Someone who will remain unnamed but who is very influential in the State of North Carolina and now these USA put up my name as candidate for Mayor of Andrews.
“But Father George! Father George! You’re a priest! You can’t do that!”
Meanwhile, the Pope and the Papal States and now the sovereign City State across the pond… But I’ll let that slide.
Let’s say that I would be cancelled as a “rigid” priest by the Power-Cardinals stateside and in the Holy See, so that it would then be possible for me to go into politics. Not that I would make a living of that here, but as a sideline and springboard…
Here’s the deal: I wouldn’t even have to campaign to win this small town election for mayor with that particular endorsement of that particularly influential person. If that were known, it would all take on a life of it’s own, especially if I were a cancelled Catholic priest – cancelled for not compromising with Christ Jesus – here in this heavily Baptist area.
But, it is to laugh, and enough to send me down memory lane. My dad was mayor of a town fully 27 times the size of Andrews, and my uncle was the Fire Chief. It’s an honor for me to be mentioned in this way, you know, in honor of my dad and also my uncle. We’d all have a beer together over that and have lots of laughter.
His advice to me would be what he told me so very often in the last years of his life:
“Goodness and kindness, George, goodness and kindness.”
Those wielding misinformation materials and very possibly syringes ready to be drawn look so very professional, you know, just like the druggies in my neighborhood. Look at the scrupulous mask wearing, you know, because this is actually about Covid…. not.
For myself, I’m of the mind of Reagan on this:
Of course, the very next step is forced vaccinations. And I bet the guy they send out will be this guy:
Um…. Um…. I’m likely not going to comply! :-)
I mean, all I would have say with all courtesy and politeness and soft-spoken-ness is “Um… No…” and the dippy compliance officer would run away, execrating his fear, hopefully out on the street.
Here’s LifeSiteNews’ Resource Page on the Covid-19 Vaccines:
UPDATE: Well, well… Now we have the “Green-Shirts” for the door to door intimidation:
The one girl still doesn’t have an issued mask, even for the photo-op. How very haphazard is this entire administration. The guy on the left doesn’t even have a vest, just a green Izod shirt. His I.D. is surely not law-enforcement.
Not intimidating, at least not to me. I won’t be getting any vaccination.
Whenever I put up a picture of a snake and say it’s a Timber Rattler (common here in Western North Carolina, especially on the road where I was) there are those who say that that’s impossible, a conspiracy theory, an exaggeration, just more unnecessary drama, all in a laudatory effort, methinks – PLOT TWIST – to normalize the presence of rattlers (which, to be sure, I love to see around as well). I don’t want to step on them. But I also don’t want to run over them. I love to see nature in full force.
The fake nay-sayers will say that surely I didn’t see the tell-tale pattern, or if I did, it was merely being sported by an immature Eastern Racer (Black Snake) or some such.
Then they’ll that surely I wasn’t close enough to see if it had a triangular head, you know, like this:
But then, still pretending to doubt my insistence, will say that is surely didn’t have an actual rattle, and add that some snakes can shake their tails with no rattles and make them kind of sound like rattles (true!). But, then there is this:
Now what? Baiting someone to think that this is not a Timber Rattler and so is therefore great for using in a humorous selfie like this?
[In the picture immediately above, that IS a Black Snake. But Father George is wearing a black shirt…]But what happens then – and this is the purposed intention of those deceitfully shrieking about conspiracy theories and exaggerations – what happens then is that I’ll pick up what is really a Timber Rattler and I’ll get bit by that serpent and die. [In speaking with Father Gordon this morning, he quipped that “it is unclear who was about to bite whom.” Hahaha. :-) I walked or rather slithered right into this. :-) ]
“Father George! Father George! You’re exaggerating! You’re a conspiracy theorist! You’re melodramatic! Stop saying that Covid-19 vaccines are taken from living organs of human beings (aborted alive for this reason), because, you know, that means that you, Father George, are taking away our good feelings for getting Covid-19 vaccines! You meanie! You old meanie! Those were miscarriages taken out of dumpsters and, you know, stuff like that! Father George, you’re like that old Serpent, the ancient dragon and Satan, lying about doctrine and morality like you do. Father George, there is no sin, there is no Savior, there is no heaven, no hell, and therefore no Satan, no ancient serpent!”
And these people bait even the elect to fall into sin, getting bit by the demonic rebellion against the Living Truth that the Divine Son of the Immaculate Conception is.
If you haven’t had a TBI from an IED while serving God and country, don’t even ask why it would be therapeutic recreation to teach an ultra-naive Catholic priest how to hit a target at far away sniper distances (with a lot of luck, perfect conditions, lots of patience and determination to enjoy the hilarity of it all). My friend said that he would step it back from the crazy distances as we worked through ammo, but only with ever diminishing targets, down to playing-card size, you know, so I could have a souvenir.
This guy’s not a sniper. Such over the top skill sets constituted just one box of many dozens he had to check off to attain his real occupation in the military. He’s the best of the best of the best.
And he has made miraculous progress with his TBI. He was so very far gone. For so very, very long. The Veterans Administration did him good. Thank God.
In the past, he’s been one of out top operators who taught me how to shoot a pistol. Now he wants to have some more fun with me, you know, because it’s kind of hilarious to teach a naive priest over-the-top skill sets. :-) You can’t know how much respect I have for this guy. He’s been down to North Carolina now a couple of times. This time, I will be making 1,200 miles up North to get to his ginormous prairie range. But that trip will double and triple for other visits.
The least I could do is special order a box of Creedmoor 6.5., pictured above, which came in just the other day. He shoots out of a setup just like this…
Just guessing, but methinks that part of the TBI therapy part must be getting outside and doing a zillion calculations in your head all at once about heat, humidity, distance, trajectories, wind, breathing, heartbeats. This guy has the more patience than most people in the world put together. That means that the frustrating moments of teaching the likes of me immediately turns into hilarity. And hilarity is great therapy for what ails you.
Writing this in convalescence of pneumonia is a good distraction for me. The doctor says that a couple of things a day while on the mend helps the mending.
Oh. Almost forgot. Saint Paul.
“To the weak I became weak, to win over the weak. I have become all things to all, to save at least some. All this I do for the sake of the gospel, so that I too may have a share in it.” (1 Corinthians 9:22-23)
Oh. Almost forgot. Plot twist alert just in case people were asleep reading all this:
Don’t you think it might be my sniper friend who is the one who has become weak to win over the weak, coming the closest I’ve seen anyone come close to laying down his life for his friends, the greatest love of all, so that, for instance, I myself might be the priest for Jesus’ Little Flock, bringing people into the life of the Sacraments?
The least I can do amidst all this valor of his is to offer him a moment of hilarity. It’s hilarious for me too. His laughter allows me the therapy of laughter, which is all the more hilarious for him.
So, I get it, probably the DOJ and BATFE will entitle me an extremist for having a picture of a gun and a picture of ammo in this post, and – ooooh! – because I mentioned the military, but to all that imbecilic idiocy of our deepening deep state self-entitled anti-American snowflakes, I say, take a breath, lean back, and laugh!
The Hill ADMINISTRATION May 24, 2021 – 09:26 AM EDT – Commerce Department unit gathered intel on employees, census critics: report BY JOSEPH CHOI — “A security unit within the Commerce Department routinely overstepped its legal limits by collecting information on hundreds of people both inside and outside the department, investigating their offices at night and searching through their emails, The Washington Post reports.” […] The ITMS “has been allowed to operate far outside the bounds of federal law enforcement norms and has created an environment of paranoia and retaliation at the Department,” John Costello, former deputy assistant secretary of intelligence and security at Commerce, told the Post. According to Costello, the office “rests on questionable legal authority and has suffered from poor management and lack of sufficient legal and managerial oversight for much of its existence.” […] Lee also reportedly required new hires to attend a training program he had devised in the Shenandoah Mountains in Virginia in which agents would have to follow him as he drove erratically on mountain roads.“
This post is an excuse to put up this hilarious video once again. Any excuse will do. And, yes, the more serious side of this post isn’t a joke, but I think humor is always important.
UPDATE: Sometimes I’ll look up IP geolocator longitude / latitude coordinates and sometimes those will come out at Fort George Meade or Langley or Tyson’s Corner, etc. Sometimes that’s not necessary as named servers will be used, such as the CIA’s open source crowd in Reston, etc. Geolocators are often imprecise, but basically the coordinates for a hit on this post landed on top of the roof of DARPA headquarters located in Arlington, VA. ;-) ///// end update
Exclamation points are important for getting the attention of the DARPA sarcasm detector. Perhaps it makes it easier for them if, at the end of an offscouring of sarcastic statements, the following is added: /// off sarcasm.
Some background that will be useful in battling to be allowed bail for what is surely a crime as detailed below.
The almost five year old Hogue grip add-on for my Glock 19 Gen 4 is now slightly worn out, as depicted above. After getting my North Carolina concealed carry permit, this grip was a gift from a 25 year deputy sheriff. I’m sure he thought a priest, perhaps particularly me, would need all the help I can get, and he’s right about that. So, the other day I splurged and got a grip on the situation and did a new and newly revised for the better grip.
Much better. The material is better, much more heavy-duty, much better fitting, just much better. Kudos to Hogue. But – a word to the wise – keep it away from the mag-release on both sides, otherwise it will interfere with the slide, and then you’re dead.
Meanwhile, BATFE has been apoplectically changing definitions of gun stuff. Everything seems to be defined as an actual gun. I wonder if my new Hogue grip counts as an unregistered weapon of mass destruction all on its own or as an evil add-on that I don’t yet realize is a felony weapons charge that will have me put into a Federal Penitentiary for the rest of my life. Sigh. BATFE needs to get a grip. We do have a 2nd amendment, right? The whole “shall not be infringed” thing, right? And – oh no!!!!! – I used my credit card to make this purchase: BATFE knows everything! Gasp!
Does DARPA really have a Sarcasm Detector? Hah! Yes.
Let’s try it out. Let’s see if this post get’s banned by DARPA:
I LOST MY GRIP IN A BOATING ACCIDENT !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Dropping the sarcasm, let me say this: shall not be infringed means shall not be infringed. So, such a tautology is sarcasm, but not really, because, I mean… Oh, sorry!!!!! I’m being sarcastic again!!!! ;-)
And I bet the first ones to be beaten into the ground will be the little children that you see in the lower left of the picture for this video above, you know, because atheistic “power” always begins with the ones they see as the most vulnerable. Satan thought Jesus was vulnerable, but Jesus rose from the dead, and is now taking souls back from Satan’s grasp. Jesus is intent on bringing us to heaven. This post is also tagged humor, however, because I had to laugh our loud at the enthusiasm of the Little Flock in the face of imminent danger. I love that. I would hate if they suffered any violence by the haters of religion.
This is tagged “Humor” because I had to LOL when I heard the officer ever so politely say things ever so calmly like “O.K.” and “Thanks.” I mean, this is sad, tragic, that anyone whomsoever could have such an attitude as does this woman. Wow. But it’s great to see the officer give back utter professionalism. So cool. LOL.
Look, all lives matter, black and blue and white and whatever. We’re all God’s children, well, except for those who don’t want to be. But nobody is beyond Redemption and Salvation, even this lady. Jesus’ grace is more than sufficient, but we can’t go around rejecting Jesus, meaning that we have to love God and neighbor, and racism like this is forbidding that love of God and neighbor, right?
Just a reminder. Purple. Advent. It’s royal purple. Jesus is King of kings, Lord of lords, Prince of the Most Profound Peace.
But filthy, effeminate, luxuriating Herod, clothed Jesus in a robe of purple to mock Jesus. But Jesus had called Herod a female fox, in Jesus’ words: “Go and tell Herod, that bitch…” you know, to use technical canine vocabulary. Check it out. Luke 13:32. The translation will say “fox” because the translators are chickens favoring Herod the bitch. But Herod would decapitate such tender snowflake sycophants though without the regret he had about John the Baptist. In their political correctness, they are already as good as chickens with their heads cut off by the politicians that be.
And this is why royal purple is used for penitential seasons like Advent and Lent. The King will be placed in a wooden manger and nailed to a wooden cross. How do we perceive the purple?
Meanwhile, all the more purple:
If you’re having trouble with all this – too much reality all at once – ask the Immaculate Conception to help you out. She saw what that bitch of Pontius Pilate and what Pilate himself did to her Son. Just look into her eyes:
Advent. Purple. A penitential season. Because of that bitch, Herod.
I can just hear it now, the Bishop reading a thousand complaints about me in letters complaining that I’m not appropriate, that’s I’ve crossed boundaries:
“Dear Bishop, you gotta do something with Father Byers. He’s so mean. He’s, like, using bad words and stuff – splutter, splutter, splutter.”
These bitchy people… sigh… They should read about political correctness and what God thinks about prostituting oneself to political correctness, say, in Ezekiel 23. Bwahahahahahahahahahahahaaaaaaaa!!!!
You know, what would happen is that the Bishop would laugh, heartily, as he knows I’m quoting Jesus verbatim. He loves that. :-)
Then, I’m quite sure, in his own chapel, he would give a purple flower to the Immaculate Conception. How about you?
But I can still hear it: “Splutter, splutter, splutter….”
I like that… “according to a police report.” Best police ever. LOL.
This is why USMC is the USMC. This is why LEOs are LEOs. Yay! LOL.
Sorry, it’s said that we’re not to rejoice in the downfall of our brethren… um…. (laughing out loud, more quietly). LOL LOL LOL! Can’t help myself.
Here’s the deal. We are not to rejoice in the moral downfall of anyone. We are not to hope that someone goes to hell. No. That would not give glory to Jesus but only to Satan. I get that. But this is just, say, a guardian angel tripping this guy up so that he can turn his life around. And in that we can all rejoice. LOL.
We’re looking to get the 8th police chief in three years coming up. Get that? You think that’s the fault of the chiefs, of the officers, all of them, so many officers, so many chiefs, in so little time, career LEOs or fresh out of BLET?
There was a town meeting last week at the Firehouse. We found out that our officers not only did not break the law, but that they did not break any policy, at all. In fact, what they are accused of allegedly doing seems entirely reasonable, laudable, indeed, necessary, as a matter of personal, city and county security, and because of that, of state and national security. If what happened to these officers is happening elsewhere, we’re all drowning in deep sewerage. Personally, I think they should get a medal for what they allegedly did, casting a light – with humor :-) – on what seems to me to be dark and dangerous and wide, wide, wide open to abuse. Yep. It’s always best to avoid pre-arranged ambushes of police officers, don’t you think? :-)
I pushed a bit in that town meeting – speaking four times – with the last intervention being four words: “Pay and back-pay.” It worked. Now they have their pay, though they are still suspended. I call them victims, not perps. I do not think they did anything imprudent, or because they lack experience, or whatever. Some of these guys have long time military and law enforcement careers. Instead, I think they allegedly did what they very precisely had to do until investigations about who and why can take place. :-)
If what allegedly happened to them in their police station – taking them by surprise – happened in my house, I would not have the same actually very benign and humorous and entirely laughable response. :-)
I would be very much tempted to do the Keanu Reeves thing if I were outside the city limits and having no neighbors, tempted to… – in less than a second and from the hip – take out multiple non-human non-animal targets. :-)
I have done up a bit of practice and I am happy to report that it has stuck with me. Sorry, just a bit of humor there. Laugh with me. :-)
It would have fictionally gone something like this in that fictional house of mine :-)
Let me say one more thing: :-)
To the liberals out there: Don’t be Red Flagging me for putting up a bit of humor with Mel Gibson. This IS humor. We’re allowed humor, are we not? Oh, I forgot, liberals have no sense of humor, except, say our Vice-President, who hysterically laughs in the face of drug cartels and human trafficking and sexual abuse and murder in kid-cages at the border. I would laugh, instead, at what would be truly humorous, like the the alleged perps of our day going to prison, say Hillary and Bill, say Comey and Rosenstein, say Kerry and Pelosi, say drug cartels and sex traffickers. :-)
Shadow-dog, setting a good example, has most excellent over-the-top skill sets in hunting and shredding and then devouring “Easter Rabbits” with their baskets of eggs.
The Easter Rabbit comes from a time of fasting in which no meat at all was eaten during lent, not even rabbits. But now, with rabbits having had time to proliferate during Lent, they are everywhere just waiting to be devoured as part of the celebration of Easter when there is not fasting.
The Easter eggs thing comes from a time of fasting in which no eggs[!] at all were eater during lent. At Easter, there is no such fasting, and everyone would immediately hunt down all the eggs they could find, both eating them and, in their rejoicing that Lent was over because our dear Lord and God and Savior was now risen from the dead, they would decorate those eggs and give them to others, encouraging rejoicing all the more.
Dogs killing Easter Rabbits with baskets of eggs for the devouring of all and sundry. Great! Perfect card for Easter, actually. Kill that meat-rabbit! Eat those eggs!
By the way, Shadow-dog has been practicing right along to kill that rabbit and sack the eggs:
“And all spoke well of him, and wondered at the gracious words which proceeded out of his mouth [all surely with sarcasm]; and they said, “Is not this Joseph’s son? [asked surely with sarcasm]” And he said to them, “Doubtless you will quote to me this proverb, `Physician, heal yourself; what we have heard you did at Capernaum, do here also in your own country.'” [Jesus knowing their insincerity and mockery.] And he said, “Truly, I say to you, no prophet is acceptable in his own country. But in truth, I tell you, there were many widows in Israel in the days of Elijah, when the heaven was shut up three years and six months, when there came a great famine over all the land; and Elijah was sent to none of them but only to Zarephath, in the land of Sidon, to a woman who was a widow. And there were many lepers in Israel in the time of the prophet Elisha; and none of them was cleansed, but only Naaman the Syrian.” When they heard this, all in the synagogue were filled with wrath. [Of course. They were this way already.] And they rose up and put him out of the city, and led him to the brow of the hill on which their city was built, that they might throw him down headlong. [Murderers, all. Yep.] But passing through the midst of them he went away.” Luke 4:22-30
Whatever the unfortunate political collateral damage good donkeys must suffer because of presently passing circumstances, it remains true that donkeys have always been an intimate part of the life of the Holy Family, with (usually) highly complimentary imagery throughout both Testaments of Sacred Scripture and then in the life of the Church.
It has come to my attention that there are interlopers out there, namely, from a Religious Order that rhymes with the Order of Preachers, those Dominicans, particularly those of the Great Province of Saint Joseph in these USA, who are surely self-fancied as those guard-dogs, those sheep-dogs, who ride around the flock on the backs of donkeys, pretending that donkeys are not really guard-donkeys, just those dogs that they are.
They find agreement with Saint Augustine, who would call yours truly an ass, but then he at least would encourage me that, nonetheless, I carry Christ: “Asinus es, sed Christum portas.” I won’t begrudge them the ride, of course, because those dogs carry the light of Christ, Himself the Lumen Gentium, to the whole world. Blessings upon them.
Here are those dogs. I note that they are braying away. :-)
I have begged through the years to be have relief from this interdict, at least from the sharpness of its cynicism and sarcasm, for it was known from the beginning that there is no possibility of circumstances under which I could possibly submit to ecclesial authority in this matter, that is, to wit, even though I no longer reside in said territory, for I continue to this day to be forbidden to even pass through, or say “Greetings!” There is no mercy for this Missionary of Mercy, it being having mercy on those banished to the peripheries at said institution which has brought about my own being cast into the same existential, anguished darkness. The holy angels, I reckon, were never happy with such a result prepared by the highest tribunals in the Holy See (note the exaggerated ecclesiastical Latin of penal decrees ossified by centuries of rote application to like offenders against expected loyalties).
Although the given reason for the interdict seems serious enough, I’m guessing that the T-Shirt art produced in my honor for the event in question is thought to be politically incorrect in any number of ways. I respond that this over-reaction is symptomatic of our day. Instead of that reductionism, I firmly confess that the faith is spread by the sword as it was when Jesus’ Heart was pierced through (truly this was the Son of God), when Mary’s heart was pierced by sorrow (when our thoughts are laid bare), and this ever since the ferocious cherubim back in Genesis 3:24 brandished their fiery sword (for our conversion), since Elijah used his sword (for the edification of believers and the pedagogical punishment of non-believers), since Saint Michael used his (to show forth God’s glory), since our Lord told Peter not to use the sword in that most dire of circumstances (so that He Himself could have a sword plunged into His Heart).
I recommend that all seminarians get to know faith by the sword.
BTW: How good and pleasant it is when brothers live in unity… Perhaps, as a punishment for my continued contentiousness, I will be sent back to this office in the Pontifical Family (after all, notice the donkey in the painting besides the one sitting at the desk):
And while I open myself up to the less perspicacious of the communications crowd over in the Holy See, letting them think that I’ve actually been put under interdict (what with their Latin surely not being up to speed), I think it would be downright humorous altogether should I be publicly castigated and recommended for excommunication for real, you know, based on the interdict already supplied to yours truly above.
The American Community Survey of the U.S. Census Bureau of the U.S. Department of Commerce is still closely following this blog. I guess the bit I levity in which I indulged with the last post yesterday about their new Federal enforcement agents bit a button or two. :-)
Meanwhile, that was quickly followed by another hit some stone-throws away, over at the great Family Research Council, also in D.C. just East of the White House. I mean, it’s the post that they go to straightaway that’s just so cool. I know it’s just a coincidence, but on the other hand, it was like a direct warning from them about the anti-family American Community Survey:
Here’s that post. It was written some years ago. I take it to heart now. Thanks, FRC!
I’m also tagging this with “Humor” as this made me laugh out loud. I’m having way too much fun as a priest. I know, I know. I’m sure I’ll pay for it soon enough with a knock on the door and cuffs being slapped on hands and feet. Whatever. It is what it is. I refuse to let go of a sense of humor even in dark, dark times.
It’s not always the case, but the other night Laudie-dog and Shadow-dog were both inside with me. But then, at zero-dark-thirty (as always), one of the local thugs knocked quietly on the outer walls of the rectory, surely not to get my attention, but to see if he could get the attention of the dogs. I’m sure the dogs would have been shot yet again with a pellet gun had they been outside. Shadow-dog has now been shot some eight times plus a 9mm to his dog house since he adopted me by way of the Police Department, while Laudie-dog has been shot twice since I’ve had her and once more before she adopted me.
Anyway, something must have spooked the thug, maybe someone driving by out front, and he ran in the direction of the drug-house through the creek-side of the back yard of the rectory. Of course, maybe he was smacked by a feather of my guardian angel to get him running full speed. :-)
On the creek-side of the back perimeter of the property there’s four-foot high goat-wire fence, plain as day for all to see, even at night if my flood-lights are on; the lights are about as bright as the sun as pretty much everyone in town informs me. This guy seems to have run full speed right into the goat wire. I’m not sure what that makes him… The neighbor pointed out the destruction to me the next day, calling me up all upset. Together we noted the dynamics of how the fence was violently stretched out of shape blown out from the rectory side of the fencing. The goat wire is attached to the chain-link fence on the one side, but just stands loose and is lightly wrapped around a tree on the far side by the creek (not attached at all).
I can only imagine the scene of this guy running into that fence, flipping him head over heels, having him hit his head hard on the cement driveway of the neighbor. Ouch! Karma? Not so sure about that. How about irony. No, there’s got to be something more personal. Let’s see… my Guardian Angel! Yes, I think that’s it.
I immediately smashed into the ground a couple of what we Minnesotans call snow-fence posts along the fence line as a temporary measure. These were from the once-upon-a-time hermitage, after which I gave them to yet another neighbor. He’s re-envisioned his garden for next Summer and just gave them back to me.
That’s just temporary. The goat wire will be tied up much more sturdily, and I’ll be adding some more lengths of goat wire fencing on the creek side with the help of yet more posts. Meanwhile, the back yard neighbor – really nice guy – gave me quite a lot of barbed wire to add to the top. Heheheh. Of course, any good thievery tools will be able to cut down all the fencing within seconds. I don’t put my trust in fences. I just want to do what I can to protect the dogs. This is also to protect the neighbor at the back. The creek is a kind of highway for the druggies and home-invaders. My neighbors, especially those with little kids, don’t like all the heroin needles and ruffians around the back doors of their homes. The little goat-wire fence helps to dissuade the dark side from making this their avoid-the-police path.
Meanwhile, a funny story about fences and priests:
Some tough church ladies told me a funny story down in Australia as I was installed as the new pastor in that outback parish. I was in Australia to teach in the new country seminary, and the bishop had me doubling up the work by having me do up some trouble-shooting, having me also follow an all-too-weak priest who was doing way too much fence sitting. His fence sitting upset the tough church ladies, and so they hauled him aside and told him the truth of the matter in no uncertain terms, no fence sitters they:
“You can’t be sitting on the fence these days, Father, because these days we make fences out of razer-wire.”
Perfect. I love that. Church ladies are always tough.
Legend has it that the new Federal compliance agents of the Census Bureau’s American Community Survey – after doing a preliminary drive-by to check out the logistics of the Catholic Rectory where an inhabitant is daring to be a non-respondent (yours truly) – have now gone into hiding in a CHAZ or CHAD safe space until this very day, bewildered, befuddled, baffled at the sheer number of purposed microaggressions on the attack in the front of this Catholic Rectory, even showcased in the front window.
Let’s count the microaggressions by which they are surely offended:
This Catholic rectory is happy to proclaim the virtue of patriotism, to uphold that this nation is a democracy for, by and of the people, who live in a Constitutional Republic. Note the American Flag.
This Catholic rectory is happy to proclaim that the Rule of Law is to be respected and honored, instead of caving to an unbridled fake democracy of tyrannical feelings of some over against others, over against natural law, over against reason, over against the Constitution. Note the Thin Blue Line Flag.
This Catholic rectory is happy to participate according to circumstance in the just defense of the innocent over against unjust horrific ISIS-esque aggression, taking care in whatever way those in need of mercy because of that unjust aggression. Note the Flag of the [Crusader] Sovereign Military Hospitaller Order of Saint John of Jerusalem, of Rhodes and of Malta, that is, in an early version of the flag still evident on ceremonial robes today, a flag entirely consonant with the American Flag and the Thin Blue Line Flag.
This Catholic rectory is happy to honor Jesus and Mary and Anthony of Padua with statuary that thugs and buffoons would want to destroy, because, I guess, there is such a depiction of peace with that artistry.
This Catholic rectory is happy to honor the angels and the birth of the Messiah, Jesus, King of kings, Lord of Lord’s, Prince of the Most Profound Peace, who is Himself the Light of the world, who is Himself the Temple – His own Body – who will come to judge the living and the dead and the world by fire. Even Federal enforcement officers of the American Community Survey of the U.S. Census Bureau of the U.S. Department of Commerce will He judge. Yes, even they.
I think I saw somewhere that these guys, all kitted out and badged up, have like six months to recover in their safe-spaces from all such microaggressions before making one last attempt at having someone complete the survey. That will bring us to something like mid-Summer 2021. But I have to wonder if they will ever be brave enough to do a drive-by again, much less stop to knock on the door, what with so very many microaggressions just stubbornly staying right where they are.
Of course, they can throw a vindictive tantrum and fine me up to $5,000.00 and throw me into a Federal Penitentiary, roughing me up, breaking my will (um… not) for up to five years just because I’m a microaggressioning non-respondent… I guess the charge would be “passive resistance” for not filling out their 48 page interrogation…
Of course, they have to find me at home. That’s difficult, as I’m out with the sheep of Jesus’ little flock, as Jesus’ little flock can testify. But if they ever catch me, I’m sure the first words out of their mouths will be: “Ihre Papiere, bitte!” But they probably won’t be so polite as all that:
The one thing I’ve learned in life is to just never give in, ever. You lose your soul in doing that. If our Lord has anything to say about it, my soul will stay with the Lord Jesus. See John 10:27-30:
“My sheep hear my voice; I know them, and they follow me. I give them eternal life, and they shall never perish. No one can take them out of my hand. My Father, who has given them to me, is greater than all, and no one can take them out of the Father’s hand. The Father and I are one.”
Oh, and if anyone feels insulted by the references to Nazi monstrousness above, note that what the American Community Survey is all about goes against “Judeo-Catholic conscience.” Once that starts, it’s over already, a done deal. And it has started.