Jorge’s recent trip to Canada is truly the gift that keeps on giving. Quick aside: do you remember how the announcement of Bergoglio’s supposed election to the papacy was made? They dragged up the Cardinal Proto-deacon, Jean-Louis Tauran, from his crypt beneath the Vatican grottoes to make the traditional “Habamus Papam” declaration from the balcony of St. Peter’s. Even at the time I remember thinking, “Is this guy asking a question or making a statement?” As in, “We have a pope?” Yes, Eminence, we do. His name is Benedict. But now nine years later we have the squatter visiting the hinterlands of North America and demon-worshiping something called the Grandmother of the West. I’m not making this up. I think he should have invoked the Step-sister of the East instead. I hear she’s more willing to appease her summoners. She couldn’t get as many dates in high school because her cousin, Baphomet, turned all the other demons into raging fags. Poor thing. She reminds me of Kim Campbell*.
I Play One on TV
I had intended to write about the legal concept known as “corporation sole”. In brief, think of this as “the Crown” but better. Every diocese in the United States, or so I’m told by a drunk lawyer, is incorporated under this method. What it means is that the entirety of that diocese IS the bishop. In other words, the parish properties, the miters, the little knob-like thing that turns on the sprinklers at the episcopal residence and doesn’t have a name? All belong to the bishop as CEO of the corporation. I was going to write about this because said sauced counsel called to advise that any bishop in this country who wanted to keep the Latin Mass alive and well in his diocese could simply do it. When he gets threatened with removal from office, he can tell the Vatican, “Try to remove me. I own the property. I own the diocese. I OWN EVERYTHING!” Then the whole thing goes to US District Court where an American jurist operating under the kind of law that actually means something in the real world might simply say, “Hey, corporate law is pretty clear.” But this friend was really, really sotted when we spoke so maybe that’s not a thing.
What is a thing is that I had my yearly jury duty this morning! I usually tell them, per George Carlin’s old chestnut, “I’d make an excellent juror because I can spot guilty people just like that!” This time there was no need. It was a justice of the peace court. There were 22 potential jurors called in and they only needed 6 for the case. Mathematically my odds were slim to begin with. The case in question centered around an eviction. When I answered that I had once been a landlord (renting a house I owned to a friend), I was dismissed with extreme prejudice and malice aforethought. Also, habeas corpus or something. I’ve seen Law & Order. I know how it goes.
Speaking of evictions, I happened to read the very good blog linked on Canon212 this morning called Curmudgeon’s Cave. Whoever you are, brother, keep writing. Me like. His point in writing was to expose some of the less seemly things going on in the background of the Cupich/ICKSP situation. First we learn that Cupich apparently kept the insurance money when the church burned and in recompense, gave the property to the Institute. We also learn that there were stipulations in the quit-claim deed that prevent the Institute from carrying out any religious services deemed inappropriate by the Archbishop of Chicago. So that’s why the Institute conceded on this one. They’re legally – as in civil law, not canon – not allowed to offer the TLM in their own property. Ain’t that a kicker?
Is There Any Testicular Fortitude Left in the World?
And again I ask, where are the men? You know, if some demon-worshiping fruitcake (or some fruitcake worshiping demon) told me that I had to do this or that or forbade me from doing that which he has no authority to forbid (for a whole lotta’ reasons), I’d probably laugh in his face. Yes, think about that. Let’s go with the former descriptor above. Imagine a literal fruitcake. They make the majority of the world’s fruitcakes here in Texas. But just imagine an anthropomorphic fruitcake trying to tell you that you are forbidden from offering the Latin Mass. Fathers, how do you respond to that? Remember, and I cannot stress this enough, it’s a freakin’ fruitcake. The only difference here is that the actual fruitcake might just have as much actual authority as the man who went north and worshiped an actual demon. And happens to be a fruitcake.
Wake up! He cannot tell you 1) not to offer the Latin Mass, 2) that you need his or anyone else’s permission to do so, and 3) that all the gods of the pagans aren’t demons because, as per Psalm 95, they sure as hell are. And remember, saying that they’re not is simply not Catholic. And what do we call non-Catholics acting like pope? If you said a little boy playing dress up (who happens to not be Catholic) then you get Harvey’s gold star of the day.
*If you know who Kim Campbell is and you never lived in Canada, you, too, get the gold star.