NFTs: Art's hellishly-stupid derivatives market.

But Barnum would approve.

[Language warning.]

Ryan George is always worth a watch.

I know: "Youtube Content Creator."

But it's good content.

His jabs at the Evil Rectangle God are worthwhile.

Lethal Pun Trigger Warning.

Brace yourselves.

I recommend sitting down.

And maybe a glass of port to ease the pain.

Flat out hilarious.

At least I think so. A laugh on another lousy day.

Warhammer 40,000 is an endless source of memes.

I have been tempted to have days where I post in nothing but memes.

Gotta appeal to the yutes, who live by them.

But more seriously, game fandom generates them, and they can often spread to outsiders, and borrow from other pop culture references in the process.

 

Offer Void in Wisconsin.

So...I'm reliably informed that everything is just okey-fine with the Synod. The clock's ticking down, and we got this.

Yeah, well...let's just say I've seen that recently.

As America's Confucius famously said: "It ain't over till it's over." And the guy who just collegially dumped a 45 day annulment procedure drafted in secret on his brother bishops is the one in charge of the clock. 

And the refs. 

And the playbook. 

And the rulebook. 

And the players.

Amy Welborn helps to spell it out for you here.

Let me digress to notice one of the big stinkbombs of the Synod--the decentralization thing.

Damian Thompson sorta gets it, but gets lost in the weeds a bit--as in, playing defense counsel for the Curia. They don't need a defense counsel--they are, after all, part of the problem, too.

However, the decentralization thing is fascinating in exactly the same way that above-ground nuclear weapons testing, Yoko Ono concerts, durian tasting and Showgirls mesmerize:

Each is so staggeringly bad that you wonder what people were thinking.

The Kasper proposal, too, is a staggeringly bad idea, but it has one merit (of sorts) from the Catholic perspective: it would have universal--catholic--applicability. One standard.

Whereas entrusting national episcopal conferences with "genuine doctrinal authority" is...

I certainly hope you get the idea.

Bluntly, letting national episcopal conference set doctrinal decisions re: the family (or anything else) activates the Schismotron and cranks it up to

I respect Tom McDonald's opinion and judgment, but I have to disagree with him here. If the Catholic Church were to follow through on the Edict of Decentralisation, Catholicism would be more than changed--it (pronoun chosen deliberately) would be laughable.

If something is sinful based upon whether you are east or west of the Oder-Neisse Line, the Church is done. It is no longer catholic--universal. But it would be really, really funny. Then again, I have a decidedly bleak sense of humor, so your mileage may vary. For example:

And, really why stop at the border? We all know there is no magic in a national gaggle/club of bishops. What does Cardinal Dolan know about the unique conditions of Catholicism in Michigan, and why should a majority vote of a bunch of non-Michiganders govern us? Or, really--what does our Archbishop truly understand about life on the ground in southern Macomb County? He's a Mount Clemens guy, and everyone knows things get weird north of the Clinton River. 

And so on, and so forth. 

At the end of the day, the Creed will be bit different near the end:

"I believe in One...well, no, not as such...

Holy...yeah, kinda-ish so long as you aren't pious and overly-devotional or unpastoral. Kinda...

Catholic...er, well, we don't believe the same stuff as those stuffy Africans, so, maybe universal in some spiritual-but-not-religious sense...

Apostolic...eh, maybe, I guess, if you squint and avoid solemn nonsense...

Church. Es. Yep, definitely plural. Except when we gather at the bi-annual conventio--I mean Synod thingy."


And there you go. Interesting times, eh?

Not everything is in a downward spiral to chaos.

Not when Bloom County is back!

If you're not on Facebook, then you can find the new strips here. 

Something is right in the world, and I'll take it.

Oddly enough!

I have reservations about James O'Keefe, but I have to admit I admire this brilliant bit of guerilla theatre: posing as members of an anti-gun organization, O'Keefe's group offered "This Home Is Gun-Free" stickers to the grandstanders at MSNBC.

There were no takers.

Did I mention brilliant?

Be honest with yourself.

And, on the odd chance it matters, yes I came up with it.

Get it? Get it?

The Accidental Captivity Diaries of "T. Henry Price," Switched At Birth.

Dear Diary:

It is now Day 26 since I was mistakenly torn from the grasp of my undoubtedly-old-money family and placed in the care of...well, how should I describe them?

Let me hasten to say that it would be entirely ungenerous of me to claim that I have not been well-cared for. Indeed, my material needs have been met with great alacrity. The red-haired wet-nurse, a charming and lovely woman whom I have to say is growing on me, is quick to feed me and dispose of my alimentary leavings, ensuring that my nether regions will not be chapped. I rather enjoy the swaddling and have plenty of time to rest. Bathing seems to be great fun, and the water is pleasant to the touch. The clothing, though too often second-hand, alas, is sturdy and comfortable. The wet-nurse also seems to have primary care for me, which is good, given her mostly cheery demeanor and overall competence. I will miss her when I am returned to my Grosse Pointe (Farms, quite likely) abode to reside with my natural kith and kin. I have resolved to send her a card on my birthday in gratitude for her assistance.

The surroundings are passable, a brick bungalow with a second floor addition that makes it near-enough a colonial. Only a one and a half car garage, but that's not my problem. Surprisingly enough, given the behavior I observe, they seem to be bookish. Plenty on the built-in bookshelf, including the Bard and Homer, along with rumors of an impressive library in the basement. Drat my inability to ambulate!

I say "surprisingly enough" because, as regards the rest of the staff....sigh. I am certain their intentions are good.

The hairy-faced fellow to whom the wet-nurse is inexplicably espoused is a rather loud and eccentric chap. He seems competent enough in the ways of child care, in a sort of rough-hewn peasant fashion. And the rest of the staff, wet-nurse included, seem genuinely happy when he returns from the quarry (?) where he likely works. He, too, is capable when it comes to keeping my nether regions unchafed, and proves to be a startlingly-effective heat source conducive to productive napping. He could be a bit more capable of dressing me, but at least he chooses appropriate clothing. However, his eccentricities have become a bit cloying. What is with his penchant for bizarre nicknames? The name they gave me is solid enough, passable even in the Pointes, especially when I abbreviate the first initial. I can't get attached to it, of course, but it is a commendable moniker. I understand diminutives like "Tom" or "Tommy." But what on earth is a "Tombert"? And what's with "Tomás"? They don't look Mexican. Odd--and increasingly annoying. By the way, Mr. Hirsute Jokester, "Chubba-bubba" is right out.

Alas, while they are likely not Mexicans (though the wet-nurse has one of those tall candles with the Savior on it), I can confirm that they are Papists. That would explain the large staff. Worse yet, they appear to be Irish--all except the Bearded One, oddly enough. Despite his annoying mannerisms, he seems to be of good Kentish yeoman stock, if his stories are correct (I'll ignore the Welsh component). This is something of a relief, given that when I first saw him I thought I might have been accidentally deposited with the followers of Mahomet. No, adherents to Popedom instead. With at least a leavening of the Sceptered Isle in their veins.

And, if I must go to the Roman Mass, I suppose I shan't complain about the surroundings of the church itself--the decor is commendably high church, with a baldacchino and some tastefully done stained glass.

As to the rest of the staff, they are a mixed bag: the older three--a girl, a boy, and a girl respectively are all rather decent. Loud and boisterous, but genuinely charmed by my presence. And no attempts to play dress-up by the ladies, which is a relief.

The younger two staffers need much more work, unfortunately. The boy is just bearable, what with his ill-timed need to lean over to give me a kiss or hug whilst I am sleeping in the papasan. But even he is a prince next to his younger sister. She is called "Elizabeth," but I refer to her as "the Poker." She has no sense of appropriate personal space--"close talker" doesn't begin to describe her oafish intrusions. And her constant poking of my eyes, nose, mouth with her jabbing index fingers, intoning the facial feature in question as she does so, is utterly intolerable. The rest of the staff seems to be aware of her proclivities, so they intervene before permanent damage is done. And, I suppose I can grudgingly admit that she wants to be nice, but is simply awful at displaying it, most of the time.

Stiff-upper lip, keep calm and carry on--these are my creeds. The mix-up is no doubt being investigated as I write this, and I am certain the authorities will return the burly peasant boy to this band when I am redeposited into the arms of my family in the Farms. I suppose it could be worse.

Respectfully yours,

"T. Henry."

I just find this hilarious.

Your mileage will vary, but I'm a cat person, so my internet Achilles heel is LOLcats.

If only. If only...

"How Twilight Should Have Ended":


Haven't read the books or seen the (first) film, but I'm already sick to undeath of it.

Negotiating with Your Dentist in a Businesslike Manner.

Food for thought on health care cost containment.

This seems to capture the tenor of today's postings well.

Hat-tip to Mark Shea for the find.

When celebrities talk about politics, just consider it "bonus entertainment."

Woman who gave the world the eternal classic "Half-Breed" says that Republican era "almost killed her."

Really, I've gotten to the point where I find it impossible to not be amused by this sort of thing. They're famous because they are good-looking, have some marketable talent and/or can deliver lines. It doesn't translate well to anything else, apart from television journalism.

They just have to look good, they don't have to be clear.

The Misadventures of Hello Cthulhu.

No, really.

Thanks to a commenter at Darwin Catholic for the link.

I find this inexplicably hilarious.

Garfield Minus Garfield: the comic strip without the cat.

The description:

Garfield Minus Garfield is a site dedicated to removing Garfield from the Garfield comic strips in order to reveal the existential angst of a certain young Mr. Jon Arbuckle. It is a journey deep into the mind of an isolated young everyman as he fights a losing battle against loneliness and depression in a quiet American suburb.

A sample result:


As I said, I think it's wet-your-pants-funny. However, as I disclosed below, I'm weird. YMMV.

This is genuinely funny.

Senators McCain and Obama at the Al Smith Dinner in New York last night.

Both men acquit themselves quite well.

By the way, make sure to add American Catholic to your blogroll. A group of fine contributors, including established guys like Chris Blosser, Brendan "Darwin" Hodge and Tito Edwards along with newbies, especially long-time friend-of-this-blog Donald McClarey, who at long last is blogging.

When God made Art Donovan, He broke the mold.

The Hall of Fame defensive lineman lays down his greatest hits on the Tonight Show. Funny even if you don't know any of the particulars. Keep a ear cocked for the Bobby Layne reference.



Via Thoughts From A Fat White Guy, an impressive blog by a starting lineman on the UConn team.