This is Bishop Dolan. There are no dancing ladies on his arm, no whiskey in his hand( or water either) no accolades from supposedly important people to tickle his ears. No handshaking with the vile lizard Gov'nr Cuomo, no drag queens and leather clad males holding rainbow flags awaiting his leadership for the black & rainbow Parade. No more court battles to keep the Venerable Archbishop Fulton Sheen imprisoned in the vault, to keep the monied pilgrims marching through, no " Good Morning New Yawk" team of " reporters " and hosts to feed his ever increasing waistline or ego, no Gala ball, no free prime rib buffet. This is mass, not just ANY mass, this is the glorious peak of the Christian liturgical year, the most joyous celebration of the Resurrection of Our Lord and God, Jesus Christ! LIFE HAS OVERCOME THE CHAINS OF DEATH!!! HEAVEN HAS OPENED HER DOORS!!! We horrid sinners have been given the gift of eternal life in Glory with The Almighty Triune God!!! Every Angel, Every Saint, Our Most Blessed Virgin Mother! Never shall we know pain, or sorrow ever again. If we but follow Our Lord's words and nestle securely in the bosom of Holy Mother Church, following her teachings, given to us from Divine Revelation, the Apostles, the Doctors, Popes, the Magisterium. This wonderous Feast , this year restrained, restricted, a dingy pall of worldly fear, sickness, scandal, mounting fears of freedoms lost ,possibly not to be regained, the incessant squawking of Harpies and vultures circling to snatch up any sign of normalcy amongst the imprisoned populace. But as is said WE ARE EASTER PEOPLE! We will celebrate the day the Lord has made and Praise the Risen Christ!.
Unless your B. Dolan, all these boring bits ....and no water to wash the gall down.

That was epic. :P Unintentional comedy is sometimes the best, particularly during the tragedy of the Novus Ordo.

Years ago, I attended (out of politeness) a Novus Ordo Sunday with the family of someone I was dating.

The "lay-reader" was living her fifteen minutes of fame at the pulpit, deliberately drawling ev-er-y word. The "celebrating" priest was slouched in his chair, bored at the farce Mrs. Perm 'n Pantsuit was making out things.

The reading dragged on... The priest settled deeper into his chair, trying not to nod off.

And then it happened. Two words boomed, deep and heavy through the church's speakers, "Come, On..." It was like the voice of a bored, disapproving God.

...except God sounded exactly like Father McSleepy. Father sat up , startled at the sound of his own voice. He'd slouched over too close to his lapel mic. A faint ripple of laughter drifted through the pews.

Charity encourages me to wish it came from mirthful angels.