Locater Nun

        Locater Nun. AKA the Plainclothes Nun. She was out and about. Again. She wasn’t often still. She had a calling. It was her duty. Her job she sometimes thought. But. She consoled herself. The way was never easy. So. She cultivated perseverance. It was perhaps her most admirable quality. She persisted. No matter what. She did not give up. Stayed the course. Loyal. To herself. To her ideals. To the end.

As I say. Admirable. Perhaps. After all. The message must get out. An inspired message. Divinely inspired. Luckily she had a habit otherwise people would label her insane. But she did not believe in histrionics. Not like those who threw themselves to the floor. Speaking in strange tongues. Eating carpets. Fists and feet flailing. No sir. Not her. Not Locater Nun. No such antics for her. Her agenda was different. Her agenda was open and forthright. Above board.

Locater Nun was after hypocrisy. Sanctimony. She ferreted it out. But. Let us lay this to rest. For the moment. We’ll pick it up later. Like a Puritan it will always be with us.

Now. A little about Locater Nun. Herself. The soul of the woman. Which wasn’t as simple as some said. Simon. Put your mouth where your hands are. Put your feet in your mouth. Heh-heh.

You see. Some say she is of the establishment. That is. She has the corporate mindset. Because. She’s a fine specimen of the Institution of God. Godliness. She succumbs. She knows her place. Has accepted her hooded state. She has been habituated. Even though she’s a plainclothes nun. An undercover agent. As such. The saying goes. She can only think what she’s been programmed to think. A robot for God. And. Of course. It is true. When you are inside the castle you cannot see beyond the walls. And. Again. Those who have been affected by the thought police don’t know they’ve been effected by the thought police. But they think everyone else has been. Oh well. You know. When you’re right you’re right. And if you’re right you’re not left. Behind.

But this is being harsh. There is more to Locater Nun. Though for some there is only one. One thing. One to her.

You see what you want to see. Mirror mirror. Etc. Etc.

No. Locater Nun believed she was the Charioteer of God. She had a good soul. She. Herself. And. She took seriously. Literally. The dictum. “Go forth and stand upon the outside of heaven.” Even here Locator Nun had her detractors. They said. Concrete thinking is a sign of mental instability. There are always naysayers. Let us be kind. Love your enemy. Otherwise how will you know what he or she is thinking?

The Charioteer of God. Locater Nun. Knows true knowledge. Abides there. In colorless formless intangible essence. Visible only to mind. The pilot of the soul. As they say. I am therefore I have thoughts without a thinker which demand a mind to think about them. Yes. Locater Nun was mindful of this. And so it was. That. Being nurtured upon pure knowledge she rejoiced at beholding Reality. Halleluiah! And she gazed upon Truth. And she was replenished. She was glad. Knowledge in absolute. Existence in absolute. Justice and temperance. In absolution. And. Beholding true Existence. She. Locater Nun. Passes down into the interior of heaven and says. Nay. I cannot accept ambrosia and nectar until all reality is saved. That is. All mankind.

What devotion. What dedication. Benevolence. Beneficence. Compassion is the greatest love. Let there be light!

Locater Nun’s avowed job. Her chosen path. Her raison d’etre. Is to save other souls. To bring them enlightenment. By confronting them with reality. With the error of their ways. They are troubled. She believes. By uncontrollable steeds. Unruly Houyhnhnm. This is because these people are not strong enough. And so they are carried round and down. Plunging. Lunging. Treading on each other. Everyone striving to be number one. To be on the top. Falling. Espying. Failing again. Confusion. Perspiration. Extreme effort. They become lamed. Clip-winged fallen angels. Fruitless toil. And. Disillusioned. They imbibe opinion. Even though there is pasturage. Unable to follow. Unable to behold Truth. Ill-happed. They slip and slide into forgetfulness. And vice. Aiya! What to do? What to do!

Enter Locater Nun. Come to show them the error of their ways. Determined, Diligent. Demanding.

None. She vowed. None would escape her revelatory zeal. It was as if she were on a witch hunt. Only as if. You understand.

Hypocrisy. Sanctimony. She came after them.

She kept a little black book. And in that book she noted who was naughty and who was nice. Who got their stockings filled. And who got their blocks of coal.

“There is no profit in a man’s life,” she began, “if his body and mind are in an evil plight. You must rid yourselves of these lurid sex stories from anonymous assistant crudite girls who work on arts and crafts service tables at this or that carnival of animals hoping, hoping for that big break only to uncover nonexistent penumbras of delight to airhead anti-humanists.”

So went Locator Nun’s hysterical anti-humanitarian rants. She traversed the land. In seven league boots even. Maintaining. In appropriate self-righteous tones. After all. She was saved. God’s charioteer. Here to bring the fallen back to the proper way. The enlightened way. Yes. She maintained that the few anti-humanists were perverting the rest of humanity. And they had to be stopped. In their tracks. Before they led the goodly humanists over the abyss. They. The anti-humanists. Were traitors. To all of humanity. Humanism. The people who really cared.

But. Of course. They didn’t know it. The anti-humanists. So. It was time the error of their ways was smashed unceremoniously in their repugnant faces. Locater Nun called them what they were. She called a spade a spade. She wasted no flowery rhetoric. Judgment was coming. Judgment would be swift. And final.

Taking a deep breath Locator Nun lowered her already worldly standards to speak in language that these traitors to humanity and humanism could understand. Traitors needed to have their anti-humanitarian ways thrust unceremoniously into their lurid disgusting pig-eyed little faces. Locator Nun was bringing home the bacon. Plopping it unceremoniously in their back yards.

And so. These are the kinds of things she said. Distilled. You understand. She’d been at this for oh so many years. Spurred on by her sense of mission. Her horses were becoming restless.

“Anti-humanists could never persuade humanists to follow their insane ideas. Infanticide. Sexual perversion. Adoption. Trigger finger tampering. Mixing and matching. Abolishing punishment finalities. Opportunity knocking. And yet. Anti-humanitarians wage a vicious campaign. Of vilification. And. Therefore. Of course. Craven moderately humanist humanists would be expected to follow.”

Yes. She said, “We face moral choices. Between good and evil. Every day. Every day. Day in and day out. Everyman’s everychoice everyday. If we make excuses for evil soon we cease being able to distinguish evil from good at all. With each choice we make. Large or small. We therefore take a step closer to the Devil. And so. Yes. They have made excuses for evil for so long they cannot recognize evil any more. The closest thing to it. Evil. In their vocabulary someone who wears fur. Yet many anti-humanists wear beards!” She would need to take a deep breath here. Sucking back the excess saliva that had accumulated on her rosy lips. Natural. No lipstick. You understand.

“Hiding their true selves. Behind their masks of fur. They are become amoral appeasers and foreign suck-ups whose faces are no stranger to confusion or befuddlement. Look at their beards for the love of God!”

It was all so self-evident. You know.

“God’s charioteer is come to Earth to meet out the punishment they deserve. The anti-humanists. You see. Anti-humanists simply can’t grasp the problem. Their specialty is hysterical overreaction. The truth is not their forte. What is the problem?” Another sage pause. “It is so self-evident! It need not be stated. They. They use words like decent and solid to describe their two-faced weasel hypocrisy.” And here. Locater Nun leaned forward over whatever podium she happened to be standing behind. For emphasis. “You don’t have to enter the No Spin Zone to see the disconnect.”

You’d think this would be enough. But no. There’s more.

“They talk about simulating belief in something. Anti-humanists believe in crazy God crap. They hoodwink others into believing they should believe in the crazy God crap too. It’s part of the casual contempt anti-humanists have for the views of normal people. Righteous people. The yous and mes of the world. Everymans. Hypocrisy! Hypocrisy I tell you. Hypocrisy is the sin that inflames them. And they say the humanists are the hypocrites.”

Take a deep breath. To calm her audience down. To calm herself down. Then begin again. Her diatribe. Hmm. To whom is she talking?

“Inasmuch as anti-humanitarians have no morals they sit back and criticize other people for failing to meet the standards they renounce. It’s an intriguing strategy.”

But Locater Nun. You understand. Has been deferential. She. In the face of this concatenation. Yes. She resisted the persistent. Illiterate urge. By others. You understand. To call anti-humanists traitors. At first. With a great deal of charity. And a willing suspension of disbelief. She conceded that many anti-humanists were merely fatuous fools fomenting at the mouth. Village idiots. But. Alas. The time came. It could not be put off. After all. And Locater Nun did some straight talking. Then. At that time. From then on.

Often in meandering mind-numbing prose. Like. The anti-humanists have turned a savage fascist nation into a peace-loving democracy overnight.

“Totalitarian monsters. Bloody tyrants. Fascists.”

The enlightened often talk in paradoxes.

The ends justify the means. But only if the end is to slander anti-humanists.

“Anti-humanists are fanatical liars. Hobgoblinists. They engage in myth-making. Rewriting history. Blackening reputations. They are on a horrid campaign of horrendous lies and disinformation. Anti-humanists are noise machines.”

They were matched by the canting of one. Locater Nun.

“Anti-humanists are incapable of feeling hate for the enemy. Anti-humanists unabashedly invoke lies in order to shield their ongoing traitorous behavior. They wear masks. Look at their bears for Christ’s sake.”

There was the word. She had sealed fate. Traitorous bastards. Sullying  out-from-unders. Pantywaists. Gutless wonders. Chicken livereds. Self-aggrandizers.

Locater Nun the plethora tongued.

“Anti-humanists become highly histrionically indignant when I question their patriotism. To life. Social terrors. Terrorists. They prattle on and on about the right to dissent being the true mark of humanitarianism when of course they are wrong. It is God.”

And the Papal treasury. Aka the World Bank.

“Those who cannot stay focused on fighting the enemy are objectively pro-terrorist. They too are traitors. The innocent are guilty. Traitors do that to you.”

So. Mind your P’s and Q’s. Or. Locater Nun’s come to get you.

Some said she sounded like a woman quarrelling with her husband. In conceit of her happiness.

Being a self-righteous charioteer of God. Locater Nun obeyed the laws of man. Roman laws. Derivative laws. Empirical because of the empire. Perpetuated down through time. Ad absurdum. The only way to go. And so. It was. Traitors should be shot. Would be shot. Put to death. Finis. It’s the law. Human. Humanitarian. It saves lives. In the end. You just gotta cut it off at the source. Baby. Anyway. No penalty which the law inflicts is designed for evil. Always makes him who suffers either better or not so much more worse. As he would have been. But. If any unmentionable be found guilty let the judge deem him uncurable. Remembering. After receiving such an excellent education and training from youth upward. The rogue has not abstained from the greatest of crimes. Which is being led to godlessness. Insolence. Injustice. Exile and death are too good. They must be disgraced as well. No criminal shall go unpunished.

The law is right. The law is good. Whoever enslaves the laws. Uses violence. Stirs up sedition. Wanting to change the state. This person is the greatest criminal of all. Worse than a god-defier. Already the worst. Yea I say unto you. Even cowards are as bad as traitors.

Kill. Kill. Kill. Clean out the trash. The detritus of humanity. So humanity might live. Amen.

Some said that she should beware. Lest from imitation she become what she imitates.

And so it came to pass. 10,000,000 people. Traitors all. They were put to death. It was the only humane way. Contamination had to be resourced out. When people cannot see the error of their ways. They must be made to see the error of their ways. They must be made to accept responsibility for their actions. So. All 10,000,000 traitors were executed in the humanist fashion of the day. That they might climb aboard the chariot of God. And meet him. And know absolute truth. It is the way of the world.

 Locator Nun sat back. Crossed her legs. Sighed. Took out a cigarette. She puffed and puffed. Lots of smoke. Screening her from the heavens above. Life was not always so sweet. Or clean. But when you have a job to do. A duty. A calling. You must remain loyal. To the cause. Whatever.

But. You know. Now. Locater Nun’s without a job. A duty. A calling. All’s quiet on the Western front.

And she’s misplaced her chariot.

[Locator Nun = anagram of Ann Coulter; metaphors are from Plato]

Tags: ann coulter, pundits, secor