Meeting Minutes 2

¡Oh generación incrédula y perversa!

Les cardinaux Beauchamp et Richelieu (29 October 2020)

God: Good morning, everybody. Please, be seated. We are gathered here today to discuss an urgent matter regarding case number 4,022,785,102. Peter, can we get the details on this case?

Peter: Yes, sir. Right away, sir. The subject’s name is Florence Belleville. 18-year-old female. Baptized properly at twelve days of age, received the Sacrament of First Communion at seven years of age, and the Sacrament of Confirmation at 15 years of age, all at Saint-Francis de Sales Apostolic Roman Catholic Church in Lancaster, Maine, population 2,246. Looks like she pretty much hates you sir, and that she’s preparing to usurp your place in the driver’s seat of her life1.

Jesús: ¡Oh generación incrédula y perversa! ¿Hasta cuándo he de estar con vosotros? ¿Hasta cuándo os he de soportar? Traédmela acá.

God, putting his right hand on Jesús’ shoulder: Peter, do we have a cause for this hatred of me, and this imminent usurpation of my place in the driver’s seat?

Peter: It’s the Roman Catholics, sir. They don’t encourage the study and discussion of the scripture that would lead to creating and building a personal and meaningful prayer life and relationship with you. She has recently concluded, in fact, that you are a… hold on, let me check my notes, I want to make sure I get this right. Leafing through some papers. Yes, here it is. She has recently concluded that you are an “irrational, volatile, emotionally unstable, narcissistic bully with a hair across his ass.”2

God: Narcissistic?

Guffaw from Luke.

Peter, checking his notes again: That’s what she said, sir. Narcissistic.

God, to himself under his breathe, pointer finger to his lips: Narcissistic?

Mark: You do require constant praise and adoration, sir.

God: Irrational, volatile, and emotionally unstable though? A hair across my ass?

Luke: There was Sodom and Gomorrah, sir.

John: And that time you flooded the whole world.

Mark: Not to mention the total annihilation of Nineveh, sir.

God: Right. Fair enough. Okay, then. Do we have anything to work with? Peter? Anything to work with?

Père Joseph Bertrand LeBoeuf (30 March 2021)

Peter: Not much, sir. As a very young child, the subject would sit on the Old One’s lap in the rocking chair by the bay window in the kitchen and listen to him read from his Bible, which she later ruined by scribbling all over the cover.

God: That little bitch!

Matthew: Total bitch, sir.

Luke: The worst.

Mark: I’m still pretty pissed about it, sir.

Jesús: Yo os digo que cualquiera que se enoje contra su hermano, será culpable de juicio; y cualquiera que diga: Necio, a su hermano, será culpable ante el concilio; y cualquiera que le diga: Fatuo, quedará expuesto al infierno de fuego.

The Apostles together, putting on sackcloth, throwing ashes over their heads, wailing and gnashing their teeth: Forgive us, Lord, for we have sinned!

God, smacking the table with a gavel: Forgiven!

The Apostles together: Praise and thanks to the Lord, our God!

God, with his forefinger on his lips in contemplation: Now why in hell would Toothpick have done such a thing as scribble all over a Bible?

Mark: Not Toothpick, sir. Frankie.

God: Frankie? Who in hell is Frankie?3

Luke: Toothpick, sir.

God: I don’t get it. Peter, what the hell are these people talking about?

Père Emmanuel Philibert Foucart (8 January 2021)

Peter: There was a t-shirt, sir. Frankie goes to Hollywood. Bought with the subject’s own money on the piers of Old Orchard Beach, sir.

Mark: Wore it all the time, sir. Hence the name.

Matthew: I would have, too, sir. That t-shirt was bitchin’.

John: Totally tubular.

Luke: Wicked.

God, nodding his head in understanding and putting his forefinger back on his lips in contemplation: Now why in hell would Frankie have done such a thing as scribble all over a Bible? Vlegie’s Bible, no less?

Matthew: Not Vlegie, sir. Pops.

Peter: Don’t ask, sir.

God, with his forefinger still on his lips in contemplation and nodding his head some more in understanding: Now why in hell would Frankie have scribbled all over Pops’ Bible?

Soeur Marie-Claudette des Bénédictions de l’adoration perpetuelle du Saint-Sulpice (8 November 2020)

John: She got a bunch of colored pens for Christmas that year, sir.

Mark: From her godfather, sir.

Matthew: She just went apeshit drawing all over everything, sir. Newspapers, invoice papers, empty cardboard boxes, you name it.

God: Ah.

Peter: Actually, sir, she just wanted Pops to play with her.

God: Then why in hell didn’t she just say so?

Peter, ruffling through the file and pulling out a document: There is an edict, sir. If I may?

God: Please do.

Peter, reading from the document: By this edict, dated the thirteenth day of July in the year of our Lord 1983, I, God, creator of Heaven and Earth, of all things seen and unseen, hereby grant to my adversary the Devil, otherwise known as the Deceiver of the Whole World, permission to silence and/or muddle up the speech of one Lionel Belleville, alias Vlegie, and his daughter, Florence Belleville, a.k.a. Toothpick. Signed, God.

Luke: A real jerk thing to do, sir.

John: I dare say maybe even an asshole thing to do, sir.

Matthew: You really messed everything up, sir.4

Mark: Kid hasn’t been the same since, sir.

Luke: Unsociable and withdrawn!

John: Impatient and judgmental!

Matthew: Angry and passive aggressive!

Luke: Pretty confusing and lonely tweens and teens, sir.

Mark: It’s going to take years to fix the damage, sir.

Matthew: Hope you’re happy, sir.

L’Evêque Anatole Dupuis des Augustines de l’Assomption (14 November 2020)

God, signaling to Peter to give him the edict, putting on his reading glasses and studying the signature: Hmmm.

Jesús: Pero si mostráis favoritismo, cometéis pecado y sois hallados culpables por la ley como transgresores.

God: That’s right! They were playing favorites! Thank you, son. Now let’s get back to the matter at hand. Peter, what is the matter at hand?

Peter: Sir, the subject, Florence Belleville, pretty much hates you and is preparing to usurp your place in the driver’s seat of her life. We were laying out the things we have in our possession to work with to prevent this from happening.

God: Good. Great. Let’s hear it.


Peter: Besides sitting on the Old One’s lap to hear him read from his Bible, the subject sat through some perfunctory catechism classes in the basement of her church with a teacher who was drunk most of the time and a bunch of idiot boys, but she did read through all the stories in her catechism book at least three times, if not four or five. Later, during her early teenage years, the subject volunteered to be a lector during church services, so she has also read some passages straight from the Bible. We don’t think any of them stuck with her, though. This is most likely because the subject was not working purely in service to you, sir, but rather working in service to herself, in order to, and I quote: “develop [her] public speaking skills.”

Mère supérieure Marie-Marthe Desneiges (5 February 2021)

God: That’s probably a sin, right?

John: Most definitely a sin, sir.

Saul: Nothing compared to what I did, sir.

God: True. Okay, then, go on, Peter.

Peter: Yes, sir. Also during her early teenage years, the subject engaged in fervent petitionary prayer every evening, hoping you would send her boobs, at least B-cup.

John, cupping his hands in front of his chest: About this much, sir.

God: That doesn’t seem like too much to ask for.

Matthew: It’s practically nothing, sir.

God: Is there a reason why we didn’t grant this prayer? Peter?

Peter: There is, sir. Mark, the letter, please.

Mark: Right away, Peter. If I may, sir?

God, nodding his head: By all means.

Mark, clearing his throat and reading:

Office of the Most High

Department of Petitionary Prayer

Re: Boobs (at least B-cup)

Dear Ms. Belleville,

Thank you for taking the time to kneel by your bed every evening to pray to God. We appreciate your devotion to this task.

This letter is to inform you that your request for boobs (at least B-cup), which we agree would minimize the appearance of your pectus carinatum, cannot be granted at this time.  We receive millions of petitionary prayers daily, and can only consider those that are properly preceded by the customary prayer of praise and thanksgiving to God.

We wish you good luck in all of your future endeavors and encourage you to develop your charm and your intelligence, which we sincerely believe are far more sexy in the long run than a set of boobs that will just get flabby and hang like useless elephant trunks down to your waistline anyway. We also encourage you to recognize in the temple that God has given you all the things for which you should give him thanks and praise daily: a fine ass, shapely arms and legs, killer abs, a beautiful face, a stunning smile, and fabulous hair. You might grow up to be nothing but a silly slut if, on top of this abundance of treasures, you also had boobs. And that is not God’s plan for you.


Magdelena A. Platz

God: Ah! The silly slut argument. I forgot about that.

Matthew: There’s more, sir. Shall I read the rest?

God, nodding his head yes.

Matthew: p.s. Have you tried that thing where you walk around pumping your arms back like a chicken and chanting, “We must, we must, we must increase our bust?” Also, start drinking tons of whole fat milk, and sleep only on your back. If you keep going to bed on your stomach in the jackknife position you love so much, you are going to crush and stunt the growth of the breast tissue. These are all things I did when I was a teenager, and I ended up with the most fabulous rack. These girls have gotten me everywhere. In fact, I never would have landed this job without them!

Archevêque Ambroise Boniface dit “Le Sage” (30 December 2020)

God: That’s a fact!

Peter: Sir, if I may point out that this letter violates our protocol.

God: Does it, now?

Peter, turning to page 27,865 in the Office of the Most High Department of Petitionary Prayer Handbook, and reading: “4.3.11a, clause 704c: In all correspondence with the faithful, the letter writer is strictly forbidden from offering advice of any kind. Violation of this rule will lead to immediate and indefinite banishment from the kingdom of God.”

God, biting the knuckle of his pointer finger and looking sharply out the corner of his eye.

Peter: It’s true, sir. I’m sorry.

God, pressing the call button on the phone: Nancy, I’d like to see Magdalena in my office this evening at seven p.m.

Nancy: Yes, sir. Shall I have her wear that skin-tight, super low-cut, hot pink sweater dress again?

God: Not tonight, Nancy. Make it that slinky little black off-the-shoulder number.

Nancy: Sushi?

God: Italian.

Nancy: Red or white?

God: Château Cheval Blanc, St-Émilion Grand Cru.

Nancy: Magdalena, seven p.m., slinky little black off-the-shoulder number, Italian, Château Cheval Blanc, St-Émilion Grand Cru. Noted, sir!

God: Thank you, Nancy. Taking his finger off the call button: Okay then, where were we?

Peter, looking through his notes and speaking lowly to himself: Listening to The Old One read from the Bible… catechism… lector at church services… petitionary prayer for boobs… Closing his file, and looking up: That’s pretty much all we’ve got to work with, sir. You let Satan cut her off from Vlegie, henceforth known as Pops, without so much as a word of parting, and in so doing plunged her into a pit of sadness and loneliness and emptiness, but also confusion and guilt and shame, not to mention the gnawing fear of abandonment which naturally prevents her from forming truly meaningful relationships with others, especially girls, sir, since you chose not to send her the boobs she so desperately wanted and whose appearance on her body would have granted her access to the club, so to speak, and thus prevented her from developing the nagging inferiority complex which she struggles daily to conceal by acting in an overly confident if not slightly arrogant manner that, unfortunately, only serves to exacerbate her isolation.

John: No wonder she hates you, sir.

Mark: I would, too, sir.

God: Seems to me, boys, like a quick fix to this problem would be to send her the damn boobs, already! She’s only 18! 18-year-olds have miraculous growth spurts all the time!

Peter: Sir, we understand your frustration, but sending her boobs overnight is not going to get the subject to hate you any less.

Mark: That’s right, sir. The subject is not praying anymore and wouldn’t make the connection between you and miraculous overnight boobs. She would just credit Nature.

John: And then turn into a silly slut, sir.

Matthew: We’ve already got enough of those running around down there, sir.

God: Right. Okay, then. What’s the plan? Peter! Do we have a plan?

Sœur Marie-Agathe de la Sainte-Miséricorde (28 November 2020)

Peter: We do, sir. I’m going to hand it over to Matthew who will first articulate the mission, and then divulge the plan we will employ to achieve that mission.

Matthew: Thank you, Peter. Thank you, God. Our mission is to get the subject to love you, sir. To ensure the success of this mission, we must first get her to like you, which means that she will have to get to know you, which means that she will have to read the Bible.

God: The Holy Bible?

John: That’s the one, sir.

God: Have you people read the Holy Bible? There has got to be another way!

Peter: I’m afraid there isn’t, sir.

John: There is the very popular Bible as Literature seminar offered as a spring elective to seniors with the appropriate pre-requisites at the university she will start commuting to in the fall. Taught by a certain Dr. Paul Goodman.

Matthew: Wild, yet cultivated; raw, but also sensitive. Beautiful man.

Luke: Very beautiful man, sir.

John: Our plan is to get the subject enrolled in that class when the time comes, sir. She will absolutely love Dr. Goodman. All seventeen of the straight girls on campus do.

God: Spring semester of her senior year? Boys! That’s more than three years from now! Is there any reason why we can’t get her enrolled right away? Create a glitch in the system or something, sneak her in there?

Peter: We understand your frustration, sir; three and a half years is indeed a long time to be hated for a bunch of stuff you did thousands of years ago, and for a bunch of other stuff that frankly has nothing to do with you, but rather with a flawed and corrupt institution run by equally flawed and corrupt men and the occasional crooked woman. But we need that time to work on the subject’s self-image, sir. She will only love you as much as she loves herself, and to get her to do that, we have devised a few tricks. Matthew, the tricks, please.

Matthew: Yes, Peter. We have two tricks, sir. First, within a week of moving on campus her sophomore year, we will be placing a creative writing major by the name of Eli on the subject’s path.5

With his silky, shoulder-length, mousy brown hair, and his perfectly trimmed beard, Eli looks a lot like Jesus, here present.

Jesús: Yo soy.

John: Sexy little motherfucker, sir.

Mark: You just want to lick him up one side and down the other, sir.

Luke: And then some, sir.

Matthew: He won’t be able to keep his hands off her, sir. It will be total debauchery.

John: Total debauchery, sir.

Les Archevêques Josephat Baduel d’Oustrac et Théodule Colrat de Montrozier (8 December 2020)

Matthew. Second, we will send the subject to France for the spring semester of her junior year. Nobody finds imperfections more charming than the French do, sir. I mean, have you seen the fucked-up looking apples those people buy at their markets?

Mark: Fucked up, sir.

John: The carrots, too, sir. All crooked and gnarly and covered in dirt and shit.

Matthew: Three months over there, sir, and the subject will be convinced that her pectus carinatum is the cat’s meow! She’ll come home, take the Bible as Literature seminar with Dr. Goodman in the fall, be madly in love with you by Christmas, take the vow of holy matrimony with Eli by the end of the following summer, baptize their twin boys one year after that, and then a little girl a year after that, sir. Voilà! Fin de la histoire!

Luke: , Matthew. The n is silent.

Matthew: Fã de la histoire!

Luke: De l’histoire, Matthew. The h is silent. In front of the silent h, you have to contract the vowel of the article.

Matthew: Fã de l’histoire!

Père Francis Maillard de la Morandais (10 December 2020)

God: Woah, woah! Slow down here, boys! Three kids? Are you people out of your minds? The subject will never go for this! We didn’t give her the maternal bone! We gave her the pectus carinatum, and that cute little extra bone on her left humerus!

Mark: I’ve always liked that little bone, sir! Very original!

Matthew: Sir, that’s the plan.

Luke: Don’t worry, sir; it’s foolproof.

God: Peter?

Peter: Foolproof, sir.

God: Okay, then. Good work here, team! Let’s reconvene in about six years to debrief and close out the case.

The Apostles together: Let us give praise and thanks to the Lord our God! It is right to give Him thanks and praise!

To be continued…

  1. Does this self-righteous little bitch Florence succeed? See blog post #9: The Rightful king (2 April 2023). ↩︎
  2. It’s true, she does say this. See blog post #4: Get to it (19 February 2023). ↩︎
  3. Yes, who in hell is Frankie? See blog posts #16: With love, from Toothpick (21 May 2023), #26: Portrait of the artist (30 July 2023), and #51: Who in the world is Florence Belleville (21 January 2024). ↩︎
  4. Find out how! See blog post #46: Happy birthday, Fanny Fox (17 December 2023). ↩︎
  5. Read about Eli in blog #7: Real work (19 March 2023). ↩︎

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