Monday, April 15, 2024

Pope Francis Wants To Start A War

I've been thinking more about our parish council's latest task from the Vatican - to discuss how we can give women more power in the Church. It irritates the living daylights out of me. Why?

It's because it turns my personal relationships into that horrible card game, War. If you aren't familiar with War, it's a 2-player game where each player gets half the deck and then they turn over cards one at a time. The person that turns over the higher card wins that trick and takes both cards, putting them at the bottom of his deck. The person who ends up with the whole deck wins. It's as unbearably tedious and deterministic as it sounds.

At any rate, that's what happens when we categorize people into oppressor-oppressed groups. Taking the example our midwit pope has dumped on our tiny parish council, looking for opportunities for women immediately puts me on Team Man in a game of War. The Vatican has decided that we all need to act like women have it hard in the Church which can only mean that I, a man, have oppressed them.

Oh really? Is that where you want to go? By all means, let's go there. I've got a deck filled with high cards that I've been gathering over the decades for just this occasion. Unless the women on the parish council have been raped, I'll mop the floor with them. Unfaithful and violent ex-wives, backstabbing female bosses, conniving coworkers, shrewish family members, it's all face cards and aces in my deck. 

You want a war of the sexes? Let's do it.

In real life, far away from the demented, Marxist hellscape where we all fit into infantile oppressor-oppressed bins, I have personal relationships with each of the women on the parish council. Let's take one as an example. We'll call her Barbara. 

Barbara and I haven't interacted much, but that's because she has devoted her life to the parish and I'm a dilettante at best. Every single time I've been with her, she has been pleasant, competent, diligent, helpful and kind. If you asked me to describe her, I would not use a single negative adjective.

Now the pope wants me to play War with her. She's on Team Woman and I'm on Team Man. Ill Papa has set the stage for unresolvable conflict within the parish by painting me as the oppressor and her as the oppressed. Up yours, pal. After what I've suffered at the hands of women, I will never surrender in that fight. If you think I'm going to be an "ally" and come crawling on my belly begging for forgiveness from women, then you don't know me. John Mosby is my spirit animal.

If you want a war, the boys and I would be happy to oblige you.

The moment I read the sentence in the parish council agenda, "Creation of a Diocesan Task Force on the Role of Women in the Church" (sic), I was grabbing my gun and heading out the door to mount up and ride into the Blue Ridge Mountains.

Until I read that sentence, I loved Barbara. After I read it, she became a representative for all women and responsible for every ounce of pain women have inflicted on me. That's a lot of pain and the dark side of me would like nothing more than to get down to the viscerally gratifying business of ruthless vengeance.

The instant we were separated into Team Woman and Team Man, all of the bitter demons I had offered up to Christ and buried in the past rose up from the grave, banshees from hell, filled with blind, unquenchable rage.

It's even worse than that. It will spill over into my marriage. Chicago NPR Democrat wife kitteh will no doubt gladly take up the banner of Team Woman and it will be on like the break of dawn at home. In no time at all, our sacramental vows will be ashes wafting through the air above the radioactive wasteland of our marital thermonuclear ruins.

Pope Francis can take his demonic mask of smarmy sanctimony which conceals his Marxist hate and stuff it. I'm not going to war for him.

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