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.
From the “news” source NJ.com we get the following. Full link here.
So, Brother Joe simply cannot escape the ghettoes of the internet even if he allegedly isn’t trying. Don’t feel bad, Joe. I lost a term paper I was five pages into once. Never hit “Save” and the whole thing went down the drain, lost in the third level of clipboard hell for all time. I know. I sympathize.
Wait, what’s that? This was a case of someone spoofing you on social media?
Oh forget that then…
Dude, you are a spoof of a Roman Catholic prelate. How do you top that?
Sympathy level just dropped. Sorry. I was cleaning my dresser off this morning and the large mason jar I keep with loose change and a few spare F’s got dumped. So it seems, you know, I’m all out of F’s to give, as the kids say.
The thing is Blanche*, I’d be more inclined to care if you hadn’t previously tweeted your love and affection for an Italian pillow-biter or your sister or something. Side note: I’ve said many times before. I have 8 sisters and I’ve never said anything so retarded to them in my life as “Nighty night, baby.”
Oh and by the way, this spoof account has been active for some time. Several siblings of mine received invite notifications to it a few months ago so how’s that Archdiocesan Social Media Director working out for you?
Pray for these men.
Our Lady of Quito, pray for us!
*I am reminded by a reliable source that Blanche was McCarrick’s Golden Girls name. The above should read “The thing is Dorothy…“
This past Sunday morning after mass and breakfast I was on the phone with one of my nephews. This is a part of my usual Sunday morning routine. A solid man, my nephew is also one of my many godchildren. Like myself, he discovered the Latin Mass a few years ago. Like myself, he dove headlong into the study of tradition, wanting to understand this beauty more and more. On Sunday mornings we trade stories about the sermons we heard and any other happenings in the Church at large.
Somehow or other, the topic of Fr. Paul Wickens came up. I think it was as a result of the fact that certain people we know who might be inclined to attend a Latin Mass refuse to attend my nephew’s parish in New Jersey because it was established by Wickens.
If you are not familiar with the saga, click here.
I remember as a boy and later as a young man growing up in the Garden State, in fact in Newark. My parents would discuss news items around the dinner table and in our general activities. They never shielded us kids from the horrors of the world – not to traumatize us but because they believed we should know that evil exists so that we could combat it. Also, both of them – but especially my dad – wanted his children to be able to hold intelligent conversations. Fr. Wickens was discussed occasionally, and always with a bit of sadness. They sympathized with him (they did not know him personally) but they also believed he was wrong to “break from the Church”. Hindsight shows me that he did no such thing and that he, like Archbishop LeFebvre are in fact heroes. Remember that I have a personal history with Ted McCarrick as he plays into this story significantly.
As I spoke with my nephew I was also on the webpage of a tribute to Fr Wickens. This lead me to several articles from sources like the Gray Lady herself, the New York Times. These articles detailed what exactly happened that caused Wickens to “go rogue”.
As I was eyeing the pages, I stopped a moment when I came across the section about how Wickens vehemently opposed the teaching of “sex ed” in Catholic schools.
“Odd,” I remarked to my nephew, “I remember around that time very well. I was in the fifth grade at Our Lady of Good Counsel in Newark. I think Archbishop Gerety, before he retired had implemented a sex ed program in the Catholic schools and McCarrick pushed it through full-steam. I recall, along with my classmates, being handed a book by my teacher on a Friday afternoon and being told to bring it home to show my parents. The understanding was that if they had any objections they could ‘opt me out’.”
I didn’t know what any of this was all about at the time except that the book was clearly about sex.
I was ten years-old.
Being filled with a native curiosity about how things work and, you know, being a ten year-old boy with a book about sex in my backpack, I rushed home, read the book, and then remembered I was supposed to give it to my parents. I did hand it off to them and they, to my surprise, cautiously allowed me to sit through the next three weeks learning how babies were made. If I recall correctly, the book was more clinical than anything else but to this day I do not remember a semblance of moral teaching. And I cannot explain why they did not opt me out except that there were moments in the past 50 years where we have all been caught off guard.
Can I back up to the part where I was 10?
In the time it took me to read that book (it was sonly 30-40 pages long and filled with illustrations), my innocence was destroyed. And people wonder why I homeschool my kids and will NEVER let them into the clutches of another until I am certain they have been formed properly enough to be solid in the One, Holy, Catholic, and Apostolic faith of our ancestors. Sorry if I went a bit off the rails there. That afternoon, something changed. I now had a whole lot of knowledge I did not need at that moment. I had a little bit of confusion too as a 30 page booklet couldn’t possibly fill in all the gaps and, as I mentioned, it left out any moral teaching. In fairness, my teacher never strayed from instructing the class that this beautiful gift was reserved by God for a man and woman in the sacrament of marriage. Thank the Lord for that. And of course, my parents always taught the same and more at home. But something died. My boyhood was over. I was 10.
I came across something quite germane to this discussion in the Catechism of the Council of Trent recently. I’ll quote it here. Remember, the modernists before, during, and after V2 never wanted you to read this particular catechism even though it’s still official Church teaching. Ask yourself how you can be in unity with anyone who denies these truths.
And that’s the problem. The pastor (typically Church law refers to the local bishop as the pastor) was McCarrick, a sodomite sonofabitch. These men are so vile they desire not only to corrupt the youth but to kill their souls. This is classic narcissist behavior. “I’m miserable and you should be too!” They have purged all love from their hearts and they desire your death for their pleasure.
Why do I bring this up? As I continued to read about Wickens, after sharing that sex ed story with my nephew and explicitly telling him how I felt my innocence was robbed from me, I read a line in that Times article. Wickens, it seems, knew what this program would do and did what he was supposed to do. He manfully stood up and said, “Up yours!” In fact, he called a press conference in which he said that this program was not only unnecessary but would, wait for it, “rob children of their innocence.“
How did the Church respond? As you can guess, they got a judge to evict him from his rectory where he’d lived for 29 years. He raised some funds and built a chapel where he offered the TLM. McCarrick’s goons told the world that Wickens had been excommunicated although that appears not to have been the case. And in the early 2000’s, Wickens died, a man willing to suffer much to defend his people – especially the children not only in his care (he had been a teacher himself) but of the whole archdiocese.
And Here’s Where the Soldiers Come Marching In
Men, when are we going to wake up? When are we going to take the stands we have to take? I’m not talking to those who have been fighting this fight for years. No, to those men I raise a glass of my finest bourbon even though I’m a gin drinkier. But not just to those men but to the women, too, like Barnhardt and Mary Ann and Susan from Les Femmes or the Nellie Grays of the wold. If you’ve been arrested to save the babies, you’re my hero. If you’ve called a bishop a faggot without fear of “excommunication” because, well, he’s a faggot, God bless you!
But to the men… Our Blessed Mother told us that the final battle would be over marriage and the family. THE family, not just your own. My vingette is not just a stroll down a thorny memory lane or an expose of the rot. We all knew that was there already. The point of this is to steel our resolve as men. We need to be the Wickens’ of the world. Husbands, fathers, brothers… God gave us the physical strength and spiritual fortitude and the headship over our beautiful families to fight this fight. Your training ground is the altar of Calvary at mass, your home kneeler, and your garage gym. Your captain is St. Michael and your Queen is the Queen of Heaven and Earth.
It’s us. We have to fight for marriage and the family. Don’t be afraid to stand up when you know you must. Resist the heresy. Repudiate the heretic. Learn your faith inside and out. Call out the queers for their evil. Don’t ever let them take the Catholic Mass away from you. Pray. Pray. Pray. And love your wives and children.
Several years back, before we knew his depths of depravity, my mom gave me a book of the collected weekly columns of Theodore McCarrick. The book, titled Thinking of You, contains hundreds of Teddy’s weekly columns that appeared in The Catholic Standard, the archdiocesan newspaper for Washington. McCarrick had written the column for 14 years prior to assuming that see when he was Archbishop of Newark. I’ve held onto the book only because I think it might be a collectors item at this point. That is, if one is a collector of the bizarre.
Every so often I will pull the book off the shelf and thumb through the pages. What amazes me is just how ambiguous the words are. Much like the vaunted documents of Vatican II, every missive in this tome could be read with a straight face and could have been written by a straight man. It is only in knowing the backstory that one sees the hidden and disgusting rot that pervades this man’s evil mind. Take the following for instance.
First, diabolical narcissist much? The first few words read like a Facebook post of a 13 year-old girl. “Like and share if you don’t think I’m not pretty.” On the surface it seems like a banal, congratulatory note of approval for one’s successor. Yet McCarrick knew full well that Wuerl was not a good man. He was one of Teddy’s handpicked boys, someone who had presided over a funeral mass for a priest who had been murdered by a gay rent boy, assuring the congregation that the man was in heaven. No, when McCarrick said Wuerl was a good man, he meant “he’ll do exactly what I trained him to do and that is to wreck the Church.”
It’s kind of like how when Sacrosanctum Concillium says that Latin is to be retained in so many words, yet we end up with a Church who’s mother tongue is all but forgotten because “hey, we still drop a literal word of Latin in once a year or so”. And technically they’re right.
Funny how the key players in attempting to topple the Church all knew the same tricks, isn’t it?
Between the years 1996 and 2001 I was a seminarian for the Archdiocese of Newark.
Well, not quite. I will be working on a piece or two recounting my time in seminary by way of trying to help the reader understand the current state of priestly formation, or malformation as the case may be. Even better, I hope to be able to help the reader know how our current priests came into the priesthood – what kinds of things were taught or withheld, what spiritual formation was given, what the subcultures were like. I can tell you that every seminarian in my house of formation was indeed scrutinized, though not necessarily in a laudatory manner.
Speaking of Newark, does anyone know where McCarrick is these days? His boy McElroy is going to get one of those nifty red hats. Ooh, I have an idea. Let’s play a game. It’s called “Insult My Intelligence”. Here’s how it works. I make the perfectly logical connections and state the obvious that, even in his early 90’s Teddy is still kind of calling the shots in the American Church and you tell me that’s crazy! But you have to promise to say it like Rod Roddy. Anyway, last I heard he was still living on Church property. He was still being, in some way, supported by the Church. I wonder why that is. Why is it a man with his kind of money – keep in mind he was besties with Leona Helmsley and the entire Hilton family – needs remuneration from the Church? Speaking of which, I’ll never forget the time I saw Leona entering the rectory of the Cathedral Basilica for a dinner date with Teddy. I heard some stories afterwards. That’s called a tease because I want you to keep reading (and even to subscribe).
Friends, these are just this trad dad’s musings on a Friday night. It’s been a long week. I hope yours was blessed. I hope you had opportunities to spend time with your families and to meditate on the Passion. I hope you enjoyed the few words scattered on these pages. I’ll leave you with one final thought.
I wonder if we could ever get the Archbishop of San Antonio to say the line: “Rich, Corinthian leather…” If you get it, you get it.
Our Lady of Good Counsel Catholic parish sits at the bottom of Forest Hill in the North Ward of the City of Newark, NJ. The parish was established in 1904 and built up by waves of immigrant Catholics. Hard working Catholics. Pious Catholics. God-fearing Catholics.
By 1941 a massive new church building opened. Constructed under the direction of famed architects Maginnis and Walsh, the Irish neo-Gothic structure seats around 1,000 people. From early on there was a thriving school system in place centered on the parish. Generations of Catholics learned the faith – and the mass – from the Sisters of St. Joseph of Chestnut Hill and holy priests like Fr. Tom Smith
And then the asteroid hit. And like everywhere else the parish began slowly to die.
How do I know so much about this place?
Our Lady of Good Counsel was my home.
This was my father’s parish as a boy and into adulthood. He was baptized here. He received First Holy Communion and then Confirmation in the beautiful big church. He and Mom raised their family here. At least half of the sixteen of us kids were either baptized here, confirmed here, or married here. Six of my siblings are dead and three of them and my dad were buried from here. Many of us attended the grade school here. We worshiped here at daily mass every day for years. My own son was baptized here.
In the 1980’s the parish survived the monstrous and demonic Fr. Richard Galdon. For 25 years three successive Archbishops of Newark (including Peter Gerety and Ted McCarrick) allowed Galdon to stay despite his proclivities for sexually abusing altar boys and Boy Scouts.
There seemed to be a revival of sorts or at least a leveling off in the 90’s. But that was just the sense that it couldn’t possibly get much worse. My father railed against the sex ed curriculum. My mother pulled the youngest two of us out to homeschool us.
Then we had the influx of the Neocatechumal Way and their bizarre nonsense. Oh, by the way, ever hear of McCarrick’s “pipeline”? Yes. Look it up. It was confirmed to me by a very reliable source that it was all true. I guess the pipeline had a spout that run into the gutters of Good Counsel. There’s more. Check out the court filing of Fr. Bob Hoatson and draw your own conclusions.
Coof-o-Rama came along and effectively killed what was left of the core family or two who remained. The parish is still open and “active”. Sure, the schools all closed and the masses are almost non-existent. And now to pay the bills, the pastor and the Archdiocese lease the school buildings to a public high school. This is where we join the story tonight.
The Newark School of Fashion & Design occupies at least some of the property these days. And what a wonderful treat we get when we visit their Instagram page!
What Pride Month celebration would be complete without vulgar displays of twerking, rainbow flags, and God knows what else in the very shadow of the church? I mean, come on, you know the answer. Check out the pictures and video above. I’d recognize that 1950’s-era Catholic Institutional Style linoleum cafeteria floor anywhere! Mrs. Mooney used to serve me lunch there. The outside wall of the school building? Sr. Therese used to greet us good morning and clang her giant brass nun bell right there. And the red brick wall to the right of the kids twerking? That’s the dining room window of the rectory where Galdon abused children and stole their innocence.
Do we expect anything less from Joe “Nighty Night” Tobin? By the way, I’m not being disrespectful. Tobin met with a group of queers in the Cathedral Basilica and told them to call him their “brother Joe!”
Brother Joe, do you support this? Are you one of them? Do we know the answers? Could be. Something about walking like a limp wristed duck and all.
But for the sake of charity let’s assume no one at the chancery had a clue that by leasing space to a school for fashion design there would be a satanic parade on church property.
I’m sorry. I know you’re not dumb. Forgive my use of a literary device.
973-482-1274. That’s the parish.
973-497-4000. Ask for Maria Margiotta, the Archdiocesan Comms Director.
And when Brother Joe gives you his tired synodal gay ways nonsense and says he’s building a bridge and accompanying people and not at all laughing at you for your silly adherence to the sixth commandment and the laws of nature; you can hang up and say a prayer for him.
Today Our Lord and St. Francis de Sales have presented me with several topics about which to muse. So let’s gooooooo, as the kids say. Who am I kidding? I say it too.
Topic #1: Francis celebrates world no tobacco day (or whatever it’s called)
I am informed that Bergoglio recently “celebrated” World Anti-smoking Day or similar. So here’s a tale for you. Those who know me have heard this story before. I was just shy of my 18th birthday when I started smoking. Ooh, rebel, right? Although I didn’t know why at the time, the smokey lung noose of a Marlboro always seemed to have my number. A few months later I began my seminary studies. My ordinary at the time was the now Mr. Teddy McCarrick. Flash forward to the summer of 2018 when I came across an article in the midst of that man’s downfall. The article quoted several anonymous Newark priests detailing what they knew about Uncle Ted’s proclivities. Keep in mind, I had been a very innocent young man at 18 and truly did not know what lay beneath that festering surface and thank God for that! “McCarrick,” they said, had no preferences. He’d go after anyone. Fat, thin, short, tall… As long as he wasn’t a smoker he was fair game. McCarrick hated smokers.” A chill went down my spine. I showed the article to my wife who quipped, “I will never again ask you to quit.”
So take your world day of boring people no tobacco and pound sand. On second thought, that might appeal to some of these people. I’m not saying the Blessed Mother put that first nic stick in my mouth or flipped the ol’ Zippo for me, but my mom had asked me to pray a Memorare every day for protection (from what or how she knew is still beyond me) and Blessed Mother sure came through.
Who wouldn’t put up with emphysema and heart disease to avoid being sodomized by a satanic cardinal?
Speaking of unseemly reality here’s
Topic #2: We don’t flex for the mirror. We lift weights because we’re men and it’s hard.
With all the stories about A certain former auxiliary bishop of Los Angeles and his penchant for being surrounded by “bodybuilders” I thought I’d take a moment to remind everyone that no man – priest or bishop especially – should be deliberately showing off his guns. Or his pecs, delts, tris, abs, or any other part of his body. I’ve said it before. Cassocks are brilliant. Not only are they flattering (black covers a multitude of gluttonous sins) but they double as a symbolic “tomb”. The cleric is not a businessman. He is another Christ. He is to die to himself for his people. What better way to remind him of that daily death than by entombing himself in black robes?
It seems the good bishop, in addition to surrounding himself with lunkheads, has been known to wear the occasional tight fitting clergy shirt from time to time. I think that’s actually an official Toomey cut. I’d tell you to Google that and vomit or you can take my word for it. I have a cast iron stomach. Eh, what the heck. I’m in a sporting mood. I’ll include the pic. But it’s not just Barron posing down the camera. On his staff, the bishop employed a priest who couldn’t help himself when it came to posting pictures of his oiled and pumped-up physique. Read that again. A priest. I will NOT include his picture because it’s just gross.
Here’s the thing… I lift weights. I started a few years ago in earnest after my second spinal fusion. I find it’s a great way to handle a lot of things. It reduces stress. It builds a strong frame. It’s a great hobby. I truly enjoy it. But if I’ve learned nothing from the great Fr. Chad Ripperger it’s that 1) the nature of a man is to want to do difficult things, 2) a man needs to do those difficult things for the benefit of others, and 3) a real man is humble and the antithesis of vanity. Lifting weights is hard as hell if you do it right. What’s even harder is getting up at 5:30 to do it on an empty stomach. I lift weights to be strong for my wife and kids. It’s my job to protect them and to work by the sweat of my brow for them. I want any fool who’s inclined to mess with them to see me and think twice. And God help the turkey who’s idiot enough to actually throw down because he’d get his head bashed into the pavement. Repeatedly. Sorry folks, I have but one setting. Are the benefits to my appearance also great? Sure. This is where true humility kicks in. These aren’t my gainz, bruh. They belong to my family, from God. There is truly no reason I should be able even to walk after the times my spine has been taken apart and reassembled and yet here we are.
My advice to the bishop and his friends? Lift weights. And when you’re done, step away from the mirror and put the camera down. A further question here is why is any grown man taking selfies at all? I shudder to think of the number of times I fell into that trap. You live and you learn. It’s cringe. Don’t do it. And if you’re an aging bishop, especially don’t do it. Social media was invented by minions of the devil. Remember, Satan wants men turned into 12 year-old girls because he loathes the image of God. With every selfie post you get a dopamine hit but your testosterone drops.
Topic #3: Bergoglio still isn’t pope.
I was struck by the Gospel at mass today. It begins thus:
From the politicking ahead of the “conclave” to the Sankt Gallen Mafia to, my favorite and the key to this whole mess, the substantial error laid out in Canon Law, it should be obvious. And it is obvious. There are many who are on the cusp of admitting this now. If you need further resources to help push you over the edge, check out Anne Barnhardt’s brilliant work here, Dr. Ed Mazza’s invaluable contributions here, and even Patrick Coffin’s summary presentation here.
Folks, I got off all that social media nonsense a while ago. Sorry but I'm not on Twitbook, Facepalm, YouHu, WingWang or any of the others. Maybe an event will happen to make me change my mind like Peter and Paul coming down with flaming swords and commanding it be so. Until then, read the blog and if you feel a comment is in order or you feel like sharing a tip or suggestion for a topic, email me at email@example.com.
Harvey is a funny, witty and interesting read. Want to know what's going on in the world of Harvey? Then make a point to subscribe to his blog! You just never know when those pesky Weebles will show up. Hmmm, speaking of Weebles - haven't heard from them in a while (wink). Seriously, you just never know what to expect and whatever you find, it never disappoints! -- Debbi Robertson @ Photos and Facets