"I am not a good American...I prefer to form my own opinions" - George Carlin
One of my favorite British Broadcaster Channel 4 series of a few years back, is Father Ted. The premise was, three Irish Catholic priests who have incurred the displeasure of the church, have been banned to an island parish off the coast of Ireland (Craggy Island).
The infractions that got them exiled:
Father Ted Crilly for misappropriation of charitable donations, the proceeds of which he used to fund a trip to Los Vegas.
Father Dougal McGuire for a number of mysterious infractions, the only known one being...not believing in the afterlife. We soon find out in the first episode that Father Dougal is also not the brightest star in the sky, but highly likable.
And lastly my favorite, Father Jack Hackett, "an elderly, decrepit, foul-mouthed, lecherous alcoholic priest who frequently lapses into violent behaviour, particularly when his fellow clergy deny him drink or try removing him from his armchair, where he is usually found sleeping (or, more likely, passed out). Left irrevocably damaged by his life of sloth, lechery and alcoholic abuse, he rarely speaks in a coherent manner, instead expressing himself through a series of random shouted words (i.e., "FECK!", "ARSE!", "DRINK!" and "GIRLS!"). In addition, he has "selective" hearing...which brings me to the real reason for this post.
I have a high frequency hearing loss which has gotten worse with age. My main problem is with women's higher pitched voices (yes, I live with three personages of the female persuasion...ain't that an on-high ironic kick?). As long as I can see their lips, there isn't much of a problem, as I have learned to read lips.
The other night, as usual, I shut out lights, locked doors, and secured the house for nocturnal mode. My wife had gone to bed a little before me.
I opened the bedroom door, the lights were out, and my wife said something...
"Would you jibberjabbernockleswink (might as well been)"
"Would I get the goat????? What?"
"No, no, no...would you nockle the framusawoka?"
"What the fuck are you talking about...fire up the wok?"
"Jesus, this sounds like Father Ted."
At this point we both realized that we were in the middle of a Father Jack routine, which brought on uncontrollable laughing, while still trying to communicate. It got worse...the side and back pain. I was hurting bad, I mean baaaaaaaad. I fell on the floor from laughter hurt...AND...I definitely did not know now what the hell she wanted. It had something to do with a scone, a moan, or her phone. The goat was on it's own. And I was hurting too much to get up and turn on the light. Ferk!
Doesn't matter. Conjuring up the miscreants of Father Ted was enjoyable. Here's to that sublimely creative bunch that created and acted in the series. If you like Irish/British humour (sic)...give a look.
Here is a taste:
In this one, Father Ted is trying to coach Father Jack with phrases to use with the upcoming bishop's visit...other than Ferk, Arse, Drink and Girls: