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Welcome everyone. Mortal Sin is the topic at this evening's Knights of Columbus monthly meeting, and we will hear from Father John Murphy, one of the Pope's most trusted advisors. Find a seat and take a listen to Father Murphy, who came to us direct from Roma and is ready to lay it on the line. Father Murphy, would you like to commence proceedings?. . .
Yeah, thanks. Get me a glass of water will ya? No, not dat bottle, da brown one in my jacket, yeah, dats it. About three fingers, and put a little ice in it to cool off an old man's throat. OK, listen up.
A Quick Introduction to Mortal Sin
Ya all know dat Mortal Sin puts ya ghost up shit creek without a paddle, and follows ya from the moment ya commit it to the end of eternity. At least dats what da holy mudda church hires da priests to tell ya. Catholics have been soiling their dockers about dis Mortal Sin malarkey ever since da first churchman extorted da first silver from da pocket of the first parishoner, and wasn't dat jamoke in for a freakin' surprise when da guy kept coming back for his take for the rest of his life. Yeah, the con game started early, and da hustle has filled the treasury of all but the lamest of the lame-duck popes ever since.
Have you committed Mortal Sin?
Have ya ever killed a guy with your bare hands? Sacrificed a baby to that broad Buffy Summers? (Don't ask. Hey wiseguy, I said don't ask) Pocketed a quarter from a blind man's cup? Missed goin' over to church on Sunday? If you answered "yes" to any of those, and we got about a thousand more, then bucko, bend over and kiss it goodbye. Because when you "die" (yeah, right, like that's ever gonna happen) your immorta' soul is goin' straight to the big volcano. You'll be burnin' like an oily soaked witch or dat hippie chick Jeanne D'Arc every day of ya life. Scared yet? Then fork over some dough, maybe ya can buy your way out of it.
Other kinds of sins
We can get those out of da way right now, they are the short-term griffs of the church world. You lie, you pay a fine to da guys, you get off the hook. Same with looking at someone walkin' down da street like ya wanna fuck 'em (like that's not everyone's daily bread, capiche?). Put some money in the meter and go back to what ya was doin'. These are Venial sins, and they take care of da light bills and keep grub on da table. And Original sin? Forgettabouit. Everybody has that, and it's good-to-go anytime da rectory needs a new roof, ya have a cravin' for dat new car, or ya just want some walkin' around coin. But the real money, now dats in Mortal sin, and let me fill ya in on the con.
There's one born every minute
One born every minute? More like a dozen, we Catholics push 'em out like larvae. Keeps the pews warm. Alright, picture this. A guy about 1,600 years ago, dis dago Emperor, figures that to keep the people in line ya gotta scramble their brains up just enough to lead them around by da nose. So he lays all these rules down, see, "ya gotta do dis, ya gotta do that", dat kind of bullshit, and eventually his boys take over. They do tings like steal all the pagan holidays and rename 'em for guys we control; kick some jew ass, rough 'em up a little and toss em outta da con; light up some "unbelievers" once in awhile to keep the crowd buzzin'; and then there was da 'sins'. Fuckin' greedy genius thought dat up, we oughtta put up a statue in da middle of St. Peder's plaza for dat gumba and rub its iron ass for luck. And then da same egghead or maybe another slick came up with da concep' of "Mortal sin". He says "Ya do dis, ya roast in dat goat guys eternal fire forever. . .unless", and here's da hook, "unless ya come to me, cry like a baby, beg forgiveness, and empty ya pockets". Pure genius! Forchristsake, we'll gonna forgive da suckers anything if the price is right? Whack a few guys for all we care, jus' fill up the coffers and back outta dere with ya tail between ya legs? Inspired fluggin genius. Presto chango, we take ya average human beings, jus' happy pleasure lovin' chimpanzees really, an' we make wimps outta them. Dat's the con, get it? Scare 'em, wimp 'em up, take the loot, and get'em outta da door until dey file right back in again da next week. Sweet, huh?
Purgatory and Government control
Da thing we had to do to pull dis off, we had to control da governments and the Kings and all dat. They write da 'tax laws'--talk 'bout a scam, we're minor league compared to dose jamokes--so we had to own 'em. And ya wanna know how we did it? Purgatory! Some I-talian must have been smokin' some good shit the day he thought dat one up, let me tell ya. Put his statue right up der with dat mortal sin guy and you've got Lennon and McCartney. See, this Purgatory place was like hell, only ya could cut outta der by payin' us more loot. It was like, you sin, bam!, ya spend 10,000 years in purgatory. Only we can shave that down to a day or two if ya ante up so-and-so. Da people were more afraid of goin' to dis purgatory than dey were of their Kings and ministers and da other swells, so dat was dat. Ya promise 'em some purgatory parole, mumbo-jumbo it up with "holy" water and "holy" bread, throw in a few candles, and ya own 'em. Then ya charge 'em for da candles.
Hey, how about we give the Father a little break here, and then come back for some Q and A. That OK, Father?
Yeah, I gotta pee like a racehorse.
Questions and answers
Everyone settle down, quit yappin' like magpies. Hey, can you freshen dis up a little? Yeah, keep pouring. There you go. Alright, toss some questions at me. You, the broad with the ponytail.
Father Murphy, my boyfriend says I'm committing a mortal sin if I don't give him oral sex after he does it to me. Is he right?
Yeah. Look, any broad who won't give her man a little throat didn't go to no Catholic school, I can tell you that. So because you're practically a heathen in the eyes of God ya gotta do some penance. I know this isn't any confessional here, but you're da one who asked the question sweetie, so here's my advice. Say three Hail Marys and one Our Fadda, we gotta tell everyone that. And toss 20 bucks in my pocket here. Yeah, stuff it in there, not quite, move your hand around a little to settle it in. Dats right. Hey, don't look so surprised, it's an old Catholic school trick girly, you'd have learned it if you'd ever gone there. Ok, where were we. . and then the last thing ya gotta do is go home and blow him. Make da boy moan like a ghost. Like that friggin' pretty-boy Casper. There, ya got your advice. Now go, and sin no more. OK, the jew lookin' guy, right up front dere. Ya you, spit it out.
Father, the mortal sin of killing Jesus, do all Jewish people have to carry that burden?
Ya killed da lord, fucker. So shut da fuck up. Just kiddin', gotta have a sense of humour, keeps ya ticker pumpin'. So ya, ya wanna know how much play we got outta dat one? We kept ya jewboys tied up in knots for at least 1500 years. How'd ya like it? "Oooohh, dey killed da lord", we'd point our fingers and cry crocodile tears, and all dat time we got the chunk of the action youse guys used to get and atta same time we kept ya complaining like mudder Mary at da cross. And da holocaust? Forgetaboutit. Alright next. Over there, the freeloader hoggin' all da coffee and donuts.
Will I really go to Hell if I die with unforgiven Mortal sins?
Ah Jeez, we gotta smart aleck here. Haven't ya been listening? I'll spell it out fer ya in letters ya can understand. S-C-A-M. No? How 'bout H-U-S-T-L-E. Wannanother one? E-A-T M-E. Hey, don't get ya diapers twisted sonny, I threw dat last one in to see if there's any fire in ya belly. So let me just tell ya this, hell is for sissies. The only ones who get to go there are da guys who don't know how to play a decent hand. Ya got ya 'believers' and ya got ya 'scammin' the believers', and if ya don't know what side of that equation ya bread is buttered on then I can't learn ya, capiche? OK, you, the walkin' stick der, jeez lady, don't ya eat?
I try to watch my weight Father, and as a nun of the Abstainian Order I offer up my cravings for solid food to Our Lord. But Father, this sin graft, when are you going to let women take their cut?
Forgettaboutit! Ya crossin' a line here, missy. Look, we take care of ya nuns. We give ya some food--eat it for Chrisake--and a place to live. And all youse gotta do is indocrinate the kiddies all day long. You're happy and we're happy, one hand washes da other, knowwhatImean? So whatdaya saying, you want a piece of da action for real? You gotta be kiddin' me. Get a life. Next question.
So what happened? The sin money isn't what it used to be.
Thank ya Fadda O'Malley, someone 'round here finally decided to ask a decent question. OK, pay-as-ya-go has dried up a little, gotta admit da facts. Goin' back a little, jus' imagine what it was like in da glory days. Da boys had da world eatin' outta their hands. Then dat Martin Luther guy, nah, not da nigga commie for chistsake, da other guy a couple a hundred years ago, da smart alec who didn't like da Vatican sellin' get-outta-jail-free cards. Luther started his wailing by nailin' up a bunch of complaints on some church door, generally puttin' together a new scam where da money goes to his guys instead of ours. We've had to fight and carve up da territories with his boys ever since.
But O'Malley, what ya askin' me about here, I'll give ya the low down. Startin' in da 1960s ya got ya hippies, all those Hoffman's and Rubin's and da other longhairs pryin' da kids away from da church. Before ya can turn aroun' and piss south ya got TV characters yappin' dis anti-catholic crap, and then all da "in-da-know" stuff kept showin' up on dose electronic boxes da kids carry around, you know, da innernests and YouseTube an dose, and yeah, da protection racket took a few hits. Didn't help a whole lot either that some catholic broads bought into dis abortion craze, which carved away some of our future traffic. And da can't-keep-it-in-dere-pants faddas who got caught with da kids? Don't get me started! Then on top of all dis grief, dis Da Vinnie Code guy has to stick his two cents in and start talkin' about Mrs. Christ--ya, she was the missus, I've seen da paperwork--like she's God's gift to man. Why'd ya think we had to trash her ever since da marks started to read, callin' her a whore and whatnot. She waz no more whore than you there, starvin' girl, but I'd pay to fuck either of ya. Now, now, jus' kiddin', simmer down, jeez, cool ya jets. Nuns! Well Mrs. Christ never said nothin' to endorse da scam, so we couldn't have anyone throwin' sand in da works by spoutin' her gospel--ya, she wrote one, quotin' her whipped husband on forgivness and love and whatnot, writin' down all of his mushy pillow talk right after dey finished humpin' like rabbits. Gotta keep dat one buried in da vault, tell ya dat.
So all dese tings add up, and da scam "has suffer'd a setback" as dis smartiepants jew accountant at da Vatican keeps tellin' us. But whataryagonnadoboutit? Mortal sin still pulls in da marks, and we pocket enough to keep us in-crowd mugs in da pink. So dere ya go. I'm done here. C'mon O'Malley, let's go get us a nightcap.
Thank you for the talk this evening Father, we all enjoyed it. Would you bless us before we go?
Ya ain't heard a word I said, have ya? O'Malley, grab my coat, let's get outta here.