In act of divine inspiration, local Australian saint, Kevin Rudd, yesterday visited Mary MacKillop’s Chapel when an ABC TV crew was there.
Always content to work in humble and mysterious ways, St Kevin didn’t speak to the media. However, the film crew was privileged to catch footage of St Kevin waving benediction to the grateful Sisters of St Joseph of the Sacred Heart.
According to the ABC, speculation over Mary MacKillop’s imminent canonisation intensified after St Kevin visited Mary MacKillop's Chapel in Sydney before flying to Copenhagen.
His spokesman reflected upon St Kevin's humility, saying that the timing of his visit to Mother Mary's tomb was not significant and that he attends a range of churches.
The selfless diversity of his ministry is a credit to one who modestly insists he is but a man.
St Kevin’s miraculous powers again will be put the test in Copenhagen. May God (be lucky enough to) be with him.
Sunday, 13 December 2009
Thursday, 10 December 2009
Eye of the Tiger
Amidst the great golfer’s one in holes scandal, there are only two women deserving of sympathy. They’re feeling very silly and sick with embarrassment. But we’ll come to them soon.
Golfers are seldom accused of sartorial good taste, but Tiger’s taste in women is jaw droppingly awful. These ladies are uniformly hideous - skanky, nasty, plucked and pumped.
One models a hydrocephalic bonce, another looks like a bible cult escapee. Then there’s that very creepy humanoid who claimed the number 3 spot by holding up unusually dwarfish fingers (even counting the nail extensions in tasteful white).
You just know the perfume they douse themselves with is more Britney than Guerlain.
So who’s feeling ripped off and sick in the guts?
Kate Neil (the one on the left, I think). All she got was a light to medium covering of John Della Bosca’s sweat. And poor old Michelle Chantelois (now that’s a name for a mistress) – shagged by… Mike Rann, who may even be heterosexual*.
Kate and Michelle. You chimps. If only you’d hung out at the golf and waited to catch Tiger's eye. You seem to meet his specification.
Eye don't know about you but eye've had an eyeful of this eye thing. Oh, perhaps one more...
Allegedly golfers' have an eye for distance. Surprising, then, that Tiger so abjectly failed to judge how short a drop it is from the top to the bottom.
* That might be unfair. I’m told most people from Adelaide, at least the ones with front teeth, talk like that.
Golfers are seldom accused of sartorial good taste, but Tiger’s taste in women is jaw droppingly awful. These ladies are uniformly hideous - skanky, nasty, plucked and pumped.
One models a hydrocephalic bonce, another looks like a bible cult escapee. Then there’s that very creepy humanoid who claimed the number 3 spot by holding up unusually dwarfish fingers (even counting the nail extensions in tasteful white).
You just know the perfume they douse themselves with is more Britney than Guerlain.
So who’s feeling ripped off and sick in the guts?
Kate Neil (the one on the left, I think). All she got was a light to medium covering of John Della Bosca’s sweat. And poor old Michelle Chantelois (now that’s a name for a mistress) – shagged by… Mike Rann, who may even be heterosexual*.
Kate and Michelle. You chimps. If only you’d hung out at the golf and waited to catch Tiger's eye. You seem to meet his specification.
Eye don't know about you but eye've had an eyeful of this eye thing. Oh, perhaps one more...
Allegedly golfers' have an eye for distance. Surprising, then, that Tiger so abjectly failed to judge how short a drop it is from the top to the bottom.
* That might be unfair. I’m told most people from Adelaide, at least the ones with front teeth, talk like that.
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