Slavic mistruths about the people’s Dear Leader. Normally when confronted with such lewd filth I simply turn my back on it, preferring to concentrate on matters more profitable to My Ministry. But this time, Beloved Sinners, for the sake of your spiritual well-being I’m forced to respond without delay.
The Bible has, like most things, a great deal to say about urination: by My count there are five references (Google them for yourselves – your colleagues and the good-for-nothings in the IT dept. deserve the ensuing mirth when they discover your browser’s history). Although the Scriptural context primarily concerns the act of relieving oneself against a wall, and how the ability to do so without requiring the flexibility of a fairground contortionist defines an individual as male, and thus appropriately equipped to be either (a) slaughtered (should said urethral furnishings be constructed of an opposing nation’s DNA); or (b) eligible for ordination to the Priesthood and Prelacy. Undoubtedly as the result of an oversight on god’s part the Holy Writings don’t devote as much column space to activities involving hookers and a Moscow hotel room as modern Exegetical Preachers would like. Although given the Evangelical predilection for lavishly illustrated “Children’s Bibles” that’s probably not such a bad thing.
As in all things, however, the truth is mundane. While in this instance it might not set you free, it could well make you gag a little, and I fully understand the sentiments of those finding this whole issue distasteful. Thought in the interests of scientific accuracy Bishop Quinine would like me to mention the extent of this largely depends upon what participating parties have previosuly been eating and drinking – there’s a reason some folk can’t abide asparagus, and I’m told it’s got nothing to do with the vegetable’s morphology.
No, as little Donnie’s closest Spiritual Adviser and Confidante I can assure you there’s absolutely nothing sexual behind this whole uproar. The simple fact is that an aspiring dictator’s got to do what an aspiring dictator’s got to do. And how else do you think Dear Trump is able to preserve the distinctive bright hue of his cranial follicular matter? Or maintain his skin’s lovely orange glow?
I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.
Tuesday, January 10, 2017
Not, of course, that this year looks like being much better than the last. Granted there are not that many rock stars left to be taken, so things should be cheerier on that front. Yet when I heard Charon had taken Prince for a row across the Styx it was clear we’re no longer dealing with Death as we’ve always understood him; creepy and unrelenting sure, but not in any way that two weeks’ vacation tanning in Bermuda couldn’t resolve. No; it looks awfully like the Maitre d’ of Darkness has finally let power go to his head, and snatching Leonard Cohen while leaving Ted Nugent makes me think the Aztec theology might have been on to something with Tlaloc.
All of which is a fitting lead up to Dear Leader’s looming inauguration. The appointment of Robert F. Kennedy Jr. to chair a commission on vaccination reminds me to ask that PLEEEEEEEAAAAASSSSSEEEE nobody mention Aztec religious practices in his little orange presence. Here at the trough historical knowledge of history is an unknown commodity, but if anyone were to raise the notion of seeking divine blessing by means of sacrificially torturing children there’ll be no stopping the idea from catching on. (And to think we’d hitherto always thought of “liturgical death” as referring to an evangelical dance presentation of “Shine Jesus Shine” at the 10am family service).
Which is not to say everything’s bad here at transition headquarters. Sure there was the little misunderstanding with China concerning an alleged call to the Taiwanese President, but the truth is little Donnie just thought he was ordering takeaway. Naturally I put a marvellous spin on things and fooled the simpler ends of mainstream media, but between you and Me, Dear Sinners, I certainly hope you realise our beloved leader doesn’t actually think there are countries run by women. Which, given his preferred means of greeting members of the non-male gender, is probably just as well.
Currently the real excitement is that it’s only a matter of days before we’ll all get to see what really went on at Roswell. Although I can’t help sharing Bishop Quinine’s suspicion that the first thing to happen when the door marked “X Files – Presidential Eyes Ony” gets opened and we all meet ET and his little bug-eyed posse is that a certain orange latex mask gets peeled back, and some creepy cockroach/lizard hybrid starts beeping dirty jokes in Venusian.
I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.
at 8:50 PM