Saturday, January 14, 2017


There are very few so foolish that they had not rather govern themselves than be governed by others. Hobbes

In 2017, liberty's blessings will rain down upon any cult chapel that hands Wee Dan and Big Don their walking papers: freedom from endless fundraising; freedom from the money-motivated una-cum boogeyman; freedom from sectarian strife hatched by greedy troublemakers; and freedom from hypocrisy. But these four freedoms, precious as they may be, are as nothing in comparison with 
Letting "One Hand," Tradzilla, or their surrogates run your chapel is to (1) surrender its assets to the  civil corporations they and their cronies operate and (2) simultaneously invite their sharp-elbowed intrusion into your intimate, private affairs. Unless you belong to one of the wealthy, élite clans, then no detail of your life will escape their uncontrollable drive to regulate. The friends with whom the faithful may associate, one's choice of clothing and footwear, the children's upbringing, kids' career choices, a wife's rôle in household decision-making, everyone's political opinions, a family's choice of entertainment or swimming companions, and a multitude of other unspeakable encroachments are all fair game for their unbridled meddling.

What's yours is fated to be theirs; we imagine they resent your keeping any of your family treasure.

Perhaps if these men were bona-fide Catholic clergy, some of these infringements on privacy might be tolerated (to be sure, at a more restrained degree of invasiveness): real Catholic priests formed in approved seminaries are sensitive to boundaries. However, the truth is, the Tradistani ecclesiastical buccaneers are not Catholic clergy at all. In search of booty, they sail without an ecclesiastical mission the clannish main far outside the Church's territorial waters.

At their core, the cult masters are acquisitive totalists who brook no limits to their unrighteously arrogated authority over the people who affiliate with them. The chief means to preserve their brutal regime is religious terror, where the thought-terminating cliché "mortally sinful!" is supposed to silence anyone who objects to their tyranny. To extend their control, they weaponize the sacraments, while requiring their followers to lay aside their individual personalities and submit to the "clergy's" soul-killing interference.

Aside from their missing credentials and unholy intrusiveness, these factious busybodies are just plain contemptible. Every day brings fresh examples of pettifoggery and mean spirit. Ironically, it's often through their own efforts to tighten their grip over our minds and pocketbooks that we learn of their flaws. Take, for instance, this item from the "Bishop's (?) Corner" of January 8, 2017:
As Fr. McGuire wisely wrote in a recent St. Hugh Bulletin: 
The Heart of the Matter  
 If we let the liturgy mold us, forming our days and weeks and years, not dragging it into the turmoil of our superficial emotions, but letting it, gently and firmly, draw us into its own rhythm, then we will find in it a true school of Christian living, a source of wisdom and inspiration, and more and more we shall find that it is not just an interruption of the day, but its very heart.
As we interpret Dim-Bulb Dan's introduction, by choosing the verb "wrote," modified by the adverb "wisely," His Dominancy appears to suggest that Lurch himself authored the elegant meditation. That is to say, if Lurch had quoted the reflection, "One Hand," Sedelandia's  premier littérateur, would certainly have used a more accurate verb — with a different adverb as well — so as not to impute originality of authorship. Right?  For instance, something quite simple, say, "As Fr. McGuire appositely quoted in a recent St. Hugh Bulletin," would have telegraphed to all that the wise thoughts "One Hand" passed on to the Gerties belonged to someone other than his forlorn protégé.

But no, Deacon Dan typed "wisely wrote," so it's not unjustified to conclude he thought the sage observation came from Lurch's very own crayon. And, to be fair to His Errancy, if you consult the Wisconsin chapel's bulletin of 1-1-17 (click here), you'll find those gracefully cadenced lines printed without attribution just below the childish prose* of Lurch's Note from Father.

To be honest, if the Readers had seen St. Hugh's bulletin before reading the "Corner," like Dannie, we, too, would've inferred that Lurch had become the unexpected beneficiary of divinely infused wisdom (together with a mature writing style!). As every schoolboy and schoolgirl can tell you, the rules of civilized society require us to give credit to others if we use their words verbatim; in addition, clergy (even pretend "clergy") should be scrupulous with regard to others' property, especially others' intellectual property. We're sure you'll agree.

Being skeptics, however, when it comes to anything we get from the Wee One, the Readers found it impossible to believe cult "clergy" capable of such noble, well-crafted sentiments.  (That metaphor "true school of Christian living" is too fine a pearl to come from those swine.) Accordingly, we fired up our search engine and, as we'd expected, found 99% of the quotation here** — only this time, there appeared the following detailed attribution:
"Fr. Simon Tugwell, O.P. Quoted In Magnificat, January 2011, Vol. 12, No. 11 p 265"
The credit to Fr. Tugwell, a prolific British writer and historian who last year celebrated his golden jubilee as a Dominican priest, certainly explains the lovely writing. (The Ohio cultists do have a habit of plundering Old Blighty, don't they? First the SLP Ordo Recitandi and now this.) What we can't explain is why Lurch himself didn't credit Fr. Tugwell in his bulletin. Two other bulletin features are attributed to their authors, so why didn't this fine snippet merit the same scrupulous attention? Was he frightened to cite a Novus-Ordo writer, no matter how orthodox the opinion? And if Lurch didn't know the writer's identity, as a matter of intellectual honesty he should have subjoined "author unknown." That way Grand Poobah Dan, who would've realized the lofty thoughts didn't originate in his underling, could have dodged PL's condemnation.

Of course, you can always argue it's simply a matter of the cult masters' habitual carelessness. No one meant to deceive anybody. As all TradWorld is aware, rite-trash "clerical" cult clowns haven't the "write" stuff to put together such expressive words. Dashing off his "Corner" in haste, Dannie was just trying to give his lackey a public "attaboy" in hopes the Gerties might soften their scorn for this much disparaged bumpkin.

Okay. We'll buy that. They're slouches, and everything in Tradistan is either propaganda or spin anyway, so who cares about persnickety niceties like avoiding plagiary? Yet, if that's true, then why should anyone allow these malformed slackers to have so much control over their personal lives?

Start the year off right. Break free of their baneful spider's web. Get control of these uncontrolled control-freaks. If your chapel is currently attached in any way to the SW-Ohio-Brooksville cabal, wipe that smirk of self-congratulation off the cult kingpins' overfed faces:


*The Dale-Chall readability score for Lurch's awkwardly composed message is 6.14, meaning a 7th or 8th grader can understand it. The Dale-Chall readability score for Fr. Tugwell's writerly passage is 10.3, meaning it can be easily read by a college graduate. As you can see, Fr. Tugwell's penetrating insight was crying out for attribution.We'll leave it to others to explain why no credit was given.

**There is a difference of but one word: the linked webpage reads "Spiritual living," not "Christian living" as in Lurch's bulletin. If we had to guess, we'd say "Christian" is the original word, unless somebody thought one change was enough to evade the burden of attribution. Maybe someone can verify by checking the specific issue of "Magnificat."

Saturday, January 7, 2017


A sentimentalist is a man who sees an absurd value in everything and doesn't know the market price of a single thing. Wilde

PL's apostolate is devoted in part to debunking the wrong-headed presumption that SGG cult masters represent traditional Catholic culture and clergy. Their ignorance of Latin, their numerous scholarly and liturgical errors, their fixation on their bloodthirsty cats' mayhem, their non-stop fund raising, their alienation from tradition, and much, much more render the Ohio cult a worthless simulacrum of naïvely re-imagined 1950s American Catholicism. There's nothing substantial beneath the tinsel, hype, and cheesy showmanship.

In addition to the above deficits of Catholic mind and outlook, there's another, more alarming one: Deacon Dan's reflexive appeal to the sentimental in religion. His Emotiveness habitually spreads this poisonous, un-Catholic goo in an effort to disguise his malformation and to manipulate the Gerties' passions. (All the better to keep folks' money at the dying West Chester cult center, we surmise.)  So effective has he been that his victims don't realize the Dirtbag is feeding their souls empty-calorie emotional marshmallows, not life-sustaining spiritual bread.

Especially offensive to Catholic sensibility is "One Hand's" milksoppy, compulsive reference to "The Baby," when referring to the Christ Child. Here's a sampling from the last few years (emphases ours):
We usually have an excellent attendance on Advent IV, although it has been light since Thanksgiving. But I think some folk come the Sunday before Christmas, as a kind of a bow before the Baby, because they’ll be too busy for church come Christmas. But the Baby’s not here yet, and we’re just thinking about decorating. Come back for the Birthday! (12/17/16) 
How blessed are we to give and receive the gift of beautiful music for the Baby’s birth. (12/31/16) 
The Baby Jesus’ Little Helpers and big packed gift boxes for our poor Mexican children. (11/26/16) 
 Of course I prayed for you all at Our Lady of Guadalupe and at the dear shrine of the “Baby Doctor” Jesus. (12/23/16) 
I thank God in advance—as Fr. Solanus would do—for a wonderful Christmas, and each of you for the gifts you bring the Baby God for His birthday. (12/26/15) 
Ask him, and ask him often as you try to take good care of Mary and the Baby this Christmas. (12/27/14)
Oh, can't you just hear the Wee One cooing and hyperarticulating?

Apart from the unsettling echoes of Protestants' tacky birthday parties for the Baby Jesus complete with garishly decorated cakes, chintzy party supplies, and cornball jingles (click here for a gag-inducing example), Li'l Daniel's infantile Leitmotiv irreparably harms the Gerties' faith. The saccharine-saturated context reduces the Incarnation — "the one thoroughly laid down and safe way to avoid all going wide of the truth"* — to a sticky mess of superficial feeling typical of a trailer-park communal baby shower. The grave danger to Catholic truth posed by Dannie's sentimental coloring is this: A mundane, easy-to-evoke emotional response to a cutesy-pie evangelical Christian deviation from pious tradition irreverently displaces the awe Catholics should summon for the magnum mysterium of the Word made flesh.

The lyrical language of the Breviary's hymns and responsories, the Church Fathers' theologically precise sermons and commentaries, and the Martyrology's noble Proclamation of the Nativity all yield to Dannie's worthless — and alien baby-talk. On His Insipidity's lips, the expressive worship of God degenerates into cloying sentimentality. As trained, genuine Catholic clergy will tell you, religious sentimentality perverts good human sentiment by removing its proper object. By so weakening both the intellect and the will, it's the enemy of the true, the good, and the beautiful.

If everything we've posted about "One-Hand," Tony Baloney, and Tradzilla wasn't enough to persuade you that these men stand far outside Church tradition, then surely Dannie's yuletide mawkishness will. His almost exclusive appeal to the affective faculty is, to be blunt, anti-Catholic. No properly Romanized bishop of the pre-Vatican II Church would have appropriated such disordered, insincere pap to arouse the faithful's fervent adoration.

Long decades of watchful supervision and painstaking socialization taught the well-vetted churchmen of yesteryear to restrain the emotive impulse to pour on the treacleHad they not exercised self-control, they never would've received an apostolic mandate. (More to the point, they'd have never made it to the subdiaconate.) To the extent that those luminaries also had studied moral theology in depth (and in Latin), they correctly classed sentimentality as an unruly consequent passion, which can readily give rise to moral defects. In this case, the defect lies in supporting the SGG-Brooksville enterprise through financial contributions and submission to the Big Shots' unholy control.

From the evidence we've found in his "Corner," Dannie seems to be trying to make sentimentality the predominant Gertie passion for his own advantage. Aware that many seated in SGG's soiled pews blame his culpable inaction for the 2009 SGG School Scandal, His Excremency senses his grip loosening.  Vanished is the fiction of his "broad culture," liturgical expertise, and leadership of Tradistan. (PL's made sure no one falls for the first two fabrications, and arch-rival Big Don's given the lie to the third.) Whereas most cultling males have written him off as ineffectual or worse, Deficient Dan's only chance to survive is to enlist the distaff side in his cause: On the Gertie gals alone rests the Dirtbag's hope to silence their beleaguered menfolk's and ragged bairns' pleas to escape the spiritually suffocating and financially exhausting SW Ohio cult center.

To that end, Wee Dan has been re-inventing himself over the last couple of years as a gentle, sweet, childlike soul — the Forrest Gump of Sedelandia — who waxes all gushy and squidgy about babies, whether they be squirrels, bunnies, shoes, or the Divine Infant (from Whose royal patronage, invoked by real Catholic clergy, come palpable blessings, not hollow emotionalism.). He's banking on cheap schmaltz to stir up sympathy. After all, what stone-hearted brute could leave such an mewling innocent destitute of gelt and grub? "C'mon, Paw! We'uns caint jes' up 'n' dump de li'l ol' bee-uh-ship. Land sakes alive, he's no bigger then a rabbit pellet. Caintcha see how he luh-oves bye-ee-bees?"

To be sure, anyone familiar with the history of the SGG School Scandal sees through the transparent cynicism of Beggar-Man Dan's off-center musings. A reading of the litany of abuses detailed in December 2009 (click here) should tell you how fictitious is the tender, misty-eyed persona His Callousness projects. (No sensible adult would've permitted the "Principal" to remain employed after such horrors came to light.) Like all the other muck oozing out of the reeking cult cesspool, Dannie's baby-talk is aimed exclusively at capturing material resources for himself and not at lifting the hearts and minds of the faithful to venerate fittingly God Incarnate.





* The phrase as frequently quoted and anthologized; Augustine's original Latin is: sola est autem aduersus omnes errores uia munitissima.

Saturday, December 31, 2016


The wisest prophets make sure of the event first. Walpole

After delivering a forest of switches to misbehaving cult "clergy" and "religious" last week,  Krampus returned exhausted. Our shaggy prankster was particularly miffed at having to make a second stop in Highland, MI, at the — LOL — "convent."  (In past years, he could skip the house: the "nuns" were once fiery-eyed foes of Tradzilla because he used to laugh and call them names.)

"Every year," ol' Krampus complained resentfully, "the list of Tradistan's naughties grows longer and longer. When's it all going to end?"

A fair question, we thought. For sure, it's one everybody's asking. And that gave PL the idea for today's post. Many of you may remember The McLaughlin Groupthe long-running political commentary and discussion show on PBS, the host of which passed away in August 2016. Our favorite recurring segment featured Dr. McLaughlin's inviting the panelists to venture their predictions

Accordingly, by way of tribute to the late former Jesuit who enlivened many a Friday evening, PL asked staff to predict events in 2017 that might lead to the end of Tradistan before next Christmas. We told everyone here to think BIG, to guess boldly. Nothing would be too far fetched or absurd. Our good buddy Krampus hopes the new year can bring relief. Besides, Santa's been concerned about the rapid deforestation of the planet if his companion has to cut an equal number of birch rods every year.

As the Readers shared predictions, it dawned on the group that all you guys out in cyberspace could lend a hand. Many of you are keen observers or, like us, former victims of the cult masters; furthermore, often you have more information about internal cult activity than we do.  Therefore, we decided to post our most imaginative conjectures for TRADPOCALYPSE and invite you to add your own guesses in the comments section. That way Krampus can get a better idea of how many names he might cross off come December 2017.

Doesn't that sound like fun? It sure does to us. As a  handsel for our Latin-loving friends, we've concluded with a general prediction of Tradistan's collapse in everybody's (except the cult masters') favorite language.

So, as Jackie Gleason used to say, "and away we go!"

Reader # 1's Prediction: Dannie and Tony Baloney won't be able to wait for the renovated and expanded Bishop's Lodge to re-open in late spring of 2018. Knowing they can never retire to the artsy Southwest (or anywhere else), they may splurge in 2017 at another deluxe spa property in fashionable Santa Fe. Scandalized by the mortally sinful waste of their contributions, the dead-broke Gerties won't believe Travelin' Man Dan and Breezy Cheesy went on a "pilgrimage." When the Gruesome Twosome returns to the dilapidated Ohio cult center, they may well find mostly raccoons and mice to greet them. 

Reader # 2's and # 5's Prediction: Between the end of April and the middle of June, Tradistan's "bishop"-elect, a.k.a. the Kid, could get his birthright miter from Tradzilla, with the flappable Long-Island Jellyfish as co-consecrator. Thereafter, the Swampland élite might  (a) show Tradzilla to the door, (b) close the pesthouse to all but family members or turn it into a "convent," (c) run off anybody without enough money or unrelated to the Big 3, and (d) try to fly under the radar from now on. (No sense in further piquing the curiosity of those pesky, do-gooder governmental authorities.) The Jellyfish's disenchanted cultlings, stung by Its Gelatinacy's capitulation to the long-anathematized Donster, will likely become openly contemptuous, thereby pressuring the creature to return to native waters.

Reader # 3's Prediction: Way, way back in May, Big Don promised he would "[s]hortly...found an organization of Traditional Catholic priests" that "will give a 'body' to what already exists in spirit, i.e., a common mind and way of acting among our priests..." (click here for the full statement on p. 2).  Well, seven months have come and gone. It's the end of December already, and not a peep from the pestholuse: the last newsletter said absolutely nothing. Therefore, either this new "body," like Tradzilla's other embarrassing flop, the Big $30 K plan of 2011, will never materialize, or, if it does, the members will be limited to the toad-eating "clergy" the Donster already dominates. As the clerical grapevine has it, there's a boatload of questions about Don's so-called "Declaration of Theological Principles," and no one except his sycophants may want to sign on. The failure of the rector's initiative won't have any effect on Reader # 2's and # 5's guess.

Reader # 4's and # 6's Prediction: For Easter 2017, the SGGResources site will hawk memorial lilies. Like 2016's memorial-poinsettia cash grabathon, overpriced Easter lilies will provide His Designership with more than a tasteless money-making scheme.  It's the only way Decorator Dan can get the crumbling cult center tarted up for his big spring show. The Gerties aren't helping out as they used to. If they do show up for one of the (possibly simulated) Masses, they can't wait to get out of the vermin-threatened dump as soon as it's over. Also, they refuse to come back during the week. The handful of sullen suckers who do show up to decorate are aging, therefore reluctant to climb high ladders to hang Dannie's kitschy frippery. More than that, they're sick and tired of being it all the time. Significantly, with revenue down, SGG can't afford all the outrageous extravagance of the long-gone fat years before the 2009 School Scandal. Therefore, wilting flowers passed off as "memorials" for the dearly departed are all that's left:  It doesn't take Residential Interior Design Qualification Certification to plop vases around the blighted property to mask all the building's defects. (BTW, the vases will cost extra. We think Dannie might favor the Waterford Crystal My Favorite Things Opulence pattern.)

Our Techie's Prediction (e-mailed to PL from Mexico, where she's visiting her family):  His Footlooseness's south-of-the-border "apostolate" will shrink, as more and more chapels down there angrily break off relations with him. They've got this gringo's number now. Without big bucks to pass around, any oddballs who do remain associated with the Dirtbag will become restive. (There's already been some very nasty grousing about tacañería and — *shudder* — mezquindad.) By year's end, he'll be left alone with the mischief-making "Juárez Chihuahua King" to lick his boots, and talk ugly behind his back.

PL's Corporate Prediction in Latin:  By far, this is the wildest one we made as a group. Up front, we'll grant the probability of its coming true in late 2017 is pretty low. Nonetheless, the idea gives so much encouragement to everyone that we can't resist, notwithstanding the risk of depraved cult zombies' mocking us if it doesn't happen this year. But since it's in Latin, we're probably safe: their "clergy" won't be able to translate for them. So, begging pardon from the shades of Lucan for not preserving all the quantities, we predict that
Tota tegetur Tradistan* dumetis: etiam perierint ruinae.
If the prophecy isn't realized in 2017, it won't be long. The event will come to pass. It's only a matter of a little time. You can make it happen sooner if you

Starve the Beast in 2017.

*For objecting purists, we vindicate ourselves against a charge of scribbling dog Latin: "Tradistan," the cult masters' spectral desert island, with some stretch of the imagination could be a transliteration into the Roman alphabet of a never-to-be-attested nu-stem 3rd. decl. noun ἡ Τραδιστάν (like ὁ μεγιστάν, -ᾶνος "big shot," a late-Greek word with an Eastern flavor and a definite cultish resonance).

Saturday, December 24, 2016


 Editor's Note: In restless anticipation of St. Nick's visit tonight, the Readers are posting early. We've got to hang up our stockings and wiggle into our toasty p.j.'s long before the jolly old elf lands on the roof of PL's editorial offices. (We've been very, very good this year.)

Don't worry: we'll leave Krampus a nice bottle of Himbeergeist along with GPS coördinates for all the SW Ohio-Brooksville cult centers and affiliates. (Let's hope he's got enough switches for the terribly naughty Tradistani "clergy.")

The horseleech hath two daughters that say: Bring, bring. The Book of Proverbs

The Readers thought they'd heard it all.

Then they saw last week's "Bishop's (?) Corner."

Mind you, we're accustomed to the degrading image of His Mendicancy's mooching fully prepared suppers from impoverished Gertie families. But nothing, and we mean nothing, beats the following example of grotesque impudence:

We’re surely grateful for meals for priests. Last week we did very well. Sometimes, though, it’s a question of meals or priestly work, and we’d much rather attend to the spiritual, but we are used to eating, alas! So, let’s work together. If you are cooking, please use the Cucina Clerical website. For last-minute offerings, just let me know, or Fr. Lehtoranta, so the food doesn’t get missed. Sometimes we forget to check the fridge. We should be good for Christmas, as we were indeed for Thanksgiving. But there can be some pretty spare days in between….
What was he smoking when he wrote that?

Unless you assume Panhandlin' Dan, suffering from some dissociative disorder brought on by increasing defections from his cult, is babbling some loopy, stream-of-consciousness monologue, it's hard to make much sense of the paragraph. To decode the Dirtbag's secret message, you've got to anatomize the text. In case you quickly skimmed over the immodest proposal, thereby missing all the parasitical implications lurking under the zany prose, here's our reading. Let's start with the third sentence:
Sometimes, though, it’s a question of meals or priestly work, and we’d much rather attend to the spiritual, but we are used to eating, alas!
That line is much more than a mortifying specimen of Dannie's frightfully gauche humor. It's a brazen threat:
"If you want us to do the job you're paying us for, then you'd better make sure we don't waste our time or money on grocery shopping and cooking for ourselves."
So what if your employers expect you to feed yourself on your own! So what if you have to take time out from what you want to do in order to shop and prepare dinner! The clerical leeches feeding off you in grand style won't be confined by the silly constraints of daily life. No way! If you want 'em to work, then you gotta feed 'n' serve 'em.

Like all inveterate freeloaders, Dannie's too practiced a sponger to let you ponder his insolence for too long. If he gave you time to reflect, you'd be furious. That's why he immediately made his move to lock in your thoughtless assent as you were still recovering from his aggressive cadging:

So, let’s work together. If you are cooking, please use the Cucina Clerical website. For last-minute offerings, just let me know, or Fr. Lehtoranta, so the food doesn’t get missed. Sometimes we forget to check the fridge.
See, Gerties, you've been slow on the uptake. He'll "work together" with you to guarantee a non-stop supply of ready-to-nuke-'n'-gobble goodies for himself and his bone-lazy clown crew. And since the cult "clergy" aren't resourceful enough to open the refrigerator to check whether you've brought their chow, it's now up to you to inform them. (N.B. In fairness, the cult "Fathers" might be scared to open the refrigerator door for fear of encountering another mouse inside. See our post of January 3,  2015. )

Apparently, the unannounced food drop-offs forced the curiously incurious "clergy" to rustle up their grub using their own cash. Gertie Gals, it's your fault the "missed" victuals rotted away or were carried off by the filthy vermin nesting in SGG. All we can say is that Li'l Daniel must be pretty cross at your inconsideration.

What makes your thoughtlessness more reprehensible is that on those days when the "clergy" missed the catered eats, Dannie probably had to pressure one of his work-averse "clerical" parasites to whip up something for his din-din. Can you imagine the screaming and yelling it takes to herd those layabouts into the kitchen, especially if they're squeamish about rodent scat?

After Dannie 'fessed up to forgetting to check on meal deliveries, he probably realized he'd crossed the line. The cultlings signed on to SGG for the sacraments, not to run a "clerical" chuck wagon and ring an iron triangle dinner-bell for loafers too indolent to crack open the icebox door. That's really taxing the dirty Gerties' vanishing patience, even by cult-master standards. Accordingly, his survival instincts cautioned him to pivot by playing the sympathy card:
We should be good for Christmas, as we were indeed for Thanksgiving. But there can be some pretty spare days in between….
"Some pretty spare days..."?

Did he say, "... SPARE..."???

What? Does "One Hand" mean the SGG chow-hound "clergy" didn't have enough freebies to wolf down between Thanksgiving and Christmas? Is the old scrounger's cupboard so bare that his poor "clerical" doggies have nothing to nosh on between holiday pig-outs? Can His Esuriency be suggesting that Gertie Gals bust their household budgets to cater meals every day, or else he and his famished entourage will starve? Could it be that Uneven Steven's at risk of involuntarily attaining the Body Mass Index recommended by the National Heart, Lung, and Blood Institute?

If true, it's strange, because in the next paragraph "One-Hand Dan" reveals the "clergy" actually do have the resources, batterie de cuisine (almost), and advanced culinary skills to pull off a crockpot pot roast.* Experienced cook that he is, Dannie himself crowed, "it really is easy to do." Moreover, His Gourmandiseship pronounced the dish "delicious! A great winter dinner."

All-righty, then... the question we have — and one that should fester on the lips of every haggard Gertie scullery maid — is:
Why can't the scum "clergy" make their own dinners in a slow cooker every day?
There are hundreds of economical recipes online, such as this one for hillbilly crockpot raccoon stew, seeing that SGG has a generous supply of the critters infesting the ramshackle cult center. Alternatively, they could get hold of the bestselling Better Homes and Gardens Biggest Book of Slow Cooker Recipes which features a bonus chapter on 5-ingredient recipes. That way, Deacon Dan only has to use one hand when he goes marketing.

But don't waste your breath. Stop these bloodsucking worms before their hungry proboscides strike again:


* Weirdly offensive as the "Corner" was, PL got a kick out of Dan's anecdote about cajoling the hapless Lurch into making a slow-cooker repast: 
... the other night after an excellent supper of Aztec Soup, I inveigled Fr. McGuire, of all things, into making Crockpot Pot Roast. He likes it, and was familiar with the concept... 
Hold on now! Fixing a pot roast in a crockpot is a CONCEPT????

Sheesh! He makes it sound as if he'd asked Lurch to factor 4th degree polynomials with synthetic division instead of dumping 3 or 4 pounds of eye-of-round along with a can of cream-of-mushroom soup into the inner bowl. Well, we suppose if one of your "things" is Lurch, you've got to pretend it's high functioning.

But right after Dannie declared the dish "delicious," his finely tuned prudentia carnis counseled him to excite the Gerties' pity lest they get the impression that the idle "clergy" are capable of fending for themselves in the kitchen:
The only problem is that when [Lurch] started, after having shopped for the ingredients, he discovered we had the crock but not the pot, the lining having been lost. 
Oh, brother!