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

Hollow Chocolate Bishops

“Within the hollow crown
That rounds the mortal temples of a king
Keeps Death his court.”
-William Shakespeare

Good morning boys and girls,

As we approach Lent, the Toad has been busy emptying the liquor cabinet. Alright, bunky, the Toad is always busy emptying the liquor cabinet, but that’s his business. Capisce? Good.

For some weeks, this old Toad, fueled by several cases of Old Overcoat, has been thinking about the direction of this little corner of dyspepsia. Church parody, particularly satire involving the shenanigans of “continuing” Anglican bodies, has worn thin. I mean, how many pseudo-seminaries can one write about? (Fine, the answer is “more than grains of sand on a beach.” Who are you people? Saint Augustine?)

In fact, these little groups “continue” to be their own best satire. Witness the recent grand ecumenical event to generate, you guessed it Toads and Toadettes, more continuing Anglican bishops. Rawk!*

Yep. For a group called UECNA (we’re not even trying to figure out acronyms anymore) numbering 300 to 600 there are three, count ‘em three new bishops. There was a big whoop in doing this because of the “ecumenical” dimension to the effort. The “consecration” was aided and abetted by the episcopal presence of two other “jurisdictions”-the APCK (est. 2,500 members) and the ACC (est. 3,000 adherents). While it is a bit difficult to for the Toad to figure out, that makes a rough total of about 13 U.S. bishops for maybe about 7,000 people in the ACC, APCK and UECNA. Wow, mater, get me a bowl of alphabet soup! I need something to cut the effect of the Old Overcoat.

When the Toad heard this, he thought it was simply his choice of adult beverages clouding reality like Lamont Cranston on a busy afternoon. But, no, there are actual pictures of this event. Strangely, there’s not much biographical information out there with it—you know, stuff like whether these gents actually saw the inside of a legitimate seminary or other more interesting episcopal tidbits, like how many living spouses there are among the crowd. Hey, at least nobody’s gay like in those other churches, right? What matters is service! And at about one bishop per member, you can bet there’s service aplenty. (Ok, that’s an exaggeration, but you get the point.)

The Toad suspects that there is a conspiracy among vestment makers to keep this stuff going. The rings alone will keep the children of both Duffy and Quinn in grad school for at least two years. And check out the assortment of copes, miters, rochets and chimeres. Gee, boys and girls, the Toad doesn’t want to think about the implications of the theologies behind those rigs.

It’s probably unfair to point at these little groups on the matter of the number of bishops they are putting out, much less what’s under the miters, or zucchettos or, whatever. Nosiree. Recent Anglican fragments have been cranking out the prelates like Mickey Ds does burgers. (“Look ma, it’s the episcopate of all believers. Or is that the priesthood of all bishops.”)

Now the big question is coming. Who gets to be in charge? Perhaps they’ll rotate it on alternate Thursdays. Or, they can put ‘em all in a locked room with a box of straight razors and a bottle of port and see who eventually phones out to Almy for an archbishop’s get-up. Rawk, rawk, rawk.*
Well, now there are more of these guys to bounce around their “pro-cathedrals”, make sovereign proclamations (never mind that authority thing) and “evangelize” by hucking other continuing Anglican parishes. The number of spottily-educated and, worse, unformed clergy will be turned loose to form “parishes” consisting of three old woman and a cat, who eventually will form their own “jurisdictions” and get themselves the miter they have so long deserved, all the while solemnly pronouncing their “catholicity.”

Toads and Toadettes, you heard it here—it’s all miter and no bishop. It’s like getting the big box of liquor-filled candies, and finding no thing inside—not even old overcoat. It’s more like getting a hollow chocolate bishop—the outside bits look real good, but there ain’t much working in terms of innards. At least those of the candy variety give us pleasure in their arrival and sadness when they’re gone, and not the opposite. Rawwwwwwk!*

So, the Toad is going to shift focus. Stop whining, bunky. He’ll still post the occasional nonsense about hollow bishops (chocolate or human), fake seminaries and religious scams. It’s like those potato chips or Old Overcoat, you can’t just have one. But look for a broader selection of craziness to be taken down in these pages. After all, there is so much to bark about, and so little Old Overcoat.

As you gear up for Fat Tuesday, the Toad recommends the Bishop Cocktail. HE particularly likes the fact that it’s decorated with various fruits. C.M. Almy, eat yer heart out. Rawk*

Bishop Cocktail recipe

Scale ingredients to 1 serving

juice of 1/4 lemons
juice of 1/4 oranges
1 tsp powdered sugar
Burgundy wine

Shake juice of lemon, juice of orange, and powdered sugar with ice and strain into a highball glass. Add two ice cubes, fill with burgundy, and stir well. Decorate with various fruits and serve.

Yr. Obed. Serv.,



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

Masonic Musings


"But if any of you could put in a word for me I'd love to be a mason. Masonry opens doors. I'd be very quiet, I was a bit on edge just now but if I were a mason I'd sit at the back and not get in anyone's way....I've got a second-hand apron...I nearly got in at Hendon."-John Cleese, "The Architect's Sketch"


Ok, Boys and Girls,

The Toad is back at it. We begin with a little test--no, it's not the one you get from a fake seminary. This one is for free. Today’s quiz relates to Who’s Satanic Now? Our first question comes from Mrs. H. Bristols in Cheapstowe who asks, “Who’s that devilishly hairy fellow running the Church?” Well, Mrs. B., surprise, it’s old Nick himself! (And we don’t mean Jolly Old Saint, either.) It is the hirsute one-Mr. Eyebrows himself. (That's right, bunky, go to a real school and you'll learn words like "hirsute". Rawk.*)

Now it seems like Rowan the Druid, Rowan the Moslem, Rowan the Anything-Goes-But-Christianity, doesn’t like Freemasons. Doesn't want the clergy to learn the secret handshake either. By the side of the average CofE parish these days, Freemasons seem quite innocent. Next thing you know, he'll be telling us that the world is run by a gang comprised of the Illuminati, the Trilateral Commission and the Skull and Bones Society. Ok, the last part is true, but not the Freemasons. They couldn't organize a get-drunk in a brewery.

Oh, yeah, sure they can do those intricate patterns in the little go-carts with 300 pound fez-sporting hefties zooming about, frightening the children. And it is rumored that they can put on a dandy evening of intricate "ceremony" that usually has someone in an apron insulting another similarly clad about how, "this wasn't done in the old days when people knew their ritual." Shades of the Tridentine Mass crowd or at least a fruiting-good, high-church Anglican whoop-de-do with pink gin in the sacristy after. But, Satanic? The bearded clown of Canterbury ought to leave the low-rent, amateur gnostics like the poor Freemasons alone.

The Toad thinks its just too easy. You don't have to be a certain vitriolic, Kiwi, semi-baptist with a spurious D.D. degree to play "spot the demon" with old Rowan. No sireee. This would be the same Archbishop of Canterbury who caused just a wee bit of controversy by praising the Philip Pullman's His Dark Materials - a work that is anti-Christian, at best. A mere bagatelle. This would be the guy who paints himself blue for a little innocent pagan ritual. Oh, yes, he's also the fellow who heads the purportedly Christian denomination with transgendered priestesses. (The Toad notes here that he once owned a '68 Pontiac Lesbitrangay--couldn't keep it going in any one direction.) This would also be the same Rowan Williams who frets over how to accommodate his alleged church to Moslems. When faced with all of this, a spokesman for the Church of England quickly replied, "As far as we are concerned, there is no incompatibility between Christianity and our organisation whatsoever."


But, as the Toad sips his "Masonic Cocktail", he supposes that there must be some responsible thinking on the subject of Masons outside of a Chick Tract or Tony Alamo website. Well, Toads and Toadettes, the predecessor to the Orthodox Church in America has had bad news for the "Craft" since the '50s. It cautions members, especially the pastors, of the incompatibility of membership in the saving Church of Christ and simultaneously membership in Masonic Lodges, which are a mixture of pagan and other religions with certain secret "initiations" as a fixed ritual of the order...." Ooops, that would be "pagan" with a capital "p" that rhymes with "d" and that stands for "damned". And this would differ from "mainstream" Anglicanism how?

but wait, there's more. Cardinal Joseph Ratzinger, then Prefect of the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith, issued a declaration that the judgment of the Church on Masonry remains unchanged, because the Masonic principles are irreconcilable with the Church's teaching ("earum principia semper iconcilabilia habita sunt cum Ecclesiae doctrina"), and that Catholics who join the Masons are in the state of grave sin and may not receive Holy Communion. Yeow! Stick a fork in you 'cause you are sacramentally done, Mason-boy.



There you have it--two out of three, with the Grand Bard of the Mystic Grove counting as an actual vote in favor of remaining in the "Brotherhood". Better give up that Masonic ring or get a pop up thermometer to tell when you're done. At least it's not Uncle Rowan telling you to lay off the secret handshake. Rawk, rawk, rawk!*

As for the Toad, he refrains from any club that would have him as a member, although he is partial to the fez as headwear. So, the Toad plans to start his own "Morgan Affair." (Look it up, pally!) How about this for a ritual that leaves you a mindless...well...Zombie...

- 1 oz Light Rum

- 1 oz Anejo Rum

- 1/4 oz 151 Proof Rum

- 1/2 oz Apricot Brandy

- 1 oz Pineapple Juice

- 1 oz Lime Juice

- 2 oz Orange Juice

- 1 cup Crushed Ice

- 1 tsp Superfine Sugar

- Garnish: cherry, orange slice, mint sprig

All served up in a Cocktail Glass, fez boy. It will put you Plumb straight. And that's on the Square. Raaaawwwwwk!*

Yr. Obed. Serv.,



Right Worshipful Bro. Roy Aldous "Albert Pike" Toad, DD-VS (Very Specious), LSMFT, D.Phil. (Carolina Coast University); B.A. (summa cum laude)(Southern States University)
Mystic Lodge of the Sea, No. 1313
*The Sound of One Toad Barking

FRIENDLESS



“FRIENDLESS, adj. Having no favors to bestow. Destitute of fortune. Addicted to utterance of truth and common sense.”-Ambrose Bierce, The Devil's Dictionary

Hello, Boys and Girls,

It's been awhile. I've been away, and the where, what, and why are none of your business. Capisce? Who do you think you are, anyway? Mike Wallace? Well, the Toad's got your sixty minutes...I got it right here, pally.

Needless to say, we've been rusticating someplace warm, lamenting the fact that satire brings us no friends at all. Only the little guy in the white monkey jacket by the pool who keeps bringing those drinks with the little umbrellas in them. Well, the Toad was happily sucking down Caipirinhas and other tropical cocktails made with un-aged cachaça (for you untutored grads of mail-order academe, that's fresh sugarcane juice that's fermented and distilled), when my agent called and reminded me that if I didn't satirize something soon, I'd lose the extensive royalties I get from this column. That and the only addiction stronger than cachaça--utterance of truth and common sense--brought me back to the upper southern midwest faster than fake clergyman to an offering plate.

Egads, toads and toadettes, in my absence fake seminaries have grown like mushrooms, there are at least 40 or 50 new "catholic" denominations, not to mention an assortment of other wing nuts, and the "mainstream" has not diasppointed. Nosiree! Just look here.

The Church of England will tomorrow officially apologize to Charles Darwin for "misunderstanding" his theory of evolution. In what has been called a "bizarre step" (and aren't t hey all of late), the good ol' CofE will address its contrition directly to the Victorian scientist himself, even though he died 126 years ago. The move was greeted with derision last night, even before the Toad could put electronic ink on the page. Darwin’s great-great-grandson dismissed it as "pointless" and other critics branding it "ludicrous". Rawk, rawk, rawk!* What an understatement, boys and girls.

But, wait, there's more. Terry Sanderson, president of the National Secular Association,-that's the National Secular Association-said: ‘It does seem rather crazy for an institution to address an apology to an individual so long after his death. ‘As well as being much too late, the message strikes me as insincere, as if there is an unspoken “but” behind the text.

Yes, boys and girls, there is an unspoken "butt" behind the text--the bespectacled, bearded pagan who is the trainmaster at Crazytown Station--Rowan "Mr. Muddle" Williams. It's all about being nice, though, isn't it? Just like the imposition of Sharia Law is "inevitable" in Britain. That's going to cut into the Toad's travel plans.

Of course, "a less critical tone was struck by Horace Barlow, 87, from Cambridge, who is Darwin’s great-grandson." Grand old Horace thought it would be spiffing for his ancestor "to hear the Church’s apology." (Let's be clear, here--the "Church" being the CofE, not to be confused with a Christian denomination.) "They buried him in Westminster Abbey," said Mr. Barlow, "which I suppose was an apology of sorts." Here's the clincher from Monkey boy's progeny: "‘Darwin was very concerned about offending other people as his wife Emma was a committed Christian..." As to Darwin's commitments, Horace-baby doesn't say. bunky.

It's this kind of narcissistic crapola that has revived, enlivened, and even emboldened the Toad. That and the drink pronounced 'KIE-PUR-REEN-YAH', popular among international crowds as on Copacabana Beach. Traditional caipirinha (and, by heaven, the Toad is "traditional") is made with cachaça, sugar, and crushed limes, served over ice. It is always muddled (not like Uncle Rowan, but crushed with a masher or the blunt end of a wooden spoon). Boys and girls, make sure to muddle in a shaker or a sturdy, non-breakable glass. You can also try replacing lime with about 1/2 cup of fresh tangerine, star fruit, passion fruit, peach, pear, pineapple, plum, orange, mango, grape, guava, figs, etc.Caipirissima is a cocktail like caipirinha, mixed with rum instead of cachaça. If mixed with sake instead of cachaça, the drink is called caipisake--although, haven't we had entirely too much of that sort of thing. I think a number of Caipisake C-100s sank the USS Lexington--or at least it provides the Toad's new ground transportation. Check it out and don't get in the way.



So, there we are. Friendless. Truthtelling and common sense-advocating. But, you know, I gotta' bike and a pitcher of Caipirinhas (pronounced "KIE-PUR-REEN-YAHS"). And you don't.

As for the the Toad? Well, he's as hot among international crowds as he is on Copacabana Beach.

So we're back. Pokin', jabbin', low blow hittin' and always, always takin' time out to savage a fraud, fake, poseur, mail-order clergyman, the "school" that trained him and the "bishop" that ordained him. We also aren't beneath taking a shot or three at the silliness of the "mainstream" church. So, be advised, be warned and be very afraid. The Toad is back, and he is satirized for your protection.

Yr. Obed. Serv.,

Roy Aldous "Capisake" Toad,
DD-VS (Very Specious), LSMFT, D.Phil. (Carolina Coast University); B.A. (summa cum laude)(Southern States University)
Guest Degree: DD Laud Hall (C'mon--you can't prove it's not real!)
*The Sound of One Toad Barking

But Where Are the Pancakes?
"We're playing to our authenticity ... We're building from the ground up, and we're transmitting to the world something that nobody else can recreate."
-Anyonymous, About Zydeco at the Grammys

Good morning, Toads and Toadettes,

Your truly, Dr. Roy Aldous Toad, has been taking a little time off of late. However, some things just really goad the Toad, and even winter hibernation (ok, snocking a few on the poop deck of the S.S. Toad in sunnier climes) can't keep him from jacking up a fraud. In this case, it is a fraudulent "Zydeco Mass" perpetrated by...you guessed it...the Episcopal Church.

Here's how they did it at St. Paul's Cathedral in San Diego: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aGLpmSZBemY

Just a little rum and sacrilege for Shrove Tuesday. The knave...oops...nave altar is the least of their worries. Puts a new spin on the giving of the peace, eh, bunky? Rawk, rawk, rawk!


Yr. Obed. Serv.,


Roy Aldous "Zydeco" Toad, DD-VS (Very Specious), LSMFT, D.Phil. (Carolina Coast University); B.A. (summa cum laude)(Southern States University)
*The Sound of One Toad Barking

Make a Deal with the Devil

“The Blues IS Life.”
-Brownie Mc Ghee

Happy New Year, Toads and Toadettes,

Out in the frozen upper southern Midwest, the toad pond is…well…frozen. What did you expect, bunky? Central heat in a pond? Heated “water features” are only available to seminary patrons in California. The rest of us have to make do with Velicoff® vodka (available in stylish 1.5 liter jugs) and episodes of “Real Desperate Housewives” to stay warm. No trickle down at this level of the ecclesiastical food chain, boys and girls. The cheery warming glow of the Grey Goose effect is confined to the Olympian reaches of the church where the mystique of the episcopacy remains very well-preserved. Rawk, rawk, rawk!*

So at the outset of a bright new year, the Toad is lounging about in his smoking jacket, a chilled glass of Velicoff® with a twist of lemming in hand, pondering the target list for the year upcoming, and we have to say that the field is a rich one indeed. Fraudsters, fakers, fools and outright felons are in abundance, and the ordinary buffoonery of presumptuous prelates already has the Hubrisometer (pat. pending) redlined.

But, it’s still Christmas, and what passes for charity in the Toad has not yet subsided, so the flame still is burning on low, largely fueled by Velicoff®. (How do they make a profit on this stuff $7.99 a gallon?) And, the Toad, himself, is not unaffected by the downward emotions that follow on the holidays. After a vigorous New Years round of Bite the Head Off the Bishop (a little divertissement we’ll address in another column), and a little more Velicoff® brand vodka, the Toad got out his blues collection and cranked up the Victrola for the annual end-of-year depression fest.

Following 24-hours of high-volume blues-musing and several visits from the local constabulary and an amphibious film crew from COPS, the Toad began to write a script for the ultimate blues movie. That is until he found out there already is one. The Crossroads…a proposed animated blues film based on the legend that Robert Johnson sold his soul to the devil to become a great blues musician. The struggle of the movie revolves around the lucky mojo above and the soul of a man. Lucky mojo! Wow, that’s even better than Velicoff® in the economical demi-tanker size!

Here’s the plot, boys and girls. Two up and coming blues bands meet at the International Blues Challenge in Memphis (which is sort of near St. Louis) to compete for the best blues band award. It turns out the bands know, and can't stand, one another. They performed a few times at blues festivals and got into fights, and by chance they both wind up at the Memphis contest and decide to settle the score.

Before you know it, the bands are spying on each other and eavesdropping on conversations…and then they both overhear something that sets their souls on fire... two old bluesmen get into a hell of an argument whether or not Robert Johnson sold his soul to the devil... they're both stone drunk and start yelling at each other, “Did So! - Did Not! - Did So! - Did Not!...”
The Toad was devastated. A great plot, the blues, fighting among the bands playing the same music, the devil all wrapped up in an animated format. And the Toad thought he was the only cartoon character hereabout! Rawk, rawk, rawk!*

Lubricated with ample quantities of Velicoff® (Toads tend to dry out at this time of year) and after a hearty meal of Cheeze Whiz® and Saltines® (you were expecting flies?), the Toad sat down to pen his own version of the best blues movie ever done, replete with cartoon characters, or, at least vagante clergy and purported seminary deans.

Here’s the new plot, boys and girls. Our scene opens in St. Louis, a bastion of the blues and home of W.C. Handy, Louis Armstrong, Bessie Smith…well, you get the picture.
A whole bunch of Episcopalians be suffering from the Dipping Women Torn Up Ol’ Prayerbook Blues. They are bluer than blue, ‘cept maybe the hair on a bunch of them. There on the banks of the Big River, weighed down with woe, they start the Original, Original Province St. Louis Blues Band Contest. It’s dedicated to playing the old tunes, the real tunes, the familiar tunes, and there’s only supposed to be one band.

But, that ain’t the way of the blues, and it sho’ ‘nuff ain’t the way of the St. Louis Blues. Sorry, the Toad slipped into Blues vernacular. Like Blues authority, DJ Kool Karl says, “You don't have to write Blues songs in Ebonics, but it helps.” It must have been the Velicoff® talking—that and the Blues.

So, here we, go. We done got a big crowd full of the little "b" blues out on old St. Louis (they'd never use a big "B"), and they want one band to fire up playing their favorite tunes, and they set up a bunch of band leaders: James, Dale and Robert. What kind of blues names are those? Blues names for men are Joe, Willie, Joe-Willie, Little Willie, Big Willie, Blind Willie, Blind Joe, Muddy, and Leroy. James, Dale and Robert can’t sing the Blues no matter how many men they shoot in Memphis.

I mean if you want to sing the blues you need a good Blues singer’s name. First take the name of a physical infirmity (Blind, Cripple, Lame) Then add the name of a fruit (not that kind of fruit real fruit-Lemon, Melon, Cherry). Then tack on the last name of a President (Johnson, Jefferson, and the like). You can even use an ecclesiastical title, preferably Deacon or Bishop (see, e.g. Elvin Bishop). Blind Deacon Washington, or Leroy “Little Bishop” Jefferson are kickin’ blues names. You can gather ‘round names like that.

Then there were audience problems. While St. Louis has always been one of the best Blues cities in the world, these were just not people with a right to sing the Blues. “Who, Toad,” you may ask, “does have the right to sing the Blues?”

According to DJ Kool Karl, soon to be named an archdeacon and dean of the East St. Louis Catholic Orthodox Anglican Seminary and Embalming School (Original Province) says, you can sing the blues if: You older than dirt, You blind, You "shot a man in Memphis", You "can't get no satisfaction", You a "Back Door Man", You named your guitar after your ex-wife who left you for your best friend. (Ok, many in the audience fit the bill.) But you can’t if, You have all your teeth, You "once was blind but now can see", The man in Memphis lived, You have a 401K or trust fund, or you “amicably left your wife for another man having discovered your true sexuality”. Heck, you can’t sing the blues if you left anyone and a razor was not involved.

Even worse, there were few Blues-appropriate beverages like Ripple, Rye Whiskey or Bourbon, Muddy Water, nasty black coffee, Old Style beer or Velicoff® vodka in the 1.5 liter size. You ain’t gonna’ make it drinking Perrier, chardonnay, Grey Goose Vodka, “The Glenlivet” or anything with “glen” in it, Bombay gin, or any kind of imported beer.

They even had the wrong transportation. Blues transportation is a Greyhound bus or a southbound train. Blues cars are Chevys, Fords, Cadillacs and broken down pickup trucks. Jet aircraft and company cars ain't even in the running. Blues don't travel in BMW’s, Mercedes or Sport Utility Vehicles. This was not looking good.

But, maybe it was the place that overcame the Blues odds. Pretty soon the one band was three or four, and then twenty, and then…well…there’s a new one in every garage. And the big three or four bands, well they began to talk about just who had made that deal with the devil, and who might be a “backdoor man”. Yeah, they make it to a few blues festivals (they play St. Louis a couple of times, some burg called Bartonville, Deerfield Beach for the spring break crowd, and a small venue called Fond du Lac), but they always be gettin’ in fights. And drink? They proved that if you just drink enough chardonnay, Grey Goose Vodka, anything with “glen” in it, or Bombay gin you can have chops like Blind Lemon Jefferson.

Trouble was, these self-proclaimed bluesmen never really got the Blues themselves. They sang something that sounded like them, but the audience only came away with the little “b” blues. Maybe it was the clothes. No one will believe it’s the real Blues if you wear a suit, 'less you happen to be an old ethnic person and you slept in it... for two weeks...in a Greyhound Bus station. The best clothes for the blues is torn overalls, or a prison uniform, and, of course you should be wearing a cool Blues hat. But these guys dressed for the show in coordinated natty purple shirts, and purple gloves and purple socks and lots and lots of lace. Either there was pimpin’ going on, they actually were the Rondelles or they was the “other woman” somebody shot in Memphis. Maybe it was all three. Something in the script just wasn’t right.

But, then more traditional Blues patterns emerged. There was lyin’, cheatin’, adultery, stealin’, fightin’, fakin’, posin’, adultery, guns, liquor, cursin’, prison and, of course, adultery. Man, it’s like that song Aretha sings, “Who's zoomin' who, take another look, tell me baby…Who's zoomin who...oh…”

But, in the end, it resonates with The ViceBishops’ (yes, that’s their name) tune, “the party's over And the guests are gone You know it's time to be movin' on.” After all, the real Blues is the thing. Fake Blues on an air guitar don’t float the boat. And, the audience is flat tired of hearing who made a deal with the devil.

Sorry, boys and girls, it’s just the Velicoff® talking.

So the Toad will close this New Year’s reverie with B.B. King’s Actions Speak Louder Than Words. It pretty well sums up the state of things Blues-wise, authority-wise and just plain people-wise. Ponder the lyrics.

And, if you don’t know of B.B. King, bunky, you should immediately: tear up your application to on-line seminary, drink a 1.5 liter bottle of Velicoff® brand vodka wrapped in a paper bag, sleep in a black suit for the next two weeks, and move to St. Louis. You’ll thank the Toad…really. Happy New Year, pally. Rawk, rawk, rawk!*

Yr. Obed. Serv.,

Roy Aldous Toad, DD-VS (Very Specious), LSMFT, D.Phil. (Carolina Coast University); B.A. (summa cum laude)(Southern States University)

Bluesman Extraordinaire

*The Sound of One Toad Barking

Actions Speak Louder Than Words-B.B. King

You won't listen to nothing I tell you, baby
You keep on doing just as you please
Hey, you won't do nothing I tell you, baby
Keep on doing as you please
I've taken as long as I can, baby
When is this foolishness gonna cease

I've worried myself crazy, baby
Cried both night and day
I said I've worried myself crazy, baby
Cried both night and day
You don't believe me, baby
But I'm gonna leave one of these days

Well, you told me that you love me
But actions speak louder than words
Oh, you said you love me, baby
But action speaks louder than words
I won't be fooled no longer, baby
That line everybody's heard

Well, If you're gonna change, baby
You better do it real soon
Hey, If you're gonna change
For the better, baby
You better do it real soon
Because you'll wake up one of these mornings
Find yourself in a empty room.