There is a Russian proverb that states, "don’t drive a sledge if it’s not yours." My friends, I have a confession to make: I have, of late, been driving someone else’s sledge. Yes, ladies and gentemen, dear readers, I have been driving the Devil’s sledge. I have wasted my days on cheap women, cheap booze, and hard drugs of the cheapest sort. I’ve oft times considered the possibility that perhaps I am morally corrupt, that perhaps I do not indeed have a soul and most importantly, that perhaps holy water doesn’t come out of the faucet white, bubbly and delicious. I loathe to admit, though I must, that, until recently, even these most depraved of musings troubled not my feeble brow.

Looking back over my short life I guess this was inevitable, my becoming a man of the cloth. I can now see that this was indeed a foregone conclusion. Yes! There were many indicators that I would one day turn to God: my life in dire need of salvation, my longing for a stable force, my inexplicable attraction to people on their knees. My friends and family also saw this coming, my turn to the divine. For example, people have stopped talking to me for weeks because I was too focused on greater things; a God-complex I believe they called it. Yes, God was the choice for me. It was either Him or more acid. And I have run out of acid.

What I have to say may come as somewhat of a surprise. I confess dea readers that I have been talking with God, not just since my conversion, but all year long. These weekly conversations usually took place on Sunday morning. I would get up in the morning and pray. I would pray that the nausea that plagued me the night before would end by mid afternoon. I would pray that at the day’s end I still had enough in my wallet to make the barmaid smile. I prayed.

Although this might not exactly be in the spirit of the Holy Father, I have decided it was close enough. I now leave behind the Vodka of the Gods to drink of the one True God.

So be careful, for the next time you attend mass, you may see me, Father Benny, one step closer to God than are you. You will still be painfully hungover, committing sodomy and spending time in your room in pursuit of Onan-istic gratification. I however, will have a clean slate and guaranteed entrance through those pearly white gates. Yes, and all I had to do was revoke my support for the NEA. Oh yea, and faggots, them to.

There was a time when I too, would have thought this impossible. Now I see the error of my ways. No longer shall I roam the campuses drunk, being tempted by Satan to steal bicycle tires. I shall now simply follow the divine voice of God, which is just one of many speaking to me ever since I ran out of my medication.

So now, this means a new beginning. I have in my possession the beginnings of several moralistic children’s stories. They teach the difference between right and wrong, good and evil, new Benny and old Benny. My only hope is that interest will remain and that my readers will stay loyal. Perhaps they might even consider picking up the Good Book instead of that filthy Joyce shit.

Sadly, I have been informed that the commercial backers of this publication are very wary of these changes. It is my duty to remain pious, but it is also necessary to maintain an outlet to preach to my masses. My message may be waterd down, even changed. However, as a man of God I do not know from where such sultry material might now come. My pure and holy mind is incapable of such thoughts. Who knows, maybe I might be able to find some inspiration from the boys’ choir.