‘Puter’s sister Atari 400 lives in the greater Southern California area. She attends a brand new parish out there. This week at Mass, the choir treated Atari 400 and her son to the following ditty titled Fragrance Prayer. Atari 400 could not contain herself and burst into laughter during the song. Ever the quick-thinker, Atari 400 blamed her three year old son for the ruckus.
Here are the masterful lyrics to Fragrance Prayer for your listening pleasure. Click through to the link to treat yourself for the full experience. ‘Puter dares you.
Dear Jesus, help me to spread your
fragrance ev’rywhere that I go.
Dear Jesus, flood my soul
with your spirit and your love.
1. Penetrate and possess my being
so utterly that all my life
may only be a radiance of you.
2. Shine through me and be so in me
that ev’ry soul I come
in contact with may feel your presence
in my soul.
3. Let them look up and see
no longer me but only you,
Stay with me and then
I shall begin to shine
as you shine so to shine
as a light to all.
This piece of musical effluvium may eclipse Sword in My Pants and One Bed, Two Bodies in the firmament of really bad Catholic liturgical music. Damnable ordained post-Vatican II music-ruining hippie priests. ‘Puter can just see them sitting around in a sharing circle, brainstorming ways to increase attendance at Mass.
“You know what would make parishioners more involved? Really bad, hard-to-sing, campfire singalong style hymns. So let’s toss 400 years worth of kick-ass music and let Father Moonbeam, S.J. take a crack at composing a modern hymnal. Right after we’re done bong time.”
If you have run into worse Catholic hymns — heck, worse hymns from any mainstream monotheistic tradition — send them to ‘Puter. He’s listening.
Always right, unless he isn’t, the infallible Ghettoputer F. X. Gormogons claims to be an in-law of the Volgi, although no one really believes this.
’Puter carefully follows economic and financial trends, legal affairs, and serves as the Gormogons’ financial and legal advisor. He successfully defended us against a lawsuit from a liquor distributor worth hundreds of thousands of dollars in unpaid deliveries of bootleg shandies.
The Geep has an IQ so high it is untestable and attempts to measure it have resulted in dangerously unstable results as well as injuries to researchers. Coincidentally, he publishes intelligence tests as a side gig.
His sarcasm is so highly developed it borders on the psychic, and he is often able to insult a person even before meeting them. ’Puter enjoys hunting small game with 000 slugs and punt guns, correcting homilies in real time at Mass, and undermining unions. ’Puter likes to wear a hockey mask and carry an axe into public campgrounds, where he bursts into people’s tents and screams. As you might expect, he has been shot several times but remains completely undeterred.
He assures us that his obsessive fawning over news stories involving women teachers sleeping with young students is not Freudian in any way, although he admits something similar once happened to him. Uniquely, ’Puter is unable to speak, read, or write Russian, but he is able to sing it fluently.
Geep joined the order in the mid-1980s. He arrived at the Castle door with dozens of steamer trunks and an inarticulate hissing creature of astonishingly low intelligence he calls “Sleestak.” Ghettoputer appears to make his wishes known to Sleestak, although no one is sure whether this is the result of complex sign language, expert body posture reading, or simply beating Sleestak with a rubber mallet.
‘Puter suggests the Czar suck it.