The Mean Little Column - "Meet Me in the Rectory"

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The Mean Little ManWell, those wacky priests have done it again. The tops of the Catholic Church met, or should I say, had their asses summoned like kids getting called to dinner while they were off in the backyard torturing the neighbor's cat, to Rome, to see the great Oz himself, the Pope.

They deliberated on the deluge of reports that priests had touched a bunch of kids and that those above them made it hush hush and shuffled these guys around rather than face the embarrassment. Well, get ready to get done to you what has been getting done to a bunch of kids for years. Wanna meet me in the rectory? Chilling. The thought makes mine pucker like a cat chewing on a Sour Patch Kid.

In the end they came out with little resolution except to say that they are fearful of having a church dominated by gay men. That they have yet to come up with a sanction for those who fall victim to accusations of pedophilia.

Hey, I have a quick resolution for sanctions. It's called the penal and justice system of the United States of America and its representing states. What happened to godliness and righteousness when Cardinals deny the damage to parishes and children, preferring to shuttle these things under the rug for fear of damaging the reputation of their beloved Church? (Read between the lines here…the Cardinals are afraid that they'll come under fire and lose their jobs and that they won't be able to exercise their vows of poverty while being afforded, in some parishes, some pretty cushy digs).

If these priests looked at our prisons a little more carefully they'd realize the real fear of being dominated by a gay man. Namely a large inmate who hasn't seen a woman in about 15 to life and who like his salad tossed with jelly and not syrup. Remember, kid touchers have the life-span of a gnat on speed in prison because even the most hard-core murderer drug dealer motherfucker has a kid he loves and would protect with his life. There's a sanction for you, fear of being forced to suck cock while being pissed on before being shanked in the ass.

We spend how many millions of dollars to investigate a possible conspiracy to subvert justice by having labs suck Presidential spooj stains off a dress, yet we don't see a Congressional Commission looking into the conspiracy of covering up priests who like little boys being shuttled into unknowing parishes to escape persecution. Cover ups. Lies. I say, sue their asses. Or better yet, how about the Vatican sells one of its many Rembrants or DaVinci paintings and feeds fucking Somalia.

In other news you know it's a world gone mad when the Arab world is the one making sense. Israel! Knock it off! Palestine! Knock it off! It'll be a cold morning if dual citizenship on the basis of religion was suddenly revoked.

All this, and under the same sky, Pamela Lee is diagnosed with Hep C. This is not news! A clean bill of health from the cum-dumpster would be more surprising. I mean, c'mon we've seen the video. And I can only imagine what a petri dish of a bedroom she has. When your cleaning people won't go near your sheets without wearing full Bio Suits from Outbreak, you know you need to slow down.

Hey Chuck! Lookout! Tawny's got a couple drinks in her. Yes, the Oscar-eligible Kittain, star of such jiggly flicks as Witchboard, knocked the crap out of her husband. But was it "In the Still of the Night?" Maybe Chuck can start singing, "Here I go again, on my own" du du duuuu du du duuu! Ok, bad joke. Kiss my prickly ass. But Chuck, c'mon, she makes Angelina Jolie look like Gidget.

And MTV? You can all line up, get the chapstick ready, and toss Lane Stanley's dead shriveled salad. You're so fucking busy cramming in a whole video an hour between speculations of whether or not Britney left Justin because she wouldn't strap it on, that Lane got barely a footnote. Pearl Jam and Nirvana made Grunge for MTV. But Alice in Chains was there 3 years earlier. You guys rode the soudtrack for Singles for over a year until Smells Like Teen Spirit broke out.

They broke the Seattle sound. But I guess it pays to paint your walls with your brains rather than be found foaming at the mouth and bloated like an outtake from Train Spotting. Note to record producers: Link Stanley to Courtney Love so she can get another movie deal and nose job.

Hugs and smooches,
The Mean Little Man

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