Hi. I'm a Monsignor. For those of you who don't know, that translates to "My Lord". Yes, that's right. I travel through life, in all serious pomposity, with that title. Don't snicker. It was conferred upon me by the head of The Roman Catholic Church. So, yeah, I'm a pretty big deal.
I stand on a stage and read words that someone else wrote. I've done it for about 50 years now, but somehow, I still need my script. If the boy doesn't bring the book and hold it up in front of me at the appointed time, I must stand still, purse my lips and glare at him until he scurries over to the right spot.
My job isn't easy, you know. Sure, you can see by my baby soft hands that I've never put in a day of manual labor. And even a careful listen of my many homilies will not give you the slightest indication that I've exerted my mental facilities toward anything beyond platitudes and vague generalities. But, take my word for it, without me, this place would fall apart.
Here's a partial list of my many important duties: telling people what color to wear for particular church seasons, critiquing the skills of the professional musicians who work for me (no, I have never studied music nor do I play an instrument, why do you ask?), allocating funds for different church building projects, throwing water at people who have learned the "in" words of my church. Oh, there are so many things I am responsible for, I couldn't possibly list them all here. You'll just have to take my word for it. And if you need further proof, simply take a look at the sour, put-upon expression I carry around like a security blanket. That's a face you must earn, my friend.
What? What do you mean I should be a beacon of joy to the troubled masses that come to my door for some comfort? Yes, of course I spout the usual "God loves you and through His Grace we are saved" routine. That doesn't mean I have to put it into actual practice. What are you, some kind of revolutionary heretic? Here, I'll give you some poems you can recite over and over, which will maybe help you get over this "critical thinking" thing that's obviously bugging you.
Well, actually, I do manage to smile once in a while. It usually happens when I come up for a breather from my strenuous job (see above) to regale you with some juicy tidbits about the people we know in common. No, I'm not gossiping. How dare you? Wait, why are you walking away in the middle of my story about Father So-And-So? You're no fun. It's no wonder you're not of my flock.
OK, I gotta go now and guilt the sheeple into giving me ever increasing amounts of their hard-earned money.
I'll get right to the point. I reject, with immeasurable scorn and indignation that I have any sympathies or purposes in common with nefarious spiritual propagandists. Perhaps before going on, I should describe The Pope to you. The Pope is whiney, two-faced,con artist, the proverbial wolf in sheep's clothing if you will. Furthermore, he yearns to usher in the rule of the Antichrist and the apocalyptic end times. I've left out many criticisms of The Pope from this "wailing wall" of input. Nevertheless, I claim that it's a start—a philosophical space where we can plant a new flag symbolizing all that is wrong with The Pope and that pin-the-funny-hat on the old guy group known as Catholics.
ReplyDeleteAs a kid, I always wondered if throwing a virgin
ReplyDeleteinto a volcano would cancel out eating meat on Friday.
Why is it always the virgins who need to be sacrificed? Don't they already suffer enough, being virgins and all? How about we start feeding the volcano some women of easy virtue. Just to change things up a bit. Imagine if you had to eat the same damned thing, night after night.
ReplyDeleteAnd Aaron, you need some sleep, baby. But I sure am impressed with all the multi-syllabic words you have at your disposal. Call me in a few minutes.
I imagine the whole virgin thing is an early and primitive example of supply and demand. The more rare something is, the higher the perceived value. The easy virtue crowd may not have been considered a sacrifice.
ReplyDeleteThere was a time I was willing to risk my soul trying the Friday/meat swap with the
virgin/volcano thing, but living in Southern California I could only come up with the meat, so...
Not to mention the dearth of volcanoes around these parts. Had you, by some good fortune, found a virgin what would you have done with her? I suppose you could have dropped her off in Pacoima. Or maybe somewhere in the Inland Empire.
ReplyDeleteAlso, you must really like meat to risk losing your soul over eating it.
Innuendo aside, (did you know innuendo is
ReplyDeletethe Italian word for suppository?), my plan in the unlikely event I found a virgin before finding a volcano was well thought out:
I would take her to Disneyland on a Friday, start a trash can fire by rubbing two tourists together and then toss her off the top of the Matterhorn into the flames, followed by a lava lamp.
Finally, in an act rife with symbolism, I would enjoy a taco and a corn dog while pondering the fate of my soul.
Also, I would like to thank the virgins who gave up their virginity to prove they were virgins, although these types of circular, ironic twists caused me to abandon religion in favor of reality.
The lava lamp and symbolic eating of a taco and corn dog reveal your artistic flair and appreciation of nuance. Bravo!
ReplyDeleteI grappled a bit with the part about rubbing the tourists together, seeing as how they would most likely be harmed, if not killed, in the fire making process. But then I remembered that most patrons of the happiest place on earth irritate the crap out of me. So, rub away, my good man.
My remark about your enjoyment of meat had no intended innuendo (Italian or otherwise) of the West Hollywood variety.
And now I realize that you can have a field day with "rub away, my good man". Consider it my gift to you on this fine Tuesday.
Thank you for the gift my good and genius
ReplyDeletewoman. I too felt a pang of guilt about harming tourists. Then I realized if you’re a tourist and you’re flammable, what the hell are you doing at Disneyland? These annoying people need to take personal responsibility for themselves.
Anyway, my new plan is to grab tourists and staple them to the backs of “It’s A Small World” boats.
In fact, nights and weekends you could sit in the back row and ask them questions in a novel twist of "Cash Cab".
No permanent damage and they eventually go home. Sort of a “catch and release” thing.
I knew there was a good reason to subscribe to your blog, Mustard. I love it and you. P.S., I think one of my cats is a virgin. And therefore, holy. And he's a boy.
ReplyDeleteThanks, songbird, love you too. :)
ReplyDeleteHey JRN, it seems we've found you a virgin. Nobody said it had to be female. Or walk on two legs.
But if you're bound and determined to do some damage to the mouse tourists, how about we velcro them to the back of the boats? I know, if they're stapleable, it's their own damn fault, but the thought of it makes me a bit queasy. What can I say? I'm a delicate flower.
Also, as part of the catch and release program, we should also spay and neuter them. It's the responsible thing to do.
Ok, this works for me on three levels.
ReplyDelete1) He’s a boy, and that means I won’t be
spoiling anything.
2) He’s a cat, and that means I won’t be
spoiling anything.
3) Songbird was the name of Sky King’s
airplane, and that means pretty much
nothing.
I can compromise with the Velcro. Don’t ever want to damage a delicate flower.
And spay and neuter ? That is utterly BRILLIANT!! I don’t know what else to say other than…you complete me…
(Please excuse me for a moment, I just cracked myself up).
Yes. I often have that effect on men.
ReplyDeleteP.S. Who is Sky King? I'd google, but I'm practicing and don't need to go off on a 3 hour internet tangent.
At your leisure
ReplyDeletehttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sky_King
Thanks, JRN. I see that I still have much to learn about old TV shows.
ReplyDeleteAnd apropos of nothing.