Do not rejoice! You have not been blessed to speaking in tongues, much as your modern phones might simulate such feelings with your textile-speech and your semenses. I know you’re used to reading my sermons in Latin — while cloistered in the Clongoes, the beadles assure me they were printed on the front page of the national papers — but now that I’ve been transferred to Ballinagoslowly, the local curates insist my wisdom should be shared with the wider world and its vulgar tonguing.

Alas, simple viceful men, they phrased it in the parlance of a good hand of gambling, saying they should “show the world what we have to deal with”. I denounced them at length over their greedful ways. They were moved by my purity of spirit to exclaim “Yes, that’s exactly what we’re talking about”.

But it gladdens my heart to see the country moved by my words. The “max” the curate uses to blog my words no longer has that shiny little record player, a sure sign the world was moved by my homily against “Satan’s Plates: The Black Wheels Of Sin Turn At 75 rpm“. Through the walls of my cellared prayer chamber, I hear those godless curates complain that the question of marriage once more faces the Irish people, and in my role as Prelate Retro In Insula — appointed by that lovely young man Pius X, when he said that my faith was an inspiration and should be sent to the furthest possible land to spread the faith — I must shepherd my flock.

Of course the church is against marriage. It’s an awful sinful thing, promoting impure thoughts, unclean touchings, and all kinds of messy business. Can’t imagine why anyone would bother. Men and women should be pure before god. It’s bad enough we have to take time from prayer to eat and drink, without giving in to any other urges. Mixing men and women didn’t work in Eden, and it won’t work here.

The church has long understood that single-sex groups are better off. Far better to allow men or women of similar bent to share lodgings, to live together in confraternal brotherhood and sisterhood. Alas, this debauched modern world can no longer support monasteries and convents, wonderful places where men could all live together, sleep together, wake together, engage in pure physical exertion together while thinking only of love for their fellow man.

And convents of course, where the women could bathe together, and kneel together, bowing their heads in compliance, godblessus, begging for forgiveness, seeking instruction from their father figure and then washing again, and washing, next to godliness, oh god yes.

Ave maria.

As my parish priest used to say, there’s no place in god’s kingdom for the devil’s sausage, no matter how hard Eve’s spawn might try to hide it. Marriage is only living in sin with a license! The only sext should be the noonday mass. The Irish church has always been against any kind heterosexuality. It only makes sense that we should encourage monosexual relationships. If we can’t convince people to pay for monastaries, maybe we could have smaller private arrangements, where we have a couple of fellas living together. That might work.

I hope you’ll now join me in prayer to bring this miracle to pass. I can talk to the world on this max all you like, but the only way to really change the world is to kneel quietly with your head down.

Monsignor O’Gcúl

Ballinagoslowly