elzafinagle: I can make you blind.

Innkeeper: Get out of here!

Elzafinagle: (Shoots soot in his face). There. You're blind, fucker.

Innkeeper: Oh, Lord Sweet Jesus Bleeding Messy Christ! Have mercy, Saint!

Elzafinagle: (Shoots water in his face). There. Look at me, you arse.

Innkeeper: You're a saint! You're a saint!

Elzafinagle: Shut up and give me some food.

Innkeeper: Yes, Saint Elzafinagle, whatever you say!

It also couldn't really be said that Elzafinagle gained a hell of a lot of converts to Discordia. One noted failure in a long, long string thereof was her mission to England, where she tried our traditional conversion method.

Elzafinagle: Hey, did you know that God is a girl and his name is Eris?

Limey: Bugger off you bloody cow.

However, after her mission to Norway, where the ancestors of the Net.Vikings introduced her to a gloppy, snot-like hallucinogenic mushroom potion they referred to rather indelicately as "Valkyrie Smeg," Elzafinagle had considerably greater success in winning converts.

Elzafinagle: God is a girl and his name is Eris.

TrippyDane: Ja, voutever you say, lady... Vhoo! Det vas k001!

Sadly, Elzafinagle was accidentally martyred in what is now Germany in the year 623 when she tried to convince the great Gothic chieftain, Oleg Braineater, that his men should all wear yellow feather boas into battle against the Vandals. Unfortunately, Oleg had drunk a little too much mead (plus a little Valkyrie Smeg), and he thought Elzafinagle was requesting that he dance in a yellow feather boa. He complied. Unfortunately, the traditional dance performed by the Goths (no, not the white-faced people, the German barbarians, silly!) at the time involved a Really Big Axe that was whirled about the body. With the feather boa partially obscuring his vision, Oleg accidentally swung the axe a bit too wide, and Elzafinagle was martyred in the name of our Lady of Chaos Eris Discordia.

Her teeth were until recently available via the Home Shopping Network for $19.95 each, but no one bought them, and they were taken off the sell-list and later lost.

Elzafinagle is revered by the Net.Vikings, the Discordians, and a large clan of brown squirrels in Westchester County, New York.

Elzafinagle is the patron saint of hallucinogens, mashed potatoes, and recovering Catholics.

Her color is green, and her odor is sod. She is rumored to taste like chicken.

Her holy day is January 5. 'Cause she chose it.