WEST CHESTER, Pa–The Catholic church is nothing if not fanciful, some might even say fey, as in man-in-a-purple-dress fey. Those ornate Pius of Hollywood jumpers favored by the church’s high priests, the three-story hats that dwarf the chubby little pope beneath them, the gothic organ music, Omen-like choirs, and incense-laden rituals: do these strike anyone else as the love children of drag queens and other gender benders huffing amyl nitrate on disco-inferno revival nights?
Yet quaint as all that shit might be, the church really jumps the whale when push comes to saints. Fact: the saints-to-row-house-variety-catholics-who-have-ever-lived ratio is an impressive 1-to-8. That’s better than the teacher-student ratio at your basic overpriced elite liberal institution of higher political correctness.
Naturally with all those halos floating about in heaven, there’s bound to be a saint with a guaranteed cure for any condition—heritable, congenital, or acquired—that might ail you, from chapped ass to bleeding zits. The trick is knowing which obscure saint to pray to for a cure.
In order to assist you in directing your inquiries to the proper saint—thereby sparing you the inconvenience of being put on hold and having to listen to heavenly music while your prayer is being directed—we at the Village Atheist have developed an app called There’s a Saint for That.
This multi-platform free app—also available in special configurations for the blind, the deaf, the lame, the halt, and those who haven’t had a bowel movement in a week—is simplicity itself. Just launch There’s a Saint for That, type in the condition that’s been curdling your Hollandaise, and up will pop the name of—and perhaps a brief hagiography about—the board-certified saint who specializes in your condition,
Ready boys and girls? Let the healing begin!
Today’s featured saint, Gratus of Aosta, who died in 470 C.E., is your go-to guy if you’re afraid of insects. With the blessed intercession of Saint Gratus, there’s no need to lose your shit any more if a crawling hirsute behemoth scurries out from beneath the last slice of leftover pizza the morning after a night of squalorous love making. Who could ask for more?
But wait! There is more. The first one hundred supplicants to fall to their knees today can also receive representation against against fire, hail, lightning, rain, picnic cancellations, and vineyards. Such representations ordinarily cost a novena, but they can be had today for a simple ejaculation.
FYI: According to a fictitious and anachronistic account of Saint Gratus’ life published in 1285, Gratus was sent to the Holy Land to find the head of Saint John the Baptist. Gratus found the relic concealed in the palace of Herod. Smuggling St. John’s head out of Jerusalem, Gratus returned to Rome, where church bells played of their own accord in celebration.
When Gratus presented St. John’s head to the pope, the jawbone remained in Gratus’ hand. This was interpreted as a sign, and the pope allowed him to keep it.
Bullshit was called on this story as early as the sixteenth century, and four centuries later it was “demonstrated without a doubt” to be magna cum caca. The story was so popular by that time, however, that most Catholics just said “fuck it,” and kept on repeating it, much as they have done with the New Testament.
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