Snickerfodder

Curing the Curate

Posted on: March 19, 2010

 

 

Oooooh!  Tsk!  Tsk!

 

 

Those good Catholic

Men of the Cloth

have been at it again

(and again and again).

 

 

 

NAUGHTY, NAUGHTY, BOYS.

 

 

 

What to do?

 

 

 

Now, I’m assuming the church’s hierarchy would pooh-pooh the severing of priests’ pee-pees, which, in my opinion, comes in as a close second to my #1 suggestion — the castration of all priests — so I propose this rather unconventional solution to the Catholic church:

 

Move all

pedophile-priests

into

The Viv’s diocese.

 

 

 

With the exception of her current priest, Father SPURitual (who has been hangin’ ’round her church for at least 12 yrs. now), BAD things happen to befall priests whenever The Viv’s around.

Be it bad luck, be it karma, be it her eternal curse for her crime of blasphemy, or be it sheer coincidence…

NO PRIEST IS SAFE IN THE VIV’S VICINITY.

 

In her first teaching job, The Viv worked in a cozy, little Catholic school in a sleepy Pittsburgh burb.  The priest of the parish at the time, Fr. B., had just admitted to embezzling $1.5 million from collection plates over the span of 26 years.  He and his voluptuous LIVE-IN ‘secretary/chauffeur’ used the moolah to fund excursions to Vegas and Atlantic City, and to amass antique guns and baubles.   Fr. Been-Caught-With-His-Hands-In-The-Diocesan-Cookie-Dough is ‘officially’ recorded as having died in a nursing home, but parishioners know that Lucky Lady Lay and two thugs were videotaped entering the pilfering priest’s room…minutes later, Fr. B. expired when his breathing tubes were yanked.  

In Hawaii, The Viv attended mass at St. John’s.  Not long after she spread her aloha there, The Viv’s spiritual leader was found in a rather uncompromising position with the Youth Minister.  Both men were ostracized.  The priest left the Church to become a motivational speaker.  No shit.

When Viv returned to the East Coast, she was essentially homeless because The Dingus’s company had them boppin’ around the goddam country — in limbo for SIX friggin’ MONTHS.  Bitch can’t even remember the name of the parish she attended for the three weeks she lived in a long-term hotel, but she DOES VIVidly recall the fact that its priest was murdered.  After a lengthy and puzzling investigation, officials concluded that the killer was the yard boy   Other than the rake handle rammed up the priest’s ass, cops didn’t have much to go on.  (Okay, that rake thing really didn’t happen, but I just couldn’t resist…).  The yard boy DID go down, though.  😉

After THIS, the THIRD man of God to meet his demise while The Viv was in the vicinity, our girl started to get nervous and more than a tad paranoid.  She was the sole common thread in these horrific happenings!  How long ’til the po-po was on to her?   Was it POSSIBLE that hearing her myriad sins in marathon confession sessions brought about the defamation and/or demise of the pious?

Once our girl settled into VA life, however, The Viv’s fears subsided.  Here, she let down her God-Guy guard, and The Viv forgot all about being the harbinger of death for the pastoral peckerhood… for awhile.   That is, until the parochial vicar died by deciduous tree — when it fell on him en route to ANOTHER priest’s funeral (that, to which, The Viv can lay no claim).

Good ol’ Fr. SPUR-itual, though, just will not go away, no matter how hard his people pray.    It must be his ardor for the Boy Scouts’ soft, supple, tantalizing…pancakes.    Could this man be immune to The Viv’s vibe?  Perhaps.  Maybe it’s just God in Heaven doesn’t wanna hear ‘SPUR-itual’ every third word for all eternity.

So, let’s give The Viv’s suggestion a try.

Let’s round-up all those German soprana-wearin’ soprano priests and their boy-buggerin’-bratwursts and dump’em in the Diocese of Arlington.

Let’s just wait ‘n see if The Viv’s Vibe cinctures the Catholic Church’s collective pastoral staffs!

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3 Responses to "Curing the Curate"

now that’s more like it!

SNL,

The Viv’s losin’ her ever-lovin’ mind! FAR too busy these days.

I’m hopin’ The Dingus’ll buy me some voice-activated software so’s I can just spew straight from m’mouth to the computer and cut-out all that time-consumin’ WRITIN’ crap.

Nice. When you arrive in hell, please remember to save me a seat.

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