Oh by the way, folks,
Today we celebrate a feast day in honor of Saint Clare of Montefalco. I don't know what she's the patron saint of. Her heart, a crucifix supposedly found inside of her heart, and three gallstones out of her gall bladder are all preserved and venerated as sacred relics.
Hey, everybody's gotta have sacred relics! I think our church has a tiny manila envelope labeled Tertiary Relic of Saint Addlecerebria or some such nonsense, and it contains a tiny snicket of some unidentifiable grayish fuzz.
If somebody steals the fuzz and replaces it with a bit of ordinary clothes dryer lint, nobody would ever know the difference. In fact, it might actually be nothing but ordinary clothes dryer lint, for all anybody knows.
Anyhow, nothing happened yesterday. The tron undergrounders don't work on Saturday.
Today Father S does the Iron Priest Triathlon, where he's gotta emcee the mystic incantations at all three sky-zombie hallucination orgies. He's well qualified, because he preaches the Four Minute Sermon.
This requires leaving St Peters Chapel at 9:35 and getting to the parish hall, six miles up the road, at 9:30, which requires traveling faster than infinite speed. Of course he always makes it on time.
Then this afternoon it looks like nothing's gonna happen.
Signs of life