Dear Corky and Ilia,
As a recovering Catholic, I could not let Holy Week pass without sharing some thoughts about everything it has meant to me historically and the significant place it continues to hold in my heart. This post may end up slightly on the offensive side; that is an intended consequence, but it is hardly my real aim here.
This past Sunday was Palm Sunday--no, Corky, it is not the one day of the year on which all Catholic males can masturbate or indulge in onanism without fear of hellfire (or, in a salute to your proclivities, it is not National Catholic Face-Shot Day)--it used to be my favorite church day of the entire year. I liked Palm Sunday for three reasons: first, in church they hand out palm leaves tied in such a way as to form a cross (I used to make macrame nooses out of mine in honor of Judas Iscariot); second, it meant that I could start counting down the days or even the hours until it was time to resume whatever activity I had given up for Lent; third, it is the day on which Catholic anti-Semites can come out of the closet and start raging on the Jews for failing to continue to honor Jesus like they did that day he rode that ass into Jerusalem all those years ago--it is a tradition that culminates on Good Friday, when Jew-bashing is mandatory.
In the Bible, Judas Iscariot's name was no accident; "Who betrayed Jesus?" "JEWdas betrayed Jesus!" It never occurred to me when I would "hang" Judas that in actuality I was symbolically hanging Judaism, Israel and all Jewish people; it's a shameful part of my past and no longer a tradition of mine.
This year for Lent I gave up drinking alcoholic beverages generally, and beer specifically. This has led to several bad things: a Celexa-induced psychotic break; a textual "relationship" with a stripper from Houston I "met" playing Words with Friends, which included a phone call from the police saying that something I wrote her could be "misconstrued as a threat;" the realization that I will never admit to being an alcoholic--I am a chronic alcohol abuser.
The psychotic break involved my telling Mrs. Peter that I regretted marrying her and having kids with her. That is so far from the truth that it would be laughable were it not so sad; I do not remember that, but I will forever regret saying it. I have successfully weaned myself off the Celexa--I hope the lightheadedness goes away soon. Another aspect of the psychotic break was carrying on the aforementioned "affair."
I got sober for the first time in twelve years; I needed someone to talk to who wasn't Mrs. Peter or a sibling or a shrink. Stupid adolescent flirtatious texts led to a huge load of trouble. I didn't hide things initially--I made "friends" with her on FaceBook, which is the Devil--she was my age and was facing divorce after 19 years of "marriage;" I imagined I could glean some insight into how to preserve and even enhance my marriage by avoiding her and her husband's mistakes. I got distracted from my mission and now shamefully wear the label "cheater," even though I never met the stripper in person. Three thousand texts from me to her was my wife's estimate; I don't remember most of them.
My abstinence from alcohol was something I came up with to honor my recently deceased parents, get my wife off my back, test my resilience and truly sacrifice by giving up something I enjoy immensely. The negative results aside, it has been a good thing. It has proven to Mrs. Peter that she should have more faith (in me); it has helped me lose nearly 15 pounds of my beer belly, which translates into nearly three inches of waistline; it has proven to me that I can live (almost) happily without beer; it has stopped the daily delirium tremens I had been experiencing (actually it was more like a mild case of the shakes, but coupled with strong coffee in the morning, it looked as if I was doing a particularly ugly Michael J. Fox impersonation). I will enjoy beer again some time after Easter; I am fairly certain it won't be like before, if only because Mrs. Peter has shown a healthy interest in my buff(er) "new" bod, and I intend to keep that up.
[Please don't be alarmed by this "confession;" I believe that one day we will all know everything, so this is just a little spoiler in the grand scheme of things...And like any one of you has no real need for salvation!]
So now it's Good Friday Eve, time for all good Catholics to gear up for some serious Jew-bashing tomorrow. I think many of them will be observing a recent addition to the tradition (kind of how this has become part of the Christmas tradition for many--thank you, TV!). It involves watching Mel Gibson's "The Passion of the Christ" and getting all fired up about the treacherous infidels who sealed our savior's fate. I have not seen, nor will I ever watch, that film. There are several reasons for this: first and foremost, I think Mel Gibson is a fucking low-life turd of a human being and I don't want to give him anything resembling respect or credence; second, I know full well what Jesus went through--the nuns who educated me made damn sure of that!--I don't need a reminder or a refresher course (Remedial Savior 101?); last but not least, I am the only full-fledged goy working on this blog--I am here to serve as a thorn in the minds of my colleagues--I need no further motivation or prompting or stoking of my fiery passion.
What is the true meaning of Easter? What would (did) Jesus say?
Happy Easter Captain Corky and Lieutenant Ilia!