One of PL's more-than-passing interests lies in studying Tradistani primate behavior. Close observation often explains so much of the irrationality in the sede cults, such as forcing your kids to do without so that malformed, lowbred cult-master deadbeats can have (e.g., luxury trips abroad, new organs, spa vacations, restaurant splurges, expensive organic goodies from Whole Foods etc.).
To our mind, the most curious (and entertaining) activity occurs as beer-bellied male cultlings, stuffed into fraying and yellowed wife-beater A-shirts, obsess over the honorific styles Your Excellency and His Excellency. From the frequency of utterance, it's their preferred means of showing submission to the counterfeit "bishops" who so amorally take advantage of them. (The self-demeaning etiquette enforced upon Nature's losers, we suppose.) Typically, you don't much hear the trench-mouthed hags of Tradistan cackling those phrases, since the considerably larger females generally prefer to use Bishop (vocalized "BEE-uh-ship," with a distinct Appalachian glide).
Plainly it's a guy thing. The baseborn menfolk yearn to display their exquisite sense of propriety. When gathered together in their usual, sordid habitat, all the macho sede swells outdo themselves with variations of these decorous niceties. They sound like a gaggle of jailbirds on parole, one-upping each other with prison-shop terminology like "cantilever," "espagnolette bolt," or "band and gudgeon hinges" in the thrilling, frisson-drenched minutes preceding a fistfight. If they're particularly impressed with their abject servitude to some half-witted, mitered charlatan, the larval "prelate" then metamorphoses into His Excellency the Most Reverend Bishop of the Roman Catholic Church First, Middle, and Last Name.
For the males of the species, Your and His Excellency function like the secret passwords they made up as urchin trash for admission to the rag-tag gangs they vainly formed to attract the attention of aloof girls from upper-class families, who despised them. After entrance into unstable adulthood following a touch-and-go puberty, twanging "Your Excellency" signals to the opposite sex that the males continue to belong to a Lost-Boys' Club. As you study these hominids in situ, you'll marvel at how they simper with unmanned pride, running a coated tongue over lesion-cratered lips, as they brace themselves to articulate the magical eight syllables, "Yaw-ur EGGS-ul-LUH-un-SEE-ee" — the Open-Sesame to membership in the underworld we know as Tradistan.
Once the incantation has been breathlessly enunciated, for the briefest of instants, the creatures lay aside their customary hang-dog posture. They hold their misshapen noggins high above the innumerable, tiny cairns of rodent scat steaming under their splayed feet. Their booger-clogged snouts huff the cult center's rancid air like a tubercular mongrel circling an overflowing latrine. With their newly acquired savoir-faire, their characteristic hunchback's stoop straightens, though imperceptibly to the naked eye. Transfigured for a nanosecond, the "men" of Tradistan of a sudden feel worthy to be picked clean by the grinning impostor in shabby pontificals salivating to relieve them of their families' meager income.
A sight for any researcher to behold! (Just don't breathe too deeply.)
HOWEVER... sede "bishops" are decidedly NOT entitled to that style of office!
Use it often. You can't go wrong.
* Excellentiae Reverendissimae titulum...tribuendum quoque esse Archiepiscopis atque Episcopis, sive residentialibus sive titularibus tantum. For the full list of those entitled to the style, click here for the Latin-language decree published in the 1931 Acta Apostolicae Sedis, p. 22 . (N.B. In the link's OCR text, the page header reads "28.")