You're Missing the Pope For This?

My mother retired in February. She goes to shows, takes Culinary Art classes, and entertains out-of-town guests. It’s only a matter of time before she learns needlepoint and shuffleboard. Your typical, retiree-in-Florida nonsense.

Yesterday, she took off for Medjugorje.

I know. I’d never heard of it either.

Apparently, though, this little village in Bosnia-Herzegovina is quite a hit with a certain someone named The Blessed Mother. Appeared there in 1981, before the town got cable, to proclaim that God is real and watching us. Fantastic. So *my* blessed mother decided to join other Catholics around the world for what the religious call a pilgrimage.

I call it Crazy Talk.

Leave it to the Virgin Mary to book a remote village in a war-torn country. Surely God’s baby mama could have done better than that – at the very least, she could have gone somewhere with four-star accommodations and wireless internet access.

But whatever.

I’m a bit worried about my mom traveling to that part of the world just to get spiritual fulfillment and renewal. Not when Vegas is just a few hours away. When I think about all the whackjobs in Bosnia and danger waiting around every corner...

Wait a minute, what am I thinking? The Virgin Mary wouldn’t have picked a dangerous neighborhood, right? She leaves those areas to Gabriel or Lucifer. The Virgin Mary is too classy to appear just anywhere.

Okay. I feel better now.

I’m sure my mom and company are hoping that Mary makes another appearance while they’re in town. But I told my mom not to get her hopes up. Holy Girlfriend is busy dealing with Darfur and Beyonce’s musical career. She doesn't have time to be worrying about a bunch of tourists who are wearing sweatpants, comfortable shoes, and bartering for Miraculous Medals.

The priest who’s leading this particular party has been there before. On his last trip, Priest went to his hotel room after a long day and was ready for sleep. But when he looked out his hotel window, he saw that the lights up at the monument were still on. So he went up there to pray one last time.

Devoted man of the cloth and all.

The next morning, he told everyone about praying up there before the lights went off and everyone was all, “Padre, there are no lights up there.”

Cue the choir.

Sure enough, Priest hasn’t seen lights since.

Everyone was all ooohing and ahhhing and blathering about miracles. Not me, though. I was pissed on his behalf.

Mary, probably off somewhere getting a corn removed, says, “Dude dragged his cookies all the way to Bosnia. Shine a light on the poor bastard; give him a thrill.” Either that or Priest had sipped some serious Bosnian booze.

Personally, I’d demand a refund.

So positive thoughts for my mom and the rest of the retired Catholics who’re traveling halfway across the world just to see some lights. God bless ‘em.