ASK FATHER: Can you tell us more about Bishop Fatty McButterpants?

From a reader…

QUAERITUR:

Father Z you write, sometimes about the Diocese of Black Duck and the neighboring Diocese of Libville.  I’ve been looking for them online and I can’t come up with anything.

Can you … how to put this… “flesh out” Bishop Fatty for us?   Some background?   And did his parents really hate him so much that they named him “Fatty”?  That can’t be his real name, can it?

Thanks in advance.

Well, yes!  By coincidence I can tell you more.

It’s funny that you ask today because I was just offered access to the personal, private diary of Bp. McButterpants!

It must be from one of the house cleaners, or whatever they call them in Libville.  Anyway, we have a mole on the inside.  Which, come to think of it, is a tautology.  All moles are, by definition, on the inside. Duh.

Some of this diary is… let’s say… not really bloggable material.

With a little coaxing, I might be able to share some entries now and then, depending on readership interest.

It seems that Fatty was forced into keeping a diary because the Papal Nuncio made him either see a therapist or have an apostolic visitation of his diocese.  My thought is that the same mole who is sending me the entries is also sending them to Rome.  So we have to keep this on the low down, if you get me drift.

However, to the question….

Most. Rev. “Fatty” McButterpants was born on 11 February 1955 in the Diocese of Pie Town, where his old classmate Bp. “Dozer” Ruspa is now the residential bishop.  He was formally nominated as bishop-elect of Libville on 13 March 2013, though the announcement was delayed for a while.  His appointment was one of the first things that Francis did the evening the conclave was ended.  There were some “expectations” from a close group of … friends to be fulfilled, of course, and not to be delayed, “just in case”.  After all, “accidents happen”, as one of them said… a few times.

His real name is not “Fatty”, as a matter of fact.  His full name is Francis Atticus McButterpants. His parents were inspired by their garden statue and the institution where his older brother was learning a trade. Fatty would later say it was the book by Harper Lee, instead the place where license plates were made. Fatty hated the name Francis growing up, and still hates it, so he went by F. Atticus McButterpants. By the time he got into seminary, and much larger clothing, the script wrote itself.

Those who know him marvel at the fact that he is a bishop, given his unsuppressed hatred of the work bishops do these days, namely office work, meetings, etc.  He hates any work come to think of it.

As a matter of fact, one of the recent diary entries, from just a few days ago, deals with his work in the diocesan offices, the “chancery”.

February 2nd 2023

Dear Diary, [Yes, he actually does that!]

Another damn parish merjer meeting. They’re soooo booooring with all the whining from people about “I grew up there” and “Please, Bishop!  PLEASE don’t close it!  PLEEEEZ!  I don’t mind the groveling, which feels sort of good, but it gets tedious.  Bruce Hugalot went on and on and on about what a sucess his merjer was”. It’s all about HIM.   The only bright spot in the afternoon was when Chester ran in and barked at Bruce – right at him!  Sr. Randi ran in to get him and stepped on one of his chew toys and fell down. Gotta admit I left that meeting with a smile.

This is just a sample.  His entries tend to be short.  Fr. Hugalot or “Just Call Me Bruce” (that final sibilant “c” receiving a certain emphasis, but I digress), had to merge two parishes, St. Idealia and… I can’t remember the other one, during Bp. Fatty’s program for renewal of the diocese called, at the suggestion of the highly-paid professional consultors he brought in, the “There Can Be Only One” Campaign.  Fr. Bruce did the lifting and, “viola!” (as Fatty would say), there emerged from the merger the “Sing A New Faith Community Into Being Faith Community”.

Oh yes.  “Chester” is Fatty’s loathsome and somewhat deformed dog.  It’s hard to say what breed it is.  To get a visual idea, you have to think in terms of those dogs that the late cartoonist George Booth used to draw for the New Yorker when their cartoons were still funny.  For example, this could be Fatty and Chester on a given day in his office:

We don’t know how long we will have access to Fatty’s private diary.  Any day could be the end.