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Top reasons to sit down in 2014

These are a few of my favorite posts! And this is a picture of Maria von Trapp, for real, from her naturalization application:

 

Maria_von_Trapp_2

I would not have put a frog in her chair. Not. At. All.

photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons

Here are some of my favorite posts from 2014. I’ve only included ones that appeared in full on Patheos, and not on the Register or anywhere else. Sorry there are so many. I guess we know who my greatest fan is. (Not Maria von Trapp.)

 

JANUARY began really rough, with the loss of our tenth child on New Year’s Day. We also put boxers on the dog, enjoyed the most flatulent version of Greensleeves ever, heard why abortionists love graphic abortion photos, and speculated aboutwhether or not Taylor Marshall is, in fact, the Walrus.

johnny-and-taylor

FEBRUARY Was full of classy dames, extremely useful progesterone cream, and some breastfeeding bullies, as well as reasons why good people can have a larf when there’s transgendered politicians or Russian olympics involved, and of course butt music from Hell,

butt-song

 

MARCH brought three cisgendered bears, plague puppets that made God say “gevalt,” and an intensely divisive post about love and marriage, where I pointed out that God is faithful, but most of us are not marrying God.

Bonus: A word from Irene, who knows that Christ is not baloney.

southey-bears

 

APRIL was the cruelest month, mixing Let It Go,which was not tolerable, with polio, which apparently is. It turned out we still needed feminism and that I forgot how to shirt; we taught the kids how to Jew, and the mailman wondered what was the deal with us people. 

fisher mail

 

MAY saw the advent of my long-desired hate sites, a survey of the educational squalor that is Fisherland, a few clarifications for parents who feel like they have failed but hard, and one slice of Christianity without so much adorable puppydog in it. And thefirst in the Catholic Artist of the Month series, with Timothy Jones. 

Bonus: my mother on a motorcycle

irene-stick

 

In JUNE, I changed my tune, revealing that all my major muses are from Warner Brothers, that even fat fatties can have a nice time in a bathing suit, why we tell our girls they are pretty without fearing that this will cause their brains to fall out, andhow we spend our time when we are B.O.R.E.D.

Bonus: Benny looking especially dangerous.

dog bored

 

JULY was full of summery things like Issues Guy the Sex Sponge, wifely obedience and how I stopped freaking out about it, a step-by-step guide on how to poop, a flap (ho ho) over foreskin idolatry, and another Catholic Artist of the Month, Matthew Good, and boy is he good.

Henry_William_Pickersgill_001

 Henry William Pickersgill – Meisterwerke der Malerei. Licensed under Public Domain via Wikimedia Commons

 

AUGUST explains why I prefer dumb kids, what to do if you’re Catholic and depressed, where Ann Coulter can stick her exegesis, and what I told that little baby I’m still missing.

Bonus: Holiness is a numbers game, you filthy relativist

generosity-fb-screenshot

 

SEPTEMBER was a month for lovingly packed baggies full of tuna, romance advice, a guide for non-scientists who have to deal with science, and the reason I never say I’m blessed.

Bonus: Moving past the urge to truth bomb

lunch tuna

 

OCTOBER brought us the third Catholic Artist of the Month, Neil Carlin, Mercola’sgroundbreaking move to literally blow smoke up your ass to cure Ebola, and adevastatingly adorable peek into Benny’s maternal impulses.

Bonus: bizarro printable masks for your bizarro kids

benny-and-benny

 

As NOVEMBER loomed, we wrestled with Persistent Systemic Weirdness, we examined the fruits of the Legion of Christ, we wondered what God could possibly mean by asking us to go get some butter, and Bad Mama had her say.

Bonus: Thanksgiving advice from Dear Simcha

P

By Sul Art, via Wikimedia Commons

 

And finally DECEMBER came with a whimper and a bang, lugging fifty gift recommendations you should totally bookmark, a defense of saying “I have to go to Mass,” a refusal to defend “Mary Didja Know,” a solemnity full of feathers in my cap and black eyes, a wonderful Chickentime simply had, and of course what happened that time my husband’s grandfather went to a boozed-up Raymond Chandler for help.

feast food

 

And that was 2014.

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