Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Football with Lent and some aging sluts.
Wedging. I kept wondering why I was hearing so much about some extraordinary bird this past weekend. Apparently, it was being given major television coverage. Finally, it was pointed out to me that this was not programming regarding a Superb Owl, but rather a Super Bowl. Not being one to focus on athletics, I then focused my concern on some high-energy breakfast cereal or one of the things they make at healthy restaurants. At long last, I came to understand the common understanding of said bowl as being that once-a-year football revelry to end all revelries. (Full Disclosure: I didn’t watch a single minute of it.) But people talk, and you hear things. I’m prayerfully grateful that the team for Sodom and Gomorrah lost. I hear a deathbed conversion allowed victory in the last moments for KC (King Christ?). But what I don’t understand is….why would they ask the ushers to perform a big show at halftime? Haven’t they done enough already wedging people in their seats??
Wednesday. Today is one of those Catholic observances. I can tell because people are running around with dirt on their foreheads. I just don’t get it. Perhaps these people need to be marked for all the filth committed yesterday at the end of Mardi Gras. (I was born in Louisiana, so I’m quite familiar with that alcohol-soaked bacchanal.) What an embarrassing excuse for adults to publicly linger in sin. To make matters worse, that final day of excess is called Fat Tuesday. I guess it’s better than Bloated Sunday, which I experience regularly after a church supper. As a Babatist, I don’t have to be marked on my forehead, nor do I believe in giving up something for Lent. So carry on, repentant sinners . . . . . I’ll keep being better than the rest of you from now until Easter. Then we’ll talk.
Weddings. Once again, I’m faced with circling the prayer wagons over another so-called reality TV show. It’s bad enough that there has been a television show giving young men and women forced opportunities to find matrimony on the public stage. (It’s really ruined the sentiment of a red rose for me forever!). THEN, we had to endure a version where a MATURE man seeks an older bride for canoodling. And NOW, the tables are flipped, and we’ll soon see an older woman sashaying her wares to attract some over-the-hill pervert. Gag me. What happened to the days of family variety shows and Ed Sullivan? Alas, I shall observe the shenanigans of “The Golden Bachelorette” so I may more fully pass judgment on these sluts of a certain age. Anything to remind myself of my pristine sense of morality!
