How does a notably irreligious Jew wind up at the St. Mary’s Catholic Church Christmas barbecue dinner/country-western dance in a podunk Texas hills small town?

Extreme boredom, and a familially-obligated roommate who didn’t want to go alone.

I got to sit at the same table as the monsignor, a silent and wizened husk of a man in what appeared to be a Cowboys bib under his suit. I tried to keep my Star of David and the incipient flames of hellfire beginning to lick at my damned feet a secret, since I really wanted some brisket.

Four things:

1) Despite the fact that this was a Catholic party – with actual Irish people – the “open bar” served only boxed wine (Franzia, white and blush) and canned beer (Bud Lite, Coors Lite, Miller Lite). I made friends with the putative bartender, who gave me a couple of stowed-away Shiners and admonished me not to tell anyone. Seriously: what the fuck is Catholicism for if not copious Jameson at church functions?

2) Mixed dancing at a religious function. I’d forgotten how the other half lives.

3) Seeing, for the first time ever, a circle of 50 white people doing the “Chicken Dance” in perfect unison is profoundly terrifying.

4) Naturally, there was only one thing running through my head the entire time:

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Thanks for the beef, Papists!