Sunday, March 29, 2015

So, we're at Sunday Mass ...


This morning. Mass hasn't started yet, so I'm perusing the bulletin.  And quite involuntarily I let out this muffled snort, which muffledness causes a nose bubble; I'm making throat snorts trying to suppress more.    We've all been there, right?  MoSup gives me an elbow, but I can't stand it.  I'm at the point where a full gale of laughter is about to escape, so I get up and walk outside until I had it under control.  

Back in the pew MoSup looks at me a "what?" look.  I point to the bulletin and it all comes back again. I'm  hemorrhaging inside, but then mass is beginning and I sober.  After Mass I explain to the wife what sent me off, and she said "What?  It's a game where ... ."  I'm almost hysterical, even now, just writing this.  My understanding of "Corn Holing" is altogether different than hers.  Am I alone here, or what?  I mean think of it.  A Corn Hole tournament! I'm dying here boss.

WaitI'm reminded of this (which I may have mentioned before) similar thing.  I was an alter boy at St. Francis, and once a month (or maybe once a week?) the entire (grammar) school body trotted over to the church for stations of the cross, a Catholic rite that venerates Christ's crucification agony.  The Priest reads a devotion at each of 14 stations (plaques placed along the church walls), and worshippers respond with a prayer.  There are three altar boys who accompany; Joey Schmidt had the cross, Danny Jankoviac and me were acolytes (candles).  Now, this is a big deal for us altar boys because we are on display before all the girls. 

But we know! 

We know that when we get to station 13, the phrase "
The Body of Jesus is taken down from the Cross and laid in Mary's bosom" will be uttered.  Bosom. And it wasn't just me, it was all three of us who dreaded it, because we knew we would again have to fight off smirks, let alone laughter.  Principal,  Sr. Margaret Eleanor, would be watching, and God help us if we did.  That's the stage.
 When we got to '13' I bent my head down, trying to hide any expression from Sr.M.E.  My head, with hair loaded with some greasy, and very flammable, as it turns out, pomade was torched by the candle!    I didn't know my hair was on fire; I was waiting for "bosom"  to be over, and here's Father Theissen beating me about the head, and I hear gales of laughter from the peanut gallery.  Swear to God, I thought that a smirk had given me away and I was being pummeled for this act of heresy.  I am not making this up.
Bosom and Corn Holes are never mentioned in polite company where I come from.  If you're 12 yrs. old.


Ralph Gizzip said...

What are you doing with a bulletin BEFORE Mass, Rodger?

This is exactly why we wait until AFTER Mass to pass them out. It's not polite to laugh during the reading of the Passion. You can shout "Crucify Him!" but you'd better not laugh.

BTW, "corn holing" is BIG in Cincinnati. But then Cincinnati is known as "The Queen City"

FishStyx said...

I'm in your camp, Rodger.
It wasn't until just a few years ago that I learned "corn hole" also refers to a game.
...played at barbecues and family gatherings.
...with your clothes ON.

Who knew?!?

Esteve said...

A fellow I know just built three of those of those games for a local Scout troop. When he called them Corn Holes I had the same thoughts. Had to suppress saying what I was thinking.

Anonymous said...

Corn holing = Cincinnati version of death by umchug.
Lt. Col. Gen. Tailgunner dick

Dan said...

When did it stop being beanbag and start being a sex act?

Tom Smith said...

Always a beanbag toss for me. The gay lobby wont make me change.

Pawpaw said...

Dude! Your hair caught on fire during Stations of the Cross? That's epic.

And yes, you understand exactly what a Corn Hole moment is. I'm surprised that the Catholic Church is still talking about that.

It's as bad as having a Peter-pulling contest at St. Taffy's.

If I had seen that in the church bulletin, I would have lost it.

Anonymous said...

Emperor Obozo runs a Corn Hole Tourney every time The Mooch is out of town.


Anonymous said...

Do you squeal like a pig during the "corn hole tournament"?

As Ned Beatty once said, "This corn's special!"

Moo-lin-yan Nabo-li-don

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