Furry fandom.
Bad Judgment.
smoke detectors
Collaborative Negotiation. I’m the one you come to when you are trying to come up with a win-win strategy. Or if the other guy is playing competitive and you need help bringing him around. That sort of thing.
St. Peter Principle, the patron of those in over their heads. My miracle is turning a BA in English Literature into an information security career.
I will also be the patron saint of those suffering from Imposter Syndrome. I will intercede on behalf of those who recite the Catechism of the Holy PowerPoint prior to their yearly performance review.
I shall also be known as St. Peter of Garamond. Those who pray to me will find assistance with resume fonts, formatting, and composition.
Disco.
Dad Jokes
Makers perfect sense; saints are assigned to something that’s related to their life. The nature of the miracles attributed to them during the canonization process (if any) is irrelevant; otherwise we’d have a million saints of Sick People and none of soldiers (Sebastian), farmers (Isidore the Farmer), chemists (Albertus Magnus) or priests (Jean-Baptiste-Marie Vianney).
I’m afraid it’s the festival of Steak and Kidney right now, so you’ll have to take what you’re given. Religion is funny like that.
Not necessarily. Sometimes saints get attributed to certain things because of misunderstandings or misinterpretations of artistic depictions. Saint Agatha of Sicily is the patroness of bell-founders (the guys who cast metal bells) because she appeared to be carrying a plate with bells on them. What she was actually carrying were her severed breasts, which were cut off her as part of the tortures she had to endure.
Because some people mistook them for buns, she’s a patroness of bakers*. I don’t know if it’s also due to a misinterpretation, but she’s also the patron saint prayed to during eruptions of Mt. Etna.
Because some people realized that these really were supposed to be her breasts, Agatha also ended up as the patron saint of wet nurses and breast cancer patients.
Of women as well, specially of breastfeeding mothers. In many locations, on her feastday the major got the day off and was replaced by a majoress; this doesn’t make so much sense now that the major can be female year-round.
Knee-jerk first reaction: hookers and blow.
Second semi-serious response: people fascinated by history - Patron Saint of Historians.
I would be the patron saint of patron saints. I get all the escalated issues…
I already know this. Chee-tos, and not knowing when to let a joke stay on the shelf. (Sorry, person who is no longer on this board.)
I guess I would like to be the patron saint of awkward misfits who rage against the foolishness of society, but surely the boys in Kansas have a prior claim due to that ‘Carry On Wayward Son’ song. Or of some kind of wildlife, that’d be cool.
Oh, a miracle? How about I use my associated kind of wildlife to miraculously stop the end of Net Neutrality in a couple of days? Would that do? Hang on, this miracle-performing is hard…
Which would make you the patron saint of yourself, so all of those escalated issues would end up spiraling out of control.
I’d be the patron saint of dryer lint. Next time your SO, roommate or youngster doesn’t clean out the goddam lint trap, offer me a prayer and I’ll see what I can do. You will believe in miracles.
From the perilous pitfall of Comic Sans, St. Peter of Garamond deliver us!
I would like to be the patron saint of deliverance from amateur theatricals, especially those with forced participation by children.
I would offer comfort and succor and the miracle of invisible earplugs.
I’d be the patron saint of Spirits and more distilleries across the world would hang up my picture.
Obviiusly, my first miricle would be turning water into whiskey, then into rum and finely I’d produce a nice apple brandy.