Glory! It seems ages since I, Jeannie Bladdersham (devout Baptist, mezzo soprano with the all-girl gospel choir The Peducah Praise Singers, ferret hobbyist) filed a report on all things divine and Jesus-y (and, by necessity, all things icky and satan-y). The reasons for my long absence from that nice (though hell-bound) Mr. WAM's bloggy thingy are varied and plentiful.
Suffice it to say that two months ago, The Peducah Praise Singers found ourselves up cock-a-doodie creek without a you-know-what. We were giving a free concert at the Pentecostal Temple of Signs Appearing on the outskirts of Port Au Prince, and were only ten minutes into our crowd-pleasing medley of hits ("Jesus is a teabagger/Christ loves a Fetus/Hell is for Homos/Ride Me Home, Jesus") when God sent an earthquake as punishment. Whom He was punishing and why is still being hotly debated; Tammy Sue Plotz swears it's because our audience was rudely texting satan during the performance, but I remain convinced God got all seismic on us because Trudy Plank (coloratura, whore) started doing the robot dance during her solo in "My Fanny is an Exit (Since Jesus Entered My Heart)." It was tacky.
Anywho, we spent the next few days shoving Bibles into the rubble so all the trapped negros could read Leviticus before going home to glory. When a representative from the Red Cross complained to the authorities (note: to tart the cross up by coloring it red gives the baby Jesus vertigo), we decided to help three or four dozen orphans come to America so they could get jobs as janitors at various Baptist Churches in greater Peducah. Long story short, we suddenly found ourselves imprisoned! Just like the Jews! Praise! We weren't in our cell for five minutes before Wanda Mae Flapp and Eloise Porchnik started acting like lesbians, humming "Sweet Jane" and fondling each other's sin zones. The rest of us distracted ourselves by singing "I'm Saving My Icky Parts For Hubby" (now number 53 on the Pentecostal Hit List!). We hadn't even finished the first verse when we suddenly found ourselves loaded onto a plane bound for Tallahassee. Glory!
In ferret news, Princess Penelope Prancypuss (my adopted ferret) started having anxiety attacks every time I spoke in tongues (the spirit always seems to move me during commercial breaks while watching CSI: Miami), so I took her to the vet. Imagine my shock when I discovered she's not a ferret at all, but a wild Yemeni Mongoose with rabies! Was I ever furious! It's not very Christian of a Yemeni Mongoose to masquerade as a ferret! Having decided Princess Penelope Prancypuss is an enemy combatant, I've wisely rendered her to my own little Gitmo: a hamster cage in the attic, next to the jar of formaldehyde that contains the pickled remains of my still-born twin Janet.
But enough dawdling! Let's get to the business of disseminating God news!
- PAPAL PROSTIES: At the Vatican, where Cathy-lick men put on dresses and flounce about swinging burning incense purses, there are two pals: Papal Aide named Angelo Balducci and a negro Papal Choir member named Chinedu Ehiem Thomas (heavens, a woman who names her boy Angelo is asking for trouble, but Chinedu? Why didn't Chinedu's mother just tattoo "hell-bound savage" on his patootie?). Well, as it turns out Angelo and Chinedu were were running a hummer-seckshul prostitution ring, hiring out impressionable seminarians and choristers to do that thing that makes Jesus cry. Pope Benedict, who used to be a Nazi until he wasn't, and who wants to make war-time Jew-ignoring Pope Pius XII a saint, knew nothing about this nastiness, of course. Speaking of things the Pope knows nothing about...
- THE POPE AND THE PEDO: Pope Benedict, who liked to goose step hither and yon as a boy and talk lovingly about der Fuhrer until he stopped, used to be the top cheese at the Archdiocese of Munich. One day, he learned that one of his priests was spending rather too much time underneath altar boys' robes. So just like Hitler used to send homos on lavish vacations at Auschwitz and Treblinka, Benedict sent his pervy priest to therapy (because pedophile therapy is so effective). So effective, in fact, that the little bugger returned to the priesting racket, where he resumed ministering to sensitive boys in unorthodox ways. While the Pope had direct involvement in sending said priest to Club Ped, he totally didn't know anything about his return to the priesthood. Because if he had, it would take a little of the bite out of his strong rebuke of the Irish Cathy-lick bishops who did exactly the same thing. But of course that's a bunch of silly fiddle-faddle! Not to worry, all is right in Popeville. Oh, except for the inconvenient fact that...
- THE VATICAN IS CHOKING ON "SATAN SMOKE": The Pope is a lovely old man who used to follow a dictator who called for the execution of homosexuals until he saw the light and became the boss of a religion that calls for the execution of homosexuals. But why him? Why does this pale oldster get to wear expensive dresses and prance from room to room in a big old castle? Who on earth does he think he is, Queen Elizabeth? Well, every time a Pope gets yanked home to Jesus, a bunch of bishops lock themselves in a papal conclave, where they scurry about in floor-length gowns. After gossiping like schoolgirls for few days they have a pope-vote and burn the ballots. The color of the smoke tells the anxious lay folks waiting outside whether or not someone's avoided being "aufed" and gone on to win Project Popeway. But there's a different kind of smoke in the Vatican these days. According to the Chief Papal Exorcist Father Gabriele Amorth, the "smoke of the devil" wafts abundantly throughout the Vatican, and that Satan likes to "make fun of him." Honestly, why doesn't that silly man just open a window? No wonder the devil makes fun of him. It doesn't sound like anything that couldn't be solved with a little carpet fresh and maybe some febreeze. Praise! Hey, maybe Benedict is hiding in his chamber smoking devil doobage! That would explain his silly hats!