Rita, Rita, Rita…
She’s definitely after me, folks. Today I was on a Zoom call with a contractor who casually mentioned he had rescheduled our meeting because of “St. Rita”. Puzzled, I asked what he meant. Turns out his kids go to St. Rita’s School and he got stuck in carpool hell. She’s a clever one, that Rita. Look, I don’t have to have a house drop on me to know she’s up to something. I’m hoping it’s something big. Tomorrow is day 9 for my novena. If you read this post and you think about it, consider joining in one prayer to this saint for my intentions. Thank you.
You Don’t Say
I had a conversation with a young man I had just met at my sister’s house a few nights ago. I may have had a gin in my hand. The lad had recently graduated from college, a fairly good one at that, solid faith, etc. At the right moment I pounced on him with the antipapacy thesis. “But you can’t say Francis is an antipope!” he said breathlessly. “I just did,” said I. “Now fetch me another drink and we’ll continue your education.” A few moments later the Legionaries of Christ came up. “You mean that money laundering rape cult?” I asked. Again my young friend jumped in, “You can’t call them that!!” Again I replied, “I just did. Open your ears, pal, you’re starting to sound like a broken record.”
Old Queers and How We Should Call them
Mr. Walker had a wonderful headline up this week. Beneath a picture of a clearly decrepit Ted McCarrick were the words “Uncle Ted Not Looking Well”.
Look, Teddy has made many deals with Satan. I’m sure we’ll have his nonsense to deal with for a while. Either way he’s an old faggot and there’s nothing worse than an old faggot, as a priest once told me. And to those who still question why I call him and his ilk by this moniker? It’s simple. Noel Coward was gay. These guys? Soul-stealing sodomite faggots to the core.
Say your prayers.
Mother of Good Counsel, pray for us!