Saturday, February 17, 2018

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.

Saturday, February 10, 2018

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.

Saturday, February 3, 2018

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.


Saturday, January 27, 2018

ERRANT PHONIES OF THE ROMAN RITE DISPLAYED


The members of the Institute of the Roman Catholic Institute [sic] shall adhere to the Roman Missal of Saint Pius V, the Roman Breviary of Saint Pius V, together with the additions and reforms made up to and including the year 1948, exclusive.  Big Don Sanborn's "Liturgical Directory of the Roman Catholic Institute" (p. 7, #1)

Look closely at this week's graphic (above), a detail from the January 2018 MHT monthly schedule.

First, observe that, for Saturday, January 27, it advertises anticipated Epiphany IV as the Mass of the day.  Next recall how Big Don boasted that the "general liturgical principle" of his apparently dormant — and perhaps dead — "Roman Catholic Institute" was to "preserve the traditional Roman liturgy" (see here, p. 6). Now bear in mind that if a pesthouse completer today celebrated the "Fourth Sunday after Epiphany (anticipated)," he betrayed Don's noble-sounding but (patently) impossible-to-meet objective.

Call us old fashioned or geezers or worm-bait if you will, but we still believe fidelity to the "traditional Roman liturgy" means conforming to the Church's rubrics. Catholics who genuinely love the traditional liturgy will second our affirmation.  If you count yourself as one of them, you'll want to stick with us as we investigate the lawlessness of the MHT schedule entry.

The Roman Missal itself is the best place to start the inquiry. Within our easy reach is a Benziger altar Missal sporting a 1947 approbation from Francis Cardinal Spellman. (Many American "clergy" own old Benzigers.) Immediately beneath our edition's heading for the second Sunday after Epiphany, we find the following rule (our emphasis):
Si hæc Dominica II, vel alia post Epiphaniam, a superveniente Septuagesima impediatur, nec sit ei locus post Pentecosten, juxta Rubricas, anticipatur Sabbato... 
(Lit. "If this second Sunday or another after Epiphany be impeded by the supervenient Septuagesima [Sunday], and there be not a place for it after Pentecost, according to the Rubrics, it is anticipated on Saturday...")
The directive may be more easily understood by reference to §549 in Wuest's Collectio Rerum Liturgicarum (1921), based on S.R.C. 28 Oct. 1913 I, 3:
Si Dominica aliqua ante Dom. Septuag. supersit neque locus sit ante ultimam Dominicam post Pentecosten, talis Dominica anticipanda est in Sabbato ante Dom. Septuag.
In his 1925 Matters Liturgical, the revised edition in English of Fr. Wuest's work, Fr. Mullaney rendered the Latin thus (emphasis ours):
If a Sunday remain over before Septuagesima and there is no place for it before the Last Sunday after Pentecost, this Sunday must be anticipated on the Saturday before Septuagesima. [N.B. Fr. Mullaney retained the same translation in his 1944 sixth edition.]
Inasmuch as Septuagesima Sunday 2018 falls tomorrow, January 28, thus impeding the observance of Epiphany IV, let's see whether there is a place for the Mass of Epiphany IV before the Last Sunday after Pentecost. N.B. Only if there isn't a place before the Last Sunday after Pentecost in 2018 may the Mass of Epiphany IV be lawfully anticipated today, Saturday, January 27.
REMARK. It shouldn't be necessary, but in the event it is, we remind everyone that the Missal contains Mass texts for 24 Sundays after Pentecost. If a given year's calendar contains more than 24 Sundays after Pentecost, the Missal supplies the Mass texts for the additional Sundays after Pentecost from the "left-over" Sundays after Epiphany.
Got it?

Great!

Drum roll, if you please, Maestro!


... And the answer is....

Yeeessss, there IS a spot in 2018! 

This ain't rocket science or magic, folks, provided you can read the Paschal Table in the front matter of the Missale Romanum, as pictured in part below.  Here's how to use it:
Determine (a) the year's Sunday Letter (littera Dominicalis) and (b) its epact.* (To save time, we'll simply tell you that the Sunday Letter for A.D. 2018, a common year starting on a Monday, is g, and the epact is xiii.) To find the number of Sundays after Pentecost in 2018, you first go to the cell containing the letter G in column 1; moving to the right to the adjacent cell, locate the number 13 in column 2 (row 2, last number), against which (in the next cell) you'll see 2018's date of Septuagesima Sunday, viz., January 28. Then scan horizontally in a straight line across the row to column 9 (Sundays after Pentecost), where you'll read 27. With a wee bit of easy mental arithmetic, you conclude there's a place for Epiphany IV before the last Sunday after Pentecost.

(It's so simple.  Like reading a bus schedule and counting. Sheesh! Lay people can do it.)

So, then, what else have we learned, besides (a) the number of 2018 Sundays after Pentecost and (b) that there's room for Epiphany IV? Well, since we at once knew there were also places for Epiphany V and VI, we can affirm that, in 2018, the Masses of the 4th, 5th, and 6th Sundays after Epiphany are transferred to the 24th, 25th, and 26th Sundays after Pentecost, respectively. The Mass text for the 27th Sunday is, of course, the Missal's Dominica Vigesima Quarta et ultima post Pentecosten, "Twenty-fourth and Last Sunday after Pentecost." (Real liturgists marvel at the economy of the Roman Missal. Ain't it a cryin' shame cult "clergy" can't appreciate it?)

It's as clear as crystal, therefore, that the Mass for today, Saturday, January 27, 2018, should've been that of St. John Chrysostom, NOT anticipated Epiphany Sunday IV. The malformed preparer of the Swampland's monthly schedule for January flagrantly disobeyed liturgical law, and nobody caught the culprit until now.

Why couldn't Big Don's cult obey lawful rubrics? When we checked last week's bulletins on the Ham Sandwich's and Deficit Dan's websites, both showed the lawful Mass of the day, as you can see here (p. 4) and here (p. 4). The pesthouse monthly schedule seems to have been drafted by a liturgical delinquent, unless the entry was mindlessly transferred from someone else's outlaw ordo or calendar.

Looks like the Boy-"Bishop"-Elect's gonna have a lotta housecleaning when he gets back from London.

When you come right down to it, the non-compliant cult rapscallions are more deplorable than Bugnini and his cronies. At least the deservedly maligned reformers
(a) preserved the rule for the resumption of a Sunday or Sundays impeded by Septuagesima on Sundays occurring between the 23rd and the Last Sunday after Pentecost,
and
(b) acted in accordance with proper legal procedure by formally abrogating anticipation on the Saturday before Septuagesima Sunday.**
Hamstrung by their malformation, the Swampland gang, ostensibly unwilling to remain obedient to the traditional rule, anticipated Epiphany IV in utter violation of liturgical ordinance.

We remember reading somewhere, maybe in $GG's statement of beliefs, that Catholics "have a right to pure worship." The B'ville bunch seems to echo that sentiment in principle 13 of the Donster's "Liturgical Directory" (p. 7):
The members of the Institute shall conform all liturgical rites and ceremonies to the instructions found the [sic. Read "in"] the Rubricæ Generales of the Roman Missal and Breviary...
According to our upbringing, "pure worship" entails liturgical orthopraxis, not robotic ritualism. We must worship in the way the Church would have us worship, about which she instructs us through her rubrics. Exact and faithful execution of a rite must be mirrored by a persnickety conformance to the entire body of liturgical law, just as Don's principle 13 rightly demands.

But if Big Don, now "the Lowly Worm," really and truly meant what he wrote, then why did he permit flouting both the Missal's clear instruction (reproduced above) and the Breviary's Rubricæ Generales ***? Are they hypocrites or idiots down in the fetid swamp, or simply liturgical lawbreakers?

We assert you've got to talk the talk and walk the walk, but, then again, as we intimated above, we're old fashioned — and Catholics.

If a Swampland "celebrant" illicitly anticipated Epiphany IV today, then any Catholics mired in the bog could not exercise their right to worship purely. Those responsible for the transgression must answer for their outlawry. If the disobedience resulted from consulting a flawed, cult-produced ordo, there's no excuse, for the pesthouse knows there's a very suitable Ordo Recitandi available from the Saint Lawrence Press.

PL thinks America has suffered enough. First fake news, now fake Use of Rome. Scary.

Last year, Jordan Peele directed a brain-swapping-themed horror flick, which turned out to be a box-office smash hit, garnering several Oscar nominations this year. To secular cinemagoers, it satirized liberal arrogance and hypocrisy. Viewed through traditional Catholic eyes, the movie is a terrifying morality play about soul-snatching Tradistani cults. After reading today's post, any genuine Catholic still attached to the SW Ohio/Brooksville cabal ought to take to heart the film's title:

GET OUT

* The Sunday, or Dominical, Letter and the epact of a given year appear in competently edited ordines, like the one published annually by the Saint Lawrence Press in England. You may also use the tables for the appropriate centuries printed in the Missal under De Anno et Ejus Partibus, or you may directly calculate the Sunday Letter and the epact. Another resource would be a Tabella Temporaria Festorum Mobilium available online, such as that prepared by the SSPX under its excellent La Porte Latine.

**Matters Liturgical (1956): §481 a (resumption), §532 d-h (description of order to be followed), and §481 b (abrogation date and cites).

*** The cult masters may wish to clip the following for future reference, assuming they can read it:
    ✄





Saturday, January 20, 2018

FEEDING UPON CHARITY


The dispensing of injustice is always in the right hands. Lec

For almost a decade, you've confronted on these pages numerous arguments for withholding financial, moral, and material assistance from the SW Ohio cult, all of which have been substantiated by the cult masters' very words or deeds. Many out there have listened and acted, but a few continue to resist our repeated invitation to STARVE THE BEAST.

Maybe what's needed is one thin, solitary straw to break the back of their reluctance. You know— not something big, like abetting the violation of the Church's law of abstinence, but something that appears minor, yet isn't: Some little incident to prove the Gerties are wasting their money, time, sweat, and good faith, while they get the short end of the stick.

Wee Dannie's January 7 "Corner," we'd say, loaded on that last straw (emphasis ours):

I would like to ask you to join our CAT club at St. Gertrude the Great. No, nothing to do with Caravaggio or Puccini, cat food or vet trips. CAT stands for some-thing like “Cars and Transportation,” actually “Clergy Airport Transportation,” I guess. In a word, it assembles our drivers who would be willing to give an airport ride or pickup for the good Fathers going about their mission rounds. We’re low at the moment, and nobody picked up Fr. Lehtoranta returning from his Milwaukee Christmas. I was mortified. It seemed a little unfriendly. Cold. And at Christmas. He took a cab. He and I are holdouts, dummies I guess, without Smart Phones. So, no Uber either.
Whoa, Nelly! If that doesn't get the few remaining conscious Gerties to pack their bags (as soon as they stop laughing their heads off), who knows what will?  Dannie's appeal so richly bears out everything we've heretofore posted that an analysis for souls who aren't quick on the uptake seems to be the order of the day.

Suppose we start with the confession "We're low at the moment." Of course, the cult's low on drivers. The Gerties are wising up, refusing to subsidize the expenses of far-away "missions," from which they receive no benefit. These excursions are moneymakers and mini escapes for the "clergy." Why should $GG culties sacrifice their precious free time, waste their gasoline, and suffer wear-and-tear to their vehicles by hauling those freeloaders around to serve outsiders? Charity begins at home, so the proverb goes.

Where's the equity in Gerties' abandoning their families — "at Christmas" — to venture out into the "[c]old" to keep expenditures down for strangers? To us, that's "unfriendly," not to mention grossly unfair.  If "missions" hire out one of Dannie's "priests," then the cost of airport transfer should be built into the fee they pay: that's how consultants/contractors in the business world do it. By cadging free rides, "One Hand" unjustly saddles some Gerties with an extra collection from which they derive zero advantage, spiritual or otherwise.

In addition to confirming the Gerties' unwillingness to support the SW Ohio sectarian scheme, the Wee One's appeal betrays the cult-masters' managerial ineptitude. If he and the "good Fathers" can't get their act together to design and monitor a rudimentary motor pool, then they most likely haven't the competence to husband the culties' weekly donations. Can't the "clergy" build a master schedule for "missions," at least on a semi-annual basis?

With a schedule in place, no one could be taken by surprise, unless a volunteer, for some reason, couldn't complete his assignment. And in that case, more than likely, the individual would call to advise the cult masters to find a replacement, say, one of the bone-idle "clergy" lounging around decrepit $GG. If our Pedestrian Prelate had been able to learn to drive, like normal folks, he could contribute his fair share of the work.

Therefore, from a managerial point of view, we see no reason for him to be "mortified." If you refuse to — or cannot  — plan, then snafus are bound to be your lot. And we hardly need to add that the Forlorn Finn is no princeling or distinguished guest deserving of chauffeur service. (He may not even be a "priest.") That said, however, we do think Dan's mortification was authentic.

The Readers consulted the search engine RideGuru and found that a one-way taxicab ride from the Cincinnati/Northern Kentucky airport to rodent-infested $GG would cost around $71.54, without tip. A standard gratuity would bring the fare to $82.27.

No wonder His Indigency was "mortified"! 

That's the check for hors d'œuvres, an entrée, dessert, and maybe a glass or two of house wine at La Petite France Restaurant and Bistro, a onetime favorite hangout before money grew tight after the calamitous 2009 $GG $chool $candal. (With a coupon, he could then afford to leave a proper tip.**) That cab fare must've hurt, seeing that it resulted in the ad-hoc creation of another resource-gobbler à la "Cucina Clerical."

Now if the SW Ohio cult had any business sense, the kingpins would've purchased a smartphone group plan for the "clerical" crown crew. With the "Uber" or Lyft app at his fingertips, the Forlorn Finn could've hailed a ride setting Dannie back a mere $37.87.  Adding in a 15% tip, the trip would've amounted to just a tad more than half the cost of a cab, plenty of dough for two adults to take advantage of the Tuesday/Thursday/Saturday dinner buffet at The Farm. As much as we don't want to give "One Hand" credit for anything, we'll agree with him on one point: it's plain dumb not to own a smartphone today when you travel frequently.

The time has come to close down the little that remains of Panhandlin' Dan's failed venture. Business basics are a challenge for him anyway.  From everything we've seen, the cult masters couldn't get lab rats on hormones to breed during mating season.  Furthermore, it's manifestly unjust for the Gerties to subsidize the cult's "mission rounds," the purpose of which is to suggest Dannie still has influence, provide jobs to sorry completers the pesthouse doesn't want, and bring in a little extra cash.

The fair thing for Dannie and his malformed "clergy" to do is to join the CAT Club for "dummies" without smartphones:


The Call A Taxi Club.

* One explanation for the "clergy's" apparent aversion to sharing "CAT" responsibilities equally with the Gerties may be the time involved: round-trip from the airport to the ramshackle industrial-park cult center takes about an hour and 20 minutes, longer during the rush. If the "clerical" pickup doesn't want to wait for his ride, then the driver has to do the waiting, so add another 10 to 20 minutes. If the pickup expects to be greeted in the terminal and escorted to the car, then add another half hour to 45 minutes, plus the usual exorbitant airport short-term-parking charge. And if the flight is delayed ...  well, you get the picture: better to inconvenience harried Gerties than the loafing "clergy."

**If he thinks he's above coupon clipping, there's always 10% off for presenting his AAA membership card.  But on second thought, since Dannie can't drive, he's probably not a member.