Friday, April 21, 2006

Backstory - Act I

Yesterday was my first experience with kayaking. My initial foray into the water resulted in the several vital lessons that I'll carry with me for the remainder of my life:

  • Make sure you have your balance before stepping into the kayak;
  • That rolling over thing looks really cool on television, but doesn't work so well when you're only halfway into the kayak when it tips - and when there isn't enough water to actually roll over in;
  • The weather is warm, but the water is still freezing.

As a result of that last lesson, I also learned that it's actually possible for a man's private parts to reascend entirely.

Next week, I'm being forced to try my hand horseback riding. With any luck, my 'man parts' will still be retracted from yesterday's ice water debacle and will be able to avoid the upcoming pounding that they're going to take.

Note to self: Start hanging out with someone who knows how to relax from time to time. I'm not sure how much more of this active lifestyle stuff I can take.
Ironically, not having a job left me with less time to work on The Week in Pictures this week, so in lieu of that, here's 'The Week in Pictures (of Jasmie)'

I have no idea where she gets that sticking-out-her-tongue thing.

Oh...never mind.

Some time ago I wrote a post about the true story behind the election of Pope Benedict XVI. In my research for that entry, I wound up learning quite a bit about the Dean of the Sacred College of Cardinals and thought it would be interesting to share his story with you

The Dean sat back wearily. He'd known that the job of supervising the election of the new Pope would be a difficult one, but nothing could have prepared him for this. Now he understood why the more senior (and apparently much smarter) Cardinals had refused the 'honor'. He would have done the same thing had he been given a choice, but as it turned out he wasn't afforded that luxury. Silently, he cursed the circumstances that lead to his banishment to the Vatican all those years ago.

(Insert flashback-type sounds here)

Ironically, the day the Dean rued with such vehemence was the happiest day of 80-year-old Mrs. Delaney's life.

Of course she didn't know that at the beginning of the evening. Instead, she went about her duties as the church's cleaning woman with an air of resignation. The sole reason she'd taken the job in the first place was on the off chance that she might come across a young, horny - and perhaps slightly blind - priest that she might somehow be able to coerce into granting her one last, glorious chance to engage in intercourse. She did everything she could to enhance her chances, bending over seductively as she polished the pews and swaying her hips in a rhythmic and - she hoped - hypnotic fashion as she mopped the floor.

Sadly, her plan seemed doomed to failure. After working there for 15 years, she'd become such a fixture that the priests took no more notice of her than they did the worn floorboards along the aisles or the peeling paint on the walls. Even if they had paid her any attention, they would likely have concluded that she, like the church, was badly in need of an overhaul.

On this night, however, fate smiled upon her in the form of young Father Peterson, who was profoundly depressed over his failure to connect with his flock. Most recently, he'd tried to appeal to a younger demographic by calling the Lord "Big Daddy" re-naming Jesus "Dr. J", and calling the baptismal fountain the "dunking booth." Having incurred the wrath of the pastor and the scorn of the congregation, he felt completely ostracized from the community that he served. When he came to pray that evening, the lonely young man was putty in Mrs. Delaney's withered, arthritic hands.

After taking one look at the priest's face, she sprinted - or as close to sprinting as her legs would allow - into the vestry, grabbed a bottle, filled and refilled his glass with holy wine and listened with a sympathetic ear as he poured out his troubles. As the night wore on, she slid ever closer to him and eventually - and quite naturally it seemed - their lips met.

Not one to let an opportunity slip away - especially one she'd waited a decade and a half for - she clamped her onto his head like a vice and kissed him with a passion that would make a prostitute blush. Her poorly fitting dentures rattled loosely around her mouth (a fact that Father Peterson barely noticed and one that chalked it up to the same drunken stupor that caused the room spins that he was in the midst of experiencing) as their tongues wrestled for supremacy.

As so often happens when the narrator wants to skip a lot of the details, one thing lead to another and soon they found themselves making the proverbial beast with two backs in the third pew on the right.

Even had their judgment not been clouded by lust, neither would have expected anyone to wander into the church as it was generally deserted on weeknights. Unfortunately for them, Father O'Malley, who'd had a secret crush on Mrs Delaney ever since they met at a high school dance, was at that very moment making his way across the grounds.

Intermission (otherwise known as a chance to escape)