I’m glad, for many reasons, that Boehner resigned his speakership last Friday. Chief amongst them was … I’m tapped out on all the Pope coverage.
Yep, I hate to confess this but, I’m tired of hearing about the Pope. No offense to Francis, of course. He seems like an affable old gent. But alas … I’m Pope weary.
I bet even Pope Francis was sick of that grueling parade. I imagine he’s ready to hammer back some dirty martinis, light up a cigar from his SafariCigar.com collection and invite his closest bros and nuns over to hang out at his swank villa in Tuscany.
I know I would if I had to do a brutal week listening to Boehner sob like Jimmy Swaggart while simultaneously having to grin and bear several soirées with Obama and Michelle. If that were me I’d be texting up Willie Nelson and asking him if I could hang at his ranch for at least a month. Oh, BTW, my sources in D.C. tell me The Pope was overheard humming Van Halen’s classic, “Running With The Devil”, while he was riding in the limo with the Obamas. It’s true. Tell everyone.
My problem with the pontiff was three-fold: 1) I’m not a South American socialist; 2) I’m a Calvinist and; 3) It was a tad boring.
For moi, those who’re supposed heralds of The Greatest Story Ever Told should not put their audience in a full on coma when they communicate The Good News. Yes, I believe there should be an 11th Commandment, namely, Thou Shall Not Bore.
From a style standpoint, call me shallow, but if I were Pope, I’d spice it up a bit. Check it out…
- I’d have Penelope Cruz translate for me every where I went and keep my speeches to fifteen minutes, max.
- Speaking of Penelope, I’d have her and Salma Hayek ride in the Pope Mobile with me donning their Bandidas‘ outfits.
- Speaking of the Pope Mobile, it would not be a plexiglass, slow crawlin’ quad but a monster Jeep Wrangler with 37” Mickey T’s with the top off and front and back light kits blazing that would blind the scared crowd, while my stereo thumped AC/DC’s anthem, “Thunderstruck”. And I’d speed through the streets at about seventy-miles-per-hour.
- I’d veer off course and push the Jeep through the crowd every now and then. Y’know… just for effect. You gotta keep ‘em guessin’.
- Every 10 minutes, while driving through DC, I’d stop and do exorcisms starting with Pelosi; and I’d make sure I had a GoPro affixed to my mitre for some viral video action via Facebook.
But that’s just me, and of course, I could never become the Pope because …
- The No Sex Clause Would Be A Deal Breaker. How a man can live around all those beautiful Italian ladies and not fall flat out in love is beyond my level of sanctification. When I first saw my Italian wife I knew right then and there my Pope pipe dreams were no mas.
- I’m Not Soft Spoken. Apparently, if you’re going to be the Pope you have to speak in soft monotones. That ain’t me, man. When I speak I have all the subtlety of a sledgehammer.
- I Have Deeper Faults Than The San Andreas.
- I’m Not Fluent In Several Languages. Unless, of course, you consider pig-Latin and Texan different languages.
- I Couldn’t Endure All The Adulation/Man Worship Of My Person. Sure, it would probably feel good for a few days, but after a while, as a sinner, it would get a wee bit creepy because … duh … I’m not God.
- I Could Never Wear The Elvis Outfits. Wearing a suit is a stretch for me. A tie is a big, big deal. You can’t be a Pope and wear T-shirts and blue jeans, can you?
- I Think Socialism Is Anti-Christian, Human Enslaving, Bullcrap. Plus, I prefer Jesus’ view of self-defense in Luke 22 more than Pope Francis’ kum-ba-yah “guns are evil” stuff he preaches to us behind heavily armed guards in a walled city.
- I Can’t Keep My Mouth Shut Around Evil Politicians. I also can’t help but slam, on a regular basis, The Religion Of Perpetual Rage.
- I’m Not That Nice. My image of the Galilean is not a non-offensive Mr. Rogers type of dude, but rather a thirty-year-old holy rebel with a cause.
- I Believe The Word Of God Trumps The Traditions Of Men. Yes, I saw Joseph Fiennes movie Luther and ran with it.