Hat tip: Digital Hairshirt via the ever-reliable Curt Jester on Twitter.

I've never quite gotten the point of music videos. But today I found one that's too good (well, actually, too bad) not to spread around. It's the Proclaimers singing "I'm On My Way," one of the most cheer-inducing songs ever recorded, but the video is as bad as you could imagine. Take a look.

I'm On My Way (on crack) on YouTube.

The Ironic Catholic (or, more precisely, her husband who is filling in temporarily) introduces us to Scripture for the Twitter generation.

For example:

Exodus
After ten warnings, Pharaoh goes up against God AGAIN, gets a-- kicked. LOL. But Hebs whining "Are we there yet?" gets on even God's nerves.

Lamentations
Stuff happens.

Job
Stuff happens, and only God knows why.

I added one in the comment box, but there are more, many more.

Psalms
You are wonderful, alleluia. I am scum, alleluia anyway. I'm in trouble, help me. You helped me and the wicked rot. Alleluia.

Isaiah
You don't think promises like these could be reduced to 140 characters, do you? Read it.

Mark
Be converted and believe the gospel. Jesus died and rose. Who needs adjectives?

John
I am the Bread of Life. Yes, that's what I said, sorry you're having a hard time with it.

Acts
Pitiful people transformed into mighty saints. Political power no match for Holy Spirit. You never know.

James
Yes, it matters what you do. Don't fool yourself. Remain in faith, but don't worry -- he's coming.

What have I missed? Add a comment.

The real men in my life occasionally join me in watching what cinema people refer to as "romantic comedies", primarily because I ask them really nicely. No one who is related to me (except my father, who is exempt from all generalizations whatever) has survived until now without watching at least some portion of Sleepless in Seattle, which I consider the most enjoyable girl-movie ever made. ("God, I loved that movie.") The reason, I suspect, is primarily self-defense; my daughters and I are prone to burst into random Sleepless scenes with no notice whatsoever.

But don't worry, gentlemen, you are neither alone nor necessarily damaged by the experience. Scott Nehring, a writer of punchy movie reviews from a Christian perspective, has delivered what I consider the summa male response to the genre in his review of The Devil Wears Prada, offering a tried and true antidote if you find yourself trapped into a viewing of a Meg Ryan epic:

It’s a Über-chick flick and I really enjoyed it. Don’t worry, when I was done watching I killed a bear with a knife, mangled things with a chainsaw and left the toilet seat up all night to recalibrate my masculinity.

Feel better now?