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_____ / _` | |_| '_ ` _ \ _____
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Another Foggy Moment
These are the continuing adventures of a typical resident
of the self-proclaimed center of the Pugetopolis universe -
Seattle. Most are true stories but some are made of whole-
cloth. I ain't the Mayor, the Governor or a Big Shot. Just
another Working Stiff with a Bad Attitude.
------------------------------------------------
WARNING: This is not a Child-Proof Neighborhood.
If you're a kid - scram!, beat it! you little
punk before your Old Lady catches you and calls
the cops. They'll throw you in the Big House in
Walla Walla and won't let you out until you're
89 years old. There. Don't say I didn't warn you.
-------------------------------------------------
- 154 -
Why weep or slumber America?
Land of the Brave and True
There's castles and clothing and food for all
All belongs to you
Every man a king
Every man a king
For you can be a millionaire
If there's something belonging to others
There's enough for all people to share
When its sunny June
and December too
or in the wintertime or spring
there'll be peace without end
every neighbor a friend
and every man a King
- "Every Man a King" -
1930
by Louisiana Governor Huey "Kingfish" Long
A CANADIAN FOURTH...
I took a vacation from terrorism this 4th of July and headed north for
most of the week. There was a 3-hour backup at the border getting into
Canada. Usually the big backups are in the other direction. It looked
like everybody was bugging out.
Given the track-record of our Paycheck Patriots at the FBI/CIA/NSA/DoD/
INS, you gotta know the only thing those jerks protect is their paychecks.
They ain't gonna stick their necks out for us. 9/11 made that perfectly
clear. The only thing they're good for is Dog & Pony Shows.
Appropriately, last Monday was Canada Day - the Canuks version of the
4th. After decades of largely ignoring it, they are finally beginning
to whoop it up. There were lots of parades and fireworks all over the
place as well as flags flying. Instead of drunks walking around with
"These Colors Don't Run" t-shirts, there were Hashheads floating around
with "Happy Canada Day - Show Me Your Beaver" tees. The atmosphere was
normal, relaxing and enjoyable. While we're looking over our shoulder
for terrorist Boogermen and our unemployment rate continues to soar,
they got no terrorist warnings and their economy is Booming. BC alone
created as many new jobs last month as all of the U.S.A. combined. Wow!
They got good reason to be happy. Their PM may be a crook but he's no
retard like our President Yellowbelly.
Outside of America the new "Mooslim/Terrorist" thing is far less
universal than the old "Rooskie/Commie" thing was. Canuks almost
adopted legislation like our Patriot Act and Anti-Terrorism Bill,
but after haggling over it for a couple months, they decided it was
too stupid for words and just threw the whole thing out. Looks like
our present form of mental illness at least isn't contagious.
And if terrorism is 'the price we pay' for our wealth, how come the
Canuks are getting theirs for free?
BTW - I hear the Chief had half of SPoDe out for the 4th. Since
his phony 'Community Policing' scam proved to be Vaporware
and his tactical abilities proved unequal to even controlling
a crowd of Mardis Gras drunks, he finally seems to have found
a way into the hearts of his troops - overtime. What a bunch
of useless freeloaders. Mayor Gutless and the toadies on City
Council lacked the balls to yank the Pollock's chain. He's got
those wimps wrapped around his little finger.
Speaking of Canada...
While the Immigration & Naturalization Service may let 20 or so trained
terrorists cross the Canadian border to take a whack at us, they're a
lot tougher on girl baseball teams. A team from Kelowna, BC on its way
to a tournament in Spokane was turned back at the border this past
weekend by our drowsy and dopey INS agents. Too young to have drivers
licences and too neighborly to think they neeed passports, they lacked
official ID. Birth certificates, notes from parents and school photo
ID don't cut it neither. Our brave border guards sent them packing back
to their terrorist camp in the BC interior. Dang! Lost their tournament fee
too. At least the INS finally found somebody they could push around eh.
*
THE NATURAL...
I was walking down Rainier Ave early Saturday morning looking for
a bean joint. It was very quiet and a fog had rolled in off the Lake.
As I approached the place where old Sicks Stadium used to be, I
noticed through the mist a tall, skinny good-looking kid in a suit -
no tie - standing near the little memorial plaque for the old ballpark.
He had a cheap old-fashioned, beat-up cardboard suitcase in one hand
and a baseball bat in the other. He seemed to be gazing whistfully
at where the ballpark used to be.
As I got closer I recognized him right away - it was Ted Williams. I
approached him. "Morning Mr. Williams. I heard you passed away yesterday.
Taking the final road trip?", I asked. "Yeah kid. I'm just oozing outta
the picture like I oozed into it.", he replied. "You were one of the
best Mr. Williams. I saw you play a couple times. I'll never forget
that swing of yours. It was like watching "Secretariat" fully-extended
in deep stretch heading for the wire. It was a thing of power, grace
and beauty. It was like God made you to hit baseballs. You weren't a
muscle-headed sluggo like the rest of them bums. You was an artist.",
I said. "Thanks kid.", he replied. I thought I could see a tear form
in his eye as he head shyly dropped. He lightly touched his hand to
my shoulder and said, "I gotta be go'n.". Then he turned and slowly
faded away like in a dream.
As a young up-and-comer with the old San Diego Stars (formerly the
Hollywood Stars) of the Pacific Coast League, Ted visited old Sicks
to play a little Pepper with the local boys on the Rainiers. In fact,
his rookie season with the Stars was Sicks Stadium's rookie year too.
He probably wondered what the fishing was like out on nearby Lake
Washington. And likely after the game, him the boys stopped over at
the Doghouse downtown for a bite to eat before catching cabs over to
Union Station to roll on the next train south. Ball players didn't
make much money back in those days and couldn't afford to eat at
fancy restaurants. They played for love of the game and because it
was a lot more fun than working for a living.
They better not put no neck-tie on him when they plant him. He HATED
neckties and refused to wear them. In a formal pinch (White House
visits, etc.) he would grudgingly agree to wear a string-tie. But
tieless was his preferred mode.
Dugdale Park, home of the Seattle Indians, was Seattle's original
ballpark. After they accidently burnt the place down during Fourth
of July celebrations in 1932, the team played where Seattle off-Center
is until while a new place was built. Emil Sicks was the guy who owned
Rainier Brewery. Since he paid for the place, he decided to name it
after himself and named his new team after his beer. The stadium was
demolished in 1979 after sitting empty and largely unused for nearly
ten years. The Seattle Pilots (now the Milwaukee Brewers) were the
last pro team to play there. They got a little display thing on it
in the big Eagle Hardware/Garden store that sits there now. Many
baseball legends graced that ground once upon a time. The biggest
of the Big Boyz. And a few Hometown Boys like Fred Hutchinson who
later made good in the Big Leagues.
*
I SPY THE EYE-MAN...
HE'S BAAAccccKKKK...the most prominent political figure in the state
and a man who makes politicans swiftly slither back into their holes
for cover, Tim Eyeman announced this week that he's gonna take another
kick at the can. Baying like a pack of bloated, mangy, neutered beagles
with a bad case of worms, our News Nazis did their best to put the worst
possible face on the matter, but it didn't do them any good. The cat's
outta the bag. And you gotta know, that cat's got no reason to like
beagles any more.
He's conservative; I'm not. He's nominally Republican; I'm not. Other
than that I think he's great. No doubt, long after people are saying,
"Who was that midget we had for Governor back in the 90's?", they will
remember Mr. Eyeman's name. Our Governor hates his guts. Our KingCo Exec
hates his guts. Paycheck Patriots across this great state hate his guts.
The Hooterville Yacht Club hates his guts. Which can only mean that our
News Nazis obediently hate his guts too. Everybody EXCEPT the people of
Washington state hate his guts. They are the ones who put Mr. Tim Eyeman
on the political map by voting overwhelming, not for him, but for his
initatives.
Which is a round about way of saying he pisses off all the right people
and is a very popular guy. And so he should be. He has used the voter
initative process to give the taxpayers a real voice in how this state
is run. A voice our election system and politicians had denied us. Frank
Chopp and the other varmints in Olympia no longer can quietly scurry about
in the dark like big, stinky cockroaches. Tim's got his hand on the light
switch and that sucker's staying on. If they want to impose more taxes,
they have to take time out of their busy schedules and face-stuffing in
their gourmet restaurant to explain just why it is they feel it necessary
to lift our wallets once again. Boy do they hate having to do that! With
a passion. They hate democracy. The thought of it turns their guts.
It really does.
All men are mortal and, therefore, Tim Eyeman is mortal. He got caught
with his hand in the cookie jar. Though the cookie jar DID have his name
on it. Nonetheless, he's admitted to his weaknesses and failings like a
man. No cynical denials. No temporary Alzheimers. Just the straight goods
- he screwed up by blowing a wad on himself instead of on the initative
process. Not many could have resisted the temptation. I couldn't have.
Not likely you could have either. Our entire Media community would now
be hiding in Brazil if you'd laid that kind of Dough under their noses.
I would and will donate to his cause again. If he wants to take my $25,
go out and get lickered up with a cheap Floozie by his side, and make
rude noises at the gals in the Lusty Lady, I say more power to him. I
don't think I could do that on $25. And anybody who could would obviously
know a thing or three about real fisical responsibility. Truely a man
worth investing in.
Sic 'em Tim!
*
BANNED IN SEATTLE...
The original unexpurged, unedited and uncensored version of Mr. Paul
Trummel's notorious webpage (contracabal.org) which got him thrown in
solitary confinement at the King County Jail for over 100 days by KingCo
Inferior Court Judge Jimmy "The Token Twinkie" Doerty, remains available
on the web for your viewing pleasure. Mr. Trummel was forced by Judge
Jimmy to censor the current version. No matter. The Matrix doesn't care
about little techno-illiterate Hicktown judges and their clueless rulings.
Whatever embarassing crap you put on it, the Net takes to its tender bosom
and protects forever and ever. Like a mother saving the Refrigerator Art
drawn by her wayward children. Try:
archive.org
and punch 'contracabal.org' into the little search window. Voila! Which
version would you like?
While Mr. Trummel is an excellent writer and man of no small ability,
he isn't the raving homophobic, misogynistic, misanthropic neanderthal
Judge Jimmy and our News Nazis say he is. He's not even vaguely as
interesting as that. Far from it. He's a boringly intelligent, urbane,
adept and sophisticated journalist. That he wears his viewpoint on his
sleeve instead of trying to hide it up his sleeve like our News Nazis,
is hardly a knock against him. He meticulously lays out and documents
the many injustices he claims occurred at his Council House residence.
It makes for fascinating reading but you won't get a Boner or a Hate-On
from reading it. And you'd certainly be wondering what Judge Jimmy is
using for brains these days. Even for an Inferior Court judge Jimmy's
a laughable dimwit.
Other sources of info about Mr. Trummel are:
Mr. Trummel's Contracabal.org
Joe Harkins' freepaultrummel.com
Vicki Richman's Homepage
*
FLOYD THE FLAG BURNER...
It was 35 years ago last Tuesday that Floyd the Flag Burner entered Seattle's
civic history. Floyd Turner, a young drifter who wandered into town from a
Canadian Doukhobor farm back in 1962 for the World's Fair, didn't actually
have anything to do with burning any flags. Stan "The Torch" Iverson, the
unofficial Emperor of the Blue Moon (tavern) and legendary, notorious local
Bolshevikii, was the real culprit, as he tried many times to tell Judge
Manolides of KingCo Inferior Court who heard the case. But realizing he was
no match for Stan and ignoring the testimony of numerous eye-witnesses, the
judge declared "...anarchists cannot tell right from wrong and cannot be
trusted" , then deliberately convicted a man he knew to be innoncent of
the dirty deed. Apparently KingCo Inferior Court judges have a little
difficulty telling right from wrong too. Floyd quietly took the rap -
$500 fine and 6-months in the Slammer. He only served 45-days and the state
Supremes, to save the state any further embarassment, made up a bogus
technicality which they used to overturn his conviction.
In the march to the State Supreme Court, "Seattle Magazine" published a
story sympathetic towards Floyd and critical of the flunky who was KingCo
Prosecutor at the time. In classic Hooterville Yacht Club style, the dumbass
Prosecutor subpoened the magazine's editor for prejudicing his case. An
Inferior Court judge threw that brain-fart out as a 'legal palaver". Wow!
An Inferior Court judge with a vocabulary!
Floyd continued to be a fixture at local anti-war and civil right rallys
fearlessly taunting the Cops and occasionally getting butt-nekkid as
Doukhobors are famous for doing. He was a simple and gentle man who cared
deeply about people. Judge Manolides, who really didn't give much of a
damn about anybody, faded into a well-deserved obscurity.
And Old Glory? She is in far more danger from our scumbag politicians,
Cops, prosecutors and judges who use her as ass-wipe than she is from
anybody like Floyd Turner. She's all ours. We paid for her with our blood.
With her we express our dignity and disgust, our hopes and our fears.
Sometimes she glows with our pride; other times she burns with our rage.
We'll use her whatever way we see fit, regardless of what any two-bit
judge, buck-sucking politican or fat-ass VFW beer-belly loudmouth thinks.
Ref: Daily Bleed for 7/2
...........................................................................
"You want to get laid? Go to college.
You want to get an education? Go to a library."
- frank Zappa -
...........................................................................
BOOKISH PLACES
[Sorry Margaret. I tried to reply to your comment last week but all my
attempts bounced back to me.]
The Great American Library is largely a thing of the past. Once upon
a time, they were genteel and honored institutions as well-known for
their hospitality as for their books. Prim and proper, spotlessly clean
and respectfully peaceful and quiet, they were often like schools without
teachers. Their librarians, legendary for their well-mannered, cultured and
bookish ways, were simply there to help and encourage. You supplied the
hunger and thirst for knowledge and they helped you find contentment.
Getting their own library card was for many kids their "First Communion"
with the larger society around them. It was the first time they were
given trust and responsibility beyond their immediate family.
During the Great Depression of the 30's, there were men who were known as
"Library Bums". Out of work and destitute, often lacking in any significant
education, they used public libraries not only to get out of the rain, but
to educate themselves. Public libraries were their colleges and universities.
Like mad monks, having nothing else to do, they read and studied all day
long. Some went on to become scientists, doctors, judges and great writers.
Guys like high-school drop-out, 1930's Louisiana Governor, Huey P. Long
who did Law School in one year flat after studying law in public libraries
while on the bum.
Jim Tully was such a man. A protege of that cantankerous Grand Old Man
of American Lit - H.L. Mencken - and deservedly mentioned in the same
breath with Hemmingway, Sherwood Anderson, Fitzgerald and other literary
giants of his time. His books were bestsellers and he went on to Hollywood
to write movie scripts as well. He pretty much invented the American
'hard boiled' genre used by Damon Runyon, Dashiell Hammett, Charles
Willeford and so many others. Now he's all but forgotten. After running
away from home he became a Road Kid, hoboing around America making his
daily bread as a prize fighter, barkeep, Carnie flunky, and whatnot,
"Cincinnati Red" spent his spare time reading and studying in the nearest
public library wherever he was. He used the American public library system
to educate himself. There were many like him. Nowadays we just call guys
like that "homeless bums". And education is a piece of paper you buy.
I remember the first public library that I really got intimate with. It
was in a simple, old two-story house that this rural county had bought
for that purpose. They couldn't afford to build any architectural
monuments and really didn't see any point in doing so. The kitchen was
converted into office space, but the rest of the place was all books.
For the most part, books that people in that county had donated. Fiction
in the living room; Classics in the main bedroom, Technical books in the
study, etc. Over the decades, various lawyers, judges, doctors, teachers,
business people, Cops, retirees and others had passed along books they
no longer needed, or had willed their personal libraries to this little
county libary upon their deaths. There weren't a lot of books relatively
speaking but it was an amazingly solid and diverse libary for a little
place out in the sticks far from civilization. The original owners
obviously took advantage of their 'seclusion' and Michigan's long, cold
winter nights to do some serious reading.
Since the lot the house/library was on was well-treed, the place was
always cool. And since school was out for the summer, I had the whole
thing pretty much to myself - no noisey parents poking and proding their
kids around. This made it nice and quiet. It was a clean, tidy, homey
and peaceful place. The librarian left me alone. I was a familiar face
and she had Dewey decimal-numbers to determine and index cards to fill
out. Not really knowing many authors names at the time, I spent most of
my time just grazing the shelves. Whenever I found something that caught
my interest, I'd read a bit to see if it was worth taking out. I lacked
direction and focus, much as I do today, but I was enjoying myself, much
as I am today.
Mine was not a book-oriented home. My mother kept a copy of "A Tree Grows
in Brooklyn" hidden in her closet. I found it during one of my early
investigatory forays into the mysterious world of adults and snuck it back
to my lair to read. I didn't understand much of it. My grandmother had
four or five books, including a fascinating volume on Egypt, in a lampstand
in her living room. The Egyptian one was my favorite and I must have re-read
it a million times over the years. I have no idea why she had it. In all
the years I knew her, she never mentioned Egypt even once. I did the rest
of my reading out of school libraries.
I was the only one in my family who was a reader. I'd wake up early on a
Saturday morning and, so as not to disturb my roomies, I'd pull the covers
over my head like a tent and read with a flashlight. Not very practical
perhaps, but I found it exciting and it appealed to my adventurous side.
Sometimes I'd put the book aside and pretended I was driving a big Mack
truck. "Double-clutch! Double-clutch!", I'd grunt much to the bewilderment
of any other early-rising siblings. Many nights I read myself to sleep.
Everyone in my family found this most peculiar. Baffled, they neither
encouraged nor discouraged this odd habit of mine. I guess they just
didn't know what to make of it. Eventually I did a little writing too.
Mostly soft-porn fantasies about "Susie Wong". We weren't Chinese or
even Asian and I never even met anyone from the Inscrutable East until
well after I was out of high school. I have no idea where my early
obsession for Asian women came from. A previous lifetime perhaps. Once
I started dealing with The Real Thing, I was far less picky. At any
rate, aside from giving myself Boners, I had little other use for
writing and stuck mostly with reading.
Since those early years at that little country library, I've wandered
the stacks at the Library of Congress, the Parlimentary Library in
Ottawa, the Boston Public Library, the New York Public Library, as well
as many university libraries, big city and small town libraries too
numerous to mention. As well as a few sizeable personal libraries.
First thing I look for in visiting anyone is their bookshelf. Yes,
I guess I am a Library Bum at heart.
I used to like the Seattle Public Library up until a few years ago. The
selection is pretty crappy and out-of-date but the staff were sorta
friendly and the old dump had its charms. But nowadays the atmosphere
has completely changed. They seem to assume we're all liars and theives.
I find it an unfriendly, unhelpful and impersonal place. Is it our fault
or theirs? Who knows. Who cares. It's just the way it is. When they
started nicking me with bogus fines, it was easy to walk away. The Net
had largely rendered them obsolete anyways.
............................................................................
A joke for the times...
Q: What's the difference in having your clothes forcefully removed in
public by an airport 'security' worker and some stranger in a bar?
A: You can legally refuse the guy in the bar.
Thanks to erikg3 (Seattle Clam Digger turned California Surfer Boy)
.............................................................................
'OL YELLER'S TWAT
(aka The War Against Terrorism)
Cities that have officially declared the Patriot Act a threat to their civil
rights:
Oakland, CA
Carrboro, NC
Ann Arbor, MI
Denver, CO
Cambridge, MA
Northhampton, MA
Amherst, MA
Oh Lordy! As if it isn't bad enough he's got kamakazi Weinermobiles making
runs at the White House and that Uppity Negro General Powell snickering
at his Palestinian non-policy, there's no end of other troubles for
President Yellowbelly.
He went in for brain surgery last week. And after hours of probing as far
up his anus as they could go, the good doctors still failed to find the
gol dang thing. They know it's in there somewhere. It's gotta be. The
man's still got a pulse and a crude, primative, ameboid form of intelligence.
Lacking in intestinal fortitude, they know for sure it isn't that far up
his poop-chute. And lacking in balls, no point even looking there. The
search continues.
Our flying retards are at it again. Maybe we ought to just hire Chimpanzees
to fly our aircraft until the Pentagon robotizes the whole sheebang. They
couldn't do any worse than the Crackhead Monkey Boys we got flying them
right now. And they'd be a helluva lot cheaper. I don't mind them killing
one another off. They wanted adventure - they got it. I don't mind them
killing off voluntary friendlies like the Canuks. The Canadians are stupid
enough to tag along, they deserve everything they get. But to open fire on
hundreds of kids at a wedding - now that takes REAL guts. I know I couldn't
do it. It'd give me nightmares. That they were the kids of Afghani friendlies
who fought and died for our cause really rubs it in. They ain't friendlies
any more.
Be a Luser - Go U.S. Air Force.
...............................................................................
"We're all sort of like Anne Frank's family, up in the attic, waiting for
the Nazis to come."
- homosexual priest -
on upcoming Apostolic visits to seminaries
..............................................................................
- MONDO VATICANO -
For the 500th time, it's official. The Old Pollock says there ain't no way
in hell he's resigning. If they want to get rid of him they're going to have
to get out the Magic Pillows. Reduced to a drooling, brain-dead ambulatory
vegetable, his Opus Dei buddies are propping him up and making the best of
it. His pet Twinkie, Navarro-Valls, wisely stayed in the background on this
one and let one of their lay flunkies in Milano do the Talking Head routine.
The Twinkie's ambitions have become a little too obvious. No public
appearance by the Papal Vegetable either. Nobody can understand what's he's
saying anymore anyways. Which is just as well - he ain't really making
a helluva lot of sense.
I hope there's nothing to those rumors of Cardinal "Ratso" Ratzinger quietly
making inquiries of the Papal housekeeping Sisters about which pillow
material 'breathes' best. Ratso wants the Papal Vegetable shipped out to
a nice cabbage patch in Poland ASAP. JP-2 has become an embarassment. Which
would explain why they keep him on the road as much as possible. It's
harder to hit a moving target.
The Church is in a state of serious crisis and lacks a functional leader who
can deal with the situation. It isn't that JP-2 wants to stay. He's too
braindead to understand what's going on any more. It's the vast host of
Curia Queens and special interests like Opus Dei who want to use what's
left of his carcass to serve their own aggendas that are the problem.
+ +
Fr. Gabe Amorth, the Chief Exorcist of Roma, is screaming 'habeas corpus'.
He wants to know where his buddy Bishop Milingo is and the Curia Wops ain't
saying. Fr. Gabe is so pissed off he's threatening to denounce the Vatican
before the United Nations if somebody don't start talking. Father Gabe
has done some strange things in his time but nothing vaguely like this.
He must be VERY worried about his friend Bishop Milingo.
Bishop Milingo is the wildly popular African exorcist bishop who turned
the entire priestly population of the Vatican green with envy when he
got Hitched to a nice Korean lady at a Moonie mass-wedding a couple years
ago. After enjoying married life for a few months, he got suckered into
appearing before the Old Pollock to explain himself. He pretty much fell
off the edge of the earth after that. A brief public appearance in which
he strongly resembled one of our POWs during the Vietnam War - haggard,
drugged, exhausted - denouncing his wedding vows, was his final bow. He's
completely disappeared. And now Fr. Gabe wants to know where his buddy
and fellow exorcist has gone.
ArchBishop Bertone, the Wop who's in charge of the Holy Inquistion (aka
Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith), essentially the Vatican's
FBI, tried to sooth the roughened waters with vague reassurances that
Emmanual was okay. But he refused to say where he is and wouldn't allow
him any public interviews. I wonder where they buried his body eh.
+ +
It's been said many times that priests are Babe Magnets and it's quite
true. I don't know if it's the challenge or what, but many women really
get the Hots for Fadder. It almost seems like an involuntary thing.
Catholic girls DO have a reputation for creative expression of their
sexual repression. Most of the priests I've known seem to have resisted
the temptation and learned to live with the torment, but not all. It is
a constant struggle.
Amongst those who have failed to resist is the Old Pollock himself. He had
a Babe back in Poland and a Love Child to boot. Pictures of the three of
them are still around and that kid is the spitting image of the Holy Father
in his younger days. The resemblance is as eerie as that of President Bubba
Clinton's Love Child. Gives the two of them something in common. Future-
Super-Saint JP-2's favorite theologian, Fr. Hans Urs von Balthazar carried
on a torrid but tasteful liason with a very classy Broad for many years.
Their correspondance remains a hot take-out item at the Vatican Library to
this day. Fr. Malachi Martin, the well-known exorcist and pseudo-historian,
got defrocked by the Vatican after whispering voices revealed Malachi was
luring various Babes into lives of sin - including the wife of the present
Vatican correspondent for Newsweek magazine. Hey, he didn't know the guy
was going to end up a Vatican correspondent. And it's hardly his fault
the Limmy's a boring twit who didn't pay any attention to his wife.
For the upper-echelons of the Church, celibacy has long been an optional
affair. They can do whatever they want. With a wink and a nod, the Boyz
understand the situation. For parish priests it has been much the same
though the smarter ones pursue their Nookie outta town where nobody knows
them. There is nothing quite as vicious as the heart of a scorned member
of the Altar Society whispering nasty rumors in diocesean ears. Women
got a real thing for revenge. Foreign missionaries have long helped
themselves to the local Babes. I lived in a remote part of Alberta,
Canada for a few years where the most common native last-name was that
of the first missionary to work the area. He must have Porked every Cree
Babe he met. And many were quite proud to have such a distinguished
fellow for an inlaw. The local priest up there voluntarily resigned
after he got caught rolling in the hay with one of the town girls. He
did the honorable thing and made an honest woman out of her shortly
afterwards.
Remember that big scandal about missionary priests hitting on nuns and
local girls just a couple years ago? The Vatican said it would 'look
into the matter' and that was the last we ever heard about it. That's
how they always handle this stuff - sweep it quietly under the carpet.
Otherwise - business as usual. And all those feminist journalists in
America and Europe silently go along with the Game Plan - keep your trap
shut if you want to keep your job. Screw the sisters - just show me the
money. The Catholic press is the worst of all. When they aren't trying
to studiously ignore it, they're failing to follow up on any of it and
keep the pressure on. It's hard to take them seriously. They don't take
themselves very seriously.
Celibacy is in fact a farce. Yet another of the Church's dirty little
secrets. And it's cruel to deny someone the intimacy of human affection.
Priests have no choice in the matter. They are required to take the vow
before they can be ordained. There is nothing voluntary or freely-given
about it. It's no more a legitimate part of Catholic traditions than
those young boys they used to deliberately castrate for the Vatican Choir.
They don't like to talk about that either though they practiced it right
up to the late 1950's.
+ +
Cardinal George in Chicago don't seem to be getting the message. Not
only does he have the local Cops complaining about constant attempts to
undermine their efforts to investigate pervert priests in his diocese,
now he's encouraging his priests who have been turfed for inappropriate
sexual behavior to appeal their suspensions. Immediately AFTER the Malice
in Dallas, he met with eight of his pervert priests explaining to them how
he's going to fix it so they can slip back in once the Heat is off. How
clever eh. It's a situation unique to his Chicago archdiocese. No other
bishop anywhere in the country has even discussed the possibility of
appeals with those who have been suspended. Exactly whose side is this
moron on anyways? Would he serious set a bunch of known perverts loose
on his diocese's kids yet again? It appears so.
+ +
Fr. Bob Kelly of St. Boniface in Lunenburg, Mass has a problem. A number
of them actually. Besides being a convicted child molestor, he's now
accused by one of his lady parishoners of having used his confessional to
recruit her for abuse as well. When she was eight years old the penance
he imposed on her was to take a little trip over to the rectory for a
'ritual' butt-nekkid immersion in Fr. Kelly's bathtub. Opps! That ain't
in MY cathecism. And she ain't the only one Fr. Kelly sexually assaulted
in this way. The women say he liked to recite the Our Father while he was
Doing his little pre-pubescent Hotties.
A.W. Swipe, a psychotherapist and former priest, says it's very common
for priests to engage in this sort of behavior. So common that, unlike
the pedophile situation, the Vatican has a well-established proceedure
for dealing with it. Cardinal "Ratso" Ratzinger, the Vatican's Chief
Inquistioner, in a recent silently issued edict on priestly abuse of the
confessional, described this confessional betrayal as being the heineous
equivalent of concelebrating Mass with Protestant ministers. Whoa! Dude!
Say it ain't so! If this don't prove that the Vatican is populated by
Extraterrestrials from the planet Clueless nothing does. And exactly why
wasn't the edict publically announced? Because it's a Big Problem and
they got enough already thanks. The edict was issued to bishops and
ordinaries in May of 2001 if you'd care to look it up. It's on the
Vatican's webpage - but only in latin. I imagine you can paste it into
Babblefish or one of the other translators. None are offered on the
Vatican webpage of course. This edict updates another one that was also
quietly issued back in 1962. The problem goes back much, much further
than that.
+ +
An American priest, Father Jim Gregory presently with the Nairobi Archdiocese
in Kenya was recently found dead at the exclusive Aberdare Resort where he
was apparently trying to spiritually rejuvinate himself. He had a noticeable
wound at the back of his head. Times being what they are, suspicions were
aroused and many wondered if he had been murdered. Nope. The autopsy showed
that he had been struck three times, in the head and the chest, most likely
by a giraffe he got too close to. There were traces of human blood on the
animal's hooves. Don't mess with giraffes, man. That roman collar don't
mean squat to them.
+ +
The Catholic priests in Hanover Germany are breathing a sigh of relief this
week. Darn glad they ain't Lutherans. The Hanover (Germany) Lutheran
diocese came out with a new dress code this past week. It prohibits clergy
from wearing stilleto heels and cowboy boots. Aw man! No stilleto heels!?
I suppose this means no more Line Dancing too eh. Next thing you know they
won't let you wear sandals. Yep. That's exactly what they did. They also
forbid: hip boots, running shoes, carpet-slippers and ... sandals. SANDALS!
The Boss wore sandals! You mean to say even Jesus would get kicked out of
a Hanover Lutheran Church if he showed up wearing sandals? Say it ain't so.
+ +
The "Wailing Wall" in Jerusalem seems to have developed a damp patch on it.
Though it has been known for centuries that the wall remnant was unlikely
to have been part of Jerusalem's old western wall but more likely part of
the remains of the Romans hated Fort Antonia, that hasn't stopped people
from pretending otherwise. Crazy people don't need no steenkin excuses.
No longer content to merely wail, some are now trying to climb it. They
believe the Messiah's appearance is imminent. Not sure what climbing the
wall has to do with that.
----------------------------------------------------
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I'll let you know if it's enough. You want to steal it,
I'll sic my lawyer Yoshi 'The Proctologist' Rasmussen
on you baby. He'll teriyaki your sorry butt and turn
it into Lutefisk.
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