Who could foretell this sore distress,/This irretrievable disaster/When first we met? Bridges
We're sometimes amazed at our prescience. Indeed, if we Readers were living in 17th century Salem, Massachusetts, we'd be hanged on the barren slope of Gallows Hill as necromancers: Every time we examine the rotting cadaver of Tradistan and conjecture about the cult masters' motives, out of their own mouths they themselves confirm our droll predictions.
Sure enough, last week in his "Bishop's (?) Corner," Dubious Dan vindicated us. After informing the Gertie suckers of the organ's imminent delivery (!!) even though, apparently, all the funds haven't yet been raised, he proudly boasted that "a contented Fr. Cekada will soon be able to blast away once more at the console."
Do we know these scheming clowns, or don't we?!
To be truthful, it doesn't take the gift of second sight or a tarot deck to divine their intentions. With a little insight, anyone can follow the glaring arc traced by their luminous greed. They're simply parasites who co-opt other people's resources to feed their immoderate, insatiable craving for stuff.
Like peevish, calculating adolescent-tyrants manipulating cowed parents who've reached their wits' end, cult clergy cannot distinguish between malignant wants and real needs. And, more often than not, the objects they hunger for are less desirable than the psychological control that results when people surrender to their incessant demands. What drives their behavior seems to be an itching mania to possess and to dispossess at the same time.
The prospect of high fuel charges for the record-breaking cold raises the important question of basic household management. Why didn't SGG's "pastor" budget the money to cover the costs? More to the point, why did His Incompetency buy the replacement organ in addition to vacationing in Mexico and Florida when he knew big heating bills were just around the corner?
No one's going to bail out the hard-scrabble, shivering Gerties when the Duke Energy bill nests like a monstrous, black bird of prey in their shabby mailboxes. They had to sacrifice to make certain they'd have money in the bank to pay the utility company. Many cultling families will have to cut back on small but coveted luxuries and longed-for vacations this year, so why can't Big-Spendin' Dan? The money he and Checkie are raising for that replacement organ -- $5,000 - $6,000 -- could have covered the obligation. And if more were needed, that could have come from the airfare and land expenses for the Dirtbag's two winter vacations. Why can't Dannie, that pontificulus esuriens, learn to live within his means? The faithful have to.
On top of the new organ expenditure and looming heating bills, Deacon Dan informs us the rabies-vector vermin are back:
The beasts have returned to our walls. Poor devils, I’m sure the cold drove them to it... Who could resist? Maybe a kind soul will bait the traps again and bear away the little invaders.We remember Dannie's telling us a few weeks back that professional exterminators had been summoned to rid the crumbling cult center of the filthy, invading raccoons. Why can't the wildlife-control company be called back? Didn't they give a guarantee? If they didn't, isn't there enough money to schedule a follow-up visit? Deacon Dan had better do something quickly because March is still raccoon breeding season.
And why, may we ask, does someone else have to bait the traps? Why can't Lurch, Uneven Steven McFaker, the Forlorn Finn, or Tony Baloney help out a little? It can't be that hard to learn to set and bait a trap, and then dispose of the contents, dead or alive. We hear marshmallows are a critter favorite. There may be some left over from last summer's cult bonfire orgy, unless the army of mice settled in at the priests' quarters got 'em.
It's time for all high-flying Traddie clerics and prelatasters to come down to the real world to see how decent people live and work. Do yourselves -- and them -- a favor: