No, they are going to announce that Joe Biden and other Catholic politicians aren’t going to be allowed to get it, because they aren’t working hard enough to make Catholic theology into US law. In this they are joined by evangelical Protestants, who believe that the Gospel forbids abortion, even though it actually does not, and that this nonexistent provision of Scripture should also be enshrined into law.
Such a confluence of influence would have been unheard of in my Catholic youth, when we Catholics believed all Protestants were going to Hell, and they confidently believed the same about us. Good times.
Now the nation’s remaining Catholics and their Bible-belting friends have joined forces, and the hill they have decided to be martyred on together is women and how their uteri need to be controlled by the states. They have not decided that the states should try to get men to keep their dicks in their pants. They seem to realize that some causes are hopeless, even for God.
So, the President may be left tapping his foot at the communion rail pretty soon, while the priest busily stuffs wafers into the mouths of every other kind of sinner standing alongside him you can imagine, including members of his own brotherhood whose fingers reek of altar boy ass.
It is the existence of this band of underground pedophiles, which the Conference of Pointy-Hatted Pricks mostly chose to ignore for decades, that is causing the Church to lose membership faster than you can say ten Hail Marys. Yes, formerly reverent Catholics are saying, “I just don’t want to go to Church this Sunday,” and then, because they were raised in a faith that finds value in suffering, they say, “I think I’ll watch the Jets game instead.”
Fear not, Mr. President. There are plenty of faiths that will welcome your abortion-tolerating person. You won’t have to have some brave young priest sneak your wafer into the White House while Protestant soldiers with pikes lie in wait to chop his head off, like some Netflix drama about persecuted Catholics in Elizabethan England.
The Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster will be happy to have you as a member, and while slurping pasta may not be gourmet dining, it’s at least gustatorily superior to letting a tasteless wad of what seems like Walmart copy paper dissolve on your tongue. Wearing a colander on your head might cost you a few suburban swing votes, though, although the CFSM would not forbid you from taking it off your head and hitting Putin with it, next time you see that guy.
Personally, I’m a Dudeist, and all we have to do is abide. Sure, it’s recommended we bowl and drink White Russians, but I don’t do either of those things, and nobody’s excommunicated me yet. Abiding is good. Abiding in the White House is even better, and will help you keep your equanimity when that sewer clown Mitch McConnell kicks you in the nuts again.
There’s the Church of the Holy Taco, which I thought I just made up, but apparently was envisioned by another satirist before me. The Church offers Salsa Salvation, which sounds pretty tempting. Imagine standing at the rail of the Taco Church, sanctified, munching a consecrated Dorito while the Holy Hot Sauce runs down your chin. Just hope you avoid the dreaded Ring of Fire, which is that Church’s version of Hell.
Tacos also have a double-entendre meaning among the sniggering set (it’s vagina), which means you can cut into the Republican lead among Young Guys Who Talk About Sex Constantly but Hardly Ever Get It.
Even incels love tacos.