Resurrection Nuns on the Run

Most people think about nuns as being very stationary beings, but the truth is: nary a stationary nun in sight! Rather, the nuns are station-airy, stationery, and station-err-e.e. beings: they are mobile and, while they seem to stay in one place, they get around and hit the heights regularly, more than your average astronaut. They use their brains to get around because their bodies so often are pinioned in sacrifice and to various sacrificial posts by The Vat.

With the arrival of Spring, and the resurrection of Our Lored on the very-near horizon, the nuns have their minds on heaven. No one would know this because the nuns are an impossibly hard code to crack; and because it is Good Friday, the day the nuns spend solemnly simulating the grimmer than grim suffering that their savior was made to withstand for the sake of heavenly salvation. The crux of Holy Week is nearly upon us. We remember Calvary and the lashes along the road to crucifixion. We prepare for the resurrection.

These are standard annual events in the world of the nuns, but this year Holy Week arrived with some early modern drama that led to some big changes for the little wayward nun. That would be me.

I am not yet at liberty to spill the liturgical beans about the early modern drama that nunfolded at the start of Holy Week, because, to put it plainly, I could be killed or something, and not just metaphorically. The life of a nun spy can be dangerous. And highly anxiety-provoking. And maddening. And many other things. But it is never boring, and that is what attracted me to the job when my higher up, Headmothrrr(fathrrr), asked me to help her with a top secret mission back in early 2012.

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Yes, Dear Headmothrrr(fathrrr), I will complete this very important spy mission for you. Anything, for you, my dearrrest Head.

Though the benedictine beans must not be spilled, I can tell you that it was found that one of the newer nuns, Sistrrr McKenna, contracted a highly contagious plague that put every nun and priest at the Shabby Abbey at risk. Paired with a series of mysterious, dangerous, and nunfortunate events, those at the Shabby Abbey had to be quarantined until given the clear from our physician, Dr. Nevorkian. All of the nuns survived, including the spy, but, and it pains(-in-the-ass) me to report this, Father Danno didn’t make it.

He had, as it turns out, been sodomizing Sistrrr McKenna since she arrived this past August. We are thankful that Sistrrr McKenna is in recovery now and being treated for patriarchy- and rape-induced PTSD and a variety of other side-effective illnesses caused by having spent too much time in Father Danno’s violent company, including an array of stigmatic STD- and Is. According to McKenna, Father Danno, in addition to the constant sodomy, would force her to commit strange acts and make strange threats. I had been wondering about the odd behaviors of my friend, Sistrrr McKenna, and was truly worried about her, but now it all makes sense. I hope she continues to get the support she deserves and needs. I hated to learn that she had the particular horror of watching Father Danno rape a blow up blimp in the shape of Father Grog and of having to endure Father Danno’s Oedipal antics. F. Danno, God (ar)rest his soul, would wear his mother’s old dresses whenever he would rape her. He would, in a disassociative state of chaos, call her Mommy and make “Mommy Danno” prove her devotion to “Little Danno.” Very sick and twisted. If I were Sistrrr McKenna, I don’t know that I could survive that, but Sistrrr McKenna is strong and will find her way.

The nuns will not say this but they believe that Father Danno’s death was an act of ‘God’s (di)vine mercy.’ Or, as your probationary nun puts it, ‘Kickass Karma’. Father Danno caught wind of Sistrrr McKenna’s plague and went right to the doctor. He would not let the nuns be checked out until he was given the clear. As it turned out, apparently Sistrrr Kenna caught her plague from Father Danno– it was Danno who was the origin of the plague. Figures that a sistrrr would be blamed for a disease caused by a priest! This was only discovered after the autopsy, which also revealed that Father Danno is genetically related to Donald Trump (they are genetically identical, in fact). Nunfortunately, after only six hours in Dr. Nevorkian’s office, Father Danno succumbed to the plague of his own disease, and he bullied himself to death.

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“Death Has Come To The Shabby Abbey” O-Yay-O-Yay!

Father Danno is gone, and the nuns are in a better place. The nuns, now fully recovered given his departure, are in morning. They will be in morning for a long time.

According to one nun, Sistrrr Mona, the detrimentally incompetent and idiotic editor of the completely and utterly fabricated Shabby Abbey Times, “The nuns, by strict orders from The Vat, held a funeral for him. Father Danno’s funeral was one of their all-time favorite memories! It was a beautiful funeral, filled with the love and laughter of chaste ladies who care so much about each other. What a beautiful morning to easily wipe from our memories!”

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A few nuns…celebrating The Big Day!

As for me, once Dr. Nevorkian said I was “Good for another two thousand years,” I felt alive like never before. I had not been killed by The Plague of Danno – my illness was only temporary. My illness was temporal, too. That is why I was so shocked when I went to the Shabby Abbey Mail Room and received a nunofficial document from The Vat. The document stated that I was to be transferred immediately to a nundisclosed location in order to ensure my safety.

Readrrr, I am leaving the Shabby Abbey.

I will continue to run The Lavender Academy on the Lake with Sistrrr Grin, but I will have to make a longer trek in The Little Nun Bus to get there.

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“Graduation” from The Shabby Abbey = Four Weddings (to Jesus) and a Funeral!

The sad part is that I have made a lot of friends here. Sistrrr Sackville is being transferred along with me because she went on such a demonic tirade over my transfer that The Vat made an accommodation, but Sistrrr Grin is stuck at the Shabby Abbey. Sistrrr Grin has issues with speaking up, but we’re working on those in Speech Pathology Class! What happened is that The Vat found Sistrrr Grin hiding (rolled up like a fat cat) in my suitcase when I was being transferred. I don’t know how they discovered her. They claim that they heard her “purring” in there, but who knows. They were outraged, and, as punishment, assigned her my old room at the Shabby Abbey and told her that she would “never see Sistrrr Grim again.” If Father Danno were with us, he would revel in this development, but he’s with the lions in the pits of Hell right now so I am left alone to focus on my suffering without his incessant gloating to distract me.

Father Danno didn’t have a will, except the will to kill nuns, but it was well known by his male friends that he would want to be cremated with ALL of his belongings (including dusty old records that the old greasy hands could never get a record player to play for him, hideous antiques like old boxes of Trix, a miniature stolen bicycle collection, cigars, “home videos” – i.e., pornos featuring him and his mother, trophies for each of the lesbian nuns he screwed over along the way, a breath freshener syrup he made from the liquified powder of Cheesy Poofs, and the nose plugs that he had to give people before they would allow him to talk with them). He also asked that Coldplay and Adele perform live at his funeral. Both refused but suggested an old Dio album might be just as good. We tried to find one, but every one we found broke into a million pieces when we tried to play it. We asked God, “God, why do these Dio albums refuse to play for Father Danno’s funeral?”

Then Lucifer sent up Dio, who riffed on his guitar and sang a song called “Heaven and Hell.” Under normal circumstances, heavy metal is not allowed in the abbey; however we made an exception for Dio– because these were anything but normal circumstances. We made him an honorary nun because whatever he was doing, it sounded like nails on a chalkboard. We always applaud nails on a chalkboard; we’re nuns! Raging Evil Sistrrr Dio had us all banging together in our habits until we brought up the D word. No, not Dio. The D word that is a synonym for ‘Priest of Perpetual Persecution’. Danno.

“Sistrrrs, why would you mention Old Soggy Balls to me?” Dio was appalled. “He stalked me for years, begging to sniff my balls. That was some weird shit. But that was back during my Black Sabbath days. I thought I was hallucinating. When I found out it wasn’t the LSD, I smacked that mother fucker with a restraining order.”

Imagine the silence that followed Dio’s declaration!

Imagine the shock! Not over what Danno had done, but over Dio’s language. The nuns did NOT approve. “Wash your mouth out with soap, young man.” Dio replied, regretfully, “I can’t; I’m dead. I don’t have time, anyway. I have Danno The Butt Sniffer to worry about. I’m worried that he’s going to find me in Hell and pull that old “wanna sniff some shit, Bro” trick on me again.” “Watch your language, Sir,” Sistrrr Sackville snapped. Sistrrr Dio started to cry. We all consoled him and then explained about Chris Martin’s kind request to have Dio fill in at the funeral. Dio said, “OMG, I LOVE COLDPLAY!” And then he darted his eyes around to make sure no one had heard his gleeful exclamation. “Don’t worry,” said the nuns, “your secret’s safe with us.”

With that, Sistrrr Dio made a crude joke about it being “too bad” that Coldplay couldn’t “fix” Father Danno. Sistrrr Dio grabbed one of Father Danno’s old collars, stained with years of mustard and sauerkraut, and put it on. “Revenge,” he said. The nuns nodded. They nunderstood one another well. Then Dio bowed to the nuns and disappeared back into Father Danno’s record player. We all agreed never to tell a soul about Sistrrr Dio. (I’m a spy, Readrrr, I am not bound by these contracts!) Then we gave up on trying to make any of Father Danno’s funereal wishes come true and just hired our favorite drag queen and king to come and entertain us. Had nothing to do with Father Danno. Perfect. We had a ball!

But Sistrrr Grin is distraught. Because I am no longer rooming with her. Sistrrr Ann E. has been reporting on her well-being to me by mail, and I have learned that she is having trouble eating and sleeping. She doesn’t play with her nun toys anymore and she just cries and cries. I will make it better for Sistrrr Grin. I am not deterred by The Vat. Never have been, never will be.

Education must continue. The show must go on. And since she’s used to living in a closet, I can wire toys to her there.

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It’s The Gradyewate! i.e., BAT NUN! She frequents CLOSETS!

So, Readrrr, don’t worry about Sistrrr Grin. I will take care of her. But you know my primary quest has to come first, and that is to write to Sistrrr Shakespeare and to spy on the nuns for Head MoFo while I do it. Love wins. Everybody wins. Except Father Danno.

Unlike our Lorde and Savior, it is not in the cards for Father Danno to rise on the third day in fulfillment of the scriptures.

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An abbey-warming gift sent from Sistrrr Grin.

In celebration of the departure of Danno and the Resurrection of the Nuns, we will plant gardens and have the biggest nun Easter egg hunt for the little lavender nuns that you have ever seen! Every egg is a shade of lavender, and they will be gently placed across the meadow of daffodils. Speaking of daffodils and mead-ows, my new location is full of them.

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While the move from the Shabby Abbey was sudden and shocking, it is for the best, and it is definitely an upgrade for Sistrrr Sackville and me. Not only will we be safe, we will also be in a nicer abbey that is devoid of Danno! Alleluia!

On Easter Sunday, after mass and after the Resurrection Activities, Sistrrr Sackville and I will commemorate the salvation of the world by moving into a convent called Oberon Abbey. Its archaic name is Little Nuneaton Priory but that’s such a peculiar name that they changed it to Oberon. It sounds like something from a fairy tale. Oh yes, that is the name of the Fairy King in Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream. I wonder if the nuns recognize the reference. It is not lost on me, so it shan’t be lost on them! And, hey, perhaps with the addition of me, Oberon Abbey will become something out of a Grim(m)(m)’s Fairy Tale! I will try my best to Grimify the place, Readrrr.

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This is how Aye GRIMIFY the place.

Among nuns this is known as The Safe House. The reason is because refugee nuns go here to receive refuge and because it cannot be located. It’s “off the map,” so to speak. I suppose that explains the Shakespeare reference. Oberon Abbey is run by four Sistrrrs — Sistrrr Woods, Sistrrr Marlin, Sistrrr Josie, and Sistrrr Gwen. I will tell you all about them later, when I know more, but I can tell you from the start that they are good, good nuns. Nothing, not one thing, scummy about them!

Given that this abbey is inhabited by nuns who are in danger, and given that there are a lot of nuns who qualify; I know I will be meeting a lot of new nuns. It’s a little overwhelming to be on the run and to be going “into the woods,” since I am not the “happy camper” type (and am more the harpy camper) but I think this will shape up to be a good move and I cannot wait to spy on refugee nuns. You know there are going to be epic stories to tell about The Nuns of Oberon Abbey!

The place is a palace compared to the Shabby Abbey. I just hope I won’t get too lost here. I also hope that I will be able to find my way to (and be on time for classes at) Lavender University to teach with Sistrrr Grin. I hear at night, there is a lot of silence. And there are a lot of coyotes (it’s code for “nuns on the prowl”). We shall soon find out what’s what.

For now, know that the little nun spy is on her way to a better place– a place with a daffodil garden and a scenic view and a clean tub and a double bed and pretty bonnets and so much more!

I’m so grateful for Holy Week and Easter that I’ve written this highly original tune called “E.E. Stir Parade.”

In my East Er Habit, with all the pleats for Abbot,

Aye’ll be the grimmest sistrrr in the abbey parade;

Yew’ll be all in cLOver and when they look yew over,

Yew’ll be the prowdest fathrrr in the E.E. Stir Parade.

On the avenue, Oberon Avenue: the spytographers will snap us

And we’ll find out that we’re in the roto-grave-ure;

Oh, Yew could write a sonnet about my East Er Habit

And of the nun yew’re taking to the East Er Parade.

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