Calling All Popes

While governments from around the world are issuing attractive sound bytes regarding papal retirement, my dad is pissed off.  "It's almost an insult," he declared.  Dad didn't care that the Pope might be aging, unhealthy, or dead.  Benedict XVI was proving to be a Benedict Arnold and that was quite the way of it.  "I want the job," Dad said.  "I want to be the next pope."

The betting pools are gathering storm.  Will the next Vatican King be that Canadian guy, someone from Italy or Africa or where?  I know enough to know that none of the contenders are going to be a real treat.  I also know who I don't want.  Dolan.  He'd be the worst.  But I say none of this to Dad.  His interest is really politics.  The Pope to him is someone who lives in a big palace and pontificates from a baloney on Holy Days.  The one before Benedict XVI won points because he visited the United States and people liked him.  "He got off the plane and kissed the ground," Dad told me.  The image of a man in a dress planting his lips on the tarmac has a certain appeal, I must admit.  

There are things I don't say to Dad these days.  I don't tell him about Benedict XVI hiding the pedophilic priests by transfer.  I don't tell him that the bastard equated gay marriage with the raping of the rainforests.  I don't tell him that Benedict XVI had managed to piss off all kinds of people almost every time he opened his mouth to pontificate on absurd Catholic doctrine.  I keep these things to myself.

There is massive speculation among certain Rapture fans about the next Pope being the second beast.  Obama is the anti-Christ.  Mental masturbation-- what a pastime!  Don't these folks have anything better to talk about?  The odd thing about predicting the end of the world as we know it is this: After the date of the final showdown comes and goes, there is a resurgence of belief in the fable of the month.  Go figure.  My dog is more rational than most humans.

The other day, I downloaded the book with the secretive papal diaries.  [The dude that had smuggled them out was pardoned around Christmas time].  In Spanish.  Because the English translation in the e-book format that I need due to my brain damage inflicted perception problems does not exist.  This surprised me.  I had generalized and supposed that those Catholic Hispanics would not want to read this stuff.  I was wrong about that.  

All of these things made me recall the promise inherent in the Discordian religion.  Popes are a dime a dozen naked hot dogs being eaten in parks on a Friday.  Any Discordian can be and is a Pope.  23.  And there is the oh so sexy Eris to book.  I am the Pulp of Nermolia.  As I consider the real world events of the past day, I think I got the better bargain.

sapphoq on life