Irish Penance

Megan, a bright young girl, had just finished parochial school. After that horrendous ordeal she felt she was ready for anything so Megan shook the dust of Ireland off her shoes and made her way to New York. In a very short time, Megan became a successful performer in show business.

As many Irish folk, eventually Megan returned to her home town for a visit and on Saturday night she went to confession in the church which she had always attended as a child. Father Sullivan was hearing confession that evening and quickly recognized her when she began to speak. Father Sullivan struck up a conversation asking her about her work. Megan explained that she was an acrobatic dancer on Broadway but Father Sullivan didn't quite understand what that meant.

Megan said she would be happy to show him the kind of acrobatic dancing she did on stage. When confession was over, Megan stepped out of the confessional and within sight of Father Sullivan, she went into a series of cartwheels, leaping splits, hand springs and backflips. Kneeling near the confessional, waiting their turn, were two middle-aged ladies witnessed Megan's acrobatics with wide eyes, and the one said to the other:

"Will you just look at the penance Father Sullivan is givin' out this night, and me without me bloomers on!"

 

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LURKING, ERIN GOES BRALESS, ON THE GRASSY KNOLL

An Irish Catholic Dog

Sean Muldoon lived alone in the Irish countryside with only a pet dog for company. One day his faithful dog died, and Muldoon went to the parish priest and asked Father Patrick, "Father, me dog is dead. Could you please be sayin a mass for the poor creature?"

Father Patrick was taken back and replied, "I'm afraid not Muldoon. We cannot be having services for an animal in the church. Dogs don't have souls. But there are some Baptists down the lane, and there's no tellin what they believe in. Maybe they'll do something for your dog."

Muldoon was dejected and hung his head down low and said, Well then, I best be gettin right over there Father. Do you be thinking $5,000 dollars is enough to donate to them for the service?"

Upon hearing this Father Patrick exclaimed, "Sweet Mary and Joseph Muldoon, Why didn't you be tellin me your dog was Catholic?"

HAPPY ST. PATRICK'S DAY

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

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LURKING, ERIN GOES BRALESS ON THE GRASSY KNOLL

Catholic Nun Mafia

I'm Funny How

Patrick: You're funny!
Sister Tommasina Devito: You mean, let me understand this cause, ya know maybe it's me, but I'm funny how, I mean funny like I'm a clown, I amuse you? I make you laugh, I'm here to amuse you? What do you mean funny, funny how? How am I funny?
Patrick: Just... you know, how you tell the story, what?
Sister Tommasina Devito: No, no, I don't know, you said it. How do I know? You said I'm funny. How am I funny, what is so funny about me? Tell me, tell me what's funny!

The Nun Mafia, a little known Catholic church faction rarely spoken about, was at its peak in the 1960's, (When I attended school) and wielded almost as much power as the Pope (Godfather) himself. The Catholic nun was the absolute authority in the school. (You cross one of them, you cross all of them) A Catholic nun was always the principal (Don) of the school. The rest of them (Made Women) were teachers, tutors, hall monitors, munitions experts, and playground enforcers. More importantly, they controlled our Permanent Record.

The Nun mafia was far-reaching. Their power didn't end at the school door exits but extended into the Catholic school child's home life. A simple edit of our permanent record could cause catastrophic pain to your very soul, your money, and your ass. Perhaps not in that order, but almost always those three. (What is your Permanent Record? Every time a Catholic sinned, it would be recorded in your permanent record like a running tally of all the sins you committed in life. Then, when you died and went to the pearly gates to face Saint Peter, he would have all the ammunition he needed to send you to hell.)

If a child misbehaved, (Whispered in class, took to long in the bathroom, shirt not tucked all the way in, or smiled in a no smile zone) the nun acted immediately. You would be subjected to swift punishment in front of the entire class. Or what we liked to call, The Whack and Yack. The whack and yack consisted of being whacked by the nuns yard stick either across your hands or your ass several times, more intense if the sin was deemed severe. Then the child would receive a public humiliating tirade lecture on why Jesus is not happy with you  and  he is crying for the hideous sin you just committed. That was standard operating procedure for the nuns.

Now that your ass hurt and your soul ached, the third phase, the money phase, would be implemented. It was time to make the child feel remorse for the sin and want to atone for the damages to his soul. Or what we liked to call, (Extortion!) After said beating, the child would not be going outside for recess with the other children, but instead would have to stay behind for a private conference.

These conferences went something like this.
Nun: Patrick, you now know what you did earlier was a sin and that you had to be punished.
Patrick: Yes sister, I know.
Nun: Are you sorry for what you did?
Patrick: Yes sister, I am. (Sort of like, Thank you sir may I have another)
Nun: And how disruptive it was to the class and to the entire school?
Patrick: Yes sister, I know.
Nun: Will you ever commit that sin again?
Patrick: I hope not to sister. (Hold please, this is where they get you. Of course you are going to commit that exact same sin again, if you can call it a sin anyway, but they made you answer)
Nun: Perhaps after you go to confession this Saturday, you can add some extra money to your mass donation.
Patrick: Yes sister, I will. (A bold face lie!)
Nun: And in your student church envelope, maybe you can sacrifice a little more and add some extra money as well. Jesus needs it more than you do. It wasn't enough that our parents gave a weekly church envelope, (Pay off) but the student had one as well. With our names emblazoned on the front.
Patrick: Yes sister, I will try. (Not in a million years you old fuck!)
Nun: OK, recess is almost over. You have just enough time to erase and wash the chalkboard before the next class.
Patrick: Yes sister. (Quietly imagining duct tape over her mouth, her hands tied, and me kicking her into a well so deep that not even Lassie could save her)

Soul, money, and ass. One, two, three. Absolution. That is how the Catholic Nun Mafia rolled in the 1960's.

I wondered where that extra money the other students gave in their envelopes when they were subjected to the whack and yack. (I say other students because I never put an extra red cent in my envelope.) Every beginning school year, we would have to pledge (Payoff) an amount of money to give in our church envelopes. Did the sisters remove (Skim) the excess to further fund their organization? One can never be certain. However, they never seemed to lack or want for any tools or equipment needed.

The Catholic Nun Mafia affected more than just the students. It also affected the Parrish priests. And more importantly, the confessional. Everyone knew the Catholic priests were just as afraid of the nuns as the students were. (The Nuns knew everything that was going on in the school and church. Nothing ever got by them.) To avoid confrontation, and keep their secrets, we had it on good authority that they would inform the nuns of the juiciest sins the students committed so they (The Nuns) would have more leverage and play more psychological mind games. That's why I always disguised my voice in the confessional, so the priest wouldn't recognize me.

The other day I received a small package at my house. In the package was a chalk board eraser. Smeared in blood. With a note attached saying, "You can easily be erased!"

Amen!

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LURKING ON THE GRASSY KNOLL

Alter Boys Secret Society - Serving Mass

Altar Boys Secret Society

"I was in. A made man. An Altar boy. A license to skip school virtually almost every day. Life was good. I couldn’t wait for Friday." (From Part One of the Original Altar Boys Secret Society)

Friday morning, 8:01 am, the vestibule, my first meeting as an official Altar Boy. I was very smug as I handed Sister Mary Hateme my excuse slip to ditch class in lieu of a crash course in Altar Boyship. There were 10 new recruits, including myself. We were all seated in folding steel chairs waiting for Father Iatti to arrive. A door opened and slammed and in walked Father Iatti.

Before I go on, I have to describe Father Iatti seen through the eyes of a fifth grader in the 1960's. He was of Italian descent. Dark complexion. Slicked back widows peak jet black hair. Dressed completely in black. All Catholic priests are dressed in black. (Better to blend into the shadows on street corners at night. Or so I've heard) And he had a black velvet cape with a red inseam. Yes, there before me stood Dracula incarnate.

Father Iatti had a booming voice, it could be heard from miles around. His confessional booth was avoided like the plague for fear of having your penance announced to the entire church congregation.

Father Iatti began our session informing us that what we were about to embark on was a sacred rite, and that we would become closer to God serving as altar boys. (I was hoping this is where the secret handshake came in) I would have to wait for that. He told us to follow him into the church so we could understand or duties.

What are an altar boy's duties? From the congregation pews, it looked pretty easy. Walk in with a cross, have a seat, bring some stuff to the altar, hold a sword under the neck of the people going to communion, bring more stuff, walk out with the cross. End of mass. This would be easy.

Father Iatti had a differing opinion. To him, everything had to be exactly perfect. One slip up from us, and the entire mass miracle of the bread, water and wine changing into the body and blood of Christ would all be for naught. No pressure here.

For the rest of the day, we learned the duties of a rookie altar boy. Yes, there were several types of altar boys. First were the rookie altar boys, who only served regular masses. Second, there were veteran altar boys, who not only served regular masses, but also weddings and funerals. And third, the kiss ass altar boy. These ass clowns were the priests pets. They claimed they wanted to be priests when they grew up. (Little did these fella's know what was in store for them in the privacy of the sacristy) They got to pick and choose what mass they would serve. They would also receive the honor of serving holy holiday's and midnight mass and the like.

We stayed in the church the entire day learning the ropes of the altar boy and I missed every class that day. (Take that you nun bitches) Sweet! I was an altar boy one day and already getting perks. Until the hammer fell. Father Iatti felt that we needed more instruction and ordered us to be back at the church at 8am sharp Saturday morning to continue. WTF! Saturday morning, my day off from school, and I had to go back to church. What the hell did I get myself into. My father merely chuckled when I told him about Saturday.

Well, after three grueling weeks of training and two damn Saturdays, I was well trained. I found out what duties each altar boy performed and I was well versed in each aspect. For all you non Catholic folks, (You don't know how lucky you are) the altar boy had specific duties before, during, and after a mass. Usually more than one altar boy served each mass.

Typically, three altar boys served each mass. There was the cross man, who carried the cross in the front of the procession at the beginning and end of the mass. He would plant the cross center altar and retreat behind the altar. He would only resurface at the end of the mass, grab the cross, and lead the procession out.

The other two altar boys were the servers that catered to the priests every whim while at the altar. They followed the cross man in the procession and then took up residence on the right side of the altar. At certain times, the altar boy would have to ring a bell hidden in between the stools. I still don't know why we had to ring the bell, but we did. Three times! Sometimes the ball in the bell would roll around the casing and not ring getting the ire up of the priest on duty.

While the cross guy had no other duties, the servers were an intricate part of the mass. Not only did we ring bells, we also assisted the priest with the presentation of the gifts from the offertory, the bread, (The round white host) the chalice, and the water and wine. At the miracle part of the mass, (When the priest changed the water into wine and the bread into the body of Christ) we sprang into action.

The altar boys would gather the water and wine jars and bring them to the priest. He would pour the all the wine into the chalice and then just a drop of water in as well. He would then give the jars back to us. We would go back to our table and and bring back the water and a white towel. The priest would hold out his hands and one altar boy would pour some water over them. The priest would then wash his hands and take the towel from the other altar boy and dry his hands. He would fold the towel and give itm back to us.

The next duty was the fun part. For communion, we would grab our "Patens" (A 3 foot long gold rod with a gold flat plate attached) and follow the priest down to the railing where all the parishioners were lining up to receive communion. When there was a crowded mass, another priest would appear and assist in giving out communion. The priest would work his way down the railing handing out communion. The altar boys job was to place the paten under the chin of each parishioner to catch and particles of the host that may have fallen.

After communion, the priest would wipe off the patens, and motion to the altar boys to bring more water and a towel. He would then pour some water into the chalice, drink the contents, and clean it out with the towel. He would then beckon for the altar boys again to take the chalice and towel back to our table.

A minute later and the cross guy would appear and the altar boys would walk off the altar with the priest joining them and the mass was over.

I was ready to serve my first mass. The next week, the list of masses were posted and who would be the servers. I scanned for my name and there I was, Sunday mass, 11:30 am. This was a prime time mass, the most attended.

My parents dropped me off at 11am Sunday morning so I could prepare. I walked into the side doors of the sacristy and went to put on my cassock. (A red and white robe worn over your clothes) I then went and filled up the gold bowls with unblessed hosts, filled the wine and water bottles, then went out and dressed the altar. I was wondering where the other altar boys were as it was almost showtime.

Come to think of it, where the hell was Father Iatti? 11:25 gave me my answer. Father Iatti whisked into the sacristy, jumped into his black cassock and said let's go. But wait, where were the other two altar boys. Father Iatti said that it was only me and him today. He wanted to see how rookies acted under pressure.

Damn!

Damn Damn!

Well here we go. I grabbed the cross and made my way to the back of the church. Cue the organ music and away we went. Up the aisle we went with Father Iatti singing behind me. Did I mention that he was a loud talker. His singing was twice as loud. And lousy. But who was going to tell him that.

We reached the front of the church and I went to stick the cross in the holder on the front of the altar. An instant later, terror set in. I couldn't get the cross stem into the holder. CLANG CLANG CLANG. I got it in there folks, it was leaning toward the left, but it was in there.

I assumed my position at the table on the right side of Father Iatti. Thank God I got my screw up over with. WRONG! There would be more. I got two out of three bell ringers correct, one did the dreaded spin around the housing. Father Iatti gave me a Dracula stare letting me know he was pissed and that I couldn't afford to make any more mistakes. (All that in a single one second stare)

Now it was time for the magic. I brought up the water and wine. So far so good. I returned for the towel and water. I forgot to put out a towel before mass. DAMN DAMN! I improvised and took the table cloth from my small server table and took it to the altar along with the water. Father Iatti spied the so-called towel and almost exploded. He took it though but concealed it behind his altar.

I thought Jesus himself would begin the Rapture early and start judgment day with me. But there were no lights, fog, thunder, just organ music signaling communion time. The nightmare was almost over. At this time, I was extremely nervous, wondering what was worse, the wrath of God or Iatti.

I fetched the paten and began the communion ritual. Please Lord, don't let me screw up anymore. hey, I was in a church, God was tuned in. He would hear my plea. God must have been on a different channel. Just as I was about to escape communion, I accidentally jabbed a guy in the neck with the paten. Not hard, just a little tap really, but we had an actor on our hands. He fell to the flow clutching his throat like I had cut him with a machete. However, the paten did it's job, I caught the host that he spit out.

A parish member came up to help the macheted man while Father Iatti took the host and placed it back into the chalice. After a minute of drama, the man took the host from Father Iatti and took his seat. We finished the rest of communion and the mass was ended and I was allowed to grab the cross and go in peace.

As soon as I stepped into the sacristy, Father Iatti was in my grill. His face was like a cartoon, his mouth could fit a bowling ball in it. He was yelling faster than I ever heard before. Suddenly Yosemite Sam snapped into my brain. I saw Iatti yelling but heard Yosemite Sam. "GREAT HORNY TOADS!" I was on the verge of laughing which would have been sudden death. Not the kind in football when a tie in a game occurs, but the real deal, sudden death.

The Lord heard my prayer as I was able to avoid cracking a smile or laughing and took Father Iatti's five minute tirade. He finished with a little cherub telling me that this incident was going on my permanent record. (Big deal! My permanent record entries weighed forty already) I told (Lied) Father Iatti I would try harder next mass. He ended the tirade with, "We shall see Patrick. We shall see!"

I checked the schedule for next week's masses and damn, I was penciled in for the God Damn 7am Saturday service. Either Father Iatti was punishing me with such an early mass, or limiting calatteral damage. Either way, I knew my time as an altar boy would be short.

Next Saturday was rapidly approaching and something told me the tide was ready to turn. We shall see Iatti. We shall see!

PS: And there is no secret handshake.

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LURKING ON THE GRASSY KNOLL

Irish Humor - Not Bad For A Small Parrish

One fine day in Ireland, a guy is out golfing and gets up to the 16th hole. He tees up and cranks one. Unfortunately, it goes into the woods on the other side of the fairway. The man goes looking for his ball and comes across this little fella with a huge knot on his head, and his golf ball lying right beside him.

"Goodness and praise the Lord," says the golfer, and proceeds to revive the poor little fella. Upon awaking, the little fella says, "Well now, ye caught me fair and square. Being that I am a Leprechaun, I must obey the rules so I will grant ye three wishes."

The man says "I can't take anything from you, I'm just glad I didn't hurt you too badly," and walks away back to the golf course. Watching the golfer depart, the Leprechaun says "Well, he was a nice enough guy, and he did catch me, so I have to do something for
him. I'll give him the three things that I would want. I'll give him unlimited money, a great golf game, and a great sex life."

Well, a year goes past (as they often do in jokes like this) and the same golfer is out golfing on the same course at the 16th hole. He gets up and hits one into the same woods and goes off looking for his ball. When he finds the ball he sees the same little guy and asks how he is doing.

The Leprechaun says, "I'm fine, and might I ask how your golf game is?" The golfer says, "It's great! I hit under par every time." The Leprechaun says, "I did that for you. And might I ask how your money
is holding out?"

The golfer says, "Well, now that you mention it, every time I put my hand in my pocket, I pull out a hundred dollar bill." The Leprechaun smiles and says, "I did that for you, too. And might I ask how your sex life is?"

The golfer looks at him a little shyly and says, "Well, maybe once or twice a week." The Leprechaun is floored and stammers, "Once or twice a week? Is that all?

The golfer looks at him and says, "Well, that's not too bad for a Catholic priest in a small Irish parish."

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

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LURKING, ERIN GOES BRALESS ON THE GRASSY KNOLL