Church Clarifies "No Sex With Kids" Stance

n the face of countless allegations of sexual misconduct among its priests, including criminal charges of child molestation and the popularity of the high-profile “Catholic Priests Gone Wild� DVD series, the Roman Catholic Church has issued a new public statement clarifying its position on grown men having sex with little kids. And the answer may surprise you: They’re against it.

“I don’t know where people got the idea that the church is all about buggering little kids, maybe we should start covering that a bit more in Sunday school,� said Archdeacon Mavis Plum in a recent interview. “Maybe a new commandment would help, something catchy like ‘Thou shall not pork a preschooler.’ It would certainly help with public relations.�

Other members of the church seemed more surprised by the announcement.

“What?� questioned Rev. Phil Binder, shuffling an issue of Tiger Beat magazine under some papers on his desk. “Since when? What the hell else would you want to be a priest for, the dental plan? Shit.� Binder cut the interview short as he hurriedly dialed his telephone.

“These recent allegations really have shocked the church community,� insisted Mavis. “I mean, who would expect that men, deprived of normal sexual outlets for a lifetime, would eventually turn to the nearest moist orifice for satisfaction? I mean, prisoners, maybe. Guys living in Wyoming, sure. Have you seen the women there? Yikes. But men of God? It’s long been assumed that the power of the holy spirit would give them the strength to overcome the inevitable pull of a young altar boy’s beautiful, untainted anus. But I guess not. The devil must really have gotten into those boys, to seduce priests like that. It’s amazing. It buggers the mind. Boggles.�

Concerned parents nationwide were relieved by the announcement. Sandy Maynard of Des Plains, IA summed up the reactions of many. “I just sighed a big, relieved sigh. It’s stressful, trying to balance eternal damnation on one hand and having your kids ass-rammed on the other. Nobody wants to piss off God by not being involved in the church, you know? But to tell you the truth, I always thought those church sleepovers were a little weird. When I was a kid, I’m pretty sure the body of Christ you accepted during communion didn’t involve throbbing man-meat.�

The announcement is only the first step in a plan to change the public’s perception of the Catholic Church as a NAMBLA meeting with wine. This week, motivational posters featuring popular cartoon characters and slogans like “Play it straight—don’t penetrate,� “Abstinence now: Miles of underage rectums in heaven� and “When in doubt, don’t whip it out� will be distributed to churches nationwide in an effort to help priests with the transition to a sodomy-free church experience.

When asked how the church could have overlooked what must have been obvious signs of altar boy mistreatment over the years, Archdeacon Plum muttered something about not running a daycare center while frowning at the screen of his Game Boy.

Bishop Theodore Rexall would not return the commune’s calls regarding the same question, or our questions about if he’s the one who can move diagonally or if that’s a Rook.

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It's been a long time since my work has seen the light of day. I managed to salvage the remains of this column from some of my old notes. Thank God I no longer carve my notes right into my skin, as skin deteriorates even faster than old celluloid porno films.

I finally got around to reading that book I bought last year. The experience was much more enjoyable than I'd been told it would be. I hate to ruin the book for anyone who hasn't read it, but it really was a shock to find out the tiger was a toy the whole time. That's right—the filthy little brat was lying to the reader the whole time. In the end, I liked it, but it does leave me dubious about reading that book I've been eyeing with the bald kid and his plane-flying dog.

If you could play any instrument in the world like a master, which instrument would you play? I would lay high odds you didn't say steel drum just now. But someone out there must be saying it. I don't see where all the steel drummers are coming from.

Where's that fourth Lord of the Rings movie we were promised? Let that be a lesson, Hollywood: Big-budget epics with funny characters and incredible special effects just aren't the American audience's cup of tea.

They say as many as 60% of the country's citizens are downloading movies illegally from the internet. Well, I'm not one of them, I assure you. Computers only want you to use them so they can fingerprint you and eventually replace you, and I'll have no part of that. No matter how tempting it is to see that Borat film without paying for it.

I just found out today that Cheez-Its are, in fact, cheese crackers, not tiny squares of real cheddar cheese put through some sort of ancient process to petrify them. Months of my life wasted on misapplied research! It's the Apple Jacks year all over again. Quit ending all your letters with that "Yours Truly" bullshit. You know you're not mine and if you keep pulling crap like that, you never will be.

Have you noticed heating ducts are never as big in real buildings as they are in movie buildings? I can't help but think it's a terrorist's dream. Any self-respecting undercover cop goes to hide in one, can't fit, and blam! Osama wins. I hope you people at the Small Duct Ltd. company are real fucking happy now.

You absolutely cannot fit a fully stretched-out body in most freezers. I wonder if the freezer manufacturers even considered this demographic when they designed the darned things. We're not all murderers, you know. Some of us are respected members of the work force who simply don't have time to run a found dead body down to the morgue at the drop of a hat.

Hum any song to yourself right now. Go ahead. I'll bet you one thousand dollars it's the theme to "Mr. Belvedere." And if it's not, I dare you to go ahead and prove it. You'll never get money out of me, stranger.

I've never seen a professional baseball player catch a ball in his mouth. What exactly are we paying these guys for? I can see any Sam Dandy anywhere catch a ball with his hands.

I would say the sixth best thing about being in a wheelchair is you don't fall when you walk on ice. Sure, you might slide a little bit, but chances are you're not going to land on your back. And of course, the seventh best thing is you don't bump your head on low doorways. You can probably figure the rest out yourself.

The next time you see a large glass window, jump through. You only live once, and glass just thinks it's so great.

No more today. My wastebasket is empty and the skin has all flaked away so I can't read my old notes.

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Someone once told me I had such bad luck in my life I ought to be a country singer. A blues singer told me that, after he heard me sing the blues. Mom said he was just trying to get me to leave the club so the people would stop booing, but I went and bought the hat anyway.

Mom warned me my country singing career would be short-lived, like my hamster. I sang one song about my wife running off with my best friend and having a flat tire on my truck, but I had made it up—I wish I had a truck. My wife did run off with my best friend, though. Although she wasn't my wife yet, just a mail-order bride that had stepped off the plane from Korea, and the guy she ran away with was the pilot, but he looked like my best friend, dead up, I swear. Tommy? Timmy? It's something like that. I haven't seen him since the fourth grade, you can't blame me for getting the name messed up.

The audience didn't like my song. "Open mic," sure, until you actually try to sing, then it closes pretty damn fast. People told me nobody sings feel-bad old country anymore. Now they sing feel-good new country, and only fans of real music feel bad when they hear it. You know me, you can't stop me with a brick wall or pure logic or the fact nobody likes me. I went and bought some leather pants to match my new hat and became a feel-good new country singer. Okay, I didn't buy the pants, but I made them out of the seats of my car. They're more chaps than pants right now, but after I hit it big I'm going to buy the material to sew backs onto them.

I had to get a day job to support my nights of singing at open mics. A few wise guys have told me not to quit my day job, but I'm not going to—I'll probably get fired, as soon as they find out I've been throwing all the mail in the garbage instead of delivering it. I don't need hang-ups with office politics and bullshit. I've got my music to think about, and that homemade guitar has really been fueling my songwriting. It's not a typical guitar, either. It's more of a small TV set with a plunger on the side, but I've already written five songs. Two of them are just the theme to "The Rockford Files," but I made up the lyrics. I tried making up lyrics to the song from "The Facts of Life," but my talent doesn't work when someone's already singing lyrics to it.

My favorite song I wrote so far is "You Don't Love Me 'Cause You're Stuck Up." It's about my mother. Gets me all misty-eyed every time I sing it. I want to write a song about my dad, just to even things out, but my mom can't remember his name. I'm hoping it's "Adlai," 'cause I really need something that rhymes with "left me to die" so I can end the song.

So far none of the audiences have responded too well, but it's not like they're paying me anything, and it's better than standing in line, waiting for a movie and doing nothing, right? That's not what the theater manager says, but he's just mad because I gave away the ending to Million Dollar Baby in one of my songs. Don't blame me, dude, you're the one who let me in the theater to use the bathroom. Who knows, maybe a movie-going audience is more of a jazz crowd. I could do jazz really well, if I wanted to. I never rehearse and my songs always sound different the second time I play them 'cause I can't remember how I played them the first time.

That's it. I'm switching to jazz.

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