Welcome to the Catholic Church. I think you’ll find you’ve made the correct career choice. The job's a doddle and the only qualification you need is being able to regurgitate a long(ish) book that thankfully repeats itself 4 times. Bit like being a Luvvie really, but without having to be quite as sanctimonious – You’re only the voice of God, not Sean Penn.
Now Granted you can’t get laid but the perks are astronomic. The clothes are free and, if you get a little tailor I know in Valetta to let the Cassock out, pretty comfortable too. You get a bigger hat each time you get promoted and a nice big house to live in*. There’s as much free booze as you can drink, and your chance of catching Leprosy is remote unless you get caught fiddling the Parochial expenses - and find your next parish is somewhere near the source of the Amazon. You also get to have people listen to you uninterrupted for at least an hour. Indeed throw in a bit of Latin and the Left Footer community will listen to you drone on for days.
What are my promotion prospects?
If you can persuade enough old dears to leave everything to us rather than canned Tuna for Tiddles, not even the sky’s the limit.
Did we mention the not getting laid bit!
You think the small child standing in front of you wants your Al dente schlong up his backside – he doesn’t. It’s the equivalent of somebody shoving something the size of a can of Raid up your chocolate starfish and rogering you with it. For God’s sake – quite literally - don’t do it. There’s no wiggle room on this one, not now, not ever. Quite frankly we’ve been made to look like complete bell ends by people like you trying to introduce Mr Indian Gauge Train to Mr Cape Guage Tunnel. And whilst we might get away with saying that the Parishioners must bear the burden (i.e. pay the lot) with the Diocese in Ireland (the Paddies will buy anything if it’s said by a priest), the Yanks aren’t going to fall for it and will hire incredible hordes of lawyers to sue us. And now’s not really the time to sell church property to pay for your wayward cock because the housing market/the stock market/the Euro/the Dollar/Gold/Precious Gems/the art market (Delete as applicable) has taken a bit of a dive.
What should I do if I find out I’m a raving Fucking nonce?
If you want to do yourself a big fat favour if you find these “Feelings” aren’t going away. Get yourself the Consecrated Webley, a bottle of Scotch. Go out into the woods and point said revolver at your todger and blow each testicle off. It may smart quite a bit in the short term, but you’ll be doing yourself - and us; the big building with pointy bits on it - a genuine service in the long term. And if that doesn’t do the trick, we’re willing to waive the bit about “mortal sin” if you jump. We’ll even upgrade your casket to Mahogany if you land on a Protestant.
* Unless you’re one of those weirdoes who wants to live as a hermit monk. In which case have you ever considered Scientology?
Friday, 26 March 2010