Will the Pope just fucking die already? Jesus!
I’m sick of hearing about how close to death he is, how any minute he’s flying right up to heaven, how they’re going to make him a saint the second he dies. Forget that. You don’t just get to be a saint because a bunch of right wing extremists think it‘s time for a new saint. I’ve got over a decade of Catholic school under my belt, and I’m pretty sure you need 3 tried and true miracles to even be considered for sainthood. I’m talking moving rivers and turning water into beer. (St. Brigid- look it up.) What’s the Pope ever done? As far as I’m concerned, he’s right up there with the lady that found the image of the Blessed Mother on a tortilla.
In the interest of having accurate data on my blog bitching about the Pope and sainthood, I searched around the internet and through the little books people gave me for my First Communion. Did you know that St. Christopher never existed. He’s fictitious. I mean, he’s a big saint to us Catholics. He’s got his own medal and everything. St. Christopher is the patron saint of bachelors, so the fact that he never actually existed explains a lot. St. Christopher is also the patron saint of truck drivers and travel safety. Hmmm. Worrisome. St. James is the patron saint of arthritis and St. Fiacre is the patron saint of cab drivers. Who decided that one?
“Um, your holiness? The cab drivers want a patron saint.”
“Cab drivers? Fuck. Well, give ‘em Fiacre.”
St. Hubert is the patron saint of dog bites and St. Sebastian is the patron saint of gay people. That makes sense as St. Sebastian is one of my favorite saints. He’s really easy to recognize in artwork because he’s always depicted dying by bow and arrow. And now that I think about it, he’s always depicted kinda fem.
In a sad twist, St. Dymphna is the patron saint of both incest and family harmony. Think about that one. Appropriately, she‘s also the patron saint of insanity. St. Martin de Porres is the patron saint of race relations, whatever that means, and St. Joseph is the patron saint of real estate agents.
In my search of holy internet facts, I’ve come across my new favorite website, www.pureloveclub.com. Sadly, it’s too late for me to join, but oh how I wish I could. They have t-shirts and “promise cards”, on which one actually signs a contract with God promising to save one’s self till what we can only assume is the inevitable heterosexual marriage.
You know that part of the date where you eventually go through each other’s wallets? What would you do if you found a promise card in there, signed and dated. Well, I think I know what I would do.
“Hey. Nice Pure Love card. Speaking of which, when do you think the pontiff’s going to pull the old Terri Schiavo?”