Slick Dick

Dick Morris pipes up, the Bishops come to town and I-70 gets no respect

Perhaps when the bridges are done, local officals can apply the same egalitarian logic to our public schools.

Flogging the Bishops

Dick Morris' prescription for insomnia: a Dick Gephardt stump speech
Dick Morris' prescription for insomnia: a Dick Gephardt stump speech
Tom Arterburn (pictured, with necktie) has the perfect antidote for a day with Catholic bishops: a beer with the women of Hooters
Tom Arterburn (pictured, with necktie) has the perfect antidote for a day with Catholic bishops: a beer with the women of Hooters

Last week the National Conference of Catholic Bishops proved once again that if you're staging a controversial event in St. Louis, the Union Station Hyatt is the place to meet. (Though advance scouts may have missed the Hooters on the third floor -- an odd backdrop for a conference focused on sexual shenanigans.)

Unreal managed to smuggle soon-to-be-excommunicated RFT freelancer Tom Arterburn into the affair, then debriefed him (figuratively) afterward:

Unreal: What was it like being packed into a conference center with more than 100 religious leaders?

Tom Arterburn: Sweet revenge! It was open season on the guys who had me squirming throughout the twelve years of my Catholic education. My only regret is that I couldn't hunt down Sister Rambonita, my ear-, hair- and gut-yanking first-grade drill sergeant.

Are critics like SNAP (Survivors' Network of those Abused by Priests) satisfied with the progress since last year's conference in Dallas, when the bishops promised to weed out abusers?

For professional protesters, being satisfied means being out of a job. I don't know where the mothers of these abuse victims were when all this sickness was going on, but mine only had to grab me by the collar one time, pin me against the wall in Kresge's and whisper, "Don't you ever, ever talk to a stranger! You hear me?"

Are you still proud to be a Catholic?

Damn right! I don't think David Clohessy [executive director of SNAP] and those other whiny bastards appreciate what the church has given them. Every time some furloughed crazy catches me in the dark and asks me if I'm a Christian, I flex my pecs, look down on 'em and proudly proclaim, "I'm a Catholic!" You never hear about a grown Catholic being bludgeoned to death in the rectory, do you? We're too goddamn tough! If I didn't have such a fear of authority figures, effeminate men and public bathrooms, I'd have caught that little weasel Clohessy away from the cameras and whipped his ass myself.

Did you confess these impure thoughts before you left the conference?

Nah. I headed up to Hooters and got drunk, like any good Catholic.

« Previous Page
 |
 
1
 
2
 
All
 
My Voice Nation Help
0 comments
 
Loading...