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Every Friday, my inbox receives "The Word From Rome," a weekly column written by John L Allen Jr, Vatican Correspondent for the National Catholic Reporter. Now, I'm no fan of the Reporter, the Catholicity of which could be called into serious doubt at any one time. But I find Allen's column to be a rare exception. While not exactly ultramontanist, TWFR is an good, concise roundup of the issues, from a vantage point near the Throne of Peter.

This week's installment, unfortunately, was not one of those exceptions.

Allen recommends that reps from the Holy See visit the annual gaggle of 1960s throwbacks in Los Angeles, otherwise known as the Religious Education Congress. That being said, he did manage to publish an account that redeems him -- for the time being.

A lawyer from the East Coast is duck hunting in Iowa, and at one stage he spots a duck, takes aim, and drops it. He begins walking to pick it up, but comes across a fence clearly marked "private property." Feeling justified in reclaiming his duck, he starts to climb over. Just then the farmer appears.

"What do you think you're doing?" he asks.

"Picking up my duck," the lawyer replies.

"No way," the farmer says. "That duck landed on my property."

"Look, you don't understand," the lawyer says. "I'm one of the best trial lawyers in the United States, and if you don't let me have that duck, I'll sue you."

The farmer sighs.

"That may be the way you handle problems where you come from, but around here we have something called the Three-Kick Rule," he said.

"What's that?"

"Basically, I kick you three times, you kick me three times, and we keep going until somebody gives up. Whoever wins keeps the duck."

The lawyer decides this will probably be less expensive than a lawsuit, and agrees.

The farmer walks up and promptly kicks the lawyer hard in the private parts, bringing him to the ground. Then he gives him a shot to the face, almost breaking his nose. Finally he delivers a swift kick to the kidney, eliciting a cry of deep pain. The lawyer is writing in agony, but finally manages to bring himself to his feet.

"Okay, you old coot," he says, "now it's my turn."

"Nah, that's alright," the farmer responds, smiling. "I give up. You can keep the duck."

Nota Bene: I believe that should read "writhing in agony," not "writing." Then again...