A Sign

 

Every Thursday evening I climb in the rig and drive to Lake Whitney and Mission #2 to say Mass. It's a good drive, taking you over the dam with the mighty Brazos on your left and the lake, sparkling in the sun, to your right. Overhead, the sun beams down from a vast, blue Texan sky.

everywhere a sign note fresh weld

Hot as Hades you mutter, pulling into the church car park, and there it is, a sign saying Priest. Huh, this is new, some kind church person has made this to remind me of who I am and to warn everyone of the same, don't take the priest's place, don't even think it. 

I tell you, they're good people at this church and good job sign maker. You'll note the Cross of St. George inspiring us all.

Slay the Dragon,

LSP

Broumas Memorial Park

Well it's all fine and dandy until a literal TANK starts rolling. I know you know, but there it is, these massive beasts, rolling on, and utter respect to LT. COL Broumas. He died in '69 with a chestful of medals and grateful vets set up a memorial park in Fort Hood. Look, here's a Priest:

And a tank. Note the Fiddy

Low Pro? Yet another Fiddy (above) and some typical Sov rubbish from Iraq. Check it out:

 Jagdpanzers in UKR? Still, what a massive beast. But I like this little fella, handy range taxi, eh?

Panzers roll,

LSP

What A Filthy Mess! Canine Postscipt

Dirty, very, very dirty. But don't me wrong, I'm not making a thinly veiled attack on the ethical standards of TEC (The Episcopal Church) and its ongoing legal blitzkreig against Christians. No, not even against its leaderene Boy Bishop, Katherine Schori and the Archdruid of Canterbury, Rowan Williams, not a bit of it - I'm referring to the old Marlin Model 60 pictured above.

It belongs to a parishioner who was complaining that her rifle wasn't feeding or ejecting properly, so she brought it in from the truck and sure enough, it was a tribute to the weapon that it worked at all. Anyway, I gave it a clean while she went off to clean the church - a fair swap, I figured.

A bit of elbow grease later and all was well; then the door bell rang and low and behold! Three policemen with M4s.

"Is there a person out the back with a rifle?"

"Just me Officer. I was cleaning it. You see, I'm the priest."

I showed them the Mod. 60, resisting the temptation to ask for a look at the assualt rifles and off they went - no harm done. It seems that my DWN (Dog War Neighbour) had lodged a complaint. I felt bitter. First its incessant pit bullian barking and now spurious visits by the Storm Troopers, God bless 'em...

So off I went thinking uncharitable thoughts when who should roll up but DWN himself. He didn't look too well but managed to shuffle up for a chat.

"Sorry I called the police, preacher."

"Thanks."

"See, I figured you were gonna shoot my dogs."

"No, I'm not going to shoot your dogs."

"See, I don't feel so good..."

And with that, DWN lifts his shirt to reveal a massive scar running the length of his belly. I'll spare you the details but he thanked the Lord that he was still alive and I assured him of my prayers, as he assured me that he wouldn't dial in an airstrike next time I cleaned a rifle at the back of the house.

The dogs still bark but I've increased in charity so it doesn't seem so bad and the Model 60 fires fine. The police are happy with their M4s and have invited me down to their range, which is alright by me. As for TEC, Schori, Williams & the secular humanist project, I'm not so sure, but that's a different story.

Have a blessed Feast of the Trinity.

LSP