THE PONTIFEX MAXIMUS (aka. The Pope) CAN CERTAINLY FORGIVE SINS, BUT EXCOMMUNICATION HAS OBVIOUS RECREATIONAL BENEFITS
Me? Oh, I’m just a normal guy. 46. Average height, average weight. I enjoy casseroles, I hate coconuts, but where I go to work each day just might surprise you. I have made a mint selling Mary Kay Cosmetics over the past 20 years. In fact after my first ten years, I earned the coveted Pink Cadillac for which Mary Kay is renowned. As a super duper mega wacko fundamentalist Roman Catholic, I was somehow under the impression that selling as many cosmetics to bored suburban housewives to merit the honor of being blessed by having the Pink Cadillac bestowed upon me, put me somewhere really high up on the list of those who might inherit the throne of St. Peter. Turns out I was wrong. You see, I had been reading the Bible passages in the wrong order, and I guess in an effort to make them mean what I wanted them to mean, I had mixed them and matched them after taking them out of context at random, I convinced myself that the most reliable way to achieve Papacy was to sell hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of lipstick, eyeshadow and rouge. Turns out I was mistaken. I am not, however, a quitter. I just have to change my approach, but I don’t want to waste too many years studying or taking some vow of poverty like monks and priests do (supposedly). There is a much easier way, and the secret was divinely revealed to me by the apparition of an angel of The Lord who called “its” self Gene (since angels don’t have a gender.). In fact Gene looks a lot like the androgynous character named “Pat” from old Saturday Night Live episodes from the late 1980’s. Oh, and he/she/it (Gene) was not wearing white, did not have a pair of golden wings or a halo, nor did Gene play the harp. Gene looked to me either like an overweight, butch lesbian or else a very effeminate guy with man boobs, but from the pungent fragrance of roses that filled the room when Gene appeared, and by the blinding white light that shown all around him..her..Gene, there is no question in my mind or my soul that Gene is the real deal, and that he/she brought with him/her a genuine message from the big guy upstairs. Apparently the zillions of dollars I made off of Mary Kay and those semi-retarded, tract-housing development inhabitant women across America would come in handy. Possibly, my mixing and matching of Bible verses to simply confirm my personal beliefs had unlocked a divine truth: Cosmetics and a Pink Cadillac combined with copious amounts of cash can in fact be the secrets to salvation and the life everlasting. Amen.
So I know I have a tough road ahead of me, but I’m good enough, and I’m strong enough, and doggone it, I wanna be the Pope so badly, I can just feel in the very marrow of my bones that it will happen. Plus, Gene pretty much hinted to me that that is what the Big G Man in heaven told him/her.
So here I go. It’ll happen soon, and when it does I don’t really care so much about repentance or saving the souls of sinners or helping the poor or any of that stuff. After years of Mary Kay glamor, I really can’t think of anything more grim and dreary. I just can’t wait to excommunicate everyone who ever crossed me EVER. My list has been growing and growing over the past 40 years and includes some people like Mrs. Applegate who was my teacher in fourth grade who has already been dead for more than a decade, but Gene says that as Pope, I can even excommunicate dead people, just like non-Mormons who have been dead for centuries can be converted to Mormonism. Just try to imagine Mrs. Applegate all comfy womfy up in paradise about to sit down to her daily bowl of ambrosia, when I suddenly excommunicate her as she’s about to take her first bite. ZAP, she’ll vanish from the golden table nestled in the puffy pink clouds, and with no warning at all she’ll suddenly find herself running naked out of the forest of tree-souls on the edge of the Third Ring of the Seventh Circle of Hell and into the desert of red-hot sand, upon which flakes of fire rain down slowly but ceaselessly. In my opinion, Mrs. Applegate totally belongs in the Third Ring/Seventh Circle because it had been obvious to every student who ever passed her fourth grade class that she was not only violent against God, but she was also a blasphemer of the worst kind. Ha! They didn’t know that one day I would sell enough cosmetics to win a both a Pink Cadillac and also the Papacy. OMG (I can say that now since He’s like my homeboy) all of those playground bullies, and the mean girls who laughed at me in school, and even those construction workers who called me ugly names once because they didn’t like the color of my car, even that guy who lives three doors down from me who daily runs through the Stop sign at the end of our block, they’re all doomed and they don’t even know it. While I sit here in my living room counting my cash right now awaiting an imminent re-apparition of Gene to give me the “thumbs-up” I’m going to take out that list and start picking the rightful punishments for all of those people whom I personally hate. I’ll get the Cliff’s Notes version of Dante Alighieri and star picking the perfect rings and circles for them each. Man! I am really going to love being The Pope.