Child: God would sanction this, right, father?
Priest: Would you like, perhaps, to loosen your trousers here, like I have done with mine?

So let me get this straight, God talks to Benny Hinn, He talks to Jimmy Swaggart, He talks to wide receivers and defensive linemen, but I was an altar boy for seven years, I memorized the Latin fuckin' Mass, and you know what? (Lock 'n Load) I've never heard from the guy, not a phone call, not a note. But apparently He talks to Reggie White every Saturday night before the big game on Sunday, because as we all know, God's a huge Green Bay fuckin' Packers fan, right?

(Go with yourself...)

You know what? I'm done, it's over, I quit. I'm starting my own church. Bye-bye.

(This world is bullshit...)
Priest: Would you like, perhaps, to loosen your trousers here, like I have done with mine?
(Last time anybody on this planet called himself "Lord", he got himself crucified...)

I'm now the leader of the Lapsed Catholic Church, and here are the rules, my friends. Thou shalt not? Fuck that, though fuckin' shall.

(Speak a little slower, you're starting to break a little sweat.)

As long as you don't have sex with kids or kill anybody, you can do whatever the...FUCK you want in my church.

(Maya Angelou said that this world is bullshit.)

But you so much as look at an altar boy the wrong way, you don't get transferred to some distant parish up in Nova Scotia. No fuckin' way, pal. You stand naked in the middle of Times Square with a big neon sign saying "I carry a torch for kids who carry candles," you fuckin' assholes.

(And my boyfriend can make you disappear.)

And there's no more magic, no more burning bushes or blueberry muffins. You screw up this time, the Virgin Mother shows up in your driveway like Ray Liotta in Goodfellas. She pistol-whips you, then she sets your dick on fire, okay?

(I guess it's time for the examination, just spread your cheeks.)

Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's wife? Bullshit! You covet his wife, his house, his car, and his pool. You know why? Because he's coveting every inch of your shit, pal!

Child: The whole time, he started inserting his finger in between my ass cheeks. Priest: Did he get two knuckles up there? Child: Father, what are you...why are you doing this?

Yeah, what are you doing, Father? Keep your fuckin' hands to yourself, man. (Go with yourself) You wanna do something with your hands? () Stick 'em up the Pope's ass, it's one of the new fuckin' rules, okay? 'Cause in my church, when it comes to healing...you know how Benny Hinn lays his hands on the head of a supposedly blind person, and when he takes his hand off, the blind guy can see? Here's how we do it in my church: You're a pot head? Guess what? You're STILL a fuckin' pot head!

(Oh! Oh!! Oh!!!)

And when it comes time to confess your sins in the Lapsed Catholic Church, guess who you confess your sins to? That's right. Father Leary. You walk in and say, "Bless me, Father, for I have sinned." You know what I say to that? "Fuckin' great! What'd you do?" "I...uh...had impure thoughts, maybe a few times this week." "Fuckin' excellent! What else?" "Um...I jerked off, like, five times." "That's fuckin' great! You know what your penance is? Run across the street to that store, steal two cases of beer and a pizza, and bring it back here, okay? 'Cause we're gonna sit around the rectory and smoke and eat pizza and drink beer and watch TV, and if we see the Pope on TV, we're gonna give him the finger and make fun of his hats, okay? And you know what else? Ted Kennedy? Forgiven. Frank Gifford? Forgiven. Marv Albert? Forgiven. Al Sharpton? Forgiven. Richard Nixon? Forgiven. Bill fuckin' Faulkner? Forgiven. Everybody's forgiven. Except you, O.J. Fuck you. I hope your kids pull a Menendez on you, O.J. And then they'll be forgiven, ten times over.

Go in peace, my friends. Get the beer and the pizza, and bring it back here. Because sin is in, sin is in, and so we begin.

Child: I think I've seen the light, Father. Can I put my pants back on?