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Nuns and hidden agendas

I often wonder what is the driving force behind old school shitiness.

I bring this up mainly because I found an old picture of me as an alter boy and I was reminded of what a better person I am than most. (I was an altar boy for a total of 10 days and then I was dismissed as part of the “Sacrificial wine scandal” of 1976. I was a victim.)

And then I came to Starbucks and just got in line in time to catch the tail end of a “How hard is your job?” berating of an irate dick head directed at my favorite barrista.

I was about to say something when the nun spoke up.

“Why don’t you shut your mouth?”

She was loud, she was angry, she had the most delightful jersey-girl accent.

And she was in full habit.

Nothing more intimidating than an angry nun in full habit.

Like a pitbull armed with a straight razor.

Bad memories, like PTSD, come boiling up from my past.

If you never went to Catholic school, its a lot like being a former resident of hell.

But going to Catholic school that is taught by nuns it like being in a prison and wearing a pretty sun dress that shows off your legs.

You know you are getting screwed at some point.

And its your fault.

Before you ask “What is my fault?” understand that EVERYTHING you do in Catholic school  is a sin and you are guilty!

Nuns are married to God, and it looks like a bad marriage.

Now, before my mother weighs in on this subject, let me state that I am a deeply devout man, or I am at least close.

But nuns have a general hatred of anyone with a spark of excitement for life.

And that is when I met them.

The penguins.

It started in first grade and continued to 8th grade graduation.

I had nuns continually riding my ass like a chronic hemorrhoid in a black habit and rosary beads.

First grade was when I was first expelled for accidentally stabbing someone in the neck with a pencil.

And blood is one of those things that cranks up the screaming.

You can apologize all you like on that one, you are not getting away with a slap on the wrist.

3rd thru 5th grade was the hayday of silly reasons to expel me.

There was the gambling ring, the extortion ring, truly innocent slave trading, and a misunderstanding involving a game of show and tell in the girl’s room. (All excuses are ignored when you have no pants on.)

My mother was a slick horse trader and alternated between being the school nurse and substitute teacher for 8 years, never being paid. (The penguins even had fact teaching credentials made up for her that evaporated when I graduated.)

The deal was understood.

Shut your mouth, tow the line and we will let that little bastard stay.

Not bad as far as back room deals go.

Back to modern day Starbucks and Sister Mary-Goomba.

She followed Mr. Rudeness over to wait for his coffee, glaring at him like a mad woman the whole time.

If anyone else pulled this kind of shit, they were either homeless or dealing with a different type of crazy.

Nuns get away with everything.

I got my coffee and began writing this, delighted at finding a solid blog subject.

They can be hard to come by.

“Friggin lesbians!”

This little muttered tidbit came from the guy sitting next to me.

I took out my earbuds, I had nothing playing, and turned to look at him.

Stir the pot.

“I know, right?” Apparent agreement is the quickest way to find out what makes someone tick.

He looked at me, maybe for the first time, then nodded slightly.

“They have a whole fuckin agenda!”

I sipped my coffee and tried to figure out if he was homeless or not.

Crazy was already a gimme at this point.

Some days you rack your brain trying to figure out a subject to blog about.

And then some days, they fall out of the sky, like some sort of literary coffee cake, to be paired with a delicious roast.

Mmmmm Coffee.

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Posted by on September 15, 2017 in Uncategorized

 

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The sex ed penguins.

Went to another reunion, and it wasn’t even mine.

Not entirely certain how I keep ending up at other people’s reunions, but never making it to my own.

It can’t be because I don’t want to go, I mean, obviously I enjoy these types of odd soiree.

Maybe its that sense of not officially being eligible to be there.

Breaking even a basic rule can be fun.

Most people don’t, but this falls right in line with my Catholic School upbringing.

Catholic school is a bizarre form of psycho/sexual abuse that few people come away from unscathed.

I don’t mean being touched by a priest, that is a separate kind of crime, I am talking about the legal form of mental abuse. (Which I still don’t get. I mean, at age 9, I was HOT. You could have bounced a quarter off my ass. Nobody laid a finger on me.)

Sex ed, when taught by angry sexually frustrated nuns to angry sexually frustrated young boys, becomes a harrowing tale of the blind leading the blind.

The girls, in crisp white blouses, plaid skirts and patent leather shoes, were herded into one room, and a mangy group of sloppy boys was herded into the other.

The girls, I found out later, had a four hour lecture about how evil and vile boys were.

The boys, had a different afternoon.

Watching 4 hours of the most grisly VD movies ever made has a peculiar effect on the adolescent mind.

It had the same effect as the Reefer Madness films had from the 60’s.

We didn’t believe a word of them.

First off, masturbation did not cause blindness or hairy palms.

If it did, we would all be tapping white canes and look a lot like werewolves in school uniforms.

And I would be the Alpha Wolf.

Some of us discovered things earlier than others.

The funniest part was, non of us understood what they were talking about.

Self abuse? Who would abuse themselves, that sounds nasty.

Play with myself? Sure, who doesn’t?

There was 2 kids I went to school with that went to the bathroom a few times before recess, spent all of recess there, 1 time before lunch, all of lunch, and a few times before school got out.

In retrospect, it is possible that they were trying to rip it out by the root.

Like I always say, its important to have a hobby.

One kid stopped bringing lunch as eating cut down on his private time.

And non of us went blind. (Ironically, I am wearing glasses right now.

On a side note, I may be one of the hairier men you will meet this side of Little Armenia in Southern California.

Maybe something to that.

For the most part, we all survived the Catholic school version of Sex Ed.

But, much like returning soldiers who have been thru hell, we all bear the mental scars of it all.

The mildest side effects are those of us with the standard sexual kinks. Oral fixations, promiscuity, that sort of thing.

The worst are those that are the serious deviants. Gimp suits, scat fetishes, barnyard animals, and it gets worse.

And the world keeps turning.

And the nuns keep talking.

And the circle of life continues unimpeded.

 
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Posted by on May 20, 2016 in Uncategorized

 

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