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	Channeling Nancy Grace By Gary Johnson Twin Cities Business/loose Change November 22, 2011 tcbmag.blogs.com/loose_change/2011/11/channeling-nancy-grace.html Forgive me, I'll get back to B2B next week, but today's Loose Change is everybody's business. I'm not a fan of Nancy Grace or her curling lip. Those disgusted-Bambi eyes don't cut my mustard. Don't get me wrong, we need someone to keep banging on the "other species" in our society that bedevils the young or denies people the right to live with dignity, or live at all. If anything, we need legions of relentless nemeses-haranguing harpies that won't let go. Now that the fresh Paterno scandal is getting old, and we've digested Citigroup's bad mortgage securities scam, allow me to introduce our next exhibit for management gone bad. Give a big round of applause to Bishop Robert Finn, spiritual leader of the archdiocese of Kansas City, and his chum the Kansas City prosecutor. Having known for years that one of his priests, the Reverend Shawn Ratigan, was taking lewd photos of little girls, Bishop Finn decided not to do much of anything to stop the good Father from continuing to schnizzle his dizzle with child porn. In possession of a criminal misdemeanor, did the Kansas City prosecutor take Penn State's lead and turn the bishop to a pawn? Nah. He set up monthly rat fink sessions, so the Bishop could spill his guts (uh, right) about other priests messing where they don't belong. OMG. I don't doubt that there may have been a time in his life when Robert Finn was more pure of heart and full of best intentions. But what he did is pervasive among men of the cloth, a fraternity that has hidden hideous secrets behind the goodwill of trusting flocks, under the guise of being stewards of God's house. JM&J. Forget Wall Street (for a moment). The Occupy Movement should reconsider some of their camping locations. They would do well to park themselves in front of every Catholic church in the nation. If any institution needs to hear the rage of the people first hand, it's those fellas sporting the scarlet sashes, tasseled shoes, and silly hats. This Thanksgiving, Dominus Vobiscum, my friends.
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