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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required PRIEST AGAINST MY TASTE My parents thought I was a saint Because, when I pooped, I would pray: “Virgin of the Pillar, let me poop.” A prayer my mother had taught me And which worked wonders on my bowels. They didn't know that When I locked myself In my decorated room With pictures of every saint there was I didn't pray or meditate And even less did I study But I played with wheat and flour That I tried to get From my erect and raised little . One day, when they saw me from behind Through the half-open door They went crazy with joy Because they saw what looked Like a priest's Crown on my head Which was nothing more than a sperm That had flown there. I heard them say happily: -This boy is going to be a good priest. Let's take him to the Seminary or Convent. They took me by the hand And led me to the Seminary of Segovia. -Good morning, Father. Here we bring you our son, Proculus So that you may make him a good priest Who will serve the community For the God’s love. "Good morning to you all." We will do so with divine grace And the Virgin Mary’s love. As soon as Proculus entered the Seminary They hung a black cassock on him So that nothing could be seen But his feet With a raised point Below his waist. Another superior who saw him Approached him and said: -I liked you the moment I saw you. From today you will be my assistant And I will help you pass All your subjects Especially Religion, Greek, and Latin. The only thing you will have to do Is make my bed And take care of a bird I have That sings Gregorian chant. One morning After the eight o'clock mass The priest who greeted him at the door Aapproached him, saying: -Good morning, Proculus. -Good morning to you. -The spiritual father you serve Is very angry with you Because you didn't make his bed yesterday. -And I'm not going to make it for him again Because he pulls his little bird out of his crotch And wants me to play with it Or, better yet, pull out my little one So it can play with his. -My dear son, Proculus This spiritual father of yours Is on the wrong path: The holy Bible that guides him is wrong. Stick it between the pages Of the Song of Songs Like a sausage Until he comes with joy. -Stick it, Father In the Bible or up your own arsehole. Or do as I do Which sticks it in my own hole For it is the Way of Perfection.
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