A man arrived at the First Church of Christ the Ever So Well Endowed one night yelling “SANCTUARY!” The nuns flocked around unsure what to do. To the untrained eye it may have looked like a riot in the penguin cage.

“Sanctuary?” Mother Maggie asked.

“Yes,” Spoke one of the sisters, “it’s when we grant protection to those being persecuted.”

“Can we really do that?”

“I read about it in a book one time . . .”

“A BOOK?!” Mother Maggie exclaimed, “Then it must be true! Come in, sir, come in!”

The man came in and lit a cigarette.

“Oh no, there’s no smoking in here,” one of the nuns said.

“What do you want me do to,” the man asked, “Go back out there?”

“Errr . . . I guess not,” said the nun, who then did 10 Hail Marys for suggesting such wickedness.

The weeks went on and it became abundantly clear to the sisters that they still didn’t know what their new guest was running from. Some of the nuns even thought about taking bets, but that was about as far as the idea got. None of them were the gambling sort.

The stranger meanwhile had been caught gargling with the holy water and flirting with some of the sisters. All the infractions were forgivable, but even when they weren’t; the nuns just turned the other cheek.

When Sister Josephine found him going through her panty drawer, she just left them on his bed the next morning to save him the trouble. Same thing happened with Sister Maria’s bras and Sister Lydia’s G strings. Soon the whole nunnery was walking around without undergarments and the man was making every excuse possible to get them to bend over.

“Look,” he’d say, “There’s a tile on the floor that looks just like the baby Jesus!”

That’d get them every time.

The sisters of the First Church of Christ the Ever So Well Endowed had a meeting one morning and decided it was time they found out what their guest was hiding from. For all they knew he might have been an abortionist or something; maybe even gay. Mother Maggie called him in to her office the next day for discussion.

“It’s come time for you to tell us where you’re from” Mother Maggie said.

“What’re you broads going to do,” the man asked, “throw me out?”

“Well, no . . .”

“Then mind your own bee’s wax,” he said, and stormed out.

Soon lent rolled around and Sister Theresa caught the man on the phone with his bookie. “Which dog is bigger?” he asked. “I’d take your word for it, Ron, but last time you had me betting on a schnauzer going up against a Doberman! I don’t have that kind of money!”

When he was done talking the sister suggested he give up gambling for the 40 days. The man just shrugged and said “Nah, I’d rather just give up pissing in the confessional if that’s alright with you.”

Sister Theresa stammered. She’d been wondering why her frock was always wet after confessing her sins. She’d assumed it was the lord’s work. He worked in mysterious ways, after all.

One of the nuns finally cracked and slept with the man. She was denounced and defrocked immediately, but as it was of her own accord, the sisters couldn’t hold the man accountable. Besides, whatever he was running from had him awfully tense; he’d been hitting the blood of the lord pretty heavy lately.

To make matters worse, he was a real abusive drunk and took to giving the nuns swirlies in the convent toilets. Whenever he dunked their heads, they’d turn the other cheek and shift their weight; if they didn’t, their knees would fall asleep. None could blame him for his actions though; they all knew how alcohol corrupted even the purest of souls.

“You’re telling me Jesus was made of this rotgut?” he’d ask.

“In a matter of speaking,” Mother Maggie would reply.

“Shit, that guy must’ve been trashed ALL THE TIME!” he would laugh. Then the swirlies would begin.

One day a woman came into the nunnery claiming to be the man’s wife. She had a five o’clock shadow and other conspicuously mannish features, but the sisters took her at her word. They didn’t like to judge. They were all made in the lord’s image after all.

One of the sisters saw through the charade and took Mother Maggie aside. “From this woman’s looks, Mother Maggie, I believe her to be a man in women’s clothing!”

Mother Maggie slapped her on the wrist with a ruler and explained that “we were all made in the lord’s image.” Then she turned to ask the mysterious stranger’s wife how long they’d been married.

“TOO LONG,” the woman replied. Her voice was gravelly like a driveway; coarsened further by the thick cigar she was smoking. The nuns would have scolded her for smoking had the convent not already been filled with smoke by their previous guest.

When the man walked in he was smoking a cigar; two of them, in fact. “Alright,” he said, “which one of you ladies wants to see me.” Then he stopped and looked at his so-called wife. “Oh shit” He said.

“Glad to see you ain’t forgot about my money,” the woman said, taking off her wig to reveal a buzz cut.

“I told you I ain’t got it!” the man whimpered.

“And I told you what happens when I don’t get my money!” The other man said.

The Nuns didn’t know what was going on, but they were sure of one thing: that woman was actually a man. And if what he’d said was true and he was married to their guest, than the two were living in sin.

“Sisters!” Mother Maggie screamed, “We have blasphemy in our midst! GET OUT THE RULERS!!”

Huge yardsticks were pulled from closets in the wall and the two men were beaten and thrown out. Not long after a gunshot was heard, then a blood curdling scream from a familiar voice.

“As if they hadn’t sinned enough already,” Mother Maggie sighed.

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