The Story of Magdalene
- Fred
- 23 hours ago
- 2 min read
Editor's Note: For those queasy when it comes to light blasphemy, you may want to pass on this one.
The headlines of nearly every publication in America screamed their angles on the shooting of Renee Nicole Good.
Surprisingly, we are fairly neutral on the situation. If you're ICE, you can't go around shooting American Citizens. But I'll tell you what, I watched that stupid shooting from every angle released to the public and Ms. Good looks like she got what she deserved.
Why so jaded?
Because you know when she was shot? Wednesday, January 7th, at about 9:30 AM. What was I doing at that time? I WAS AT WORK. Where did Ms. Good work? She was a poet and an artist, but not currently employed. "Good, a 37-year-old U.S. citizen and mother of three, was an immigration activist and an "ICE Watch" member who was reportedly observing the operation." - AI Google
Now you can already gather where I'm going with Beacon of Speech's view, but what does the National Catholic Review think? "The vice president's comments justifying the death of Renee Good are a moral stain on the collective witness of our Catholic faith. His repeated attempts to blame Good for her own death are fundamentally incompatible with the Gospel. Our only recourse is to pray for his conversion of heart."
Wow! A moral stain, that's a serious criticism. I better not tell you what I really think, don't want to be lumped in with JD Vance.
A stain...
On the Catholic religion...
Sorry, all I can think of is the stripper Magdalene from the song of the same name.
The lead singer of Alice Donut, Tomas Antona, posted the lyrics to one of his most poignant odes just a few weeks back:
Magdalene
Mr. Whitehead sucks on a beer.
Same strip joint for twenty-five years.
Rolling his fat in the gutter.
Shoving his ones into her garter.
Go!
Magdalene’s stuck doing time.
Sweaty boys sit mesmerized.
Watching her ass in a frenzy.
One cheek’s moving. One’s stationary.
Go!
Magdalene
He feels the weight on his chest.
Another stain on the bed.
He thinks about her as he dies.
Another stain in his life.
Go!
Magdalene
He feels the weight on his chest.
Another stain on the bed.
He thinks about her as he dies.
Another stain in his life.
Shower dollars on his grave.
Shower dollars on his grave.
Shower dollars on his grave,
Magdalene.
The words alone don't do the song justice, there's the rousing opening that fades into the despair of the end.
What's the point of this article? Hard to tell, there was quite a dogpile at my day job and I need to go lay down in bed. Hardly have time in the day to work on my barely-read blog, let alone go protest anything.
Last word goes to Thomas Sowell, from 2015:
