Radio Roma presents,
Father Mo Murphy, Priest for Hire!
The name is Mo Murphy, Father Mo Murphy, priest for hire. No case is too difficult. Nothing is turned down. I'm the intersessionist's intersessionist. Oh, and Mo is short for Patrick.
It was a rainy Sunday afternoon in October when I got the phone call from the Vatican. I was staring out an open window overlooking Bay Street in downtown Toronto. wearing only my cassock (with nothing on underneath). A monsignor, who I called Slim, was on my private line with another case. I always got the tough ones.
I answered in my best southern Ontario accent
"What is it Slim? Another errant priest who has to 'go away'? Some local businessman needs a little 'private pursuasion' to pony up for the poor box? Want me bring back Rob Ford?"
The phone line was silent, except for the heavy breathing. After a couple of minutes I said, "Slim, for crying out loud, you didn't phone the boy's school. This is Mo. Who loves ya, baby?"
A faint voice spoke from the other side of the world.
"Mo, some friends of mine need a favour."
"I see."
"No, really! I'm serious!"
"So am I."
"Will you stop clowning around!"
"Okay, is my favourite uncut monsignor naked, and looking deliciously festive?"
"That's better. Listen buddy, one of my red birds has a problem. And, um, yes I am."
"You are what?"
You know, naked and looking festive. I could never hide anything from you, Mo."
I ignored the come on and let his words sink in. Hmmm, a red bird. That was really easy to figure out code for a cardinal looking to get some dirty work done. I was all ears.
"I'm listening, Slim."
"Mo, it's like this. There's millions of 'em. Muslims, you know?"
"Yeah, yeah. Look Slim, I know there's millions of 'em, but even I cannot get rid of more than a few hundred a day...unless...did the bishop get the nukes I prayed for?"
"No, no. Nothing like that. And stop clowning around. You ever heard of Africa or the Middle East?
"Vaguely. I remember a couple of guys talking about Africa in a bar once..."
"You need to go there and start 'converting' the locals."
"Yeah? Which ones?"
"The, um...(and his voice got very quiet) the Abduls...."
"The who?'
"The carpet pilots..."
"What?"
"The, um, goat ropers..."
"Listen Slim, I don't have time for games."
"Oh, holy mother of Jesus, the Muzzies!"
"Why didn't you say so in the first place?"
So, the Vatican wanted me to take out an entire race of humans, or, as the pope was heard to say, "Tutte le Fruities Tutti!" Which, for those of you whose Italian is a little rusty (like a year old Fiat), "All the tutti fruities." That's Vatican slang for Muslims.
"Hey Slim, I thought the Masons or the Klan were in line for that assignment. How did we end up with it?"
"Jeez Mo, I'm only a monsignor. I don't know! Would you like me to phone the Imperial Wizard?"
---
Join us next time when Father Mo leads a rag tag group of sky pilots in a nuclear bombing raid over the Middle East. Once again, Father Vinny, crazy Italian-American priest from the Bronx, is by Mo's side.
"Hey Mo, dropping them vodka bottles and fish and chip wrappers was pure genius. I get the idea that the 'pope-a-razzi' (slang for Vatican staff) want to point the blame for the raids on the Russians and the Brits. They'll believe the Russian connection. Putin's a nutbar! But Britain? They aren't bright enough to organize a fall into a ditch!"
Father Mo Murphy, Priest for Hire!
The name is Mo Murphy, Father Mo Murphy, priest for hire. No case is too difficult. Nothing is turned down. I'm the intersessionist's intersessionist. Oh, and Mo is short for Patrick.
It was a rainy Sunday afternoon in October when I got the phone call from the Vatican. I was staring out an open window overlooking Bay Street in downtown Toronto. wearing only my cassock (with nothing on underneath). A monsignor, who I called Slim, was on my private line with another case. I always got the tough ones.
I answered in my best southern Ontario accent
"What is it Slim? Another errant priest who has to 'go away'? Some local businessman needs a little 'private pursuasion' to pony up for the poor box? Want me bring back Rob Ford?"
The phone line was silent, except for the heavy breathing. After a couple of minutes I said, "Slim, for crying out loud, you didn't phone the boy's school. This is Mo. Who loves ya, baby?"
A faint voice spoke from the other side of the world.
"Mo, some friends of mine need a favour."
"I see."
"No, really! I'm serious!"
"So am I."
"Will you stop clowning around!"
"Okay, is my favourite uncut monsignor naked, and looking deliciously festive?"
"That's better. Listen buddy, one of my red birds has a problem. And, um, yes I am."
"You are what?"
You know, naked and looking festive. I could never hide anything from you, Mo."
I ignored the come on and let his words sink in. Hmmm, a red bird. That was really easy to figure out code for a cardinal looking to get some dirty work done. I was all ears.
"I'm listening, Slim."
"Mo, it's like this. There's millions of 'em. Muslims, you know?"
"Yeah, yeah. Look Slim, I know there's millions of 'em, but even I cannot get rid of more than a few hundred a day...unless...did the bishop get the nukes I prayed for?"
"No, no. Nothing like that. And stop clowning around. You ever heard of Africa or the Middle East?
"Vaguely. I remember a couple of guys talking about Africa in a bar once..."
"You need to go there and start 'converting' the locals."
"Yeah? Which ones?"
"The, um...(and his voice got very quiet) the Abduls...."
"The who?'
"The carpet pilots..."
"What?"
"The, um, goat ropers..."
"Listen Slim, I don't have time for games."
"Oh, holy mother of Jesus, the Muzzies!"
"Why didn't you say so in the first place?"
So, the Vatican wanted me to take out an entire race of humans, or, as the pope was heard to say, "Tutte le Fruities Tutti!" Which, for those of you whose Italian is a little rusty (like a year old Fiat), "All the tutti fruities." That's Vatican slang for Muslims.
"Hey Slim, I thought the Masons or the Klan were in line for that assignment. How did we end up with it?"
"Jeez Mo, I'm only a monsignor. I don't know! Would you like me to phone the Imperial Wizard?"
---
Join us next time when Father Mo leads a rag tag group of sky pilots in a nuclear bombing raid over the Middle East. Once again, Father Vinny, crazy Italian-American priest from the Bronx, is by Mo's side.
"Hey Mo, dropping them vodka bottles and fish and chip wrappers was pure genius. I get the idea that the 'pope-a-razzi' (slang for Vatican staff) want to point the blame for the raids on the Russians and the Brits. They'll believe the Russian connection. Putin's a nutbar! But Britain? They aren't bright enough to organize a fall into a ditch!"
