Only once have I ever risked being catapulted out of an abbey for one of my (n)unorthodox (n)underground news publications, and that was when I was serving as Editor in Chief of The Shabby Abbey Grapevine (The SAG). That was under Father Danno’s (s)watch, when I put out a shocker edition called The Rapevine.
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.
Nuns are in the business of preposterous punishments, and so I endeavored to be in the business of preposterous potions. Thus began my wicked life in (or, moved from the basement to) the kitchen. I can’t say I’ve performed any miracles, at least not yet, but I do take pride in my work as the Wicked Witch of the Eat and, grandest of all, Sister Danita’s meatloaf went, where it always belonged, to the dogs.
Dear Reader, do take pity on me; if you were presented with Sister Danita’s meatloaf, you would turn into a wicked witch, too!