Tuesday, July 20, 2010

Death by confetti

How long before the clergy start getting heckled?

I was at a wedding the other day and the priest drove me to stupefaction.

He started off, this bargain basement version of Fr. Fintan Stack, by speaking into the microphone in a stacatto Stephen Hawking impersonation.

What he took as humour - pretending that the PA system was breaking up on him - I took as a man having a stand-up fit of epilepsy, ended only by his screeches of laughter and the nervous twitches of his audience.

He had some other crackers, like pointing us to the four exits marked 'EXIT' and reassuring us that the groom had long since noted their whereabouts, and telling us not to throw confetti for 'Health And Safety Reasons.'

(Health and fucking safety reasons? Health and we're too lazy to clear up after you mucky bastards reasons, more like.)

My ponderings of a screenplay called 'Confetti: The Silent Killer' starring William H. Macy were broken up by his sermon on marriage itself.

"I see marriage as very much like a game of football. If both sides go into it 50-50 you'll get a terrible match. In fact, the crowd would be right to ask for their money back. However, if the two teams both go into giving 100% then you're going to have a cracking game.

"That's what marriage is. Both people have to go into it willing to give 100% to each other, allowing in no outside distractions. They have to listen to each other and ask 'how was your day?' The men can't say that they don't feel like doing the washing up. Rather, the couple need to do it together, to share everything equally."

Abort! Abort!

The gathering lapped this shit up in between being told when to sit, to kneel, to stand, to applaud and to be very, very quiet so that God can listen to us all. They started to laugh along at all his putrid little jokes and asides while the happy couple lit candles and waited for the 'I do.'

I was happy for them and the very best of luck to them but a little bit of sick came into my mouth when, after all was said and vowed, the girl sitting next to me queried: "Wasn't the priest gas?"

9 comments:

Kath Lockett said...

I'm no expert at Irish lingo, but I'm still hoping that what the girl actually meant was more like:
"Wasn't the priest full of gas?"

Dot-Com said...

"The gathering lapped this shit up in between being told when to sit, to kneel, to stand, to applaud and to be very, very quiet so that God can listen to us all."

Hmmm, not much to hear if everyone is quiet...!

Radge said...

Kath - O were it so. No, 'gas' over here means 'very funny.' I'm sure you got that though.

Dot - Indeed!

Holemaster said...

Body of Christ,
Body of Christ,
Body of Christ,
Christ what a body,
Body of Christ...

Jackie said...

Ohhhhh, Radge. I can VERY much relate to this. It made me both giggle and frown simultaneously. Born and raised Catholic-- Catholic school for 13 years... I hear ya loud and clear from across the Atlantic.

Radge said...

Holemaster - Eh, I dunno. Amen?

Jackie - I just hope this post isn't taken as a slight against the married couple, I was just pissed off that the priest wanted to make himself - and not them - centre stage.

K8 the Gr8 said...

The priest at our wedding likened marriage to Hitler's Nazi regime. Sounds obscure, but the way he phrased it actually made it sound endearing. He may have been using The Force, in hindsight.

Therese Cox said...

We had Father Mulcrone, the affable Irish-American Catholic chaplain of the Chicago Fire Department. A dear friend of mine had just delivered one of the readings during the ceremony, the "Yes I said I will yes" end of Joyce's Ulysses.

It was a beautiful, rapturous reading, so stunning that it garnered applause. Father Mulchrone waited till the applause died down and quipped in his thick Chi-cah-go accent: "Yeah. Hard to believe an Irishman wrote that."

Lovely, lovely man.

Radge said...

K8 - Sounds like a true original, that's a man of the cloth I can endorse.

Therese - That even works in print, that's some proper papal comedy right there.