The nuns are not, by any means, known for much of anything. Except, perhaps, their celibacy. But all of that will change some day. At least that’s my wicked little plan.
One of the things you need to know about the nuns is that not only are there ‘singing nuns’ and ‘flying nuns’, but there are also spying nuns. You are reading from the brain of one.
I am a nun spy who unabashedly spies on nuns. I get away with it, plain and simply, because no one believes me. I am an anomaly, Readrrr! I am outside of the linguistic parameters of their imagination. All well for the thyme being. If you can’t decode, go to Hell, sayeth this nun (‘Go to Hell’ is a total term of endearment in the Shabby Abbey, let me remind you…)!
Really, now, Readrrr. Can you believe that no one believes in a nun spy who spies on nuns? Apparently, it’s just too nun-fathomable! But I know that you, my beautiful readrrr with your nunmitigated child wisdom, are capable of believing every nun-fathomable linguistic atrocity that I take responsibility for on this sinking and rising ship of a chip on the shoulder of a nun! Every word I utter from my Nuttrrr Buttrrr, Readrrr, you will take as the holy, God’s honest, blasphemously blessed truth.
Is it because you’re one of Our Dear Nunwavering Heavenly Fathrrr’s chosen ones? Is it because you, like the nuns, love to smear apricot preserves where preserves have never gone before? Nundoubtedly.
So when I tell you now, Dear Sticky and Delicious Mausoleum of Citrus Peels, you will, first, excuse my many exuberant and criminal language uses, and, secondly, believe me when I tell you that:
The nuns are ALL spies! Every single one of them.
(Never mind you that “single” in The Oxford Companun to Nuns is the equivalent of “married to Our Heavenly Fathrrr.”)
Now hush a lush, Readrrr, because you need to… nunderstand.
Nun spies are a thing. I did not invent them; I simply fell into nunspying and, since my passion in life is for nunhood (the nun-hooding of a nun), I fell into the act of nunspying: incidentally discovering that wee of the wimple are, by nature, spies.
Oh, you daft decoder! Have you not once ever thought (for hours and hours) about all that room under our habits? That abyss of darkness? Readrrr, you did not think our habits were built to protect our bodies from nunwanted attention from the heavy burden of an aching desire that causes us and others to nundress us constantly in their perverse minds, did you? Ha-Readrrr! Attend to this: the habits of nuns were designed by God to keep safe the dark, sacred truths meant to be revealed in time.
The only problem with this plan, not to insult Our Highest Intelligence, is that the nuns take FOR.EVER. to come out with the truth. It’s not that they don’t know it. They know it, in and out, top to bottom, this way and that; they just don’t know how to express it with their lips and fingers yet.
BUT-FORTUNE-ately, that’s where I come…or came…in. Based on my long hisstory, I am dedicated to teaching, Dear Readrrr, the nuns just how to express orally the deep heap of truths from the bottoms of their truth-centered heartful souls! This task in KNOT-easy! If it were, you would know everything by now.
But I shall take it slow for you, Readrrr, because I know that what I have to share with you is, to nunderstate, a lot to nunpack.
Read my lips, Readrrr. It was ordained by Our Heavenly Fathrrr that I bring to light the spyhood of the nuns! Yes, the nuns just got a good deal more bad ass. From now on, you are to call them by their right names: Spy Sistrrrs.
Save your falsity for the freezer fruitcakes. Invest your truth in the counter-culture fruit-of-the-loom-nuns, for they work for the Way, the Truth, and the Light, and they work overtime, without monetary pay though they pay big time, wearing proverbial spy goggles and getting hooked up under habit to the equipment of the best hacker around: O Omnipotent One!
It is hard to describe the conditions a nun must endure but you must know that under their habits, the nuns are receiving shock treatment after shock treatment at the hands of, Readrrr, the one-and-only Power That Be. The nuns see it all, feel it all, and process it all, but they keep it all in for God and God alone.
They are talented hacktors (and hacktresses, if You Will) but they keep it nunder cover habitually, literally, for they hack to please no one but their Heavenly Fathrrr. And there is no hacker like Hacker God. Anyone who thinks they can out-hack God has another thing coming, and I’ve got news for you: that thing involves the hacking of their chance at eternal bliss and peace into tiny bits of stay clay. (Curious about ‘stay clay’? Don’t be. It’s a staycation in the land of claymation– or damnation to clay station.) (I don’t think it will, Readrrr, be any trouble for you to keep it on the down-Lo.)
Let me turn your tides. (But don’t leave me on the corner of lust and love…)
I will end with a reminder about the Good News. Or, some. Your very own Sistrrr Grim won Beatitudinal Bingo last night! I know; can you believe it?(!) My reward is that I get to take a bath tonight. It’s my second time this month. Hallelujah!
There’s only one thing I like better than being a nun-spy who spies on nuns, and that’s getting to do it from the bathtub! Yes, foaming celebratory salutations galore are in order!
All my splishes and splashes (clean-nun-lingo for ‘all my best’) to you, Readrrr,…
Until you step out of the tub (or nuntil next time),…
The Apple of Your Spy,…