Catholic Nuns Gone Wild: Miss Sister 2008

As the old saying goes, sex sells and it looks like one particular Catholic priest wants to cash in on the booty train.
As you know, I love the internet. In between snooping on myspace and shopping sprees on amazon.com, pure bliss is always just a keystroke away. And when I stumbled upon this saucy story on msn.com this evening, my filthy heart went pitter patter. I mean, I love sex jokes and I love religion jokes, so finding this article is like hitting a pop culture jackpot.
Apparently this Italian priest and theologian Antonio Rungi is organizing an online beauty pageant for nuns because he feels their reputations as ruler-toting sadists or ancient, old hunchbacks just isn't fair. He wants the Catholic Church to recognize them as the hot pieces of ass they clearly are. My guess is now, with Rungi's assistance, they will.
Since setting up a blog is so simple (I think the existence of my blog is ample evidence of that), Rungi plans to start the contest through a blog he will run, of course, thus allowing nuns all over the globe to participate in "Miss Sister 2008." Once the Battle of the Biblical Beauties kicks off, Rungi wants us to "vote for the nun they consider a model."

"Ummmm....Sister Mary, the orphans are starving. Could you please bring more bandages?"
"Chill, Sister Rose. I'm uploadin' my pics to www.pimpanun.com."

OR

"Word up, Mother Superior."
"Word up, my child. Have you decided what platform you will be discussing in the pageant?"
"Like, totally, I'm talking about modesty."

OR

"Sister Teresa, I need to tote some bling during the evening wear. Do you think I should wear the crucifix or the rosary?"

OR

"I'm, like, totally stressin' about the pageant, Sister Katherine. What do you think I should do for the talent portion, feed the poor or treat the dying?"

Okay, I'll stop. I could seriously go on forever.
So, when any willing nun finds free time from, I don't know, serving the Lord, they can log onto Rungi's site, whatever that might be, and fill out a profile about themselves. A photograph is required. Naturally, they will be able to pose with a traditional veil or their hair uncovered. I mean, this is all about freedom.
As one would imagine, some of the Church's higher ups are already protesting the pageant. I doubt any of these upstanding folks are the same ones who shuffled dirty priests from one parish to another. I think their indignation is totally legit. Totally. What will the Baptists and the Methodists think, Father? Jeez!
Then again, maybe the nay-sayers are being holy sticks in the mud. Rungi has, after all, given his good word that this isn't going to exploit the nuns in any way. Religion? Exploitation of women? Never!

"We are not going to parade nuns in bathing suits," Rungi said by telephone from his town of Mondragone. "But being ugly is not a requirement for becoming a nun. External beauty is gift from God, and we mustn't hide it."

Don't you want to serve God, sisters? Hike up your robe, girls. Your hot legs are an instrument of the Lord. I feel an 11th Commandment coming on.
Thou Shall Flash Thy Boobs.
Now, jump in the jacuzzi. That's just bubbling Holy Water, girls.

Art: In the eye of the Beholder

My kids love toothpaste. They'd suck it straight out of the tube if I would let them, although they also find it has far more purposes than just a treat. Gooey and colorful and clumpy, toothpaste is like an easily molded clay. It shifts through their tiny fingers like some high-end art supplies.
Needless to say, I don't find their creative expression quite as liberating as the two of them do. After all, while they are admiring their newest creation as though it is some oozing Mona Lisa upon my bathroom counter, I'm flinging curse words and squirting Clorox Bleach. And, by the way, it has to be bleach because the baby blue batter leaves light stains splattered randomly across the surface. It never fails that the whitening cleaning agent makes it on more than the mess. Many a shirt has been relocated to the trash bin because of an unfortunate encounter with bleach, which is tragic because finding shirts that stretch over all that is my top side is never a simple task.
Just as I emptied a clean load of clothes into the laundry basket three days ago, I walked into the living room to check on my boys. As I poured a cup of milk for my oldest son, my youngest crept slyly into the bathroom. Both boys have a constant radar for the items that are are restricted from them, so anytime a forbidden fruit is down for just a moment, they snatch it up.
And so goes the story with the toothpaste and the freshly washed laundry. Walking back into the laundry room, the puddled mess of blue cream caught my eye immediately. Rolan, who was by then in my bedroom looking for new havoc to reek, had squeezed an entire tube onto the basket. Toothpaste cascaded through the weaved holes into the clothes. Small droplets hit the floor as though they were raining from the sky.
Naturally, Rolan got into a little trouble and I had to rewash each item. The laundry basket was sprayed down with a high-powered water hose. But even as I scolded Rolan, I knew this wouldn't be the last toothpaste spill I would clean, provided the opportunity to get his hands on another tube ever reappears. The total joy from pushing each ounce out so clearly touches the bottom of his heart and any repercussions that might be incurred in the process are well worth it.
I guess all artists are misunderstood.