FOOD FOR THOUGHT

The only vice that cannot be forgiven is hypocrisy. The repentance of a hypocrite is itself hypocrisy. Hazlitt

Editor's Note:  Before we get started today, we want to take this opportunity to live up to our word. You may remember we promised to retract our formerly good opinion of the B'ville élite's business acumen if "One Hand Dan" were allowed to be one of the "co-consecrators" on February 22. Most of you know by now that His Deficiency played that part on Thursday; consequently, we hereby acknowledge that we gave the élite Bosses of the Bog too much credit. Maybe Wee Dan had to pinch hit if the Jellyfish bailed out at the last minute, excusing itself with, say, some convenient "necessity" on Long Island. (We'll discuss such possibilities next week in our post-mortem of the Sacrilege in the Swamp.) Whatever the cause, putting Dannie in the ceremony (along with the Skipper and Tony Baloney) was as dumb as dumb can be.

The Blast in the Morass imposed without necessity yet another uncanonical episcopus vagans upon a "bishop"-weary Sedelandia. Disgusted traditional Catholics would do well to ponder the following "meditation," with which years ago our favorite Pinheaded Pilgrim concluded a monograph now infamous for his hypocritical about-face (bold-face emphasis ours; quotation marks the author's):

Can we really take all this seriously and suppose that the “bishops” involved in such goings-on are the future of the Church? Impossible. Even to refer to them as “traditional Catholic bishops” lends too much respectability to the whole business, which is, in this writer’s opinion, very disrespectable indeed. 

One theme which dominates the affair from beginning to end is a gross and dangerous lack of prudence regarding the transmission of Apostolic Succession – a matter in which the slightest lack of prudence is inadmissible. St. Paul reminds us: “Lay not hands lightly on any man” – he does not say: “Lay hands quickly on anyone.” 

What is far more serious, however, is that these men claim that they are the “only legitimate authority” of the Catholic Church and that Catholics are “bound” to obey them. Further, they pretend to exclude from the Catholic Church those traditional priests and laymen who refuse to recognize their “authority” – something no traditional organization we know of presumes to do. By making such claims, these “bishops” have set up their own religion, with its own “magisterium,” its own “episcopal hierarchy,” and its own beliefs. It is a new religion, in spite of its trappings – and all its “episcopal consecrations,” self-important proclamations and inflated claims of “canonical authority” cannot make it into the Catholic religion. It is at the very least in the process of creating what will surely become a schismatic sect. 

The story will not end here – it is probable that “instant bishops" will continue to multiply exponentially, as among the “Old Catholics.” Our missionary friend in Mexico offers us his opinion on this rather gloomy prospect: 

We should have within a few years hundreds or thousands of bishops... without true vocations, the one more ignorant than the other, and an unavoidable cause of more division among traditionalists.

It is not impossible that one day these men will decide that their “authority” allows them to elect a “pope” from among their number. Perhaps we will see them trudge along the path already taken by Palmar de Troya, following some man who wears a tiara that looks like a lampshade and who cranks out “encyclicals” by the dozen. 

If such a day comes, we will then see the ultimate consequences of the movement which, for the moment, seems to promise “a prelate in every pot, and two bishops in every garage.” *

My, my! How self-interest and the passage of time can dramatically reverse a supposedly rock-solid conviction. The author may have ingloriously betrayed his stated principles, but his prediction came true: The always-aspirational swamp finally can boast of its very own pair of wandering "bishops."

Will "One-Hand Dan" let $GG fall behind the Swampland Joneses by not "consecrating" for the SW Ohio cult a second "bishop (?)"? Or could it be his "apostolate" is so tiny and his workload so light and airy that he can get by all on his little lonesome?

Or is it because there's no Mr. Moneybags ordering him around?

* If you'd like to read the whole article, click here.

A SCREEN DOOR ON A SUBMARINE

A useless life is an earlier death. Goethe

In last week's "Corner," Wee Dan stepped up to the plate after Big Don broke his promise for January to give us more information about next week's "consecration" in the Swampland:

We had our first practice for Fr. Selway’s consecration last week. Fr. Cekada, reprising his role of twenty-five years ago, has been working very hard preparing the rubrics from our end. One of the fine seminarians will be serving as MC, and organizing the entire affair, a complicated and challenging ceremony to be sure, but truly one for the ages. Many of our faithful will be attending.

There's more to "One Hand's" message than meets the eye. As we'll show, it's a last-ditch effort to appear relevant, to argue he has a purpose for existing and pocketing the laity's money once the Kid asserts his dominance from the top of the Tradistani pecking order.

After next Thursday's Bash in the Bog, all other "bishops" of the SW Ohio/B'ville cult — "One Hand," the Long-Island Jellyfish, the ailing Donster —will be utterly useless beyond their emptying chapels. "The Lowly Worm," the b.s. artist formerly known as Tradzilla, will have passed his sell-by date the moment the Kid wishes him (with fingers crossed behind his back?), "Ad multos annos!"*  Big Don's being stoically closed-mouth about his approaching insignificance, but the Mitered Magpie of West Chester, true to his chattering nature, can't maintain a prudent silence.  Pathetically, he's driven to put his thinly disguised anxieties right out on Front Street for TradWorld to ridicule.

In the futile struggle to keep the Gerties from writing him off, His Irrelevancy intimated he and Tony Baloney might have some material part to play on February 22, with Checkie busily "preparing the rubrics from our end." What a laugh!  What "end"? The short end of the stick?

The Kid already has the ceremonial details from Big Don's "consecration" back in 2002. (They were probably based on copies of the Checkmeister's outline to begin with.) And why would the Cheeseball continue to prepare instructions so close to the date of the Big Show? All Dannie's doing here is trying (unsuccessfully) to make people believe he's somehow a major player in the sacrilegious pantomime destined to change the cult cabal forever.

From the vagueness of the "Corner's" first sentence, we infer that "One Hand" must not have been asked to be a co-consecrator. If he had been, we think he would've shot off his mouth about the supporting rôle in order to reassure the skeptical cultlings he still counts. Instead we get a murky reference to "our first practice."**

Who was practicing? Certainly Checkie wasn't practicing for MC, because Dannie tells us a so-called seminarian has been assigned the job of Master of Ceremonies. Furthermore, the "seminarian" is "organizing the entire affair," so it looks as though Bonehead Tone's been shut out completely. Maybe Lurch, one of Junior's fanboys, was tossed a "mercy" part to play in order to maintain his loyalty to the soon-to-be Numero Uno of Tradistan.

Amid all this angst and transparent face-saving, His Obsolescency couldn't help a little unintentional humor when he reported, "Many of our faithful will be attending [Joey's 'consecration']." That's a hoot! For the past year, the Wee One's been trying everything — including frivolous, illicit dispensations from the Friday abstinence — to herd balking Gerties into the pest-infested cult center for his sideshows. Yet for the Kid's extravaganza, the cult cattle are eager to hoof it about a thousand miles down to Florida to attend the Blast in the Morass.

Think of all that travel and lodging money Dispensin' Dan will never see in the collection basket, not to mention the cash tribute his dirty Gerties'll render to the newly crowned Grand High Panjandrum of Sedelandia. $GG's collection for February 4 was an anemic $3,764, the second collection totaled a miserly $530, and the week before netted a close-fisted $3,836. Have the skinflint cultlings been hoarding their dollars at Dannie's expense? His Indigency must have turned 50 shades of green with envy, but there's nothing he can do except put on a happy face and pretend he approves. After all, he can't afford to alienate the youthful and moneyed capo di tutti capi.

Faking benign approval won't help, either with the Boy "Bishop" or with the cultlings. No crumbs will come Dirtbag Dan's way when the Kid completely takes over pesthouse "ordinations." Likewise, we don't expect Wee Dan will be running My-Way Carlito's "priests'" retreats in the Evergreen State.  Aware of "One Hand's" loss of relevancy, Gerties will look to Junior as the champion of their weird sectarian aspirations,*** leaving the Bantam "Bishop (?)," now reduced to a grinning id bereft of resources and voice, with nothing to do other than once a year "consecrating" doubtful oils that no one but his own dubious "clergy" need or will use.


*  That is, IF the over-the-top Display near the Bay takes place.

** But the jury's still out on that question. As we've written, whether or not "One-Hand Dan" co-consecrates will depend upon how eager the élite are to protect the integrity of the Clone's "episcopate." True, Dannie could co-consecrate along with the Jellyfish, who would offset the stain of dubiety, but do the real chiefs of B'ville want to associate the Kid with the embattled troublemaker who exposed them to so much grief as a result of the catastrophic 2009 $GG $CHOOL $CANDAL?

*** They'll be disappointed, for we predict the Florida cult will soon retreat into itself. The Boy "Bishop" prudently won't write a thing.  The only "missions" he'll undertake are those that generate surplus cash for the boggy cult HQ. From now on, a low profile is necessary to divert Trad Nation's alarmed interest in all that's been going on in the fetid swamp.

THE CLOTHES MAKE THE (WO)MAN

Love matches, as they are called, have illusion for their father and need for their mother. Nietzsche

As Valentine's Day beckons with hearts and flowers, we find it singularly appropriate to put the February 22 Big Show on the back burner for a week so as to direct our scrutiny to Dannie's 2018 YAG in Cincy. 

As you may have observed, $GG is already promoting the event in its weekly bulletin and online. A program of "adult" activities promising to be as lame as last year's hasn't been posted yet on the website. However, we did find the meddling "clergy" have added demands to aggravate the already disordered scruples of the psychasthenic losers tormented enough to register this year. If the site's home-page "art work" is any indication (click here), you'll have a good idea of the mentality of the target audience "One Hand" and Checkie have in mind.

To save you (and us) the time of reading through all that twaddle, PL had a third party with YAG connections to furnish us highlights.

The creepiest difference between the 2018 and 2017 dating meat-markets is there is now "no hard and fast cutoff" for the upper age limit! In other words, "the YAG is now open to singles age 18 and up." An e-mail promo to previous attendees asks recipients to "please pass this info on to your friends who might have been a smidge "too old" last year; tell 'em to c'mon in!"




Whaaaaat? Did they really say, "c'mon in"? Is it going to be a weekend-long pool party with beach-blanket bingo and all? We knew the registrants would get soaked, but we didn't expect the cult masters meant it literally.  And if their running-buddies were "a smidge 'too old'" last year, aren't they more than "a smidge 'too old'" in 2018?


Concerned parents and safety-conscious twenty-somethings have cause to fear what "a smidge 'too old'" entails. In 2017, the upper limit was a nightmarishly high 35 years old. We bristle when we imagine a drooling, heavy-breathing, bloated, goggle-eyed, middle-aged "Mr. Lonelyheart Trad" aggressively stalking an unwary "Miss Sede Distinct Possibility" splashing all alone in the deep end.

Other rule changes are equally disturbing. To further discourage well-adjusted young adults from attending, the YAG dress code's been beefed up to make it much stricter this year — but only with respect to the ladies. Naturally!  This is Tradistan. For 2018, the more intrusive, illustrated regulations obsess in voyeuristic detail about how modest women's attire must be. For instance, a dress

must...generously COVER, not merely skim or come halfway over, the knees BOTH while standing AND sitting down. No slits.... If a skirt needs leggings underneath to make it decent, it's WAY too short. 

More ominously, "cleavage" is forbidden together with the titillatingly mysterious "suggestion of cleavage."

What the latter means is anybody's guess, for it's not spelled out how the "clergy" will determine if what's visible is an authentic sulcus intermammarius or just a pert shadow. Catching and shaming violators, the favorite "clerical" exercise at a sede cult apostolate, might be impossible should all the gals wear turtlenecks. But even absent turtlenecks in June, it'll be tough to police the new interdiction. As our very own Readerette informed the editorial staff, U.S. federal courts have ruled that the intermammary cleft is so vague that no guidance is available to define it (West's federal supplement [First Series], p. 994, West Publishing Co, 1990).*

PL wonders what happened last year to provoke this radical revision of the dress standards. Did one or more of these "good Catholic girls" cross the line of Christian modesty, say, by free-buffing, thus resulting in manly outrage— plus a longer-than-usual line at the confessional? 

Just as the rules are tougher for the womenfolk, so the boys' club members get their customary patriarchal pass. Guys are perfunctorily advised that "slacks or nice jeans [?!] are preferred" and that shirts and pants may not be "tight." (Perhaps a subtle hint for some of those empty-carb-craving sede chow hounds to go on a pre-YAG diet in order to depress the quantity of food consumed?)

Shorts are not allowed on cult premises, but inasmuch as there's no explicit off-property prohibition, we conclude that males may wear loose-fitting shorts at events not held at dilapidated $GG. (Otherwise Dannie and Cheesy wouldn't have limited the ban to the vermin-infested cult campus. We mean, they'd've boldly written "No shorts" period! Right?)


Oh, the pastoral nonfeasance of the sede "Brotopia"!

What if the women in attendance are scandalized — or become ensnared in an unavoidable proximate occasion of sin — through the indecent exposure of virile knees (or even the "suggestion of knees") by men immodest enough to wear baggy shorts in the presence of nubile trad-bachelorettes? Have the cult masters no concern over the effect of bare, hairy, male lower limbs on all these impressionable daughters of Eve? Suppose the bros are not as mindful as the chicks are when they sit: Who of us hasn't heard about, or witnessed, the "manspreading" blight? And why, if shorts are allowed at some activities, wasn't there an express prohibition against going commando?

In their effort to polemicize the weekend for their morbid sectarian purposes, the cult masters have raised the bar for attendance by adding oddly specific religious tests. Registrants, who must be sedes, this year have to agree they condemn certain SSPV practices; they must also affirm they believe in baptism of desire/ baptism of blood, as if that could be a deal-breaker for youthful lovebirds, LOL. ("Sweet cheeks, you know I love you, truly I do, but unless you affirm baptism of blood/desire here and now before our very first kiss, Checkie will never let us go steady," the tradette demurely cooed, rapidly blinking her rheumy eyes. "Oh, honey bunch," trad-boy groaned in reply, "you knooooowwwww that I dooooo! *XOXO*") 

Cult central is sure to publish updates about YAG 2018 in the coming months, which we'll be eager to cover on these pages. But for mature young adults in Traddielandia, we'd suggest the information shared today should be enough for them to

STAY AWAY FROM YAG IN CINCY 2018.

* The gender bias of the dress code is intolerable. For men, polo shirts are among the "preferred" choices, yet, scandalously there's no requirement that guys wear long-tailed polo jerseys so as to prevent shriek-inducing exposure of the crena clunium, a common, unsightly wardrobe malfunction, which the workman's-chic clothier, the Duluth Trading Company, labels "an egregious display of Plumber's Butt," more archly termed in French "le sourire du plombier."

Alas! At $GG, when it comes to modesty or simple good taste, it's still a man's world.

THROWING CAUTION TO THE WINDS

When we want money we want all. Draxe's Bibliotheca scholastica instructissima 

At long last! The decades of masquerading have ended.

It seems Dannie's given up pretending to be a traditional, pre-Bugnini Catholic "pastor." Faking it must no longer be a viable business model. In the sere autumn of his failed career as a religious entrepreneur, he's decided — ecclesiastical law be damned! —to do whatever it takes to herd the straying Gerties into the shabby cult center:  Every "gun" shearer knows you can't fleece sheep if they aren't in the catching pen first.

Do you remember a few weeks back when the cult resorted to the verbal subterfuge of inviting post-burial diners to "consider themselves dispensed from the Friday abstinence"?  (Click here.) Well, the cult kingpin is now outright declaring a dispensation on his own, as if he were a bona-fide Ordinary.

Don't believe us?

Then read the alarming proclamation in the $GG bulletin flyer (p. 4), aimed at promoting attendance at the Candlemas "Winter Soup Supper" on Friday, February 2:

"Abstinence is dispensed for those who attend the Mass."

Not only is the decree an audaciously lawless move, it's also a revolutionary manifesto in miniature. No more weasel wording. From now on, it'll be bald declarations from "One-Hand Dan" himself! A cultling won't have to wrestle with her or his conscience by considering anything. Like a reeking, triple-decker cheeseburger tossed into a flyblown dumpster, the illicit "dispensation" is there for the grabbing, if you're reckless enough to take it. The only catch is you'll have to turn out for a Big Show to be dispensed.

PL reckons the handful of Gerties in attendance last night left their thin gruel and watery soups in the fridge, schlepping instead greasily viscous buckets of stew clogged with ragged chunks of squirrel, pig's trotters, raccoon, downer cow, or unidentifiable road kill. So epoch-making is this new discipline that we Readers created a brand-new signature slogan for the SW Ohio cult:

$GG: A meat-eater's Friday-night delight, where "One-Hand" dispenses if you foot the expenses.

Why, you might ask, did the cult masters adopt so rash a policy, one guaranteed to alienate many dyed-in-the-wool traditional Catholics? To hear some orthodox trads talk, Dannie might have to surrender his "sede card." But we think we've got the answer for all this risky business: The Gerties' financially ruinous boycott of $GG activities.

Throughout 2017, Dannie often rued the low participation in and flagging enthusiasm for cult social life. In last week's "Corner," he continued his private pity party with a string of soul-bearing ruminations. After nostalgically recalling the "palmy years of the 80s,"— where "the darkened church was well filled!" — he suddenly whimpered, "Anybody remember?" (Was that a sniffle we detected?)

Then, perhaps after swallowing a "reality-pill," the Pastor of Disaster unexpectedly manned up: "Well, those days are done." (You betcha they are: Gertie gummers are dying off, while the rams and ewes are wandering away, either physically or emotionally.) The self-feeding, flock-scattering shepherd who formerly ruled with a high hand tried to console himself with the observation that on "some Sundays the Mass is well filled." But we'd say he's tormented by the subconscious knowledge that one day in the near future on no Sunday will the Mass be "well filled."

By his own admission, the Gerties didn't even bother to reply to his survey about "a good daily Mass time" (for Lent, we presume). His Despondency "only heard from one or two souls." Hilariously, a certain sassy spirit who made the effort to suggest a time impertinently informed Dannie "he wouldn't be attending." Talk about indifference! And with cheeky apathy like that comes reduced giving — of time, of moral support, and of money.

In spite of the brave face he put on, His Anxiety's gotten the message, loud and clear. That's why he had to try something — anything — to increase traffic in the forsaken cult center, notwithstanding the danger of alienating pious Catholics. When he learned "300 guests" have already signed up for Junior's "consecration," he must have been crushed. Compensatory narcissist that he is, Dan's aware the center of Tradistan is relentlessly shifting toward the Kid. As soon as it dawns on him that illicit dispensations from the Friday abstinence won't fill the pews with "sheeple," it's frightening to imagine what he'll do thereafter to keep basking in the self-enhancement only cash confers.*

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Speaking of the Boy-"Bishop"-Elect, this may be the best place to follow up on Big Don's December 2017 promise to "give further information about [the Kid's "consecration"] in the January newsletter." As you probably know, the January newsletter has been out, yet it contained no further information about the February 22 three-ring circus. All we saw was a notice about a subdiaconal ordination scheduled for two days after the extravaganza. (Joey's maiden conferral of orders?)

Why the silence? What's to hide? The Donster had the space to write something in the newsletter. Did PL's interest in the occasion and its players spook him? Are undoubtedly valid co-consecrators backing out because of pressure from their flocks or their bosses? Did "One Hand" ask him to hold off on any announcement in order to save face? (The Wee One hasn't said a thing about a February Mexican adventure yet: Could be he's buying time.) Come to think about it, there may have been internal arguments with the élite about the arrangements and participants. Maybe Don's been told to keep his piehole shut until everything's settled.

We'll never know the reason for all the coyness. Of this we can be sure, however: "The Lowly Worm" didn't live up to his word — or maybe he simply couldn't remember.

* It amazes PL that the sedes have missed the transactional opportunity to invent their own procedures for issuing decrees of nullity of marriage. That ploy would be a real moneymaker as well as a crowd pleaser — sure to pack 'em in every day of the week. There could even be a tie-in with the cult's Young Adult Get-Together. Dannie might even want to rebrand it as the "Yearning for Annulment Gang." Honestly, we don't see how His Necessity can afford to pass up the chance for profitable commodification on $GGResources by hawking T-shirts (long-sleeved, of course) and polycarbonate beer mugs tempting traddies to

BAG YOUR

NEXT SPOUSE

@ WEE DAN'S YAG.