Can you tell me who said raising hell isn’t good for the soul?
Well, let me tell you right now, being the handmaid of Mary, the Mother of God, isn’t as blissfully idyllic as everyone has been led to believe, and no one will know this better than Queenie, Mary’s current shanghaied handmaid. Worried about the gravy train of tithes drying up faster than a penniless alcoholic, as a result of damage brought on from chronic sex-abuse scandals, the same Blessed “Virgin” (allegedly, and a subject of debate) Mary picks another earthly handmaid in the same manner as her earlier greatest hits, such as the Catholic showstoppers of Lourdes and Fatima. But tell me, other than Mother Superior of All Venerable Body Parts, no sane person would ever want to be Mary’s handmaid, and the same is true for Queenie, a sassy teenage runaway with a penchant for getting into trouble. However, unfortunately for the newbie handmaid, she doesn’t have any say in the matter and is stuck with unwanted supernatural interventions like a drug-resistant case of clap.
Doesn’t the Holy Mother of . . . well, you name it, how about Perpetual Hemorrhoid Sufferers (especially since she’s forever on Queenie’s luscious but not very happy derrière to do her crazy biding) understand that normal people don’t have time for weird, mystical crap such as levitation or raising the dead? C’mon, Mary, let’s pass on the bloody, drippy stigmata for the moment, because Queenie has bigger fish to fry here, namely, becoming a novice yet highly motivated wannabe cop killer. Why? Because after seeing Miguel, the only man she ever loved, brutally executed by crooked police, and being raped in the process, she becomes obsessed with, no, not halo fittings, but acts of cold, hard revenge.
The hell with Mary. Slashing police car tires, busting out cruiser windows, stealing, and destroying prowlers are all actions unbecoming of a handmaid but so damn cathartic. However, attracted by her exploits as if to chum in the water, a suave and sexy Satan suggests, why not ditch the small potato stuff and progress to bigger and better felonies, such as using explosives to blow up the police station? Well, why didn’t she think of a genius plan like that in the first place? Because if she had, it certainly would have saved her from all these baton-induced headaches that she has been having. Whether it’s through bank robbery, underhanded mafia dealings, or selling her soul to the devil, Queenie is going to get her dirty hands on some plastique . . . even if it’s the last thing she ever does.
Now, all these homicidal urges are all well and good, but when will Queenie learn that any act of revenge does nothing to lessen our personal pain? When will she learn that the only way of finding inner peace is through unshackling the bonds of hate by forgiving and not, for example, torching the police station?
Well, finding her Zen zone is going to have to wait, especially since Mary feels the need for some face time with the unwashed masses on Eddie's News Program with her kowtowed son, Jesus. Draw and quarter her body, put her on the rack, take her out back and cap her sorry butt, but Queenie is not . . . not . . . doing an interview like that again and fortunately for her, she won’t have to, since she has a date with her destiny, but the question is . . . will she survive it or not?