|It's doughnut Sunday when the|
Bear SAYS it's doughnut Sunday!
The oldest kid says, "Why don't we go to the Vine. People are nice there and they have doughnuts every Sunday."
Good question. They have better music, better sermons, you never hear a word about global warming, everybody's friendly and they have freaking doughnuts every freaking Sunday. And most of their congregation does not consist of old jerks.
Doughnuts every Sunday? The Bear's so there.
This has nothing to do with doctrine, Vatican II or Pope Francis, It has everything to do with a dysfunctional parish driving people to a Protestant chain congregation. The Bear's parish is so hollow and so doomed. And the Bear does not care. The future does not lie with the Laurence Welk generation.
Anyone who wants to help is, frankly, abused. They don't want help. They want to sit in their sand castle as the tide rolls in.
Red Death and the Bear were married as teenagers in that church, (No doubt, Francis would say our marriage is invalid.) But when it finally closes shop, that will just force the Bear to finally shake the dust off his paws and make the long drive to a real church with a Latin Mass, leaving a rusting nail in the floor for the demolition crew to puzzle over.
The Bear is going over to the other post and spending some quality time with Ginger Rogers. Ginger will cheer him up. Won't you join us? If enough people pay their respects to the most beautiful and talented woman ever (besides Red Death) the Bear will provide the doughnuts.
And if anyone complains, the Bear will cram two dozen of the things down their throat.