Collage 391              H u m o u r N e t              23 Mar 1998

Speaking of people who find creative methods of getting their
comments posted in Collage openers, Shane in Basel, Switzerland, had
this comment to make in response to my statement in Collage 390 that
I did not have time to write up an opener:

    Hey Vince:

    ...in that case go with the opener -- I love your collages
    and the main reason is because of your openers. :-)

    Jokes are jokes but original humour kicks a**.

    Keep up the good work,
    Shane

Shane is correct: I can't do too many serial Collages without openers,
or you might as well just go subscribe to One Of Those OTHER Humour
Lists (yes, they're out there, but none of THEM has been approved by
the IETF, the IANA, the ASPCA, the NAACP, and the RMXRA, have they?),
and we can't have *that* happening, right? After all, it'd foil my
plans for world domination.

So, I have enlisted the services of a few Guest Moderators from whom
we might be hearing from time to time. (Sorry, this is not a
solicitation, unless you have already paid your Guest Moderator
Application Fee(tm) and filled out the necessary paperwork -- which
is available at any government office.) (I did say *any* government
office.)

One of those in the lineup is Pastor Rus, also known as the Official
HumourNet List Chaplain. Rus has promised to put together a series of
"Sunday Morning Bloopers" for an upcoming God Collage. However, he's
been promising this since last October. With this opener, I hope to
finally guilt (scare?) him into sitting down and making good on that
promise.

In the meantime, you're stuck with me -- and *my* version of the
Sunday Morning Bloopers. This is a little long, but should make
amends for any cases of "Opener Neglect" out there.

"The Last Sacrament"
By Vince Sabio
HumourNet Communications, Ltd.
<http://www.humournet.com/HumourNet/>

For this, we rewind the Great Video of Life to the year 1972 ...

That was the year in which I received my Confirmation. Even then, at
the tender age of ten, the roots of my agnosticism were taking hold,
and my participation in the Confirmation ritual was more to satisfy
my parents than to receive a another sacrament. After all, I had
already received Last Rites (within 24 hours of birth -- hence the
justification for my brash and irreverent approach to life), so
anything else was just backfill.

I really wasn't the most devout Confirmation candidate. On a test
just prior to the Great Ritual, I'd stated the seven sacraments as
"baptism, circumcision, communion, confirmation, marriage, divorce,
and last rites." (Had I been a little smarter, I'd have realized that
"marriage" and "last rites" were the same thing.)

It's a wonder that The Nuns didn't chain me to a wall in The Basement.
I've no doubt that they had OTHER children chained up down there; I
could often hear their screams as I walked down the hall to my Sunday
School classroom. I think that The Nuns simply feared me, referred to
me as "Lucifer" behind closed doors, and hoped that I would just go
away forever once I received Confirmation.

They were correct about the "going away" part. Moreover, I'd already
vetted this plan with my parents; their response was, "Just complete
your Confirmation; you can do whatever you like [i.e., stop attending
church] after that." For all I know, they'd even warned The Nuns to
just "sit tight until after Confirmation, and then you won't have to
worry about upgrading the shackles in The Basement to hold him."

And so, we arrived at The Big Day. The Confirmation Mass, itself, was
being held in the "Parish Hall." Now, this warrants some description:
Imagine a huge gymnasium-looking hall with cinderblock walls, row
upon row of folding chairs on the floor, an impressive array of pull-
out bleachers along the rear wall, and a two-story-high dead guy
nailed to the front of the hall. (Do they do this just to frighten
the kids? I'll have them know that it works.)

The Plan(tm) was that the Confirmees would fill the chairs on the
floor -- girls in the group on the left, boys in the group on the
right -- and the parents would lend their approval from the bleachers.

So far, so good. My parents left me in the capable hands of The Nuns
-- assuming that I was, at that point, committed to going through with
this -- and headed down to the Parish Hall to be seated with the other
proud parents.

Meanwhile, The Nuns had come up with a Diabolical Plan: They would
select two Confirmees -- a boy and a girl -- to go up to the front
of the Parish (on cue) and read from the Bible.

For this, they needed two children who were sufficiently, um,
"outspoken" that they wouldn't choke when faced with 500 (I kid you
not) other children and roughly 1000 parents.

I was standing in the lineup, minding my own business and awaiting my
fate, when I heard my name called ... "Vincent Sabio? Please step
forward."

"Uh-oh. I'm *really* in trouble now."

The Nuns explained their Diabolical Plan to me and the girl that
they selected: At their cue, we were to stand up, walk to the
*outside* of our rows (which meant that she and I would be walking
in opposite directions), and then go up front to join His Holiness,
The Guy With The Pointy Hat (a.k.a. the Bishop), who will introduce
us. At that point, we will flip to the passages marked for us, each
read her or his passage (girls before boys), and then return to our
seats.

Sounded simple enough. Heck, I was just relieved that I wasn't headed
for The Basement.

And so 500 children filed down to the Parish Hall to be Confirmed.

As it turned out, I was seated near the center aisle, which meant that
I would have to squeeze past most of the row of boys to my right when
it came time for my fifteen minutes of Sacramental Fame.

I waited. The Guy With The Pointy Hat read from the Bible. He made
strange sounds. He sat. He stood. I waited. Still no cue from The
Nuns. He spoke some more. He read some more. Still I waited. The hours
passed. Days passed. Leaves fell from trees.

And finally, it came -- the cue from The Nuns! It's *SSSSSHOWTIME*.

We now cut to the ParentCam, and view this through the eyes of two
people who know that their young son is already showing signs of,
well, not exactly growing up to be the most pious of citizens. This
is difficult for your typical Italian family to grasp, mind you --
but, in this case, they were simply happy that I was actually going
through with the Confirmation.

Or was I?

Suddenly, in the middle of the Mass, they saw me stand up. Step by
agonizing step, I worked my way down the row toward ... what was that
at the end of the row ... ?

THE EXIT DOORS!

Their first thought was, "Omigosh, he's LEAVING!" How will we ever
explain this? Worse still, what will we say when the other parents
start pointing and saying, "Hey, whose kid is THAT?" (My parents,
being pretty quick, probably would have joined in: "Can you believe
it? That kid just got up and walked out! I'll bet his parents are
mortified....")

I finally made my way to the end of the row. But, rather than continue
to the right and through the exit doors, I did something even worse --
I turned and walked to the front of the Parish Hall ...

"OMIGOD, HE'S NOT SIMPLY WALKING OUT -- HE'S GOING TO *ANNOUNCE* THAT
HE'S LEAVING!"

My parents aged a good deal that day. In fact, I'm just lucky that
there were no precedents in the courts at that time for parents suing
their own children; I'd *still* be working off the judgment against
me.

They finally realized, when The Guy With The Pointy Hat introduced
the two of us (at that point, they'd noticed that there was a girl
involved in this, too), that this was a *planned* event. I've no
doubt that there was some residual concern as to exactly WHAT was
going to come from my mouth when I read my passage, though.

At which point, we cut back to me ...

The Nuns had given us each a slip of paper with the passage from the
Bible that we were to read. It was written in Standard Biblical
Hieroglyphics -- you know, "Luke 5:33." Except that I had no *clue*
what "Luke 5:33" meant. I did, however, recall The Nuns telling us
that our sections would be marked in The Bible.

Well, that should be simple enough ... the girl's section is marked,
and my section is marked. Since she just read her passage, my section
must be the one that isn't currently open.

I looked at The Bible.

It was *huge*. It was high -- I had to stand on my toes just to see
it. I looked closely for something resembling a marker ...

There were approximately 237 markers in The Bible that day. It looked
as if they had marked everything with a page number.

This was ridiculous. After all, it's not like The Guy With The Pointy
Hat couldn't find his place if he needed to; he must read these things
all the time. I, in contrast, was a virtual newbie to this whole Bible
reading thing.

I was completely at a loss. But no bother -- one good quote from the
Bible is as rewarding as any other, right?

I picked a marker at random. Casually flipping to it, I decided that
I would read a few paragraphs and then act like I was finished --
after all, by that point, I might very well be.

I started reading a passage. For all I knew, it might have been
Revelation. In retrospect, I could only hope that it was the passage
that The Guy With The Pointy Hat was planning to read next -- it would
have served him right for presenting me with such a confusing task.

I finished reading, thanked everyone for their attention (after all,
they were clapping in that "aren't they just *adorable*?" manner that
is characteristic of parents at events such as these) and returned to
my seat.

Later in the service, we were called, row by row, to the front of the
Hall to be Confirmed. Kneeling before the two-story-high person who
was nailed to the wall, The Guy With The Pointy Hat stepped before
each of us in turn and asked us a specific question in some foreign
language (most likely Latin, though it could just as easily have been
French or German or Fortran for all I knew), and awaited the standard
response that The Nuns had drilled into each of us.

Except that, when my turn came, I looked up at The Guy With The Pointy
Hat, and realized that he probably hadn't liked my Biblical selection
very much -- he looked as if he was going to damn me to burn in Hell
for an eternity right there in front of 500 other kids.

My mind went immediately and totally blank; I forgot The Standard
Reply that we had rehearsed for weeks in preparation for our moments
of passage.

I quickly searched my memory for the proper phrase, but it was
hopeless. I looked up at His Holiness and managed to squeak out,
"Yes, sir." What the heck -- he'd asked me a question, I might as
well agree to whatever it was.

He repeated something back to me in that same foreign language. It
probably was a curse or an excommunication of some sort. I didn't
care. I returned to my seat, and quietly vowed to never set foot
inside a church ever again. I've no doubt that The Nuns would have
been relieved if they could have heard it; they'd probably have asked
for it in writing.

When the service was over, I found my parents and left as quickly as
I could. They wanted to introduce me to everyone: "Yes, this is the
boy that they selected to read from the Bible" and all that. I wanted
none of it; I was no longer interested in fame.

I just wanted out of there before The Nuns changed their minds about
those shackles in The Basement ...

Copyright 1998 by Vincent Sabio, HumourNet Communications Ltd.
All Rights Reserved; permission is hereby granted to forward or post
"The Last Sacrament," provided that the by-line (above) and this
copyright statement are included.

(Well, the spectre of another one of THOSE stories should get Pastor
Rus off his butt and writing his own opener. <g>)

And so we come to Collage 391, dedicated to -- you guessed it --
religious humour ...

Tanya in Redwood City, California, starts us off with "Those Damned
Catholics";

Yvonne in Arlington, Virginia, sends a triple-header: "When Life
Begins," "Passing Judgment," and "Perspective";

Karen P. in Colorado Springs, Colorado, brings us "Breaking With
Tradition";

Lenore in Virginia Beach, Virginia, contributes "The Verge";

John W. in Blacksburg, Virginia, takes credit for his "Messages From
God";

Lorraine in Katy, Texas, sends along the "The Survival Guide To
Boring Sermons" (Rus, you might notice several tricks in there that
your parishioners are using);

and Jeff R. in London, U.K., submits the piece, "At Least He Got
Some Nice Presents."

As always, a huge thanks to our contributors! (One of these days,
I'm going to leave that out, just to see if everyone is paying
attention. ;-)

Go in peace ...

- Vince Sabio
  HumourNet Moderator
  HumourNet@telephonet.com
____________________________________________________________________
          Opener (above) Copyright 1998 by Vincent Sabio
  Permission is hereby granted to forward or post this "Collage";
  please observe the guidelines stated at the end of the message.
____________________________________________________________________

SUBJ: Those Damned Catholics

A man died and went up to Heaven. He was met at the Pearly Gates by
St. Peter himself, who took the man by his hand and led him inside.
They started walking down hallways in order to reach their
destination -- the place where the man would enjoy himself until
eternity.

They walked through one hallway, and the man heard singing and
clapping and many loud exclamations of "Hallelujah!" He looked
inquiringly at St. Peter, who said "The Baptists."

In another hallway, he heard the voices of many people, raised in
joyful song, accompanied by a booming organ. St. Peter told him,
"The Lutherans."

They passed through many hallways and many religions. They heard the
chants of the Moslems and the Hindus, the silence of the Buddhists,
and singing and praying from many other sects and religions.

Finally, they reached a large wooden door. St. Peter put a finger to
his lips and whispered, "At this point, you must be deathly quiet.
Please take off your shoes and tiptoe noiselessly." The two tiptoed
through a silent hallway. After passing through another large wooden
door, St. Peter motioned that they could once again talk in normal
tones, and they both put their shoes back on.

"What was _that_?" inquired the man.

"Damned Catholics," said St. Peter. "They think they're the only ones
up here."

========================[ H U M O U R N E T ]=======================

SUBJ: When Life Begins

A minister, a priest and a rabbi were discussing when life begins.
"Those of my faith," said the minister, "believe that life starts
when the heart starts to beat."

"We take a bit of a different view," said the priest, "in that we
believe life starts at the moment of conception."

"Well," said the rabbi, "it is _our_ belief that life starts when
the kids move out and the dog dies."

========================[ H U M O U R N E T ]=======================

SUBJ: Passing Judgment

A man who smelled like a distillery flopped on a subway seat next to
a priest. The man's tie was stained, his collar was plastered with
red lipstick, and a half-empty bottle of gin was sticking out of his
torn coat pocket. He opened his newspaper and began reading. After a
few minutes the disheveled guy turned to the priest and asked,
"Shay, Father, what caushes arthritish?"

"Mister, it's caused by loose living, being with cheap, wicked
women, too much alcohol and a contempt for your fellow man."

"Well, I'll be damned," the drunk muttered, returning to his paper.

Having second thoughts about his abrupt manner, the priest nudged
the drunk and apologized. "I'm very sorry. I didn't mean to come on
so strong. How long have you had arthritis?"

"Oh, I don't have it, Father. I was jusht reading here that the Pope
does."

========================[ H U M O U R N E T ]=======================

SUBJ: Perspective

This couple had a really terrible little kid, Johnny. He was always
fighting and cussing and getting in trouble at school. Finally he
was expelled from public school, so the parents decided to try
private school. They enrolled him in a private boys' school that was
supposed to be wonderful.

Within a week, little Johnny is expelled. The father is so upset he
says, "That does it he's going to military school -- they should be
able to discipline him there!"

Within a week at military school, Johnny is expelled once more.

The only thing left to try is parochial school. The parents take him
to the Catholic school and hope for the best. A week goes by and
there are no problems. The parents are pleased but still wary.
Another week goes by and still no trouble. The parents are happy but
still waiting for the inevitable. More time passes and Johnny gets a
report card on which the nuns have given him good marks for his
behavior.

Johnny's parents are floored. They call him into the room to see
what caused this change. "Do you really like Catholic school?" asks
the mother.

"No," replies little Johnny.

"Then what has caused this turnaround in your behavior?" inquires
his father.

"Well," says Johnny, "on the first day they lined us up and took us
into a big room. Inside, there was a man nailed to a cross. I knew I
had better behave because these guys meant business!"

========================[ H U M O U R N E T ]=======================

SUBJ: Breaking With Tradition

A young couple met with their pastor to set a date for their wedding.
When he asked whether they preferred a contemporary or a traditional
service, they opted for the contemporary version.

On the big day, a major storm forced the groom to take an alternate
route to the church. The streets were flooded, so he rolled up his
pants legs to keep his trousers dry. When he finally reached the
church, his best man rushed him into the sanctuary and up to the
altar, just as the ceremony was starting.

The pastor glanced over at the groom. "Pull down your pants, son,"
whispered the pastor.

The groom was shocked. "Uh, Reverend, I think I've changed my mind,"
he whispered back, "I'd rather have the traditional service."

========================[ H U M O U R N E T ]=======================

SUBJ: The Verge

A Sunday school teacher asked her class, "What was Jesus's mother's
name?"

One child answered "Mary."

The teacher then asked, "Who knows what Jesus's father's name was?"

A little kid said "The Verge."

Confused, the teacher asked, "Where did you get that?"

The kid said, "Well, you know they are always talking about The
Verge 'n' Mary."

========================[ H U M O U R N E T ]=======================

SUBJ: Messages From God

On my way to work I saw a local Baptist Church marquee that read:
"May every new year find you a better man."

My current pastor claims to have seen the following on Mothers' Day:
"Have a nice day, all you mothers."

========================[ H U M O U R N E T ]=======================

SUBJ: The Survival Guide to Boring Sermons
By Tim Sims, published by The Door magazine and Zondervan, 1984.

Pass a note to the organist asking whether he/she plays requests.

See if a yawn really is contagious.

Slap your neighbor. See if he turns the other cheek. If not, raise
your hand and tell the priest/preacher.

Devise ways of climbing into the balcony without using the stairs.

Listen for your preacher to use a word beginning with 'A' then 'B
and so on through the alphabet.

Sit in the back row and roll a handful of marbles under the pews
ahead of you. After the service, credit yourself with 10 points for
every marble that made it to the front.

Using church notice sheets or newcomers cards for raw materials,
design, test and modify a collection of paper airplanes..

Start from the back of the church and try to crawl all the way to
the front, under the pews, without being noticed..

Raise your hand and ask for permission to go to the lavatory.

Chew gum; if the sermon goes on for more than 15 minutes, start
blowing bubbles.

Try to indicate to the minister that his fly is undone.

By unobtrusively drawing your arms up into your sleeves, turn your
shirt around backwards..

Wiggle your ears so that the people behind you will notice.

Practice smiling insincerely.

========================[ H U M O U R N E T ]=======================

SUBJ: At Least He Got Some Nice Presents

Did you hear the one about the dyslexic devil worshipper?
He sold his soul to Santa.

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</collage391>