It’s the first Friday of the month, friends.
You know what to do.
And if you don’t, just click the link.

Obtain for yourself every spiritual treasure Our Lord and His Holy Church offer you.
Most Sacred Heart of Jesus, have mercy on us!
It’s the first Friday of the month, friends.
You know what to do.
And if you don’t, just click the link.

Obtain for yourself every spiritual treasure Our Lord and His Holy Church offer you.
Most Sacred Heart of Jesus, have mercy on us!
But the night is young, as they say.
In all seriousness, add me to your prayers, friends. The last time I inhaled one of my beloved Marlboros was five days ago. I haven’t really experienced any cravings; just a whole lot of wondering what to do with myself. I am reminded of why I started smoking in the first place. I’m a bundle of energy and nerves in my natural state. The nicotine regulated that. Also, I’m still getting nicotine. I decided to become my father. I’ve switched to smoking a pipe. But even there, I only light up at night. I’m amazed I can get through a whole day without, well, see the headline. Its a mortification for me. I need that.

And say a prayer.
Mother of Good Counsel, pray for us!
Our Lady, Help of Christians, pray for us!
I have a knack for collecting my out-of-town guests from the airport holding up a sign in the manner of a livery driver. Unlike a livery driver, however, I somehow wind up with a bizarre sign in my hands or even wearing “strange” clothing. For instance, there was that one time when my older brother landed and I greeted him at security holding a sign that said: “Welcome to your first pride!” He approached me, studiously placed his reading glasses on his face, leaned in, read the sign, grabbed the sign out of my hand and laughed in the way only a brother can laugh at a gag like that.
Then there was the time when I picked up my adult nephew in true redneck fashion. I cut the sleeves off of my shirt, grabbed a lasso made from clothesline, and dressed up my kids like a horse and cowboy while holding a sign that said: “Welcome home from rehab!” Oh boy, where was I going with this… Oh yes!
Newly cardinaled Arthur Roache, the creepy old Brit is demonstrating once again why he earned himself the moniker “Uncle Arthur”. At first I thought it was because of his wacky antics, kind of like Jesse on Full House. However, now I’m starting to suspect it’s because of his resemblance to Uncle Fester. Also, he’s out his damn mind, as is sometimes said in Texas. He also strikes me as the type who would flip sides in a heartbeat if the circumstances were different.
From Lifesite we read the following:
“That reform is taking place, but it’s a slow process because there are those who are dragging their feet with regard to this and not only dragging their feet but stubbornly opposing what the Church has actually decreed.
That’s a very serious matter. In the end, people have to ask themselves: am I really a Catholic, or am I more of a Protestant?”
The “reform” to which he refers is the destruction of the ancient (read: Catholic) Mass. Imagine the gall of a man, a prince of the Church no less, suggesting that a Catholic is actually a Protestant because he clings to the Catholic Mass. I’ve written about this very issue before. There are those in the Vatican and elsewhere who have as their goal the eradication of the Mass. As that does not seem to have materialized, they will attack the Mass-goers as non-Catholic when they themselves are really the non-Catholics.

Don’t fall for it. Also, don’t assume that they won’t still try to eradicate the Mass from the face of the earth. It’s not like they didn’t give us a preview two years ago. It’s not like it hasn’t been prophesied in Daniel. It’s not like they haven’t been wetting themselves over this prospect for decades. Tomorrow I will publish a letter I wrote about six months ago to another blogger who, at the time, graciously published it. That blogger’s link was shared on Canon 212. It was not known to have been written by me at the time. You will see what I mean when I run it. In the meantime…
Don’t let the ramblings of a madman hireling get under your skin. Love the Latin Mass. And that man had better not ever call me a Protestant again, psycho-freak – sorry, Uncle Cardinal Arthur. Also, he seems really pissed that we’re “dragging our feet” about all this, so I say gum up the works my friends. They’ve stated their goal of eventually “bringing us all back into the sole expression Novus Ordo weirdness”. They’ve got dates already marked on calendars in certain dioceses indicating when the TLM comes to an end. Do what it takes to slow things down.
St. John the Baptist, pray for us!
If that makes sense to you, then welcome to Fr. Henle’s First Year Latin Course. My homeschooled kids are currently knee-deep in Henle Latin which means that I, their teacher, am currently ankle deep in Henle Latin. Never fear, though, because I have taken this exact course before and I actually seem to remember much of it. That is… until we get to verbs. Then, they’re on their own. Oh well, at least maybe this time I’ll find out why the slaves of the Galls do not praise Mary. Frankly, if they don’t praise Mary, they should be shot.
This past Thursday evening I listened in to a webinar featuring the amazing Dr. Ed Mazza. Dr. Mazza did what Dr. Mazza does best. He explained the Bergoglian antipapacy. I wonder if Mazza every thought, years ago, that this would be his life now. And yet, here we are. Men like Mazza, women like Barnhardt… They are simply using their intellects and the grace God has given them to testify to the Truth. It does not matter how many millions think that Jorge is the Vicar of Christ. Some things cannot be unseen. I decided a while ago (after reading what they both, and others, had to say) that I could remain silent no longer. We (dare I include myself) are making progress. Gradually more and more voices are speaking up. If you are unsure to what I refer, watch this interview with John Henry Westin.

Growing up in the shadow of Manhattan and having been homeschooled, I spent a lot of time as a youngster in (what was) the greatest city in the world. One Wednesday a month, my mom would take my younger sister and me into the City to toy around. It was our “culture” class. We’d see a Broadway show, grab lunch at Sardi’s, and take in the sights and sounds of the Big Apple. It was magnificent. I learned some of my favorite words in Times Square (pre-Giulliani). One of the shows we saw was the colonial-era musical 1776 which tells the story of the drafting of the Declaration of Independence. The show, originally staged in 1969, was composed by Sherman Edwards. He never wrote another musical in his life. He did however write a pop song in the 1960’s. Turns out old Mr. Edwards was a high school history teacher. Every June he would lament that his students would go off for the summer so he sat down and composed the song See You in September. It’s catchy.
Presumably, he would return in September and be clobbered with “Bella, belli, bello, bellum, bello”…
And then he died.
Look, if Paul Harvey could pull that “rest of the story” nonsense, I can end things like they do in real life. With death.
St. Augustine and St. Monica, pray for us!
A little personal accompaniment tonight… I was alerted by my blog hosting site after last night’s post that I have posted 100 days in a row. As long as good folks like you keep reading, I think I’ll keep writing. Daily. It’s good for me.
Now then, perhaps you’ve heard the rumors, as have I, about a co-adjutor pope? Maybe even Cupich?

Friends, if you can’t see that this is the anti-Church on full display, I might not be able to convince you.
But we shall see what transpires this weekend.
Our Lady, Queen of Heaven and Earth, pray for us!