Put Some Gay In Your Day, Dallas!

Taxes. Tapped. Tats.

It’s been a taxing week.  For some more than others.

Taxes.  The nation is aflutter over the news that Brother Trump has seemingly woefully under-rendered unto Caesar that which is Caesar’s.  Oh, those mighty income earners.  There are so many tax shelters available to them, whereas the rest of us are laid bare to the taxing elements.  Quite frankly, I’m more concerned about another angle on this story.  With all that extra income, I want to know where Brother Donald sent his tithes and offerings.  The Scriptures tell us to give 10% of all we own to the Lord.  I’m not going to offer up an estimation of what amount that would be, but I will suggest where it needs to go.  Surely Donnie will give his offerings to that poor church by his house where he went for his photo op.  I mean really, the church was closed and boarded up!  Heresy.  Pay the light bill!  We need to pray.

Tapped.  Sister Ginsburg is barely cold in her grave and we already have a judicial handmaiden ready to be offered up as her replacement on the highest court in the land.  Let us remember the ways which Sister Ruth opened doors for women throughout her career paving the way for women like myself to have positions of leadership whether spiritual or otherwise.  Now here comes Sister Amy Coney Barrett, trotted out by our President to be tapped as the most qualified to fill Ruth’s comfortable shoes.  Sister Barrett, a woman of faith who hath borne seven children, worshipeth a ruthless god (see what I did there?) and accepteth her place, as a woman, subservient to men.  That kind of kills her ability to concur or dissent, doesn’t it?  Listen, I’m all for Christian public servants.  But this gal might as well wear a red robe and a white hat if she’s going to do the judicial bidding of a bunch of stodgy men.  This is going to be as wonton and rickety as a run-down amusement park.  Praying for you, Sister Amy Coney Island.

Tats.  Well good Lord.  Did you read about this?  A young man in France has been prevented from teaching kindergarten, a professions he dearly loves, based upon the fact that he scares his students.  Listen, my pre-school Sunday School teacher left me with soiled britches on occasion, but she was just mean.  No, this young man is a seeming loving individual who still teaches children about the age of six.  Why the fuss, you ask?  The teacher, a 35-year old Frenchman named Sylvaine Helaine, has had his body, face and tongue covered in tattoos and has had the whites of his eyes surgically turned black.  I don’t mean to judge, but I just can’t blame the school administrators for their actions.  I believe the body is the temple of the Lord.  Therefore, tattoos are nothing more than graffiti on the building.  One or two gang marks by the A/C units can be forgiven, but we’re dealing with The Church of St. Peter Max!

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