As we all know, Cathy-lick priests are experts on everything sexual. Of course they're all celibate (wink-wink), so hippity-dippity is pretty much all they ever think about. So who better to write a charming book called "A Prayer Book for Spouses," which includes a Catholic sex prayer that opposite-married heterosexuals can say together before getting down to the unpleasant business of spousal coitus. Just prior to part where the wife does her duty by bending to her husband's will and allowing his spitting sin-serpent to spelunk in that place "down there" where Cathy-lick babies shoot out with alarming frequency, the couple gets down on their knees for a Jesus-approved orally-delivered prologue.
This is a sticky wicket, natch, as The Bible gives little reason to believe that God wants to listen to us praying about S-E-C-K-S. So as one might imagine, the priests who wrote the prayer went through many drafts before getting it just right. Thanks to our underground cadre of ninja operatives posing as sensitive altar boys, we were able to get our hands on an early version. You're welcome.
We ask, in Your Infinite Grace, to guide us through the proceeding ickiness. May the miracle of Viagra pull a "Moses" by transforming the limp snake into a staff. Let us not enjoy it, for a grunting middle-aged alcoholic's pasty rump piston-pumping a long suffering cellulite-afflicted baby factory is hardly an occasion celebrate. Have mercy, O Lord; for although You instructed us to "be fruitful and multiply" we've multiplied quite enough, having been blessed with eighteen insufferable children who sass us and smoke pot. To that end, please make the army of sperm about to spew forth get lost in the shame cave and wander about like a bunch of Jews in the desert. And speaking of being fruitful, while the husband has found many opportunities to defy Leviticus by placing ads on Craigslist for randy truckers into watersports, help us to avoid the temptation of using a condom. For as the Pope said, condoms spread the AIDS, which is our punishment for answering the urges you put in our heads to test us. And please help us wrap it up during the commercial break so we don't miss any of CSI: Special Victim's Unit. In Jesus Christ's name we pray,
We were enchanted by the heart-warming story of your recent brush with the law.
As the story goes, one day it occurred to you that you might enjoy a nice cold beer. So you sauntered into a liquor store in the dazzling Louisiana metropolis of Zachary, hiked up your house-dress, and stuffed a twelve pack of Miller Light up your tuchus.
We appreciate the kind of gal whose hair pie doubles as an ice box. Moreover, it's the only way you could conceivably compel us to reach betwixt your thighs. However, while we always like our brew with a nice healthy head, that's hardly what we had in mind. And although we shudder to contemplate where you might have stored the pretzels, we'd be much more impressed if you did the same trick with a keg.
At any rate, thanks for the suds. You can pull your dress down now. By the way, do you have a bottle-opener? Oh. We see.
WAM sez: "Have a great Labor Day Weekend! And subscribe to this blog's feed."