The Fredösphere

About once a month I check in on Andrew Cusack's blog.  I first discovered it during my first foray into antipopery research.

I am leaning toward the theory that this is not an elaborate parody.  This is a guy who, within the last week of posting, used the words luncheon and splendiferous (twice!) with no apparent irony.  His club-joining prowess is of impossibly Rushmore proportions (I mean that especially in this sense of the word) and his prose style has a quality way beyond his (alleged) years. 

Here's a typical post featuring the world's most dapper Catholic.  Have you ever seen one of Fulton Sheen's broadcasts?  "Amiable control freak" are the words that come to mind.  I once had a vision of a "Fulton the Vampire Slayer" scenario: 

Sheen battles a demon in hand-to-claw combat, his cassock shredded and his hair matted with blood and bile, he defeats his enemy, then rushes to the TV studio, and in a matter of moments he washes up and slips into his bishop suit (one of a special design with a single huge zipper all down the back), then strolls onto the set, not a hair out of place, and as the camera rolls he begins speaking in perfectly modulated tones....

Notice on September 30 Cusack announces the sad news that his godson is excommunicate.  Believe me, I'm not making fun.  And again, I'm going with the theory that Cusack is not making fun either.  But of all the Gen-Zers on earth, what kind of coincidence is it that it would be Cusack's godson who would join the Masons?  I mean, I've only met a very few Masons in my life and none of them were less than 40 years older than I.  Kids these days just don't do Masonry.  They've got about 17,000 other apostasies they would more likely choose -- I mean, am I right?