"'That is well said," replied Candide, "but we must cultivate our garden." Voltaire
In Dirtbag Dan's "Bishop's (?) Corner" of April 24, we read the following hysterical demand for increased lay servitude to the five malingering $GG "clergy":
... true communion is demonstrated not only at the Communion Rail, but also at church in general. If everybody does something, at least a little, it would get done, and done well, without being a burden for the same few who do so much. So, help us by your contribution not only in the collection, but also by cleaning. An hour or two some Saturday, a little gardening in the evening, some ironing at home or church, these are all needs of ours. Drop off a meal, pick up a project, or a broom or a rake. If everyone does a little, it would get done. If you need a suggestion, speak to me.If we were Gerties, this is what we'd tell His Idleness to his face:
You first, Buster. What little something will you, Erroneous Antonius, Lurch, Uneven Steven, and the Forlorn Finn be doing along with us to get all this manual work "done, and done well"? Why can't you needy slouches "commune" a bit by pitching in with a little gardening, ironing, cleaning, or fixing your own meals? If the weekly collection isn't enough to pay for normal maintenance and upkeep, maybe you all should stop going on all those frequent, expensive trips to Florida, Mexico, and Ecuador!On second thought, if Dannie were a leader and not a moocher, he'd be the first one to "pick up a project, or a broom or a rake." And he'd make sure those four other loafers showed a little hustle, too. But from all appearances, the "clerical" do-nothings can't be bothered to make the least effort: Just take a close look at the above photo of Dannie's shabby "cloister garden." (BTW, up there on the roof, is that a turkey buzzard poised to scavenge all the rot and decay at $GG?)
The unsightly, tawny stems look like they're four inches high, while the dandelion heads have ripened into nasty blowballs. Indeed, the wretched patch has been so neglected that many dying plants have already dispersed their noxious achenes to befoul other areas of the diseased cult plot. We'd wager that millions of 'em have zoomed over to infect the well-kept, healthy lawns of respectable nearby residences.
You know, they shouldn't call Dannie's littered dump SGG any longer: that blighted wasteland is SPG, Satan's Play-Ground, as one witty correspondent cleverly observed.
We've asked this question before, but it's worth asking again:
Why couldn't one of these work-shy, malformed deadbeats have applied some commercial dandelion killer at the beginning of spring?A few minutes of mild exercise earlier in the season would've prevented the eyesore. And while we're on the subject of eyesores, why didn't one of these idlers edge the mulch beds around His Delicacy's sickly flowers? (As we've observed elsewhere, all that's missing in the picture is a rusting pick-up truck on cinder blocks to prove hillbillies are squatting on ratty Rialto Road.)
The answer to both questions is that the five of them are too busy wasting their time on dumb projects, such as Cheeseball's amateur Internet apostolate, Dannie's printing sloppy calendars and compiling incompetent ordines, or the cult masters' snooping around trying to find out about others' episcopal lineages. Dannie has enough problems of his own in that respect, so he's fooling no one when he dispatches lay stooges to forage for information. (BTW, if "One Hand" or Big Don tries to attack, these men are ready 'n' waiting for 'em.)
As the cult center continues to crumble, His Inefficiency should be rounding up dirty-Gertie work crews instead of nosing into other people's business. From his own account of the violent rainstorm bursting through the cult center's side vent, carelessly left open during the enormously expensive HVAC replacement, Dirtbag Dan better put the cultlings to work ASAP.
The beaten-down cult victims obviously are resentful. Otherwise His Audacity wouldn't have to shame them into spending more of their precious time slaving away while he and his goof-off posse refuse to lift a sticky finger. Charity commands us to help the "SPG" press-gang endure the monotonous hours of exhausting drudgery that Master Dan has in store for them. To that end, we wrote a work song — you know, something in the spirit of "Whistle While You Work," or, in the Gerties' case, "Sing While You Slave."
A few weeks back, May 7-8 to be precise, in his grubby "Corner," His Nesciency babbled how he admired the movie tune "At the Codfish Ball," performed at the $GG Shirley Temple Festival and Spring Wing Ding. (Wasn't the event "denominated" — as "One Hand" so learnedly wrote — "Cartloads of Harm"? Uhhh ... we forget.) Anyhow ... we thought, why not just change the words since Li'l Daniel digs the ditty? Gerties can start memorizing this week as they get set for an arduous summer season of forced labor. Let Curly Top help lighten the load: all you need to do is tippity-tap right here for a sing along, substituting our brand-new lyrics:
“At the Cultlings’ Fête”
Next Sunday morn you’re all
recruited
To work from noon to six.
All the suckers and the hicks
Are keen to donate.
It’s some chain gang: they’ll
all curse, “Dang!”
Both the hilljack and the
knave,
They'll show up to be my slave,
As I tailgate.
Come along, and grab a broom,
Break your back, and sweep my
room,
While I choose what to consume
At the Cultlings’ Fête.
Gerties raking wild crab grass
Step on shards of shattered
glass;
Granny busts her ancient —
At the Cultlings’ Fête.
Frazzled mommies fix our meal
Gratis (What a deal!);
The widows iron 'til they upchuck,
But they can’t press duck for
my swell potluck.
Dads are doomed to mow the
lawn
(They won’t finish until dawn),
While I lazily look on
At the Cultlings’ Fête.
Come along and grab a broom,
Break your back, and sweep my room,
While I choose what to consume
At the Cultlings’ Fête, etc.
On second thought, don't waste your time. Get out of the cult today!