COUNTERFEIT CATHOLICISM 1

Counterfeit values always resemble the true. Auden

In his 1948 classic Zen in the Art of Archery, Eugen Herrigel narrates how he employed a ruse to mimic the skilled Kyūdō archer's unconscious, natural release of the bowstring. At first, his teacher, Awa Kenzô, is almost deceived. However, thanks to long years of faithfully living his exquisite art, after the briefest of pauses, the master rebukes his pupil for the deception.

This is the indignant response of an intelligent lay person with a sensus Catholicus, who takes a good, long second look at the SGG-Brooksville dog-and-pony show. On the surface, it appears to be Catholic, but as soon as you examine it mindfully, you know something's awry. It just doesn't quite feel right. No matter what your eyes tell you, your heart and intellect warn: The whole thing's all off-center.

Maybe it's Dannie's cloying piety coupled with the ghoulish tales of his ever-vomiting, bloodthirsty cat. Or it could be Cekada's embarrassingly bad scholarship. It might be Big Don's laughably inadequate pesthouse with its malformed inmates and punishment-loving "teaching" staff. Perhaps it's the relentless fundraising, the lavish vacations in the extravagantly fashionable Southwest. Or maybe it's the over-the-top foreign travel. Often it's simply the craziness: the invented dogmas, the banishments, the twisted theology, the hypocrisy, the postponed absolutions, the money grubbing, the "hickory stick" educational philosophy, the denial of sacraments, the bad mouthing of other priests, the emotional outbursts from the pulpit, and the frequent upheavals where the scandalized faithful en masse abandon cult chapels in outrage.

Whatever it is, an assured voice deep inside you urgently whispers, "This hateful mummery cannot be true Catholicism."

In the final analysis, the cult can't pass the "duck test." Oh, yes, it has wings, but it only looks like a duck provided you're myopic and standing a long way off. To be sure, it splashes about to remove gore and filth, but it doesn't swim like a duck. And on a howling, windy day, it's guttural hiss or nasal whine may almost -- but not quite -- sound like a duck's quack to the hearing impaired. So under normal conditions, even if you're totally blind and stone deaf, you're sure the odd bird is no duck, no matter what "One-Hand Dan," Erroneous Antonius, and Big Don tell you: You know it's a scavenging turkey vulture.

In the next few weeks, we'll remind you that when you came upon the SGG-Brooksville cult, you didn't discover a traditional Catholic Shangri-La guided by a wise hierophant like the gentle High Lama of Frank Capra's Lost Horizon. Instead, like George Clooney in the Rodriguez-Tarentino film From Dusk Till Dawn, you witlessly stumbled past a garish façade into a hellish pit of horrors.

Let's get our summer series started today with an example from the hinterland of Tradistan. We won't comment. We'll just give you the facts. You'll be able to conclude on your own that the behavior described is not that of an authentic Catholic priest. He's an honest-to-goodness fake.

This malformed basket-case is no longer directly affiliated with SGG, but he keeps in contact with the cult masters, on occasion dining intimately with them or substituting for them at SGG if they all happen to be away for an "ordination." His Latin is more than doubtful; he used to be seen carrying an English translation of the Breviary. Another person reports he uses an English-language ordo. He frequently mispronounces both Latin and English words, and still has not learned the correct pronunciation of "Bergoglio." (The moron says burr-GOGG-lee-oh.) As one disgusted informant told us, this sorry excuse for a Catholic priest once asked him to translate the Missal rubrics for handling and purifying the chalice on All Souls' Day. The bulk of his reading material consists of pietistic leaflets and spiritual booklets aimed at a low-level lay readership.

He once refused to prepare a young couple at his chapel for matrimony. Tellingly, he wouldn't consent to marry them, claiming his apostolate for the sick and dying left him unprepared for such complexities. (At great inconvenience, the family had to look for another priest.) Despite saying daily Mass for many, many years, he always seems unsure of himself when he celebrates, often betraying his uncertainty with false movements, non-standard liturgical gestures, sighs, and long pauses.

His presence at the altar is a scandal, as his chasuble is almost always disgracefully wrinkled and ofttimes soiled. Customarily he wears an un-ironed tab-collar clerical shirt à la Novus Ordo, with a cross of some kind dangling wildly from his neck. He insists on using the Pius XII rite, but on one Palm Sunday, he read the wrong Gospels. On Good Friday, he recites the tre ore because the Mass of the Presanctified is too complicated for him. He barely can celebrate a Missa cantata, and, in our memory, has only done so once.

He frequently postpones absolution for penitents, especially women. Once when a Novus Ordite wanted to join the traditional Church, he said he had to think about what to do. After coming back once and getting no answer again, the man, a professional, never returned. On another occasion, he denied a woman communion. When confronted afterward, he told the family he had not been sure whether she had gone to confession. Later when the woman went to confession to him on Good Friday, he denied her communion on Easter Sunday, alleging he did not know that she had confessed and received his absolution.

At the baptism of the woman's child, he threatened the assembled friends and family that he would not perform the sacrament unless a young female bystander left. He considered her to be immodestly dressed. From the pulpit, he appears obsessed with women's attire, especially their footwear. He's concocted a sicko rule that summer shoes must have a strap of some sort so the soles don't flap when walking. He loves to scold the laity, and, worse still, he's always on the verge of flipping his wig. Years ago, a young Mexican priest, who had to lodge with him at one of the cult's residences, used to lock the door to his room in fear of what might befall him.

This weird and unholy behavior is not the coin of the Catholic realm. It's an out-and-out forgery of priestly comportment. Ignorant people only put up with it because they're spiritually terrorized. No matter how many hollow pieties he croaks, no matter how dour his perpetually frowning countenance, this loathsome, ignorant creature can never be esteemed a genuine Catholic priest. In the old days, he would have been packed off to a monastery, never to darken a church's door again. (Of course, in the old days, this repulsive parasite never would have gotten into a seminary in the first place, not even as a substitute janitor.)

Since the monastery-option's not available to Traddies, the only recourse is to withdraw all support and stay away until this bad penny gets out of circulation. Better to stay home alone than to offend the faith by supporting and abetting an unholy sham.

A SIGN OF THINGS TO COME

It is closing time in the gardens of the West and from now on an artist will be judged only by the resonance of his solitude or the quality of his despair. Connolly

Editor's Note: Owing to the Memorial Day weekend, we're posting early.

We've been asked several times to provide grounds for our forecast of the end of the SGG cult. Quite honestly, we think we've already done a pretty good job of that, particularly with our recent posts detailing SGG's 2015 Lenten attendance crisis.

However, we know many of you out there are just as eager as we Readers to hoot, whistle, and boo as the curtain rings down for the last time on that tacky, SW Ohio vaudeville act ineptly simulating 1950s Catholic life. Naturally, you want them gone and hope for some solid information.

We get it, and we're here to help.

Whereas we cannot say we know the precise date of SGG's shuttering -- we're pundits, not prophets! -- we can give you a fresh indication that the cult performance artists are about to exit the stage altogether to begin a lonely life of poverty and shame. Last Sunday, "One-Hand Dan," the comical host of this wearisome burlesque of traditional Catholicism, tipped us off in his "Bishop's (?) Corner" that the end is in sight:

Mother’s Day was interesting this year. I think I was a little disappointed as I was looking forward to a big attendance, mothers telling their grown up and away children that all they wanted was for them to come to Mass that day, as they used to do. But this has probably passed away with the corsage. High Mass attendance was thin ...  Our High Mass refugees missed a beautiful Mass...

What more revealing sign could you ask for than a boycott on Mother's Day along with an anemic collection tallying just a smidgeon over $3K? (That's not enough for all the expenses let alone an intimate summer escape to upscale Santa Fe with its Old-World charm and Southwest elegance at its finest.)

In the months to come, Wee Dan's little disappointment will grow into outsized, unrelieved horror.

When Mom and the kids opt out of attending Despairing Dannie's dolly-dress-up party on her big day, then you know closing down the show for good can't be too far off.

OH, NO! HERE THEY COME AGAIN!

Charity degrades those who receive it and hardens those who dispense it. George Sand

Just as in an old cowboy-and-indians B-movie, the echoing tom-toms in the arid Sheeple's Republic of Tradistan are beating out an ominous warning: multiple, rapacious fundraising campaigns are galloping across the sede desert wasteland.

So circle the wagons and hold on to your wallets, Gerties. There's a triple-threat charity-warparty rushing headlong to scalp you!

The first threat raised its savage head in the "Bishop's (?) Corner" for the week of May 3:

Fr. Cekada has concluded his Seminary teaching trips for this school year, and just in the nick of time. The sanctuary heating/air conditioning unit goes on by itself, as though haunted, ever since it was struck some time ago by lightning. Here the story becomes impossibly complicated, all caught up with big brother regulations and smoke detectors which never worked correctly in the first place, and companies gouging churches for great quantities of wasted money, backed up by the government oversight. Much patience and a cool head is required to navigate these waters.

Undoubtedly you'll recall that His Profligacy had earlier been complaining about the sanctuary's heating-and-cooling system. Imprudently he opted to go to Mexico and then replace a perfectly serviceable organ instead of fixing the HVAC unit. Deferred maintenance is always a stupid idea and, evidently, His Spendthriftiness has never heard of a rainy-day fund. (Deacon Dan has no business running any adult enterprise, even the SGG cult: Imitation Catholicism meets inept stewardship.) Mark our words: very soon Dannie'll be asking for donations not only for a new heating/AC unit but also for the non-working smoke detectors.

Before yielding to the temptation to donate, you should remember who was responsible for buying all this junk in the first place. Cheesy and "One Hand" designed and built the ramshackle cult center; they made all the choices. You should ask Dan-O why all that money was used for the lavish Mexico vacation, the new organ, and reprinting a second edition of Cekada's amateurish, error-filled Work of Human Hands when the cult was facing the prospect of a major infrastructure repair/purchase. (Has this man-child ever heard of deferred gratification?)

The cult masters alone are responsible for this mess, so don't allow them to put the blame on the "authorities." Building codes were written to protect innocent citizens from the perils of slipshod construction, incompetent architectural design, and greedy, short-sighted corner-cutting.

Moving on now to the second and third threats, which sharp-elbowed their way into last week's "Corner." The second menaced:

Pray for strength for Fr. Nkamuke. He had just returned from visiting his very sick mother, when his father had a stroke and was paralyzed. The family, of course, look to him for help. Anyone who wishes to give Father something for these extraordinary expenses may simply mark the offering with Father’s name.

And the third assault on your bank account followed terrifyingly on the heels of the second:

...Fr. Nkamuke will be covering the remaining courses for Mr. Abraham Chuku [sic], who is now living with him and assisting him. I am now soliciting regular offerings for his supoprt until ordination, called a burse. To help a seminarian, especially one we know and who is so close to ordination, is surely a great grace. Their life is poor indeed, the Nigerian clergy, and they ask only the most basic necessities, as they seek to share “the inestimable riches of Christ” with souls. Your alms deeds let you get in on this blessing.

We'll leave the second cup-rattling offensive to your discretion as you evaluate the worthiness of the appeal. (HOLY TOLEDO! Ma sick, and Pa becrippled? And both at the same time? Sheesh, it almost sounds like another Nigerian internet scam, doesn't it?) We'd suggest that, if you are naïve enough ... er, ah,umm ... we mean, uh, .... moved...  to contribute, you must demand proof that the funds have been accounted for and transmitted in their entirety. Don't take anybody's word. Give on condition the cult masters allow you to audit the contributions and then personally inspect the money-transfer document.

As you may have noticed, the third case is much more aggressive. "One-Hand Dan" is actively and personally strong-arming the solicitation himself -- for regular offerings, mind you! If you've got any sense at all, you'll conduct a little due diligence before attempting to "get in on this blessing," as Dannie, in his best impersonation of a sleazo car salesman, so crassly put it. 

The first question that comes to mind is:

Who is Abraham Chuku?

Is this the same man as the MHT pesthouse "seminarian" Abraham Chukwu, whom Wee Dan referenced in his "Bishop's (?) Corner" of January 12, 2014 (2nd paragraph)? If it is, then why couldn't Daniel the Dunce get the young man's name right this time? After all, if you're going to raise money for someone, shouldn't you at least spell his name correctly?

And if this man is, indeed, the same MHT "seminarian" Abraham Chukwu about whom he wrote -- the same Abraham Chukwu who appears in this (click here) photograph printed in the February 2013 "MHT Newsletter" -- then you need to ask yourself why he's not still attending the fetid swampland "seminary," particularly since his ordination was "so close."

Why is this strongly independent-minded young fellow now "studying" independently (i.e., privately) under a "priest" who was only recently ordained? Why didn't he -- or  why couldn't he -- remain at Most Holy Trinity "Seminary" in Brooksville until ordination. Why would the rector have suffered a pesthouse inmate "so close to ordination" to leave if the only problem was a little bit of tuition money?

If Mr. Chukwu needed funds to complete his formation there, couldn't Li'l Dan Dolan and Big Don Sanborn together have "solicited regular offerings for his support until ordination"? That way, Big Don's cash-strapped "seminary" would have benefited directly from others' charity, as usual, and the young man could have continued his "studies" uninterrupted until his dubious ordination at the hands of "One-Hand Dan."

These are fundamental questions upon which you should ground your giving.

In this post, we've assumed that Chuku = Chukwu. The misspelling must surely be just another example of His Deficiency's clueless insouciance. Dannie, you'll recall, did refer to the man's "remaining courses" and his proximity to ordination. Accordingly, it's not too far a stretch of the imagination to infer he means the courses the man had not yet completed before leaving (or being invited to leave?) the MHT pesthouse.

And that's the biggest part of your problem as a donor.

If you do decide to contribute to Dannie's appeal for Mr. Chukwu, wouldn't you be guilty of supporting another one of those "untrained and un-Tridentine," canonically unfit rascals whom Tony Baloney Cekada vilified in what His Hyperbolicalness described as a "landmark study"? Certainly, if you did contribute to his support, you'd be actively encouraging the willful violation of canon 972.1, which Checkie solemnly quoted in section I, "Canonical Fitness," of his monograph:

 “All candidates for sacred orders … are obliged to live a seminary
[sic! Insert "in" after "live,"  Ed.] at least throughout the entire course of their theological stud­ies.”

Observe that the ol' Checkmeister didn't stop there in his insistence on training at a brick-and-mortar institution. Later in the same article, the Cheeseball devoted an entire section (§V) to refuting arguments in favor of private study.  Son now, make no mistake about it: studying under a very busy missionary "priest" in a challenging, sometimes hostile territory is actually worse than studying on one's own. Don't forget what Phony Tony, again citing canon law, wrote:

“The theological course of studies must be taken, not privately, but in schools in­stituted for this purpose according to the prescribed course of studies laid down in canon 1365.”

 At least under home-study conditions, the learner can devote many reflective hours each day to careful reading, memorization, review, and painstaking research. How much really can be taught and tested when the "teacher" is preoccupied with so many other cares and duties?

Not a whole lot, that's for sure.

Let's face it: Mr. Chukwu's studies will always come last under the current circumstances, now made intolerably burdensome by the ill health of "Father" Nkamuke's dependent parents.

For the life of us, we wonder how Double-Standard Daniel can ask the Gerties to support someone who will never complete "a seminary academic program which properly tested his knowledge in Latin, Philosophy or Theology according to the mind of the Church as set forth in canon law and papal documents," as His Hypocrisy himself wrote in this nasty gram to the faithful of Chambéry, France, who had inquired about a young Frenchman. Ask yourselves, What makes Mr. Chukwu an exception to Dirtbag Dan's and Phony Tony's  hard-and-fast principles, which they have doggedly insisted everyone else honor? (BTW, the same question is still pending for Uneven-Steven McKenna.)

So...before filling Dannie's cute, little "burse," you've got to do some leg work. We first suggest contacting the rector himself (piuspapax@gmail.com) to learn the reason for this candidate's leaving the pesthouse when he was "so close to ordination." Did he exit independently of his own free will or was there some other intervening factor beyond his control? 

At the same time, ask Donnie if he approves of priestly formation outside a seminary. (Don't be shy. He may have changed his mind, as the cult masters so often do. Their views are elastic, to say the least. After all, he took Uneven-Steven with him to Europe as his bag boy a short while ago.) Also ask him whether he was aware of what Dannie is doing through his encouragement of essentially private study for the priesthood. Did Daniel ask Donald's permission and, more importantly, did Donald give it?

If Big Don won't answer you, why not ask Lurch or the Forlorn Finn. We bet they know. (And so does Dannie. Just ask him -- and watch him squirm!)

Probably His Forgetfulness and the Blunderer don't remember -- or don't care-- what they wrote, so they can't help you make a decision. Consistency has never been their strong suit. (Self-interested inconstancy seems to be their hallmark.) Besides, their malignant sense of entitlement to your money means they'll ignore your questions anyway and probably kick you out for asking. Therefore, since you won't listen to us, we suggest you be guided by Tony's earlier written advice about the "untrained and un-Tridentine":

First listen to Pius XI: “One well-trained priest is worth more than many trained badly or scarcely at all. For such would be not merely unreliable but a likely source of sorrow to the Church.”

Then save the Church from further sorrow by keeping your money in your pocket. Your refusal might turn back the other panhandling raids as well. Then hitch up the horses, load up the tearful womenfolk, toss the bawlin' young'uns into the back of your arrow-pierced Conestoga, and get outta Tradistan pronto.

Wagons, ho!

SHEAVES OF DROOPING DANDELIONS

Crown'd with rank fumitor and furrow weeds. Shakespeare

After the last few heady posts, we Readers agreed it's time for a little "inane blather" (in the words of one learned commenter) to lighten things up a little. The good part is, no matter how vacuous the subject we propose, you'll always find something solid either to encourage you to leave Raggedy Dan's fake-Catholic cult or to thank your lucky stars you have nothing to do with those untouchables. Today's proudly frivolous post is no exception.

On April 19, Dirtbag Dan effused in his "Bishop's (?) Corner" cum crop-progress report:

The grass of course is back, positively Gaelic in its green, thriving on all of the wet; bright with lion’s teeth, dandelions, little yellow buttons of Spring color. You can look on them as a weed or as a Spring salad in the making.

No wonder the secular, Novus-Ordo, and Protestant worlds combined scorn Traddies as riffraff.

Only the scummiest neighbors let their yard morph into a dandelion marsh, menacing the virgin turf of better-bred homeowners who care for their lawns.

SGG is carrying five clerics -- three idlers are in their twenties or maybe early thirties -- lounging around the cult center or its missions playing church. Why couldn't the "young fathers" have gotten a little exercise in April and spread a couple bags of discount weed-'n'-feed to prevent the annual yellow blight? Couldn't the cult afford it after Dannie's wasteful winter-vacation jaunt to sunny Mexico? Waiting for the serfs to crawl out of their shacks to cut the grass isn't going to solve the problem. Even pulling weeds is a puny half measure.

The noxious cult center may be situated in a dreary industrial park, but across the street lies a nice housing division. Those star-crossed homeowners must stare in horror at the SGG eyesore as it bristles with angry weeds, unsightly débris, and filthy vermin: they must live in mortal fear for their health and property values. From all appearances, we suppose the nasty landscape reminds the cult masters of their childhood homesteads. All that's missing is an old truck on cinder blocks -- and maybe a stray tire or two to shelter the rats when it rains.

For all his boastful talk about SGG, you'd think His Indolence would take some interest in the cult center's curb appeal, if only to entice more prey. That, however, would require a sense of personal pride. The cult kingpins probably tell each other that pride of ownership is a petit-bourgeois virtue. From the way they act, they seem to fancy themselves as a kind of changeling -- upper-crust scions whom the wee folk guilefully snatched from golden cradles and jettisoned into steaming, flyblown, hillbilly hovels.

Their whole career as ecclesiastical buccaneers has been a frustrated effort to reclaim an imagined lost heritage of leisure and privilege. Reasoning that "the swells" don't bother themselves with gardening or yard work, they don't lift one sticky finger, preferring to coerce the congenitally deficient culties into rendering the honest labor that's beneath their invented dignity.

Well, it may be true that the gentry's yards aren't the shimmering, emerald glebes of the middle class, but they aren't the bleary, topaz bogs of rednecks either. The "quality" see to it that their lawns get regular, chemical treatments to keep them looking respectable.

Indeed, in the suburban Arcadias of the wealthy,  you'll frequently spy well-coifed trophy wives in designer flip-flops pertly squirting lethal streams of weed killer onto undesired sprouts, while nimble, bronze pool boys eagerly supply them with fresh banana daiquirís and Sisley® Sunleÿa sunscreen. As every sociologist knows, the élite don't strive for perfectly manicured, country-club putting-greens: they see those every weekend. They just don't ever want to be mistaken for nouveau riche trailer trash.

Scuzzy SGG will continue to offend taste and the surrounding community as well as religion. Since you'll never see toujours-pauvre Dannie the Dalit shlepping a jug of Weed B Gon® in an effort to render SGG a fit venue for decent folks, the Readers suggest the following remedy for the woefully few Gerties whose sainted mothers warned them to steer clear of socially unacceptable low life:

Tell to your family, "We'd Better Be Gone!" 

GOOD RIDDANCE

Tempus abire tibi est. ("It's time for you to go away.") Horace

The radio silence ended on April 29, when, after a lengthy hiatus, the surname of the "principal" at the epicenter of the seismic [click here] 2009 SGG School Scandal resurfaced in the "Bishop's (?) Corner." The occasion was the announcement of the upcoming high-school "graduation" of his son from SGG.

In the aftermath of the 2009 catastrophe, Dannie frequently used to praise the "principal" and his large family, no doubt as part of a brain-washing effort to allay the Gerties' resentment of the remote cause of their destruction. (Li'l Dan's failure to take action was the proximate cause.) "One Hand" must've been trying to bamboozle the cultlings into believing the "principal" was an invaluable asset rather than the enormous drain on the chapel's resources he in fact is.

Of late, however, close students of the moribund cult have marked the telling absence of his name from Dubious Dan's weekly kitty-'n'-bunny fantasy and ex-post-facto weather almanac. Since we're certain this reserve has been no mere oversight, enquiring minds that we are, we thought we'd indulge in some insightful guesswork.

In all probability, Deacon Dan is fed up, angry, and afraid. Fed up because the cult hasn't recovered financially in the five years since the epochal SGG School Scandal broke. Angry because he dare not free himself from a burden that consumes so much money -- money that could be used for trips abroad,  fancy restaurant dining, luxury vacation getaways at the chichi Bishop's Lodge in elegant Santa Fe, and sorely needed contributions to his anemic retirement fund. Afraid because the "principal" and the "school" are devouring the substance of his future. 

Before the scandal, when there were plenty of benefactors around to underwrite that sorry excuse for a school, the luxury of the "principal" was affordable. Now it's not.  In the past weeks, we've blogged about Dannie's trembling, lip-biting accounts of declining attendance at cult Lenten activities. And as late as last week Dan lamented the low attendance on Low Sunday. He knows the diminishing numbers document an irreversible trend: they loom like Banquo's ghost at every meager dinner and at the increasingly infrequent potluck suppers -- the botulism-banquets that feed him and his clown crew for free.

Finances are tightening. Before his terror-ravaged eyes, the kids are growing up, leaving. Not surprisingly, the younger generation is opting to stay away from the place of furious memories of their parents'  financial bondage to the cult, an enslavement that produced their deprived childhoods. (Their spartan Christmases, which no child forgives -- memorable for shabby, empty stockings and naught but dirty, yellow-stained carpet under a scrawny, dry tree -- fêted the self-indulgent cult masters.) The older generation is retiring. Newcomers have grown fewer owing to all the bad publicity. If he had an ounce of sound business sense -- along with the freedom to act -- Dannie would close the school and dismiss the staff, starting at the top. 

Realistically, the cult cannot -- or will not -- generate enough money for both Dan's dreams and the "principal's" needs.  The gullible Gerties have been squeezed and squeezed until they've got nothing left to give. So straitened are the circumstances that the cult can't easily afford necessities, like heating or professional exterminators to control the infestation of dangerous vermin.

As he watches so much SGG treasure confiscated for this man's support, it's dawning on Wee Dan that he and the Blunderer will never enjoy a comfortable, genteel retirement in the stylish desert Southwest of their dreams.  More importantly, he may have finally reached the conclusion that the "principal's" instinct for self-preservation will never allow Li'l Dan to retire to a swank, Spanish-Pueblo-Revival residence in Ol' Santa Fe, thereby leaving the man unprotected. Dannie is his ace in the hole. It only makes sense that he'll do whatever he can to keep Dan the Dungball tethered to sinus-destroying SW Ohio forever: A man's gotta do what a man's gotta do for himself and his own!

It's obvious when the cult has trouble meeting the winter heating bill, there's no money to pension off the "principal" and his family. If the cult masters were to leave, we'd bet even money that Dubious Dan's successor at ragged SGG would soon throw off this fiscal albatross. The vapid "young fathers" may have a very poor formation, but you don't have to be a Wall-Street wizard to understand the "principal" and the "school" are bottomless money pits. Therefore, inasmuch as there'd be no leverage with a new pastor, the "principal" knows the old one must remain, whether Dannie wants to or not. The "principal" will make certain His Captiveship remains a prisoner at SGG (and there'll be no nocturnal, angelic visitor to loosen his fetters, that's for sure).

In our informed view, the Gerties are quietly outraged at the hundreds of thousands of their dollars that have gone directly or indirectly to the "principal" and his family. They know the school should be self-supporting; it should, in fact, generate income for the chapel. Folks didn't join SGG to underwrite an unnecessary enterprise that could never pay its own way.

In their hearts, the Gerties know the "school" and the "principal's" salary represent an unholy waste of their hard-earned money. Moreover, incidental reports from the area tell us that Gerties are openly questioning the need for the "principal" as well as the "school." That's why they're voting silently with their pocketbooks --- and their non-participation.

SGG has reached an impasse.*

But what can Dirtbag Dan do? He's stuck between the proverbial rock and a hard place.  Maybe the reference to the graduation was intended as a hint for the "principal" to start packing. But that won't work. Not when the "principal's" livelihood is at stake. For that reason, he'll fight hard for his grubby place in the occasional sun of SW Ohio; no one will take it away from him without a severe loss. What other options are available to him? Big-box-store greeter? Grocery-store stock boy? Not on your life! His masters have already spoken for those jobs.

In our opinion, some of the Gertie élite (LOL) who don't want to see all their efforts and sacrifices go down the toilet may soon attempt to set Dannie free. In the face of the cult masters'  inaction,  they could call for the removal of this intolerable financial burden. Judging by the events of 2009, Wee Dan, fearful of the consequences, would resist the rescue.

For "Operation Disimprison Daniel" to succeed, the laity might have to promise to back their  clergy no matter what the outcome!  Let the "principal" explode and spill his guts and have done with him! That'll take real gumption along with a strong stomach, for the fallout could prove toxic for the Gerties as well as for all Tradistan. (See the sgginfo.com editorial "Thinking the Unthinkable" here.) But act they must, and soon, too, if they don't want to witness the decaying cult center boarded up and put on the auction block in the next three to five years.

Whatever they decide, any action may be too late.

SGG is bleeding out. There's no more cold, hard cash, -- the cult's lifeblood -- to keep it alive. The effort to maintain the "principal" on the SGG welfare roll is unsustainable. According to simple economic theory, there's not enough available capital to support Dannie, Cheesy, and the crumbling cult campus on the one hand AND the "principal's" enormous household on the other. By the time the tenth anniversary of the 2009 SGG School Sandal rolls around, the accumulated losses will be staggering. As the old Vipers of Vaudeville site reported in 2011, a CPA's analysis of the impact of retaining the "principal" made this astonishingly prescient forecast:

Based upon bequests received by and legacies pledged for the new chapels [i.e., the new chapels formed by those leaving SGG as a result of the 2009 scandal, Ed.]; the money raised or targeted for the new chapels’ building and remodeling programs already in the planning and execution stages; the new chapels’ attracting traditional Catholics who may otherwise have joined SGG; the canceled or changed testamentary trusts and life-insurance policies payable to SGG or its former satellites; the personal gifts of cash to the principals [viz. Deacon Dan and the Blunderer, Ed.] for Christmas, Easter, birthdays, the Bishop’s Fund etc.; the expected increasing defections from SGG as the faithful experience buyer’s remorse; the lost interest and investment earnings on redirected capital; the loss of benefactors for MHT; the depletion of the will to support SGG among those who remain as they retire and/or become more disillusioned under the knowledge of whom they are supporting, I should think the biennial loss rate to SGG will double. I could well see an effective $6,000,000 loss to SGG occurring in the biennium of 2019-21.”

At the rate of non-participation the cult is suffering, the chapel won't make it to 2019. It'll be bust long before. Saving the place is honestly out of the question.

Perhaps some of the more disillusioned Gerties may secretly be praying for a melt down so they can start afresh once all the bums have been kicked out. We propose they forget about buying the sleazy property at the fire-sale price it will command and join instead one of the other traditional chapels in the area. There are two very good reasons for this alternative.

First, the dump is a white elephant requiring substantial capital improvements. As one engineer told us, the structure is a "20-year" building, meaning it was built to last only that long. Its useful life is coming to an end. Second, the Gerties would have to find replacement clergy, yet the only ones immediately available to take over will be "One-Hand Dan's" doubtful creatures. To be certain of the validity of their orders, the Gerties would have to find someone to confer conditional ordination. We doubt Big Don would make his services available, even for a hefty fee.

That's all too much trouble and expense. Better to add to the membership of one of the other thriving traditional Catholic chapels/missions in which SW Ohio is so rich. Everyone needs a new beginning. Gerties can get started today by just walking away.

* According to Uneven-Steven McKenna (a.k.a. the McFaker), whom we think may be Dannie's successor, this word is to be pronounced "im-pass-say,"as you can hear in this Restoration Radio broadcast at minute 42:26. Don't you just marvel at Tradistani "priestly" formation?