"Just Pope-in Around"
So I recently wrote an editorial for my newspaper about why I should be Pope. And, after showing it around like a prize whore at a pimping convention, I've decided to post the "un-cut" version on this here livejournal. Please enjoy the unmitigated blasphemy.
Anyone who has happened to turn on the television over the past couple weeks has noticed that something was going on with the TV stations. Namely, that they were all Pope: all the time. The stations were fixed on reporters whose background were Vatican City. Interviews were being conducted with theological scholars and key religious figures (English speaking only, of course) to see who everyone thought the next Pope would be. It was almost like watching commentators for the NFL draft.
“It’s all speculation right now, Bob, and call me crazy, but they could just pull an upset here. Sure, everyone’s expecting them to go with Italian strong-suit Cardinal Dionigi Tettamanzi, since there is indeed a push to get an Italian to reclaim the seat. However, I would not count out Indian candidate Cardinal Ivan Dias, or that Latin American Sensation Cardinal Oscar Andres Rodriguez. Sure, Oscar’s preaching has dwindled in years past, but he has a fall-away jumper that tricks Liberal-Progressive candidate Cardinal Walter Kasper every time.”
Well, not quite. But in the days where the Cardinals were considering the next pontiff, news stations fixated on clouds of billowing smoke was less entertaining than watching a Ford Bronco travel down a freeway in a high speed chase that nearly reached turtle-pace.
And then it hit me. I should be the next Pope!
Yea, I know, they already picked a new one. But come on. A 78-year-old German? It won’t be long till that Papal committee will be meeting again. Or, failing that, just impeach the guy. I mean, what was he really doing in Germany between 1939 and 1945? Nothing good, I’d imagine.
And when they meet, my name should be on the ballot. Or burnable paper. Or stone tablet. Or whatever it is they use to vote with.
This is not simply a ridiculous wish. I think I’d be a great Pope. For one thing, I’m tall. But I’m not scary-tall. I’m average-tall. If you put me in a room-full of average-height people, then I’m possibly the tallest there. But if I’m in a room full of tall people, then I’m not. But I’m not a midget in comparison to them. I’m average-tall, and I think Catholics would like that.
Also, I have great people skills. Which I feel could translate to great Pope-le skills. Giving sermons from balconies, waving to people from inside by bulletproof shield, occasionally blessing and healing sick babies by merely touching them; all these skills and more fall into my range of talent.
Four words. I Love Funny Hats.
And another thing, I’m young. Sure, they said they didn’t want another young Pope. Especially one in his teens who would therefore rule for (most likely) at least half a century. But don’t think of me as young. Think of me as spirited. I’d be the first Pope to attend a Senior Prom. The first Pope to go to Cancun for Spring Break. I’d be the first Pope to break-dance. Come on! A pontiff bustin’ a move? Who doesn’t want to see that?
I’m relatable. Well, I’m relatable to awkward Caucasian males. Well, most awkward Caucasian males. Okay, I’m not all that relatable.
My next strong-suit, I’m not relatable. I’m an enigma to the Catholic populace. They don’t know what to make of me. I believe this will translate into feelings of fear, uncertainty, and high esteem. Which makes me sort of like my own deity!
I could be a deity all unto myself! People fear and respect me, and I am at once one being, and three beings. Sound familiar? I mean, I’m no burning bush, though I once was describe by a group of fourth graders as “flaming.”
But I digress. The real reason I’m writing this is to be the next Pope. Not the next Jesus.
And lastly, and some people don’t know me, but the last Pope and I, well we were close. Tight. Like bro’s. Me and JP2, we did everything together. And he told me, last summer, when we were skateboarding up at Oak Meadows, that he wanted me to take over for him. I don’t know if he told anyone else that, but he distinctly told me. As we laid down our boards, he turned to me.
“Mike, listen dude. I just want you to know that, when I’m gone…”
“Don’t talk crazy like that, Johnny-Paul.”
“I’m just saying…”
“Nah man, you’re not going anywhere. Why do you always bring up…”
“Will you let me finish dude?! I’m just saying,” and at this point he handed his board to me, with the spray-painted flaming cross on the underside. “I’m just saying, that when I’m gone, I want you to take over dude. We gotta keep this Pope thing between bros. Ya heard?”
I “heard.” I most certainly “heard.”
One thing I’ve been wondering though. How much does the Pope get paid? I mean, Catholicism is certainly perhaps the wealthiest religion out there. How much of a cut does the Pope get? Yea, yea, the “vow of poverty” and whatnot, but seriously, does he just skim some off the top? A golden goblet here, a few million lire there? Or is it a steady paycheck? I’ll have to remember to ask about that.
Okay, so maybe I can’t speak Latin. That wouldn’t make me a bad Pope. And sure, I don’t go to Church. But that’s only because I love to sleep. Well, I love to sleep, and also that I’m not Catholic. But I really don’t think that should be held against me.
Obviously I’m not going to be the next Pope. And if you’ve stuck around reading this entire article, I’ll let you in on a little secret: I really don’t want to be. But here we are, an entire nation that was wrapped up for weeks on the concept of a group of guys in cool-lookin’ robes, meeting and discussing who the next guy in a funny hat they’d pick would be to stand in front of huge crowds and tell them the same things every other guy in a funny hat said: “Don’t have sex.” “Don’t kill people.” “I’m Italian.” Wait, no, that’s Sports Editor Sam Metcalf who says all those things. But the point is still there. A religion isn’t founded in one man picked by fellow men. The heart and soul of a religion is in its message. So when this Pope finally kicks it, and you’re one of those tempted to buy a ticket and fly out to the Vatican for a chance to glimpse the body laid out, realize the message of your religion, and instead, take that money and donate it. Then take the time you were going to spend, and do charity work with it. But if you go to the Vatican anyway, don’t forget your “Vote Norris” t-shirt.
Anyone who has happened to turn on the television over the past couple weeks has noticed that something was going on with the TV stations. Namely, that they were all Pope: all the time. The stations were fixed on reporters whose background were Vatican City. Interviews were being conducted with theological scholars and key religious figures (English speaking only, of course) to see who everyone thought the next Pope would be. It was almost like watching commentators for the NFL draft.
“It’s all speculation right now, Bob, and call me crazy, but they could just pull an upset here. Sure, everyone’s expecting them to go with Italian strong-suit Cardinal Dionigi Tettamanzi, since there is indeed a push to get an Italian to reclaim the seat. However, I would not count out Indian candidate Cardinal Ivan Dias, or that Latin American Sensation Cardinal Oscar Andres Rodriguez. Sure, Oscar’s preaching has dwindled in years past, but he has a fall-away jumper that tricks Liberal-Progressive candidate Cardinal Walter Kasper every time.”
Well, not quite. But in the days where the Cardinals were considering the next pontiff, news stations fixated on clouds of billowing smoke was less entertaining than watching a Ford Bronco travel down a freeway in a high speed chase that nearly reached turtle-pace.
And then it hit me. I should be the next Pope!
Yea, I know, they already picked a new one. But come on. A 78-year-old German? It won’t be long till that Papal committee will be meeting again. Or, failing that, just impeach the guy. I mean, what was he really doing in Germany between 1939 and 1945? Nothing good, I’d imagine.
And when they meet, my name should be on the ballot. Or burnable paper. Or stone tablet. Or whatever it is they use to vote with.
This is not simply a ridiculous wish. I think I’d be a great Pope. For one thing, I’m tall. But I’m not scary-tall. I’m average-tall. If you put me in a room-full of average-height people, then I’m possibly the tallest there. But if I’m in a room full of tall people, then I’m not. But I’m not a midget in comparison to them. I’m average-tall, and I think Catholics would like that.
Also, I have great people skills. Which I feel could translate to great Pope-le skills. Giving sermons from balconies, waving to people from inside by bulletproof shield, occasionally blessing and healing sick babies by merely touching them; all these skills and more fall into my range of talent.
Four words. I Love Funny Hats.
And another thing, I’m young. Sure, they said they didn’t want another young Pope. Especially one in his teens who would therefore rule for (most likely) at least half a century. But don’t think of me as young. Think of me as spirited. I’d be the first Pope to attend a Senior Prom. The first Pope to go to Cancun for Spring Break. I’d be the first Pope to break-dance. Come on! A pontiff bustin’ a move? Who doesn’t want to see that?
I’m relatable. Well, I’m relatable to awkward Caucasian males. Well, most awkward Caucasian males. Okay, I’m not all that relatable.
My next strong-suit, I’m not relatable. I’m an enigma to the Catholic populace. They don’t know what to make of me. I believe this will translate into feelings of fear, uncertainty, and high esteem. Which makes me sort of like my own deity!
I could be a deity all unto myself! People fear and respect me, and I am at once one being, and three beings. Sound familiar? I mean, I’m no burning bush, though I once was describe by a group of fourth graders as “flaming.”
But I digress. The real reason I’m writing this is to be the next Pope. Not the next Jesus.
And lastly, and some people don’t know me, but the last Pope and I, well we were close. Tight. Like bro’s. Me and JP2, we did everything together. And he told me, last summer, when we were skateboarding up at Oak Meadows, that he wanted me to take over for him. I don’t know if he told anyone else that, but he distinctly told me. As we laid down our boards, he turned to me.
“Mike, listen dude. I just want you to know that, when I’m gone…”
“Don’t talk crazy like that, Johnny-Paul.”
“I’m just saying…”
“Nah man, you’re not going anywhere. Why do you always bring up…”
“Will you let me finish dude?! I’m just saying,” and at this point he handed his board to me, with the spray-painted flaming cross on the underside. “I’m just saying, that when I’m gone, I want you to take over dude. We gotta keep this Pope thing between bros. Ya heard?”
I “heard.” I most certainly “heard.”
One thing I’ve been wondering though. How much does the Pope get paid? I mean, Catholicism is certainly perhaps the wealthiest religion out there. How much of a cut does the Pope get? Yea, yea, the “vow of poverty” and whatnot, but seriously, does he just skim some off the top? A golden goblet here, a few million lire there? Or is it a steady paycheck? I’ll have to remember to ask about that.
Okay, so maybe I can’t speak Latin. That wouldn’t make me a bad Pope. And sure, I don’t go to Church. But that’s only because I love to sleep. Well, I love to sleep, and also that I’m not Catholic. But I really don’t think that should be held against me.
Obviously I’m not going to be the next Pope. And if you’ve stuck around reading this entire article, I’ll let you in on a little secret: I really don’t want to be. But here we are, an entire nation that was wrapped up for weeks on the concept of a group of guys in cool-lookin’ robes, meeting and discussing who the next guy in a funny hat they’d pick would be to stand in front of huge crowds and tell them the same things every other guy in a funny hat said: “Don’t have sex.” “Don’t kill people.” “I’m Italian.” Wait, no, that’s Sports Editor Sam Metcalf who says all those things. But the point is still there. A religion isn’t founded in one man picked by fellow men. The heart and soul of a religion is in its message. So when this Pope finally kicks it, and you’re one of those tempted to buy a ticket and fly out to the Vatican for a chance to glimpse the body laid out, realize the message of your religion, and instead, take that money and donate it. Then take the time you were going to spend, and do charity work with it. But if you go to the Vatican anyway, don’t forget your “Vote Norris” t-shirt.