On Natural Law and other things

Let us now hear an extract from a lecture given by Monsignor Peppas earlier today:

"...In the confessional an acolyte raised an interesting question of moral philosophy concerning the use of the glory hole. Traditionally the practice had been regarded as morally justifiable because there is no certain way of determining the identity of the orifice on the other side of the plywood wall. Of course, in all probability, we know it is the toothless gob of a meth addict called Cassie who takes sixty cents for every mouthful of seed she manages to suck from the hole. However we do not know for certain. If we did, it would indeed be a breach of the moral law. But there remains a possibility, theoritical though it may be, that it could in fact merely be the hose of a vaccuum cleaner that someone has accidentally left out directly in front of the hole, in the 'on' mode. As I say, the point is we simply have no way of knowing for sure, without violating the sanctity of the glory hole.

Nevertheless, some theologists expressed concern that the vaccuum cleaner scenario was too remote a possibility for them to not still be in some kind of moral jeopardy. Therefore, as you may have read in last month's newsletter, we now have a system in place where one of the alter boys does in fact randomly apply a vaccuum cleaner to patrons of the glory hole. In the same way as the sherriff will put blank cartridges into one of the rifles of the unknowing marksmen in a firing squad before they execute a man to lessen their guilt, our parishioners can now use the glory hole without sin because they do not know for sure whether they emptied their nut into a whore's mouth or a dust bag.

But the acolyte who came to me in confession asked, what if in one's enthusiasm they thrust too vigorously into the glory hole, causing a retching sound to be heard from the other side of the wall and a stream of rancid stomach bile to flow shaftwise? Assuming that the vaccuum cleaner is not capable of vomiting, has one received constructive notice of the identity of the receptacle? Is one then not morally compromised? Ought we be inquiring into the intentions of every man to determine the righteousness of his acts?

I was reminded of a story that happened just the other day. I saw a young man taking photographs of the cathedral: he seemed nervous and was taking his shots hurriedly as if trying to make sure that no one saw him. On some of the shots he didn't even look into the lense, turning his head away pretending he was not interested. He would then check the photo on the digital screen and, discovering that it was out of focus or something he would have to take it again. In short, it looked suspicious and at first I thought he surely a Nonsington.

So I followed him back to his townhouse in Newtown. I went to the side of the house and peered through the window where I could see that he had old Cassie naked on the bed all tied up with her feet around her ears such that her arse-cup was being raised into in the air like the eucharistic chalice. I could see that she had just had a hit of ice and did not have clue where she was. The young man walked cautiously into the room and, without making eye contact with her, he took an object out of the drawer. It was silver and cigar-shaped on one end with handles on the other end like that on a pair of scissors. I recognised what it was straight away from my days in the seminary: it was an anus dilator (the old 'Dirty Bertie' as we used to call it!). Meticulously, he inserted it into her and then he opened the handles so that her butt opened like a jar of vegemite. During this time Cassie was mumbling something about Jesus and bugs crawling under her skin.

Now the strangest thing was that he started taking photos again in the precise manner as he had at the cathedral, looking away as he clicked, pretending that he was not really interested in the subject. Again, he had to re-take the photo a number of times until he had the shot he was after (i.e. one with a clear view of the gaping blackness). When he was done he put the camera down and went into the other room and brought back a two litre bottle of coca-cola. Anyway, I could see where this was going. The young man was clearly after the money shot: the prolapsed anus. I could actually see his hands shaking as he fed the half-empty coke bottle into her rectum, the end with the lid first. When he got to the coke sticker he removed the Bertie, and poor Cassie started hissing like a kettle. Then came an almight crack as her arse lips finally inverted themselves, the pink shitty flesh-pulp blooming like a demented flower all over her perineum. He carefully removed the coke bottle and for a very brief second a smile came across his face as he admired his work. But he immediately checked himself, and as he reached for his camera he resumed his facade of detachment, again refusing to look directly at his creation even as he took his photos.

Well, this hypocritical spectacle became too much for your humble priest. I marched right into his house and addressed him: "Young man, why don't you just look at old Cassie and at least enjoy while you can that for which you will most certainly go to hell?" The young man replied: "Father, I am a sinner, that much is true. But surely I have sinned less than the man who has recklessly gorged on the arse-flower with free abandon. I fear it as I fear god, so, like the thief crucified next to the Christ, does a place in heaven not also await me?" At that point, we both noticed what a raw filthy stench it was that was spilling out of Cassie's splayed arsehole, both her sphincters having been ripped beyond repair, rendering her an open sewer for the rest of her life. We left her there and went down the road to have a few sherberts and to discuss further the Jus Naturale and the works of Augustine of Hippo, Aquinas and Connacher...."