Male Bag: Pope Francis and the Homosexuals Edition
‘Puter’s super! Thanks for asking! |
‘Puter’s fond of this post’s title. It reminds him of an Aesop’s fable, like Androcles and the Lion, but more fabulous and with better clothes.
More to the point, ‘Puter found this missive from Operative SMR expertly tacked to Sleestak’s forehead this morning. ‘Puter only found the note because he investigated the unusually loud crashes coming from the Castle’s subterranean scullery. SMR’s placement of his missive covered Sleestak’s massive, creepy eyes, effectively blinding him. Sleestak was running in circles, arms flailing, screaming “Sssssss! SSSSSSSS!!!” and had already destroyed most of Czar’s Precious Moments commemorative plate collection.
Poor Sleestak. He’s in for punishment at Czar’s hands as soon as Czar finds out his lifetime’s work has been destroyed. Czar was only one plate short of becoming President of the national chapter of his much-beloved Precious Moments Collector’s Club. Hell hath no fury like a bearded Slavic tyrant deprived of his cartoonishly bad collectibles.
But enough about goings on at the Castle. No one wants to hear about our private lives. Back to serious topics. As noted two paragraphs ago, Operative SMR wrote to ‘Puter regarding his posting On Pope Francis’ statement on homosexuality. Czar also posted a most excellent take on Pope Francis and the media here.
But Operative SMR emphasizes an important point that neither ‘Puter nor Czar covered in their posts. As such, ‘Puter posts Operative SMR’s missive here, in its entirety:
An excellent point, Operative SMR, and one for which you have ‘Puter’s respect. The Roman Catholic Church treats all sex outside marriage* exactly the same, no matter whether you’re hardwired to find the opposite sex or the same sex attractive. The Church is nothing if not consistent, as Czar points out in his piece.
Thus, we have learned that the Church treats unmarried Fred blowing Harvey in a filthy San Francisco bathhouse the same as the Church treats unmarried Fred banging Wendy in a filthy alley behind the local bar at closing time. That is, both are sinful acts.
So, thanks again Operative SMR Write again soon.
*And no, wishful thinkers. Gay marriage doesn’t count for the Roman Catholic Church. The Catechism states the “matrimonial covenant, by which a man and a woman establish between themselves a partnership of the whole of life, is by its nature ordered toward the good of the spouses and the procreation and education of offspring; this covenant between baptized persons has been raised by Christ the Lord to the dignity of a sacrament.”
Always right, unless he isn’t, the infallible Ghettoputer F. X. Gormogons claims to be an in-law of the Volgi, although no one really believes this.
’Puter carefully follows economic and financial trends, legal affairs, and serves as the Gormogons’ financial and legal advisor. He successfully defended us against a lawsuit from a liquor distributor worth hundreds of thousands of dollars in unpaid deliveries of bootleg shandies.
The Geep has an IQ so high it is untestable and attempts to measure it have resulted in dangerously unstable results as well as injuries to researchers. Coincidentally, he publishes intelligence tests as a side gig.
His sarcasm is so highly developed it borders on the psychic, and he is often able to insult a person even before meeting them. ’Puter enjoys hunting small game with 000 slugs and punt guns, correcting homilies in real time at Mass, and undermining unions. ’Puter likes to wear a hockey mask and carry an axe into public campgrounds, where he bursts into people’s tents and screams. As you might expect, he has been shot several times but remains completely undeterred.
He assures us that his obsessive fawning over news stories involving women teachers sleeping with young students is not Freudian in any way, although he admits something similar once happened to him. Uniquely, ’Puter is unable to speak, read, or write Russian, but he is able to sing it fluently.
Geep joined the order in the mid-1980s. He arrived at the Castle door with dozens of steamer trunks and an inarticulate hissing creature of astonishingly low intelligence he calls “Sleestak.” Ghettoputer appears to make his wishes known to Sleestak, although no one is sure whether this is the result of complex sign language, expert body posture reading, or simply beating Sleestak with a rubber mallet.
‘Puter suggests the Czar suck it.