Chiaology

“Ch-ch-ch-chia!”
-Advertising Jingle for the Chia Pet®

Well, Toads and Toadettes,

The Toad has been lurking the corridors of stately Toad Hall in customary fez and smoking jacket contemplating mockeries of the year past. “Smug and Self-Satisfied,” game to mind. This is not a law firm, bunky. It’s a good feeling in the satire business. “Smugness and Self-Satisfaction” (“S&S” to those in the biz). These make for the unhealthy glow that follows a good bout of knocking off others who aspire to the same goal. But you know, boys and girls, there’s only so much S&S to go round and the Toad ain’t sharing. He doesn’t have to. He’s the Barking Toad.® Rawk.*

So, with a veritable treasure house of S&S laid up, the Toad found himself in a reverie accented with mild gloating over how Easterners handle a little snow. Hey, don’t like it, move to Florida, maybe the greater Orlando area, pally. There’s maybe a snow job going on there, but the hot air keeps it mostly under control, if you get my "drift." Rawk, rawk, rawk.* (Sometimes the Toad even amazes himself!)

The Toad was just getting to another shaker of The Last Word cocktails-the ideal drink for the amphibious satirist-when he was surprised by his back-up singers, the Toadelles. This sequined band of musical mayhem makers toured with the Toad back in his R&B (rawk* and bark) days. Twila Toad, Tonetta Toad, Tondelao Toad and, of course, Tina Toad had stopped in to see what the Amphibious One might want for Christmas and to catch up on the holiday drinking. After firing up the big blender, we settled in on the lily pads to ponder presents.

What do you get for the Toad who has everything? No cilices for the Toad, pally, and the electronics are superb in stately Toad Hall.  Maybe it is the Chia Pet®, that “brand of collectible animal figurines originated by the San Francisco, California-based company Joseph Enterprises Inc.”

Chia Pets are traditional Mexican animal-shaped clay figures covered with "chia", a vegetable sprout resembling the particular animal’s fur or, in the case of human figures, their body hair. (Sounds like the Toad's late uncle Vito, but only on the back and shoulders. Rawk!*) These babies work, if you can call it that, by applying moistened seeds of Salvia hispanica, the sprout-like plant from whose common name the Chia Pet gets its name, to the grooved terra cotta figurine body. After three to five days of filling and refilling the Chia Pet with water as well as discarding water that has accumulated in the provided drip tray, the seeds sprout, having formed a gelatinous coat that adheres to the Chia Pet's body. At this point, little effort is required to maintain the plant covering of the Chia Pet.

Several Chia Pet animals currently are available, including a turtle, pig, puppy, kitten, frog, and hippopotamus. Sculpted Chia heads and licensed Pets based on popular cartoon characters like Garfield, Scooby Doo, Looney Tunes, Shrek, The Simpsons, Spongebob, and most recently the Chia Obama. (Now there’s a scary image.) There are, though, no Chia Toads, a glaring deficiency which probably resulted in their subsequent decline in popularity has relegated these objects to fad status. In case you were wondering, the catch phrase sung in the TV commercial as the plant grows in time lapse is “Ch-ch-ch-chia!”

Wow, Toads and Toadettes! It’s a pet, it’s a plant, and it’s a work of art all in one. And you don’t have to be involved after an initial small and mildly distasteful effort. It may even be a theological metaphor. You were waiting to see there this would go, weren’t you bunky? Well, have another Last Word and just wait for it. Rawk*

On the Odd Religious Behavior Front, (between St. Michel and Ypres), the Toad has taken a few shots lately at some guys who are trying to decide what they are in a religious sense. It seems as though they lost their identity faster than Uma Thurman in a Quentin Tarrantino film. That’s a cultural reference, bunky, look it up. Of course, that presupposes they ever had an identity in the first place. Rawk.*

After all, what do you do when you need to announce that your "worldview" has run the gamut from paganism, broad evangelicalism, foaming-at-the-mouth rabid Calvinism, Anglicanism, to Roman Catholicism of the Opus Dei (Latin for “fanatical cult”) sort? Hmmmmm. There’s more identities there than Sybil. How do you spell "confused"?

Or, let’s try the “archdeacon” who has been a “traditional Anglican” after having spent three decades as a Reformed Church minister. This fellow, who discovered his "Anglican identity" in the last couple of years recently announced in public that he’s not able to believe that his ordination by presbyters in the Reformed tradition was invalid or that the hundreds of “Eucharists” that he claims to have “celebrated” for over 30 years were just empty signs. It seems that he sees reordination simply as a “reaffirmation of [his] previous 30 years of ordained ministry.” Wow, bunky! That might not be a problem in your current venue (after all, lack of education, formation, multiple wives, disbarment and other scandales, aren't problematic), but, you might want to plan to be going to one or two remedial classes on that little issue when you get to your new venue. They have a wee bit of different take on the question of those pesky sacraments. Rawk, rawk.*

Maybe it could all work out in a new religious outlook the Toad will call Chiaology. It works this way, boys and girls. We’ll get a hollow clay church building, say in that quaint English familiar style. You can even add the Chia-bishop®, Chia-priest® and even a Chia-deacon®. All of them suitably hollow inside, but not Mexican-made, pally. No foreign goods, here. The Toad only buys American, except for the lawn service, the pool service, the housecleaning service, the car detailing service, and occasional fast food purchases. Rawk.*

And, you don’t have to really worry about that hole inside. Content doesn’t matter to the real practitioner of Chiaology. You can put anything in there or nothing at all. It doesn’t matter, rally. Great shades of Fernando, it just matters that it looks marvelous, pally. That’s Chia-“patrimony”.

Then, you apply the chia seeds—we can even get them in the appropriate liturgical colors from C.M. Almy’s new Botanical Division. We just paste them on there in gelatinous coat—the kind that is formless and wobbles and jiggles until it settles down on whatever Chia shape is underneath.

Now, the bad news-you do have to do a little work. Not much, bunky, not like going to a real seminary or even having a real ordination. But Chiaology does require some up-front effort-you know, read the manual, dump out the water. But it won’t last long. Soon, the sprout-like plant will cover any grooves or marks, and you will feel all warm and comfy-like. Chiaology is sort of like having eight or nine Last Word’s—everything gets hazy and indistinct. You really don’t have to work at it any more, or bother the mind with substance.

You do get only a limited initial number of Chia seeds, though. What happens when the first ones die off and the same ones aren’t available from our good friends at C.M. Almy’s Botanical Division? Well, you can get almost the same salvia hispanica from that bigger supplier. And what if you break your Chia-bishop? You can get almost the same kind, and when that vegetable patina grows out it will almost be the same. And, that’s the way it is, pally. No worry, though, because Chia-patrimony is all on the surface anyway. Just as long as you can sing that familiar, “Ch-ch-ch-chia!” (#437 in the 1940 Chia-Hymnal), you will be just fine. Rawk, rawk, rawk.*

So, the Toad is bunkering in for Christmas. He’ll leave hollow figures on the windowsill, unless it’s a Chia-Obama (as content free as any other Chia-pet). That one will have to have a place right there on the bookshelf in the study next to Joey Escribá’s The Dummy’s Guide to Flagellation, Hank Zwingli’s Big Book of Sacraments and, from the mansion, Hep’s Little Black Book (Hardcover edition).

After attending to sending threat letters (you think a present like a Chia-anything gets a thank you?), the Toad will head out to the trench line where “the Padre” will lay on a nice Christmas Eve service for the Toads and Toadettes standing watch. Afterwards, we’ll gaze out on the star shells bursting over No-Man’s Land and wait for the sweet strains of one of the Huns singing a traditional German carol. Then, tear in the eye, the Toad will drop him like a sack of spuds in his tracks from 100 yards out with a round from the trusty .303 Enfield, and take the chocolate ration off him for good measure. The Hun bastard was probably a practicing Chiaologist to boot! Rawk, rawk, rawk!

Now, religious rancor almost aside, (thats double consonance, pally, be amazed), it’s that part of the column you all wait for: the drink recipe. For Christmas it’s the aptly-named Last Word. When it comes to flavor, Toads and Toadettes, this little ambuscade in a glass lives up to its name. Made with gin, fresh squeezed lime juice, maraschino liqueur and green (of course) Chartreuse. The Last Word is a prohibition-era drink, which originated at the Detroit Athletic Club and had gotten lost until a Seattle bartender Murray Stenson (not a known Chiaologist) discovered it while rifling through old cocktail manuals and long-lost S.P.C.K. publications.

Considered one of America’s top bartenders, Stenson found The Last Word in “Bottoms Up!” (or was that, "Buttocks Up"?) by Ted Saucier, a 1951 bartender’s guide that is so old it was bound together reportedly by packaging tape. Or, maybe it was a gelatinous substance. In any event, here is

The Last Word

1/2 ounce gin
1/2 ounce lime juice
1/2 ounce green Chartreuse
1/2 ounce maraschino liqueur

Shake with ice and strain into a cocktail glass.  A few of these, bunky, and you’ll be chasing Chia-pets with the balsamic vinaigrette and a packet of croutons.

Merry Christmas (we don’t say “holiday” here) to all, and to all a Toad night!

Yr. Obed. Serv.

Brigadier Roy Aldous Toad, O.B.E. (Order of the Bufodinae Empire), M.Ch. (Master of Chialogy), D. Phil. (Oxen.), LSMFT
Somewhere Near the Ypres Salient
*The Sound of One Toad Barking

Identity Crisis

I can tell you the license plate numbers of all six cars outside. I can tell you that our waitress is left-handed and the guy sitting up at the counter weighs two hundred fifteen pounds and knows how to handle himself. I know the best place to look for a gun is the cab of the gray truck outside, and at this altitude, I can run flat out for a half mile before my hands start shaking. Now why would I know that? How can I know that and not know who I am?

-Jason Bourne, The Bourne Identity


Well, Toads and Toadettes,

It seems that Christmas is fast approaching Toad Pond, and, here in the upper southern Midwest, we cosmopolitan amphibians have donned our fezzes and smoking jackets for indoor festivities and a general bout of rejoicing. Less prudent bufodinae-those without fireplaces and central heat--already are frozen down, perhaps to emerge in the New Year. They should have gotten that last delivery from Hiram Distilleries. But, hey, someone has to be a “spring peeper,” right? Rawk!*

It’s time to reflect on the dyspepsia of the year past. We’ve eviscerated Episcopalians, lanced Lutherans, ambushed Anglicans, stabbed seculars and vilified vagantes. The Toad has even tumbled the truth on so-called “traditional” Christians, both to maintain consonance and to harpoon hypocrisy. (C’mon, boys and girls, that’s good even by the Toad’s standards. Rawk.*)

So, whilst firing up another cigar and mixing a few Identity Crisis cocktails (see below so you can drink along, bunky), the Toad had a look at the latest e-mails. Apart from the customary “enhancement” pitches (hey, the Toad doesn’t need ‘em, they're for a friend) and Nigerian widows needing bank information to stash the huge sums of money hubby left, the Toad saw a bunch of e-stuff purporting to “unmask” him.

“We know who you are, and we know where you live” messages get a bit tedious. It was so nice of the blog host to give us an application to identify message originators. Now the Toad can say with confidence to Fr. K. that you really ought to check out a German dictionary or consult a retired shop teacher from Cleveland (“No, I vas never camp guard during ze var-I vas window cleaner.”) before attempting German.

In case you missed it, boys and girls, the Toad is a mélange, a volatile mixture, but, damn it, not a potpourri-that’s for Episcopalians. Several personae appear here, which is why the Toad writes third person. It’s true that someone owns this site and even owns the trademark. But, never count on knowing who might be doing the actual poking, japing and bearding of your favorite objects of derision. Nosireee, pally. This site is satirized…er…sanitized for our protection.

But, you go on. Keep sending those amusing little menacing e-mails. Guess, what? The Toad won’t publish them. There might be theft of any good material, what little there is, but your ego won’t be gratified by seeing your pitiful efforts in electronic ink. The Toad doesn’t care. He doesn’t have to because he’s comfortable with his amphibious identity.

Not so with some of you boys and girls sending messages. The Toad has seen Lutheran monsignors, Episcopagans, archiwhozisses from “relatively new jurisdictions”, and clergy of every shape and kind bound together with the common string of fraudulent credentials and thirst for “authority”. These are the boys (and occasional girl) who have done Rotary, the animal clubs (Elk, Moose, Platypus and such), Masons, the Legion and now know that they are absolutely “called” to be clergy. It’s going to be alright—the Toad will expose you as you pop up out of the dark like mushrooms after a good rain whatever sun porch seminary you are hiding in.

But, now, there’s a new kind of identity crisis abroad. An alert reader whose posts the Toad will never publish has hit upon a blog run by several guys calling themselves “Anglo-Catholic”, but who appear to be ultra-Montane Roman Catholics. The Toad steeled himself with a few Identity Crisis cocktails, and went to view this latest Christmas apparition.

Well, the more things change, the more they stay the same. Looks like the operation is run by the members of the same “jurisdiction” that has the disbarred chancellor on whom the Toad reported a couple of months ago. Now, backed by the same bishop or at least supported by his “cathedral” operation, these folks are making Opus Dei adherents look like Calvinists. All the while, the main web site of the sponsor (what is his real name, exactly?) claims to be an “Anglican” operation.

It sure does look like anything remotely Anglican has been tossed over the side of an Orlando charter boat. A little net surfing has proven to the Toad this has not set very well in “Anglo-Catholic” land, and that, as a result of “misinformation” it seems as though a number of people in that small group (and it really is small, boys and girls) aren’t particularly happy about being bartered off by the bishop (consonance, fear it) to Rome to strains of It is Well With My Soul. Rawk, rawk.*

The Toad’s favorite purveyor this bit of religious incontinence in all of this is the Anglican clergyman (you are not a priest over here, pally) the Toad will call “Christmas”, because we don’t say “holiday” here, bunky. Seems that Doctor Christmas bills himself as a “cooperator” in the Priestly Society of the Holy Cross, an association of clergy “intrinsically united with Opus Dei.” You Toads and Toadettes who might not be familiar with Opus having been living on a desert island during the DaVinci Code flap (think homicidal Albino monks), should understand that it’s a bit like Freemasonry for Roman Catholics. On steroids. With much, much more flagellation.

Doctor Christmas is quite taken with all of this, particularly given that, as a cooperator, he can “receive the spiritual goods the Church grants to those who collaborate with Opus Dei. These include indulgences which the cooperators, provided they observe the conditions established by the Church, can gain on specific days of the year, and whenever out of devotion they renew their obligations as cooperators.”

Whoa! Indulgences! Great jumping Tetzel! Guess the good doctor was out the day that they covered indulgences over at the Reformed Theological Seminary way back in 2002. (Quick trip through being an Anglican, but, unlike many “continuing Anglicans,” at least it’s legit.)

Take comfort, bunky. After assisting “in the effort to bring tens of thousands into the Church”, one day you might get to be a supernumerary or even a numerary. The Toad wonders if you’ll get a special hat. Just remember not to tie that cilice (a/k/a spiked mortification chain) too tight, or in the wrong place, pally! Rawk, rawk, rawk!*

Or, how about “The Discipline” which is described on the Opus Dei Awareness site as “a cord-like whip which resembles macramé, used on the buttocks or back once a week. Opus Dei members must ask permission to use it more often, which many do.” The Toad will spare you the story of how hard and frequently “the Founder” liked to use it. It is nearly Christmas (not “holiday” damn it) after all. The Toad will keep the macramé on the hanging plants in the orangery, thank you.

Because they are there, we will just share a soupcon of relevant quotes from the writings of Opus Dei Founder, Josemaria Escriva. How about, “Blessed be pain. Loved be pain. Sanctified be pain. . . Glorified be pain!” (The Way, 208) Hey, you Anglican Toads and Toadettes, that doesn’t mean doing without the kneelers. Or, how about this one from “The Founder”? “Your worst enemy is yourself.” (The Way, 225) And, then, “You have come to the apostolate to submit, to annihilate yourself, not to impose your own personal viewpoints.” (The Way, 936) How do you spell cult, boys and girls?

So, here’s the deal. This particular little group wants to play the Palace. Fair enough, but, the Toad smells fakery. Things aren’t straight up where the cultists roam, and, the good Doctor, having one of the few real degrees among the flock of clergy in “Anglo-Catholic” land just may be marching to a very different drummer. It may also be, Toads and Toadettes, that the Acme Company, heartily endorsed by one Wiley E. Coyote, is in the cilice business and got the directions off. Putting such a thing around one’s neck will have certain problematic “side effects”. Worse than those “enhancements”. Rawwwwwwwk.*

Now, it’s time to get back to serious winter entertainments as the snow falls. But, soft! Is that the UPS representative in with the rum delivery from Santo Domingo? The Toad doesn’t remember an Albino delivery man with a limp on this route. Hmmmm.

The Identity Crisis (ok-it’s a Boston Sidecar, the cocktail with an identity crisis)

1 oz light rum
1/2 oz brandy
1/2 oz triple sec
1/2 oz lemon juice

Mix all ingredients in a cocktail shaker with ice. Strain into a chilled Martini glass.

A couple of these, pally, and you’ll be wondering, “If you wake up at a different time, in a different place, could you wake up as a different person?” (With the Toad’s apologies to Chuck Palahniuk, but, hey, you ain’t sellin’ any books lately, bunky.)

Yr. Obed. Serv.

Roy “The Cooperator” Toad, LSMFT, D-Phil. (Oxen.)
Seuerdupernumerary
*The Sound of One Toad Barking

Et tu, Luther?

…the heinous conduct of the people of Sodom ” as “extraordinary, inasmuch as they departed from the natural passion and longing of the male for the female, which is implanted into nature by God, and desired what is altogether contrary to nature.” Martin Luther, Works, Vol. 3, 255.

Well, Toads and Toadettes,

Here at Toad Pond in the upper southern Midwest it’s a cursed 40 degrees this fine morning. At least Toad Manor has a fireplace and a drinks cart to warm the chill. Nope, bunky, there’s nothing like a tall Martin Luther Bier to take the chill off. Eight or nine of those babies and you are ready to hire someone to cut some wood for the ol’ fireplace. At least that’s the Toad’s preferred location for fires.

It seems that the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America has a different idea about fires. You see, boys and girls, this bunch of “mainstream” Christians had a little gathering in Minneapolis to approve, wait for it, a theological statement on human sexuality that loosens church teaching on homosexuality. Guess they’ve been hanging out at the Olympic Baths with their Episcopalian buddies a wee to much. They don’t call them ELCUSA for nothing. Rawk!

A few hours before the ELCA's governing body approved the sexuality statement entitled “Human Sexuality: Gift and Trust” the gathering was interrupted by a police order to send everyone within the vast convention center into the convention hall because of an approaching twister. At about 2 p.m., the tornado struck Central Lutheran Church across the street from the convention center, ripping down part of a 90-year-old steel cross atop the church and, well, sparking a bit of a fire.

Inside the center, the heat index rose with the fear as ELCA Presiding Bishop Mark Hanson read the 121st Psalm to the nervous assembly. Now here’s the kicker, toads and toadettes. The Rev. Steven Loy, chairman of the ad hoc committee for the document, was quoted as saying, “We trust the weather is not a commentary on our work.” Whoa! You think it just might be, pally?

And where was Pastor Luther in this near miss? You remember, this would be the same Luther who said, “Whence comes this perversity? Undoubtedly from Satan, who after people have once turned away from the fear of God, so powerfully suppresses nature that he blots out the natural desire and stirs up a desire that is contrary to nature.”

Or, could it be the same Luther who, Commenting on Genesis 19:4-5. wrote:

I for my part do not enjoy dealing with this passage, because so far the ears of the Germans are innocent of and uncontaminated by this monstrous depravity; for even though disgrace, like other sins, has crept in through an ungodly soldier and a lewd merchant, still the rest of the people are unaware of what is being done in secret.

Bunky, it didn’t creep in. Nosiree. The rainbow flag of Sodom was carried right in the front door, even as a little holy noise and minor devastation was expressing the more than passing displeasure from on High over the events of the day.

Boys and girls, the Toad has enough trouble in life without putting his finger (assuming he had fingers) in the eye of the Almighty. Nope. The Toad prefers to quaff a few pints of old Martin Luther, while local “undocumented laborers” chop down the neighbor’s pawlonia tree to push back the upper southern Midwestern chill here in Toad Manor.

As for the ELCUSANs, well boys and girls, Pastor Luther thinks that they can pretty well count on central heat…for a long, long time. Rawwwwwwwk!*

If you can’t find Martin Luther Bier at your local, there’s always

The Reformation Cocktail

Ingredients-

50 ml BOLS - Genever
20 ml GABRIEL BOUDIER - 'Bartender Range' Cherry Brandy
5 dash(es) ANGOSTURA - Orange Bitters
5 dash(es) ANGOSTURA - Aromatic Bitters
1 Float La Trappe Dubbel Beer

Stir bitters and cherry brandy in a similar manner to an Old Fashioned, adding Jenever and ice as you go. Layer the head of La Trappe beer on top.

A couple of these and you’ll be nailing thing to the door. Rawk!*

Yr. Obed. Serv.,

“Pastor” Roy Aldous Toad, DD-VS (Very Specious), LSMFT, D.Phil. (Augsberg)
*The Sound of One Toad Barking

Who’s Zoomin’ Who?

Who's zoomin' who, take another look, tell me baby
Who's zoomin who
Who's zoomin' who, now the fish jumped off the hook
Didn't I baby...Who's zoomin' who
-Miss Aretha Franklin

Well, Toads and Toadettes,

     The Toad is back. Amphibian-about-town that he is, he can’t resist swimming in the brackish waters of comment on the new Apostolic Constitution. You know, boys and girls, this is the document from the “front office” that covers “the establishment of special structures for Anglicans who want to enter into full communion with the Roman Catholic Church.”

The Toad notes that the Vatican's chief ecumenist (that’s Latin for “travel lots of places for good food and drinks”), Cardinal Walter Kasper says that this is “absolutely is not a signal of the end of ecumenical dialogue with the Anglican Communion.” In an interview published in the Nov. 15 edition of L'Osservatore Romano, the Vatican hotsheet and fish-wrapper, Kasper the Friendly Ghost said that the papal provision is not anti-ecumenical. “To think, as some commentators have said, that the pope made this decision just to ‘expand his empire’ is ridiculous,” the also cardinal said.

     Right. Just like firing those cannon things on Fort Sumter wasn’t the end of Confederate “ecumenical dialogue” with the Yankees. Heavens no, boys and girls. The panzer pope, a personal fave of the Toad, just suddenly developed a taste for fish and chips and Smithwick’s Ale. Or would that be Foster’s Export and kangaroo burgers. Rawk.*

     The Toad also is highly amused by the coterie of “former Anglicans” that are effervescing over this like Alka-Seltzer in club soda. Yo, Anglican enthusiasts, chill out you band of obsessed aesthetes. (The Toad likes that-it might be a literary device, but he doesn’t care.) If Rome really were the place to be a la Green Acres, why are you still obsessing over your past, which of course was a schism based on a lascivious monarch’s desire for divorce anyway? At least that’s what the line was in RCIA reeducation camp, that is if the lesbian nun teaching it ever got past ranting over her anger concerning the oppressive male priesthood. Rawk, rawk.*

     Get over it. You are part of the Roman Catholic Church now. So former Anglicans turn in your copies of the 1940 Hymnal—we’ve got some nice soothing Marty Haugan for you.

     Why would Pope Benny want to lay hold of liturgy and “traditions” that were perpetrated by a bunch of Englishmen whose Holy Orders and purported Sacraments were as bent as their teeth? (Dear God! Doesn’t National Health in the U.K. have a dental plan? Rawk.*). Worse, many of these guys are already using the same kind of banal language and dopey music as in the local Catholic joint around the corner from Toad Pond, or the local community-theatre production of The Lion King. Naw, the Big Guy is looking for clergy and lay bodies who are more or less simpatico with the his reform of the reform, and “former Anglicans” are just the perfect material to become “traditional Catholics.” They might even get oiled up on sherry, stand up against Clown Liturgies and Halloween Masses and lead a torchlight procession to deal with certain “liturgists”. Yep, B-16 might be getting some folks with actual backbones-to be absorbed and homogenized into the Roman Catholic Church never to be heard from again.

     But one thing’s for certain, toads and toadettes, Uncle Kasper isn’t rolling out the carpet for non-Anglican Communion Anglicans. You know, the “the Traditional Anglican Communion, a group that claims more than 400,000 members and describes itself as ‘a worldwide association of orthodox Anglican churches, working to maintain the catholic faith and resist the secularization of the church.’”

    No, the Kasper-dude scored these folks as Johnny-Come-Latelies: bandwagon types who “did not participate in the conversations that led to the pope's recent provision.” Whoa! That’s news! What about all of the nearly-shouted pronouncements about the “negotiations that could not be spoken of” emanating from the TAC over the last couple of years?

     That old wet-blanket Kasper went on to lift a giant ecclesiastical leg on that entire idea, stating that, “Now, however, they [TAC] are jumping on a train that already has left the station. If they are sincere, OK, the doors are open. But we cannot close our eyes to the fact that they have not been in communion with Canterbury since 1992”. Therefore, they are not technically leaving the Anglican Communion to join the Roman Catholic Church.

     What’s this? The TAC was not the principal, the prime mover, the capo di capo tutti in landing this offer from Rome to the benighted Anglicans. Had the train already left the Roma S. Petro station? Shades of Love in Vain by the immortal bards Messrs. M. Jagger and K. Richards:

Yeah, the train left the station, it had two lights on behind…
Well, the blue light was my baby and the red light was my mind.

     Could someone be over-blowing their role in this whole Anglican thing? And what of the allegedly forthcoming “special Apostolic Constitution” that makes a deal with these traditional Anglican folk? You know, the one like the Double Secret Special Probation imposed by Dean Vernon Wormer on the hapless denizens of the Delta House at Faber College. Isn’t the Vatican going to design a special program just for an entity with multiply-married, frequently uneducated clergy whose numbers are at best, shall we say vague? It certainly seems as if someone’s mind has left the station.

     Frankly, boys and girls, it looks like Kasper the Friendly Cardinal has thrown big…well…something into the celebratory punchbowl. More to the point, it seems like someone somewhere may be exaggerating just a wee little bit? Could it be the venerable Kasper who is no stranger to the occasional press retraction? Or is it a certain unnamed “thunder from down under” who is, shall we say, cutting things out of whole cloth particularly now that there are people proving a bit squeamish over becoming “former Anglicans”?

     Well, the Toad says, somebody is zoomin’ somebody. Had the train really already left the station leaving the claims of a certain primate suspect? Or is the Cardinal just miffed that he won’t be making the regular trip to Canterbury for shepherd pie and Watney’s Red Barrel? We’ll soon know if we don’t already. In the meantime, the Toad is going round the corner for mid-day devotions at Sacred Bleeding Heart parish in the hopes that the liturgist has laid on We Are a Pilgrim People or a little ditty by the St. Louis Jesuits. He then plans to follow up with a different divertissement from Australia:

The God of Chunder Cocktail

1 tablespoon of sugar syrup
juice of one lemon
2 ounces of gin or vodka
shaved Ice
Cold beer (Foster’s, of course)

To make syrup, heat the sugar in a few drops of water until dissolved. Mix syrup, lemon juice, gin or vodka; stir well. Pour into a tall glass; add shaved ice, and fill the reminder of the glass with beer. Stir.

Six or seven of these and you’ll have no constitution at all.  Rawk, rawk, rawk.*

Yr. Obed. Serv.,

Roy Aldous Toad, DD-VS (Very Specious), LSMFT, D.Phil. (University of Wallamaloo)
*The Sound of One Toad Barking

Toad on the Road

“A picture is worth a thousand words.”
-attrib. Napoleon Bonaparte, French General, Politician, Emperor, and Man About Town

Well, Toads and Toadettes,

The Toad has been on a well-deserved vacation. Overcome by the flurry of postings by some guy named “Anonymous”, he filled up the cooler, fired up the Toadmobile and set out looking for adventure.

Okay, pally, the Toad actually just turned off the phone, turned up the air conditioner and tried not to leave Toad Hall. There are too many anonymi out there, many of them clergy throwing fits over having their little oxen gored, and we just are having none of it. (By the way, boys and girls, particularly you anonymous ones, Blogger does let the Toad suss out your real identities. Oooops. Could be someone’s in for a public spanking—and you won’t even have to pay extra like you usually do. Rawk!*)

But, venture out the Toad did at last when he ran out of Peppermint Schnapps for the Buzzard’s Breath Cocktails that powered him through August. Driving through the countryside, he encountered the little Episcopal church in the photos. You observant readers will note that churchyard was filled with buzzards, as was every square inch of the roof. Okay, pally, they are might be hard to see without downloading and enlarging the happy snaps. Or, maybe you can just squint a bit to see the prown scavengers strutting about. What did you expect, Ansel Adams?

The scene presented a statement that was at once theological, ecclesiastical, hierarchical (hint: who’s on top?), and demographic. Truly, as old Boney sez, “A picture is worth a thousand words.”

Now, it’s time for another frosty

Buzzard’s Breath Cocktail
Ingredients
1/2 oz Peppermint Schnapps
1/2 oz Amaretto
1/2 oz Coffee Liqueur

Directions
Pour ingredients into a shaker half filled with ice. Shake vigorously and strain into a shot glass.
Serve in a Shot Glass

Seven or either of these and you’ll be plucking dead animals off the highway, or attending the nearest branch of THE EPISCOPAL CHURCH. Same difference. Rawk, rawk, rawk.*

Yr. Obed. Serv.

Roy Aldous Toad, DD-VS (Very Specious), LSMFT, D.Phil. (Oxen.)
Prelate-Communion of Anglican Cranks in America (CACA) Original Jurisdiction (C'mon--you can't prove it's not real!)
*The Sound of One Toad Barking

Lawless

“Lawless are they that make their wills their law.”
-William Shakespeare

Well, Toads and Toadettes,

It’s a long hot summer here in the Midwestern south. The Toad pond is a foot down, and the ice machine has been on the “two cube a day” production plan. The local grocery ran out of frozen strawberries on the eve of the Toad’s annual “Big Berries n’ Booze Bash”—a much bigger event than Willy’s Barbecue a state or two closer to the Rio Grande, let me tell you. All that and it’s, wait for it, diocesan synod season amongst the U.S. continuing Anglican churches.

Ordinarily, the Toad doesn’t involve himself in these events, which customarily are parades of vestments more ornate in inverse proportion to the size of the “jurisdiction” holding the event. Many of these “synods” largely resemble an ecclesiastical version of the bar scene from the very first Star Wars film down to finely dressed prelates from the Holy Anglican Orthodox Communion of Rigel III (Original Jurisdiction) actually playing Golden Harps Are Sounding on their proboscis. Nope, the Toad usually is too busy blending berries by the pond and working out rum ratios. Rawk.*

But, every now and again, a bit of news becomes so tantalizing that the Toad can’t pass it by. It’s a bit like a fat June bug in tongue range just after lunch. The Toad doesn’t need it, but zaps it anyway just because it’s there. So it is when a “jurisdiction”, or at least a part of it, goes rogue.

Now, the Toad likes a good summer mystery too, so he’s just going to throw out a few facts as passed to him in a brown paper bag, by a brown-shoed square in the dead of the night recently. The guy heard the blender and invited himself over. Three or four Strawberry Hazes and this guy would have admitted to kidnapping the Lindbergh baby. Rawk.* As it was, he just spilled a little story I call Lawless. (Ok, I could call it the “the bishop who wouldn’t leave and his crafty minions”, but it’s too wordy for summer, pally.)

Here’s clue number one, boys and girls. What happens when a bishop reaches mandatory retirement age in the church? He retires. At least, in the Toad’s corner of Christendom, he puts in his retirement papers and maybe hangs around until some guy with a fancier hat gets a new bishop into play. Not for this guy, bunky. For three, count ‘em three years his hand-picked standing committee has the good old bish stay on by “acclamation” (trans. “You don’t get a vote people. He stays, and we’ll punish anyone who says otherwise.”) No squawks, no squeaks.

Clue number two is pretty close. The aforesaid bishop for life tends to run educated clergy out of his diocese as quickly as he can. “And why is this, pray tell?” the Toad asked his sozzled visitor. “No opposition,” was the answer. Seems the bish never really went to a legitimate seminary of any kind. So too most of his clergy including several of his thugs on the aforesaid standing committee. Clergy like that get ideas—like why aren’t we playing by the rules. Bunch of stiffs.

At the same time, at least one highly-valued “clergyman” masquerading as a Dominican Friar (interesting enough in that he’s married with children) seems to have no record of an ordination—anywhere. It’s ok, though, boys and girls, he didn’t have a medical license either when authorities got squeamish about him giving exams and writing scrips in a clinic down south. Whoa! No problem there. Rawk, rawk.*

But, wait, there’s more—another clue. This “synod” passed changes to its local canons all designed to keep the bish in a paying job, and to give the lawyer for the bish a vote on the standing committee. This assures old miter-head a berth until the cows come home. Enforcement of these changes was vigorous at the hands of the lawyer who wrote them up for the his ecclesiastical boss and apparently made up procedural rules as he went along. Not an obstacle, this made up set of procedures, as we shall see.

One more little problem, here boys and girls, the legal Machiavelli behind all of this had been disbarred last January following some pretty interesting public opinions by the state supreme court. After all, it’s not just any legal eagle the court singles out for being a liar whilst plucking the old license. Nosiree! It’s a special, special kind of lawyer—one who never shared that little bit of inconsequential news with the people of the diocese, or with the national “denomination” for which he also is the lawyer. (They haven't got rid of him either, by the by.)

What would Perry Mason say? “Your honor, my investigator Paul Drake has uncovered some interesting information—my opposing counsel, having been exposed as a liar and all around poltroon, was disbarred six months ago and should be sitting in the gallery. I win.” Rawk, rawk, rawk.*

So, there it is, toads and toadettes, unqualified clergy running the show, bishops doing whatever they want, good clergy being run off, disbarred lawyers serving as diocesan and national chancellors. The only thing there hasn’t been is a property suit, or it would look exactly like…well…The Episcopal Church. (The Toad won't give away the entity--you have to do your own research, pally.) Raaawwwwk!*

At this point in the story, the Toad had to gently put a blanket over his peacefully sleeping guest—then roll him up in it and lock him in his car trunk until the guy sobered up. Then, a few Strawberry Hazes later, the Toad ruminated on lawlessness. Unless you are the Toad, you can’t just do what you want, pally. The problem with many continuing Anglicans, or Discontinuing Anglicans as a new blogster calls himself, is that they do the same darned stuff that the “other guys” do. Rule by whim, rule by terror, rule by whatever means necessary to put on and keep on a funny hat or ornate costume. It’s bush league Machiavellianism, and only hurts the little toads and toadettes.

It is Lawless. And not like the Toad’s main girl Lucy Lawless. Xena would make fast work of these lawless legions, and in a much better costume. Then she and the Toad would sit back to a pitcher of Strawberry Hazes, and never have to play guess the lawless jurisdiction again. But, until the warrior queen comes to put order in the house, here’s another secret recipe for summer fun. Seven or eight of these and Xena will be locking you in the trunk after your disbarment. Rawk!*

Strawberry Haze
Ingredients:
1 Shot White Rum
1 Shot De Kuyper Wild Strawberry
Top up Champagne
4 Strawberries
0.25 Shot Sugar Syrup

Remove the stalk from each strawberry and muddle these together in the base of a cocktail shaker. Add the White Rum and sugar syrup plus ice and shake well together. Fine strain into a flute or large martini glass. Top up with Champagne. Got it, bunky?

Yr. Obed. Serv.,

Roy Aldous Toad, DD-VS (Very Specious), LSMFT, D.Phil.
Prelate-Communion of Anglican Cranks in America (CACA) Original Jurisdiction (C'mon--you can't prove it's not real!)
*The Sound of One Toad Barking

The Road To Smurfdom
(with apologies to F. Hayek)

"Enough fighting! Lets all have a smurfy day!”
-Papa Smurf (children's television character and new archbishop)

Well, Toads and Toadettes,

Seems like summer is just the right time to reinvent the wheel and other early tools. The big Anglican Church in North America (ACNA) hoedown in Texas is all done. The trimphalist reportage, pumped out on a scale that makes Hugo Chavez look like local public access programming, has died down (for now). And all of the good boys and girls have taken their tambourines home to Smurf Land, to sing happy Smurf songs and hire a few more legal Smurfs to fend off the evil Squid Woman and her crafty minions. The Toad has learned that the firm of Grumpy Smurf, Jokey Smurf, and Sleazy Smurf, LLC is available. Rawk!*

And just what is it that our happy "Anglican" Smurfs did while on their Lone Star holiday? Well, here's a surprise, they came up with a few more bishops including a new Archbishop a/k/a "Papa Smurf". Just look at that blue get up, bunky, and tell the Toad that ain't a Smurf. Rawk, rawk.*

Along with creating bishops and yet another Anglican jurisdiction in the United States, the Smurfs also wanted to be "fair" and "nice" to absolutely everyone except those tatty old homosexuals who caused the whole problem in Smurfdom in the first place. That is why you Toads and Toadettes will notice all of the lady Smurfs dressed up as smurf priestesses right next to the fat white Smurfs in Kente cloth stoles. It made the Toad nearly gag on the Blue Lagoon cocktail Manolo the butler here at Toad Manor had put together to celebrate the Texas Smurforama. Apparently, the learning curve in the new "province" is pretty short.

Okay, Papa Smurf did "deal" with this and many other issues, like where to find fuzzy Gothic blue vestments in East Potlatch, Texas. Here's what the Big Blue One had to say,

...for those who believe the ordination of women to be a grave error, and for those who believe it scripturally justifiable- reflecting Global Anglicanism-that we should be in mission together until God sorts us out. It is not perfect,but it is enough.

Well, there we go. We'll just drive on the way we have, little Smurfs, and wait for that burning bush to tell us what the "Big Guy" pretty well laid out already--"I didn't leave Holy Orders in the hands of the ladies, whether they be Smurfs or one of Squid Woman's familiars." Nope, nada, can't do it for all of the Blue Lagoons in a new "Province".

Just a couple of side notes here--first, the Toad wonders what ever happened to all of those other Anglicans? You know, the ones who have been clawing parishes out of the earth whilst Papa Smurf and all of his fellow "orthodox" Smurfs held on to their pieces of real Smurf property and looked down on them as "non-Smurfs". ("Here now, are you Bluish?")


Also, what about those brave allegedly "Anglo-Catholic" Smurfs? You know, boys and girls, the ones who actually know when you are supposed to wear blue vestments. (Hint: It ain't in summertime, pally.) How do they go off into happy Smurf Land with Big Blue and his hairspray squad? No, bunky, they are going to continue their "teaching mission" to the Church of Squid Woman and, hold on to your hat, to the Traditional Anglican Communion, "that the Priesthood of Jesus is not a functional leadership of bishops and priests, but the bishop/priest is the icon, the man Jesus being made visible to the Christian community." Here's news, pally: the "traditional" Anglicans have known about this little bit of information for, shall we say, some time. On the other hand, the Mistress of Invertibrates up in New York wouldn't spit on you if you were on fire, much less accept that "teaching." Rawwwwwwk.*

Then, there was an appearance by the "evangelical" Pastor Rick "Cross Marketing" Warren. To the sighs, ooohs, and ahhhs of the Smurfs, Pastor Rick reportedly "made his audience feel special" with one liners like, "You may lose the steeple, but you won't lose the people." Deep, very very deep. The Smurfs lapped up this thin-beer theology that fits on a coffee mug, or day planner, or t-shirt...well, you get it pally. No sacraments, no liturgy, just pull down screens and infotainment for the pastor looking to pack 'em in. And here's the really good part, boys and girls,

People look at Saddleback and say how large should a church get? That is the wrong question. The question is who should be left behind.

Well, apparently no one, for Pastor Rick. Not even a president who favors the killing of the little Smurfs. Nosirree, Pastor Rick just wanted to be included front and center in the coronation-all press is good press even if it means getting down with the godless. Man, that's inclusive. Almost like Squid Woman herself or certain members of the U.S. Conference of Catholic Bishops. (Toad wants to be "inclusive" in his criticism--he wouldn't want anyone to feel "bad" over being left out. Rawk, rawk.*)

Smurf Fest 'o9 even featured a real bishop Metropolitan Jonah of the OCA, who should receive a medal for the effort at talking some sense into the Blue People. The praise music must have been turned up too loud, as the cheering Smurfs seemed to have missed the message of the Orthodox trail boss. What would it take for "reconciliation" with the Smurfs? Here's the prescription for getting rid of the blues, ancient Church style:

Full affirmation of the orthodox Faith of the Apostles and Church Fathers, the seven Ecumenical Councils, the Nicene Creed in its original form (without the filioque clause inserted at the Council of Toledo, 589 A.D.), all seven
Sacraments and a rejection of 'the heresies of the Reformation.

Big Jonah listed a series of deal breakers with Big Blue Bob's vision of Smurfdom: Calvinism, anti-sacramentalism, iconoclasm, Gnosticism, and the ordination of women to the Presbyterate. Don't even start with that filioque clause, boys and girls. Whoa! That's laying it on the line, and pretty much says that "intercommunion" is over before it even starts. The Metropolitan pretty well hit on all of the things that define the Smurfland of the "re-Reformed." (Ok, maybe not the Gnosticism, but the Toad will bet even money on that bit.) Rawk, rawk, rawk.*

Bottom line, Toads and Toadettes, this is just another Protestant denomination. The whole attitude toward anyone else can be summed up in the words of one of the events "reporters" (an ACNA activist): "In my observation much of what is called 'Anglo-Catholic' is crypto-Roman, whether consciously or unconsciously." Crypto-Roman? Smurfs, rally! Light up the fires and toast a few of those Papists.

Nawwwww, bunky. The real A-Cs are just plain old Catholics of the English type trying to live out their church lives without snare drums and fellow parishioners babbling in "tongues" that sound vaguely like an auctioneer on benzidrene or someone speaking Czech with a mouthful of dry salt crackers. Rawwwk.*

All of this is billed by Papa Smurf as a "return to manful Christianity." Well, pally, a picture really is worth a thousand words. Rawwwwwwk.*

The Blue Lagoon
Ingredients:
1.5 Shots Russian Standard Vodka
1.5 Shots De Kuyper Blue Curaçao
Top up Lemonade
Ice it down.

In the words of the immortal Brainy Smurf, "Now Now! We all need to smurf down!" Five or six Blue Lagoons, and there'll be no problem with that

Yr. Obed. Serv.,

Roy Aldous Toad, DD-VS (Very Specious), LSMFT, D.Phil.
Prelate-Communion of Anglican Cranks in America (CACA) Original Jurisdiction (C'mon--you can't prove it's not real!)
*The Sound of One Toad Barking

Like Mushrooms

"The very idea of true Anglicanism is lost, and the term has been prostituted to the very worst of purposes. Anglican denominations, sir! Why, Anglican denominations spring up like mushrooms!"
-With Apologies to Sir Robert Walpole

Dear Toads and Toadettes,

It was just a matter of time. Like cow patties after a good rain, the "jurisdictions" are popping out after the cloudburst that was the ACNA hoedown in Texas. Did you boys and girls get a gander at all those priestesses down there? The Toad will have to bark about it, but first...

The Toad was sucking down an early morning Lime Rickey made with Sonic Drive-In Limeade when his brand new assistant, the Yapping Tadpole (get a aload of his fake degrees) hopped in breathlessly to Toad Manor. He was almost speechless. After a couple Sonic Lime Rickeys, the Tad pulled out a stack of research (he's got a fraudulent degree in it) about the newest Anglican "denominations." Could it be true, boys and girls? The Toad thought that Big Bob's ACNA Big Tent Gospel Show and Clergy Beauty Parlor was the only new Contining Church in town. Rawk.*

But no--not so. Not to be outperformed, there is the CACNA-The Conservative Anglican Church of North America under "Arch Bishop" (it's one word bunky!) Val E. Rose of Texas. This intrigued the Toad. He knew a Valley Rose from Texas, but the constabulary closed her place down. It's not a story for the little Toads and Toadettes wither, so don't ask.

While the Yapping Tadpole went out for more Sonic Drive-In Limeade, the Toad perused the CACNA pseudo-bona fides at their CACNA website. (The Toad likes saying CACNA, ok, pally? Sounds like Camp CaCna where he spent many painful summers as a young tad.) Here it is:

We are an Autocephalous Apostolic and Holy Catholic Church. We are a traditional and liturgical church. We are not in communion with Canterbury.

Looks like the main reason for the operation is to fix up church weddings for several "bishops" who "left the Roman Catholic priesthood, fell in love with beautiful, young ladies and were married [civilly]." At least they are not in communion with Canterbury, but, hey, who is? Rawk, rawk, rawk.*

They don't have any listed parishes and all five clergy are "bishops" or "Arch bishops", but (drum roll, please) they do have Saint James University, CACNA's "fully-accredited" seminary. The Toad was even more intrigued, but the "About" page was as empty as this fakeroo institution. The tuition and fees page was included; and, happily, boys and girls, this is one of the least expensive specious institutions going. At least you aren't getting ripped off. Rawk, rawk, rawk.*

The Yapping Tad returned, fired up the blender and pointed to another variety of Anglican fungus The Christian Episcopal Church or "The XnEC (Xn = Christian, E = Episcopal, C= Church)". As opposed to Madam Jefferts-Schori's Pagan Episcopal Church in New York, this baby really jams down on the episcopate of all believers. It comes complete with four bishops, one priest, two deacons, and, oh yes one "arch deacon". (ONE word, damn it!) One of the parishes has been meeting in a Shrine Club, leading the Toad to wonder about how they work those little go-carts into the liturgy. That's just probably the Lime Rickeys talking. Rawk.*

But wait, there's more. Imitation being some form of flattery, my loyal assistant pointed out the Traditional Protestant Episcopal Church or TPEC. The Traditional Protestant Episcopal Church declares itself "in Christian humility to be the continuation of the original Protestant Episcopal Church USA." (Somebody call Squid-woman and her band of merry cephalopods know that TPEC beat ACNA to the punch. Send the lawsuits to TPEC.) No smells and bells for these Thirty-Nine Articles of Religion boys. Nosiree! No churches either. At least none listed other than the "Cathedral Parish of St. Francis at the Point". Guess it beats St. Bastard's-By-The-Bay. They've got twelve clergy-none of them women-and, thankfully, no seminary. The Toad doesn't have enough energy to skewer another one right now. No, boys and girls, its time for another pitcher of...you guessed it...Lime Rickeys:

Ingredients
1/2 cup sugar
1 1/2 cups gin
3/4 cup fresh lime juice (You can short-cut to drinking time with Sonic Drive-In Limeade!)
1 1/2 quarts chilled soda water
Thin slices of lime
Preparation
1. In a 1-quart pan, mix sugar with 1/2 cup water and stir over low heat until sugar is dissolved, about 5 minutes. Let cool or chill.
2. In a 3-quart pitcher, combine gin, lime juice, and the cooled syrup. Cover and freeze until ready to serve.
3. To serve, add soda water. Pour into ice-filled glasses and garnish with lime.

Lock up the credit card and Almy's telephone number, because eight or nine of these babys and it will be new continuing Anglican jurisdiction time for you, bunky. Rawwwwwwk!*

Yr. Obed. Serv.,

Roy Aldous Toad, DD-VS (Very Specious), LSMFT, D.Phil.Prelate-Holy Catholic Orthodox Anglican Church (Amphibious)-Original Jurisdiction (C'mon--you can't prove it's not real!)

*The Sound of One Toad Barking

With

The Yapping Tadpole, B.D., D.D., S.T.D., M.A., Ph.D., M.Div., D.Min.,J.D.,M..D.,LLM,M.S.,M.S.H.R.M.,M.B.A.,M.H.A.,Th.D.,D.Mus.,Psy.D.Metropolitan Archbishop of the Okefenokee

See of the Everglades and Greater Florida Swamps

Defender of the Faith and Creator of All Things Anglican

Will you just look at all of those fraudulent degrees. (*sniff*) The boy makes an old Toad proud. Rawk.*

Who’s Loves Ya’ Baby?

“If my bishop calls while am at lunch, can you tell me who he is?”
-Every Continuing Anglican Churchgoer

Well, Toads and Toadettes,

It’s the summer of the Toad’s discontent. Of course, it’s always the summer of his discontent. The other seasons too. Of course, “Creativity is discontent translated into arts.” How’s that for highbrow, bunky? Rawk!*

Anyway, after a couple of months of satisfaction fueled largely by generous quantities of Old Limey Gin®, the Toad discovered a lack of creativity. Obviously, the gin-to-blood ratio was off, but additional gin produced a sufficient level of discontent to be creative. And what better a target to get all creative on is there than “Continuing Anglicans”? Awww, get over it, bunky, they’ll all be gossiping and e-mailing about this column within ten minutes after the Toad pushes the big red “Send” button. Rawk, rawk!* (“Oooohhhh, Nigel, he’s so vicious and nasty. He almost made me forget to put in my vestment bids on eBay!”)

The latest news comes from the poor old Anglican Church in America, which is still waiting by the phone for that call from the Vatican like a teenage girl waiting for the captain of the football team to ring. (“Any minute now…any minute. Either he’ll ring or I’ll just die!”)
Make no mistake, bunky, more Catholics is better Catholics. At least that's the philosophy of the franchise holder. Not necessarily good Catholics, but, hey, who is? Rawk!*

However, while ACA management is waiting for Benedict to descend in a flaming chariot to come take everyone to some sort of Catholic Valhalla where there’s good music, decent liturgy, funny hats, and you can tellthe bishop to sod off if he gets too cheeky and it's still the Catholic Church, the parish pirates have been plunderin’.

Street rumor is that Jimmy “Morse Makes the Lips Move” Provence (a/k/a Provence of the Province) scored another parish off the ACA in his favored "grab-n-go" method of church growth. Jimmy’s gang, still looking for payback for the loss of more than half of its operation in two waves of departures, has long been after St. Luke’s Colorado Springs. "It's got property and is in an affluent area," said Robert Sherwood "Man Behind the Scenes" Morse. Well, boys and girls, after a careful hollowing out and disinformation campaign, the radio-voiced pirate prelate of St. Bastard’s-by-the-Bay nailed another one to the wall. The Toad sez here, be careful what you wish for, bunky!

At the same time, there is news that the Episcopal Missionary Church (Motto: “Yes, Damn It, We Do Still Exist.”) picked off the parish of St. Alban’s State College in a move by one "Bishop" Council Nedd. The "bishop", who the Toad keeps wanting to call Nedd Council, is a classic. A former lay member of the Anglican Catholic Church, the "bishop" went from layman to the episcopate at light speed under the self-described “Arch Bishop” Larry Johnson. John heads the 3 ½ member Anglican Church of Virginia, and, coincidentally, operates a table-top seminary previously jacked-up by the Toad, couldn’t keep his newest “bishop” on the farm. Nedd went to the EMC leaving Johnson with his customary three clergy and impressive bevy of paper churches. In the meantime, "Bishop" Nedd, taking a page from his mentor, also ginned up a seminary, St. Alcuin House, “accredited” by the ever-specious Oxford Educational Network/Wolsey Hall as previously reported in these august pages. Go look it up yourself, bunky, the Toad can’t tarry over links today.

How did a guy like this poach a long-standing parish with its own paid off property undoubtedly to be his “pro-cathedral”? The Toad did some digging and found out that the parish just couldn’t get clergy from its ACA bishop. In fact, the bishop had no contact with the parish for more than six months, according to an e-mail from an alert reader. The correspondent told the Toad there were clergy--actual real, validly ordained clergy--willing to cover until a permanent guy could be located. But they were pulled by diocesan management and the parish left to dangle. Apparently, the ordinary involved was entirely too busy figuring out how to prolong his overdue “mandatory” retirement than to worry with the niceties of overseeing a parish. (Here’s a hint: this guy’s synod is next week. Watch the fun.)

At that point, the good ship Vagante sailed right in, and another continuing Anglican bishop has window dressing for his show.

The Toad doesn’t even want to know what ultimately will happen, although he has a pretty good guess. He’ll just note that nature doesn’t like a vacuum, ecclesiastical or otherwise, and you can never predict what the Big Hoover will suck in to an empty space. And here’s the rub, boys and girls, Rome ain’t going to scoop in all the stuff that’s in the storm drains of Anglicanism. The uneducated, the fraudulently educated, the unformed, the criminal and the just plain crazy aren’t getting in. Just how big is that percentage in the continuing Church? All the Toad hears is that giant sucking noise. Rawk, rawk, rawk!*

After watching this latest set of sorry circumstances, the Toad sent to Vinnie’s Liquorama for an extra-large shipment of Old Limey Gin®, quinine water and ice. He plans to lounge by the pond and get sufficiently oiled to join the Toads and Toadettes singing doo-wop under the summer lamplight. Now, where’s that comb and pomade?

Who Is My Bishop Now?
(with apologies to “The Monotones”)

I wonder wonder who, oouu, who
Who is my bishop now?

Tell me, tell me, tell me
Oh who is my bishop now?

I've got to know the answer
Was it someone from above

I wonder wonder who, be-do-do who
Whose got the purple glove?

I, I went to church this mornin'
Just like I always do
But the sign it was repainted
In the chair was someone new

I wonder wonder who, be-doooo who
Who is my bishop now?

Chorus:

Chapter one says you promise
The vestry everything

Chapter two you show ‘em
That big ol’ bishop’s ring

In chapter three remember
The enormities of Rome

In chapter four you break up
To find that perfect home

Oh I wonder wonder who, be-doooo who
Who is my bishop now?

Baby, baby, baby
I’m valid yes I am
Well it says so in this big ol’chart
And succession diagram

Oh I wonder wonder who, be-doooo who
Who is my bishop now?

(Chorus)

Oh I wonder wonder who, be-doooo who
Who is my bishop now?

Baby, baby, baby
I’m valid yes I am
Well it says so in this big ol’chart
And succession diagram

I wonder wonder who, be-doooo who
Who is my bishop now?

I, wonder who, (Yeah) who is my bishop now?

Yr. Obed. Serv.,

Roy Aldous Toad, DD-VS (Very Specious), LSMFT

Bishop of All Staines and Upper Dorking

(Motto: "You can't prove I'm not valid.")
*The sound of one Toad barking

They Must Be Gods

“Homer and Hesiod have ascribed to the gods all things that are a shame and a disgrace among mortals, stealing and adulteries and deceiving on one another” -Xenophanes

Well, boys and girls,

It's Palm Sunday and the Toad has found another instance of someone sailing on de Nile. Rawk, rawk, rawk.* That's a joke, pally. You see Nile the river...denial...ah, forget it. You probably graduated from an unaccredited Anglican seminary. (Speaking of which, the Toad has heard a tasty rumor of another one springing up, like mushrooms on cow patties. But, soft, Toads and Toadettes, more when we have the sordide details.)

You see, an alert reader has informaed the Toad that another blog-one of the "brainy" ones and not of the quality one finds here in the fetid pond-a frequent commentor or two claimed the Toad is wrong. WRONG! There was no sheep stealing going on when a particular piratical prelate plucked a parish in the greater Oregon area. Oh, no...the bucaneer bishop made multiple visits, recounted a bunch of specious stories, split the aforesaid flock will and immediately posted the brigandage in a press release. Nawwwww, bunky. No stealing there. Have another sip of Kool-aid(R), you've been living in bizarro world for too long.

Oh, yeah, note to perfidious prelate: how are those payments to the church's landlord (oops, the EPISCOPALIAN LANDLORD!) working out for ya now that those parishioners who refused to be rustled have powdered with their purses? Bet you didn't know the joint was papered tighter than a government-owned carmaker. Rawwwwwk!* Careful what you gun for, boys and girls. It might blow back in unexpected ways.

Ah, but now it looks like the very same brigand bishop is punt-gunning for yet another prize--one that he's been after for years. Another alert reader has provided the Toad with a bunch of interesting e-mails to that effect, as well as attesting to the real state of the privateer prelate's "warm affection" for his "sister" jurisdictions, his convict clergy and, we dare say, unusual employment practices. (A chorus of It's No Fun, Being an Illegal Alien, maestro, please!) Rawk and rawk, again!* The Toad has learned that there may even be instances of the excess use of Loafer Lightener(R) by persons involved. (No, we won't "out" them...but we will taunt them mightily from afar. It's the Anglican way. Hey, even a former Anglican can still have fun, pally!) And, from that opening quote from our buddy Xenophanes, how's that "stealing and adulteries and deceiving on one another" working out? Truly, they are gods among men.

So here it is, theft, denial and crowing about the pilfering that never happened. You'd think these guys were using the same P.R. operation that the President's appointees rely on. Rawk.* Jusst a warning from the Toad to frighten and instruct. We've even thrown in a recipe not to be used until after Lent. AFTER Lent, pally, unless you want a cocktail stirrer up the old cassock.

Ingredients for a "Panty Thief"

Everclear® Alcohol
Crown Royal® Canadian Whisky
Jagermeister® Herbal Liqueur
7-Up® Soda

Quantities for one drink:

2 oz Everclear® Alcohol
2 oz Crown Royal® Canadian Whisky
2 oz Jagermeister® Herbal Liqueur
6 oz 7-Up® Soda

Blending Instructions:

Mix all ingredients well. Don't just wizzle it with a plastic stick, pally. Put it in a paint shaker and let it rip. Just keep it away from open flame.

Forget parish-napping, kiddies, one quaff of this and you'll steal the Rural Dean's knickers. Trouble is, you'll have to explain that they're not yours.

Yr. Obed. Serv.,

“Bishop” Roy Aldous Toad,DD-VS (Very Specious), LSMFT, D.Phil.
Pirate Prelate-Holy Catholic Orthodox Anglican Church and Sheep Ranch-Original Jurisdiction (C'mon--you can't prove it's not real!)
*The Sound of One Toad Barking

Oh, The Humanity!

Swallow a toad in the morning and you will encounter nothing more disgusting the rest of the day.--Nicholas DeChamfort

A sad day, boys and girls,

News has reached us os an "amphibian roundup" in Queensland, Australia. There is a video of it here if you can bear to watch. http://www.wbaltv.com/video/19042816/

Things ended "badly" for our fellow amphibians down under. Rawwwwwk!

The nerve of these sons and daughters of convicts! One even called cane toads--those most noble of the genus bufodinae-- "disgusting". What nerve! What gall! have a look at these prime specimens of humanity and we'll see who is disgusting, mate. These people looked like certain continuing church bishops trying to round up parishioners. Whilst rustling them in bags has yet to be tried, the end result is almost the same; except that death by homily has been proscribed by the RSPCA. Rawk, rawk, rawk!

The Toad needs a drink and a stout one at that.

Hop Toad Cocktail

Serve the Hop Toad Cocktail in a Cocktail Glass
Hop Toad Cocktail Ingredients
3/4 oz Apricot brandy
3/4 oz Light rum
Lime juice-from 1/2 of a lime

Stir all ingredients with ice, strain into a cocktail glass, and serve. Three of these and you’ll be hoppin'.

Yr. Obed. Serv.,

“In mourning” Roy Aldous Toad, DD-VS (Very Sad), LSMFT, D.Phil.
Prelate-Holy Catholic Orthodox Anglican Church and Amphibian Abbatoir-Original Jurisdiction (C'mon--you can't prove it's not real!)
*The Sound of One Toad Barking

SHEEP STEALIN’ II (The Sequel)
“If a man be found stealing any of his brethren of the children of Israel, and maketh merchandise of him, or selleth him; then that thief shall die; and thou shalt put evil away from among you.”
-Deuteronomy 24:7

Well, boys and girls,

The Toad has learned that the continuing Anglican sheep rustler identified earlier in the week has struck. Yessirreee. Faster than you can build a water feature in a seminary, the ecclesiastic of envy, the bishop of blarney, the prelate of piracy, got his new swag up on his website. Man, that’s church growth at its best. Problem is, the Big Guy (no, the BIG GUY) seems to have a wee bit of problem with this. Worse, still, the Toad has learned that the smooth-talking scion of St. Bastard’s-by-the-Bay had as his principal persuasive tool a level of anti-Roman Catholic fear-mongering that would have done Ollie Cromwell proud. And this from a group of about 2,500…oops make that 2,550 now….that aspires to “catholicity”. Rawk.*

Well, bunkie, apart from the fact that the ovine-napper had no idea what he was talking about from what was reported to the Toad out here in the upper, southern mid-west, it might just call into question the “catholic” claims of a group whose titular head has such difficulties with the largest unified branch of Christendom. But, of course, the “catholic” claim went out the window with the multiply-married bishops experiment, didn’t it? Rawk, rawk.*

While we Papists and Romanists never actually read the Bible, the Toad nevertheless was able to find an unused one propping up his statue of St. Joseph, and lo and behold, the following jumped out: “By swearing, and lying, and killing, and stealing, and committing adultery, they break out, and blood toucheth blood.” (Hosea 4:2) Whoa! The Toad thinks somebody must have been skipping seminary classes the day they got to this part. (Okay, he’ll spot you the killing bit.) That would presuppose you actually went to a legit seminary.

But, wait, that’s not very nice, is it? No, pally. No it isn’t. But neither is the stuff that has been going on in that little Corner of Christendom called Continuing. You know, the people that bill themselves as the alternative to those other “Anglicans” who have the priestesses and homosexual bishops who have left their wives because they though the text read “Adam and Steve.” They are also ever so much better than those 1.3 billion Roman Catholics who’ve got it all wrong. And that other crazy bunch of Anglicans (you know, the ones numbering roughly 500,000) who want to unite with the Holy See, well they are doubly wrong. They don’t even like the Orthodox who, well, are just “too ethnic”. (I mean, would we really let them in the country club?) Rawk.*

Let’s review the bidding—at least the wild cards and jokers. A fair number of continuing Anglican clergy in various “jurisdictions” have variously run unlicensed diploma mills and/or laughable seminary programs, “appropriated” church property coveted by a particular “bishop”, sued their own parishes to get property for personal gain, bilked old people to the point of incurring lengthy prison sentences, perpetrated wholly-uneducated and unformed “clergy” on unsuspecting worshippers, maintained openly homosexual clergy of the practicing sort, suffered parish sex scandals, ignored background checks for incoming clergy, and broken a not a few Federal, state and local laws. Heck, in some instances, the Toad suspects these little groups have at one time or another violated the law of gravity! Rawk, rawk, rawk.*

And, now, they have reached the bottom of the barrel it seems. If you can’t attract the non-believer or the un-churched through old fashioned evangelism and apologetics, or even with bingo and tasty food at “ethnic festivals” (Do we really HAVE to let them in the country club?), get a presentable pirate prelate and steal a few new pins for your map. Well, here’s news, pally, you’d better take one of these with you when you make that last trip. That way, you’ll know when you’re done.

Meantime, the Toad has about exhausted his warnings. If you like a religion run by P.T. Barnum with special effects by the Wizard of Oz, you will get what you pay for…and pay for…and pay for. (Takes a lot of swag to cover the ever-increasing cost of Grey Goose® brand vodka.) And, when you wake up in the morning to find your clergy replaced, the building sold and your wallet empty, you can take solace in a cool, convincing and smooth

Pirate Prelate (a/k/a the Scotch Bishop)
Ingredients to use:
1 Peel Twist Lemon
1.0 Tblsp Orange juice
1.0 oz. Scotch
0.25 tsp. Powdered Sugar
0.5 tsp Triple sec
0.5 oz. Dry Vermouth
Directions: Shake all ingredients (except lemon peel) with ice and strain into a cocktail glass. Add the twist of lemon peel and serve.

Three of these and you’ll steal a cathedral.

Yr. Obed. Serv.,

“Bishop” Roy Aldous Toad,DD-VS (Very Specious), LSMFT, D.Phil.

Pirate Prelate-Holy Catholic Orthodox Anglican Church and Sheep Ranch-Original Jurisdiction (C'mon--you can't prove it's not real!)

*The Sound of One Toad Barking

Of Pancakes and Pagans

The laziest man I ever met put popcorn in his pancakes so they would turn over by themselves. -W. C. Fields

Hello, Toads and Toadettes,

The Toad had just about gotten over his headache and double-vision when the cheery e-mail foghorn announced a message from yet another alert reader. Heck, the butter hadn’t melted on the hotcakes when a story from the Washington Times proclaimed “Pancakes flying in races at Cathedral.” Gripped by a familiar dread, the Toad poured a load of 30-weight on his breakfast and read the latest in Episcopal liturgical practices from “the Nation’s church” also known as the Washington National Cathedral.
Seems as though with “pancake and frying pan still intact, an astonished Rev. John A. Runkle flipped across the finish line first to win the spray-painted golden skillet Tuesday at the National Cathedral's annual pancake races.” The surprised “Mr.” Runkle, the Cathedral's conservator, had expected one Ms. Mink, the director of development for Heretics on the Hill, to win because of her "top physical shape."

"She was trying to elbow me out of the starting line, but I wouldn't have any of it. I had to push back," a breathless Mr. Runkle reported.

The Toad forked down another load of griddle cakes and had to wonder about this brutish pancake contest, the “top physical shape” of Ms. Mink and clergy driven to elbow-throwing at this 11th annual event that included “young children, high school students, clergy and cathedral staff.” Was everyone fair game for a rib-poking? Images of the spectacle of “Mr.” Runkle flattening the kiddies, harrowing the high schoolers, coshing clergy, and pushing La Mink became ever more worrisome. Better switch from Log Cabin to 100 percent Vermont maple to read this one. Ahhhhh, that’s the stuff. Rawk.*

There apparently were six different races on the Shrove Tuesday hotcake hoedown: St. Albans Flapjack Contest, the Gargoyle Gallop, the Beauvoir Blitz, the Run for the Rose Window, the Inaugural Initiative Relay Challenge and the "Yes We Can" Challenge. (They just had to get an Obama line in there somewhere. They are Episcopalians after all.) Prizes included a spray-painted golden skillet, a golden spatula, a golden gargoyle and a golden syrup dispenser. What, no golden calf? Any racer who dropped a pancake either had to take a 5-second penalty or recite A VERSE. No, not from the Bible or even "Obama! Obama!" Nope, bunky, losers had to recite the following words: "Pancakes are good, Pancakes are greasy. I thought flippin' pancakes was Gonna be easy." Hardly T.S. Eliot is it. No pre-Lent Te Deums or Glorias for this crowd, bunky. Rawk.*

Flush with his victory over Mme. Mink and the others, “Mr.” Runkle called the day "a different interpretation of Mardi Gras" and said the pancake races are "probably as loose as Anglicans are going to get." Oh, c’mon, now. Rave “masses”, altar orgies, queer bishops, Buddhist bishops, Morman bishops and Wiccan clergy seem bo be a little looser than pancakes in a denomination in which “looser interpretations” are de rigeur.

But, wait, there’s more. These races took place in the Cathedral. No, pally, not in the social hall, or the parking lot or even the crypt. Nosiree. They were held in the nave itself. (Or is that “knave”.) This is lovingly shown in the accompanying pictures in the Times which don’t appear in this blog. The Toad faces a copyright suit for no man. The happy snaps show the “flippers” (oh, man, what you can do with that term applied to Episcopalians) running right down the middle of the “Nations church”. Not to worry, it’s not like there is a the Real Presence or any sort of actual pesky authoritarian God stuff involved. Just the good, greasy presence of the pancake—the emblem of the Episcopalian—warm, fluffy, inviting, but just a lot of empty calories. Rawk, rawk.* (More syrup, damn it.)

But this race was not just aimless fun, said Wendy Tobias, a priest's assistant who works in the worship department at the cathedral. She thinks it does serve a church purpose because it is "community building." Sort of like Communion or Baptism. You knew that an Episcopalian could put a “churchy” spin on this, didn’t you, pally. Now, maybe a statue of Mrs. Butterworth in one of those niches. Rawwwwwwwk.*

Now, to top off the Toad's breakfast.
The Pancake Cocktail
½ ounce Frangelico
1 dash Grand Marnier
1 slice lemon
1 pinch sugar
Mix the Frangelico and Grand Marnier together with sugar around the edge of the shot glass take the shooter then suck the lemon. It tastes like real pancakes. Honest.

Yr. Obed. Serv.,

Roy Aldous “Pancake” Toad, DD-VS (Very Specious), LSMFT, D.Phil.
Holy Catholic Orthodox Anglican Province of the Divine Griddle Cake (C'mon--you can't prove it's not real!)
*The Sound of One Toad Barking

SHEEP STEALIN’

Be not intimidated... nor suffer yourselves to be wheedled out of your liberties by any pretense of politeness, delicacy, or decency. These, as they are often used, are but three different names for hypocrisy, chicanery and cowardice.

-John Adams

Well, boys and girls,
The Toad said he wouldn’t do it. He said he was going to shift his derisive gaze to other cultural shibboleths (look it up, bunky) than the continuing Anglican churches. He knows what he said, pal. But, sometimes it’s just too easy, and someone places the chum on the water fright in front of you. Then, the Toad’s gotta’ veer to sneer.

This week, an alert reader—ok, probably a semi-comatose reader—brought the question of “sheep stealing” to the attention of the Toad. In particular, the reader was exercised by a couple of ongoing efforts at the same in their “continuing Anglican jurisdiction”. Seems as though one of the “prelates” of this body has hoisted the Jolly Roger and is sailing about trying to rustle the parishes of another such body. Thiat’s putting a new spin on Agnus Dei, isn’t it, boys and girls? Rawk*

He’s racked up more air miles than Squadron Leader Biggles did chasing the Hun, and, by all reports, there’s nothing that this oleaginous prelate won’t say to woo a parish unto his own fold. After all, he needs the money—oops—cares deeply for the souls of the faithful.

Who is this blackcoat blackguard, this pilfering primate, this covetous cleric? (How’s that for consonance, pally?) Well, here’s a hint—walk along the pavement made of the bodies of lightly-crushed clergy (they're recycling), follow the trail past the water feature in the seminary courtyard, run through the Great Hall of Multiple Living Spouses Who Aren’t Really There and then check your wallet. If you find it empty and are within hearing distance of a sermon on the profound crisis in Western Civilization, then you know that you are near to the great cathedral church of St. Bastard’s-by-the-Bay. It’s a bit like going to Mordor, but without the amenities.

The Toad gave this some thought as he sipped on some Grey Goose® brand vodka, a favorite of marauding monsignors, and contemplated sheep theft—the grabbing of others flocks to enhance one’s own. The Toad thought it was just a phenomenon of certain big-haired, evangelical Christians raiding his good ol’ Catholic church with shiny snare drums and pull down screens. Nope, not so.

The Toad, aided by more Grey Goose® brand vodka, took a look at church growth among continuing Anglicans over the years. Splitting, schism and parish rustling seems to be the primary means of “putting new pins on a map”. This is probably why the propeller-miters who head these bodies guard their real membership numbers (if there are any) like the Coca-Cola Company guards its formula or KFC the original recipe. Maybe, we just don’t want to know what’s in them any way, do we, toads and toadettes?

The splits and piracy over the years have been accompanied by some pretty wild accusations—many of them focused on the leaders of continuing churches and properly so. You’ve heard em’—they have drunk clergy, uneducated clergy, queer clergy, and just plain crazy clergy. Funny how the accusations tend to be made by clergy against clergy? Aren't any of your lay pepple sinning? Rawwwwwk!*
And how about those lay people? They appear to be reduced to “pledge units”—folks who pay the bills and fuel aspirations of the prelates of the little “jurisdictions” like bishops meetings in comfortable climes where there is an ample supply of Grey Goose® brand vodka. I’ll bet those McCormick and Schmick bills don’t make it into the diocesan budgets, do they bunky? Nope. That would be under “Bishop’s Travel”. Rawwwwk!

Now the latest of the ecclesiastical raiding seems to be targeting a group of these Anglicans that have hit on the utterly novel proposition that they want to seek unity with the “big Church.” (The Toad doesn’t want to use the word Catholic, lest you stop reading immediately and start in on the Grey Goose® brand vodka.)

Never mind that this group doesn’t yet have a deal with the “big Church”. Ignore the fact that even if there were a deal, folks would still be able to leave and join other continuing Anglican jurisdictions of whatever size they choose. Oh, yes, and completely overlook the trappings of most of these parishes make them look like a late Rococo Cathedral in Zaragoza. Nope.

It’s Roooooome! The Poooooope! Boogedy, boogedy, boogedy. Don’t look at our multiply-married bishops, our less-than-opaque finances, our diminishing numbers and our completely autocratic style. No. It’s Roooooome! The Poooooope! Boogedy, boogedy, boogedy. The Toad could draw an analogy to “Hope”, "Change" and the current political regime in the United States, but that would be unfair—to the politicos. Rawwwwk!*

One of the great things about America is its religious freedom. You can join any group you want, and be steam-cleaned to whatever extent you wish. You can be terrified by whatever religious leader you wish, even one spouting anti-Catholic bilge-after all, that’s acceptable bigotry, isn’t it? The claims can be wholly unsupported by any demonstrable fact. It’s a playground for free will, and it’s all there for the taking, particularly if you are slick and press the right buttons. Never mind what skeletons you’ve got hidden in your own sacristy or behind the water feature in the courtyard. Nosiree! As long as you preserve the "mystique of the episcopacy" and provide gravitas, the faithful will gather round. At lease that's the theory explained to the Toad in a long ago interview with one sacerdotal Svengali, a figure out of the episcopal version of central casting, after too many glasses of Grey Goose® brand vodka.

Well, here’s a message from the Toad, boys and girls. Maybe these guys actually believe their own come-on lines. But, all Christians lose in this situation, because a fragmented Christ is not credible to the one seeking to know whether Christ is Good News or just another instance of the human problems of judgment and hostility and self-interest. Put that in your miter and pull it down over your ears, pally.

Now, it’s time for the Toad to have more Grey Goose® brand vodka and get back to trading sheep futures. But, first, he’s gotta’ take a call…which of my former spouses is on the line? The lovely and talented Morgan Fairchild, you say? Put her through. Rawk, rawk, rawk!*

Sheep Dip Cocktail
1/2 pint lemonade
1 shot advocaat
1shot Blue Curacao
1/2 pint cider
1 shot Grey Goose® brand vodka
Add ingredients in the above order mixing after vodka and lemonade. poor over ice...very nice

Yr. Obed. Serv.,


Roy Aldous “Popish Plot” Toad,DD-VS (Very Specious), LSMFT, D.Phil.
Holy Catholic Orthodox Anglican Province of the Purloined Ovine-Original Jurisdiction (C'mon--you can't prove it's not real!)
*The Sound of One Toad Barking