|St. Thomas More, in happier days.|
You know. Those days when he
actually had a head.
On this day in 1535, that rat-bastard Henry VIII of England had St. Thomas More beheaded on Tower Hill for the heinous crime of refusing to assist the monarch in his quest to dump his current spouse for a hotter one.
So, because Henry VIII allowed his little head rule his big head, he killed the man who as Chancellor of England whose “despatch was so great that the supply of causes [lawsuits] was actually exhausted.” This was likely the first and last time any nation following English common law found itself without lawsuits. For that alone, the man was a saint.
For telling the monarch to get bent and getting martyred for his trouble, the Roman Catholic Church beatified Thomas More and named him patron saint of lawyers. This to ‘Puter is proof that no good deed goes unpunished. After all, who in his right mind would want to be the patron saint of such a sinful legion?
St. Thomas More stands as a timeless example of the importance of doing the right thing even when so doing so causes great personal suffering, even death.
Henry VIII stands as a timeless example of fat, powerful men plowing whatever piece of tail crosses their path, simply because they can. See, e.g., Tony Soprano, Bill Clinton, etc.
Also, Henry VIII will be remembered for giving the world the Episcopal Church, a vacuous quasi-Christian, Unitarian Universalist spinoff. Modern Episcopalians, as near as ‘Puter can figure, are more accurately Seinfeldian than Christian, in that Episcopalians believe in nothing. See, e.g., gay priests, consubstantiation, etc. But, as those accursed Frenchies say, “chacun a son gout.” To be fair to Henry’s Heretical Heathens, Episcopalians do out-Catholic the Catholics in pomp, circumstance and music.
On that happy thought, ‘Puter takes his leave. Saint Thomas More, ora pro ‘Puter.
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.