Daily Archives: January 7, 2022
And it came to pass that I was walking, just minutes ago, on a busy street I will, for obvious reasons, not mention.
Two old men (both older than me, and I begin my age with a “6”) were standing one near the other, deciding something.
They were, both of them, and without a doubt, belonging to that category of men commonly known as “fudge packer”, “pillow biter”, , “bugger”, “fairy” or, more commonly, “faggot”.
How did I understand their particular situation? Not being one of those, it is difficult for me to pinpoint a particular feature. They were both attired in the same way, and both of them reminded me of the late, famous German comedian, and bugger extraordinaire, Dirk Bach (google him and you’ll understand what I mean).
Their entire demeanour was, well, faggy. It was as if the entire reserve of testosterone they once possessed had been taken away from them with a huge syringe. The way they stood on their feet, the little gesticulating they had, the entire countenance reminiscent of an old, wrinkly, scared Faggobambi waiting to be startled by some car light literally screamed about the sorry state of their rectal orifice.
And they were miserable.
I might, or might not, have given them “the eye”; as I might, or might not, like the kind of “micro aggression” that says “be glad I am not in power, girl”. But as I walked past the two strangely standing people, I could not avoid thinking what kind of life stories I had just left behind me, as I walked with (by God’s grace) vigorous, manly, self-assured steps to my destination.
It is not only an entire life of very grave sin that goes in front of you like a mini movie. It is the filth, the stench, the manure they must have wallowed in during, very possibly, a lifetime. A lifetime now slowly, but surely, approaching its end, and – if nothing changes – leading to an amount of pain compared to which all that back side activity must look a walk in the park.
Why do I say this to you? Because, my dear readers, I am fed up with non-judgmentalism. I will make every effort to judge with right judgment; but after that, I will most assuredly judge. Nor will I indulge in that most beloved sport of our time, which I will call “Perhapsism”.
Perhaps they weren’t fags. Perhaps Father Georgina isn’t a homosexual. Perhaps Francis is in good faith. Perhaps God makes people perverts. Perhaps I am being bad.
They were fags. Father Georgina is as homo as they come. Francis is a lying, lewd scoundrel. God does not “do” perversion. I am being Catholic.
There. Cancel me from your Facebook now (hint: I am not there). Post this blog post on your oh so inclusive Twitter account. Call me a Trump guy!! (Thanks!). Call me “phobic” (I prefer “Christian”, kindly…).
I am on the side of 2000 years of Catholicism. I am on the side of Padre Pio, Saint Pius V, Saint Peter Damian, and Saint Bernadine of Siena. I am, warts and all, on the side of Christ, n.o.t. “inclusion”.
Pray for the two old buggers.
But don’t give them any discount.