Oily Sacraments

Yeah, right.

I’ve been without cable now for three years, YouTube has replaced the boob tube. It may be the same thing, but viewing without commercials makes it feel purer.

Some nights I’ll fall asleep with it on and wake up deep in a cookie vortex. Because you liked that we thought you’d like this. The strangest clips appear. It’s how I got caught up in the 20th anniversary of Diana’s death.

I do believe she was murdered but don’t have the resources to prove it. It’s just too convenient for her ex-husband and mother-in-law not to be true. What’s baffling though is how her two boys seem so loving towards the two beneficiaries.

Maybe William and Harry’s sense of abandonment left them clutching to whatever remained. They will get to the bottom of things over time and the truth will emerge. And if they know already, their poker faced mastery of public images is remarkable at their age.

Which was the rap against their Mother. The Mountbatten-Windsors said she was a nut job in real life who completely fooled the public with her manipulation of the media. That’s the kettle calling the pot semi-precious.

It’s left to YouTube viewers to read between the lines and determine who is more genuine: Betty and her kids or the Candle in the Wind. The latter appears to be the clear winner.

In the video coming down the water slide with her sons, Diana erupts into a hearty, sustained laugh that’s difficult to fake. It was probably at the expense of a thoroughly drenched photographer. There’s another one where she’s entering a state dinner, turns to the cameras and gives her coif a cheeky “I’m hot stuff” fluff.  She is one of us. The People’s Princess.

Contrast that to sister-in-law Anne, The Horses’ Princess. She shares an equine love with her Mother that had her competing on an Olympian’s level. Since then she’s been hell-bent on galloping into the Guiness Record Book for the most personal appearances by a Saxe-Coburg-Gotha.

Whoa Nelly!

The Princess Royal is seen motorcading and helicoptering from one 20 minute visit to the next. Her stiff upper lip and matronly-before-her-time looks make her appear otherworldly. In one segment  a teenager remarks, “her hair isn’t connected to her, it doesn’t move.”

Whereas Diana took on causes for AIDS and eradicating land mines, Anne unveils plaques for the Shetland Pony Breeders Association. Or she celebrates the achievements of the Afghan Crocheters Guild of Southeastern Northumberland. Her dispassionate demeanor suggests the lower lips may be as rigid as the upper one.

Like his sister who just phones it in, the Tampax’s Prince is also a member of the Ma Bell generation. He paid his dues by getting caught doing naughty phone sex in 1992.

The phenomenon of phone dating services began in the 80’s. You would dial in to be randomly matched with another caller then could either have a private chat about things or make plans to meet up. More often than not the Al Parker voice you chatted with would turn out to be a 400 pound, pimply mama’s boy living in a debris strewn trailer with 19 cats. Sometimes it’s better to leave fantasy alone and just rub one out on the line.

Bonnie Prince Charley

The Heir Apparent got the phone sex spirit and was recorded cooing “I wanna be your tampax to his baby-poo. He deserves credit for getting the body region correct even if image selection was woeful.

The object of his hygienic lust was his current spouse. Born Camilla Shat, she is the great-granddaughter of Alice Keppel who was a mistress to Edward VII. The day Tampax the First is anointed our undoubted King he will sit on St. Edward’s Chair and ponder his holy bloodlines. He should contemplate his and his wife’s adulterous ones as well.

Their affair began innocently enough when they were young and unattached. Charles ensured she wasn’t a virgin (if there was any doubt) making her an unacceptable bride. Good PR work could have smoothed that over but Chuck was indecisive and she got tired of waiting. She mounted his hottest regimental brother in the Royal Horse Guards and became Camilla Parkyer-Bowels.

One ring-y ding-y

Charles spent the 70s flitting from woman to woman and having a blast. As a bonus he was able to work Lady Parkyer-Bowels back into the rotation.

When footage surfaced of him shaking his crazy legged groove thing at Carnivale in Rio, Burke’s Peerage convulsed en masse with embarrassment.  The establishment scrambled to create a homebody image for Mr. Wales by getting him married. The entire aristocracy seemed to be in on it except for the 20 year old naif who would be the victim.

The cruelest and most callous aspect of the plot was how Diana was used as a pawn in their game. Without her knowledge and with no training or assistance. That she was brilliant enough to catch on quickly and turn the tables on the Monarchy ended up costing her life.

Four months after her death, Charles’ other main extramarital squeeze, Kanga, died after a bizarre series of illnesses. The path was cleared for Camilla. A half decade cooling off period ensued and in 2005 the Queen finally sanctioned their union. Little Miss Shat was legitimized as the Duchess of Cornholes.

When the current sovereign was informed of her father’s death in 1952, a courtier immediately asked how she was to be styled. She responded with an incredulous, “why Elizabeth, of course.”

It’s a little known fact that god’s representatives on earth can call themselves anything they want once on the throne. When that day comes, King Tampax will no doubt stick with the unoriginal “Charles.”

The earth-shattering moment comes when his savvy queen consort is asked. It will be the final step in her long makeover to become beloved. Since today’s dumbed-down monarchy is fueled by a tabloid press who can’t get wacky enough for you, Camilla will go for broke and answer, “Queen Diana.”

The Duchess of Cornholes

Unanswered Prayers

In Colombia, a candy Maceta is presented to the godchild by the godparent on St. Peter Chrysologus’ Day at the end of July.

When I was 10 I went to a week-long church camp on Indiana’s Lake Webster. The price of admission for all the swimming and summer fun activities was simply to pay attention at morning catechism that lasted about an hour. Easy enough.

One night after we’d gone to bed a kid at the opposite end of our cabin became upset. The high school boy who was our counselor went over to talk to him. The rest of us pretended to be asleep and not to notice.

This was serious. The counselor decided that we, indeed, should take notice. He turned on the blinding overhead light. He said the boy had experienced the presence of someone and together they’d concluded it had been the Lord.

We were entering pretty scary territory. It made the rest of us start crying. The counselor went around the bunks, quietly comforting each boy as they all kind of agreed they’d experienced the same thing. When he finally got to me I did my best, in between sobs, to explain my feelings.

Basically I told him I felt left out. I didn’t have the same visitation as the others. I felt nothing. I thought there was something terribly wrong with me for being the only one who didn’t get it.

This was not the response the counselor wanted to hear from his lemmings. Flummoxed, he could only say, “well….well….just pray then.”

Personal spirituality has been all down hill since that summer camp. I’m not religious. Only one friend, Marilyn, has ever been foolish enough to make me a godparent to their child.

I accepted her offer because someone told me being asked was an honor. And if a person holds you in such regard it’s an insult to tell them no. It’s not a time to proselytize. You can adjust the curriculum to your own bent after assuming the post. In this case, Marilyn knew exactly what she was getting so expectations were set appropriately.

I always remembered my godson’s birthday for the first 20 years of his life and made him laugh every time I saw him. I believe I was instrumental in molding him into the marvelous young man he is today.

Now I’ve been asked a second time. This time it’s for a friend’s dog. Who knew? But then dog is just god spelled backwards.

Apparently Most Holy Redeemer in the Castro offers this ceremony. My friend told me there would be classes to attend in preparation for the service. This intrigued me, what could they possibly say? Which part of the scriptures covers Whippets? Did I miss “blessed are the King Charles Cavalier Spaniels for they were Nancy Reagan’s favorite breed?”

He also said I would need to go to confession so I could receive the body of Christ in a small Eucharistic service for godparents. This creeped me out, where would I begin? Is there a time limit? I wasn’t raised Catholic and, honor or not, I’m not doing that.

Then I realized he was joking. About the prep work not the ceremony.  Yesterday he said he’d check to make sure I didn’t need to fast before the baptism.

This is the kind of unknown territory I do enjoy entering. Potential blog material awaits.

Yours in Christ: Sydney and me.