Dearly Beloved Sinners: I must commence this homily by apologizing for my recent silence. I know you’ve all been despairing for want of regular Biblical Guidance of the kind that I alone have been humbly anointed to provide, and I’m well aware that certain persons in Binghamton and Sydney have been checking on what must be a bi-daily basis (and why, as I write those words, do I feel a quickening in my Spirit suggesting that’s not the only thing which might be "bi" about those two?) in anticipation of my latest acclamation of their unsoiled personae. Even so, I have been obliged to take a short respite from my tireless work.
Were I not as the World’s foremost Conservative Doctrinal Warrior committed to telling the truth (except of course, in relation to transactions of a economic or sexual nature, or when discussing the size of my congregation) I would explain way my absence by creating some trivial excuse: I’d claim to have been addressing a Conference, or perhaps detained by Customs in relation to the importation of illegal narcotics, but the truth is far, far worse: I have in fact been utterly catatonic with rage.
That’s right, my Beloved Evildoers, and the cause of my wrath as been none other than the Whore of Babylon’s most regular customer himself, Pope Benny Ratzfinger. For years there’s been an agreement between him and his predecessors and Biblical Christian Leaders like myself: Rome concentrates on covering up child abuse and making silly pronouncements concerning contraceptives, while we cover up financial improprieties and insult women. He protects kiddie-fiddlers and I say stupid things about human sexuality. It’s been a clear divide, and it’s worked well, with both of us in full agreement when it comes to turning a blind eye to homos when they're happy lying about themselves.
Yet completely out of the blue St. Peter’s latest chair-warmer suddenly decided to ignore this sacred tradition, and I’m not ashamed to say I was left incandescent with anger. After all: when Rome comes out with something as stupid as the idea that ordaining priests without penises is on a par with abusing children there’s simply way conservative protestants like myself will be able to continue enjoying an unsurpassed reputation for making breathtakingly ridiculous announcements.
Just think about it: now the standard for grossly insensitive idiocy has been set this low where can teachers like myself, David Virtue, and the Ould twins turn? No matter what we say, no matter how crassly offensive we might try to appear, the fact will always remain that an elderly foreigner and his sycophants have surpassed anything we might claim in the course of satisfying our desperate need to draw attention to our self-righteousness. Not even I can top Benny this time. Indeed, in the darkest moments of this past week I even began wondering if there was still any need for my ministry: when the Vatican does Father Troll better than I can is there still a place for the real thing?
The answer came from Father McCracken, who runs St. Catamite’s, our local Vatican franchise. Naturally neither of us recognizes the other’s orders, and he’s unquestionably a despicable servant of the greatest Satanic deception to have ever cursed Christendom, but this doesn’t mean he’s not a lovely man. Upon learning of my despair he dropped by with a particularly fine bottle of red and a fresh collection of amusing anecdotes acquired in the course of hearing confession. After we’d stopped laughing at the transgressions of a parishioner who owns a local Italian restaurant he gave me some advice I’m going to share with you all in the next few days. Till then I'd strongly recommend never ordering pasta alla carbonara if anything about the proprieter suggests a inclination toward fetishism.
I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.