I'm Wrong You're Rafferty: The Season of Fishy Fridays

There is something fishy about not being able to eat meat on Fridays during lent.
I try to adhere to it as best I can, but I’m a carnivore, and you can’t contain this beast.

I’m not saying I love meat more than God, but I question the motivation behind this antiquated rule. I can see Aramark is on my side for this one–they love serving meat on Fridays.

I like eating things that were alive at one time, with one exception: fish.
The fish who fight each other are cool. Other than that, I’m not impressed. They are mainly smelly and ugly, and I don’t want to eat them.
But, what if I did like fish? What if I loved fish? Then, I would love Fridays during Lent. It wouldn’t be a sacrifice.
Fish would be everywhere and I could get it cheap. I would be legendary around the fish-fry circuit.

A lot of people don’t know the true story behind why Catholics don’t eat meat on Lenten Fridays. One of the popes had a side job in the fish selling industry. He had a place called “Fish and Pope,” and, in order to up business, he made the no meat rule.
With all the extra revenue, he bought that really big hat popes always wear and blinged out the Popemobile.

My Lenten sacrifice is to not eat fish on Fridays during Lent. I want to save those smelly things because they would die if everyone ate them. I am, quite literally, a Cafeteria Catholic.
I try to keep my Lenten resolutions, but it usually doesn’t work out.
I’ve already broken my “No beer on Monday morning” promise. The only promises I have been successful at keeping are “Don’t help old people” and abstain from doing homework.

Don’t worry, I used the time to pray that my professors would accept late work.
Every guy has tried the Lenten challenge. I have been successful completing it in two consecutive Easter seasons.
You know, I went 40 days without showering or brushing my teeth. Move over, Mother Theresa.
I’m going to be honest right now, I thought I could write an entire column on the fish in Lent, but I can’t.

Now I’m starting to talk about how I don’t shower. Since this column is nothing more than a running pick-up line, that’s really hurting my cause.
A skunk lives in my basement too, so telling people I smell probably isn’t a good idea. For the record, people who smell me say that I smell great.
I’ll tell you what, I don’t smell like–fish. But, don’t worry, the house as a whole smells great, just not the skunk.

The one aspect of this column that wasn’t a joke was the skunk thing. Seriously, if you know how to kill a skunk let me know.