Kickass, the doorstop dog, assists the keeper in bringing the POTUS transition absurdity into Sunday morning focus by defining it as bats, not only in the belfry, but also clinging to the higher reaches of the church and showering the congregation with offensive droppings.
To pray that you don’t get crapped on begs the question, according to the keeper, since that has pretty much been happening for the last four years as the narcissistic political bats have defiled every last corner of church-goers’ lives as well as the lives of non-believers.
One of the early moves in bat control is to seal off entry points, which, in a sense, should have happened with the recent election; but that did not solve the problem of the political, crapping-bats still hanging up there in the high places of churches and taverns alike.
The only way to evict the parasitic invaders is to use “bats,” the keeper says, long handled bats wielded like fly swatters to eliminate the repulsive squatters like so many carrion flies.
(As a practical suggestion, the keeper notes that some long-handled bat elimination tools might be fashioned from discarded Trump/Pence campaign signs.)
The fact that actual and psychic bat swatting could be equally effective in the churches as well as the taverns might even speak positively to the prevailing social divisiveness.
Wear a mask and swing for the fences, the keeper suggests, as he remember an old song from Sunday school: “On a hill far away stood an old rugged cross……”