And a pontiff in a pear tree
Merry Christmas! Have a graphic!
I'd meant to do mp3s, but this just seemed easier. Mind you, I was tempted to give him an eyepatch and subtitle it "Yo ho ho" instead, but I reckon that was enough divine-lightning temptation. You can also read some articles on the pope and his new status as a fashion mogul. Dude, if I were the pope, I'd totally wear Prada. I mean, when you're the pope, most of your ceremonial vestments are already encrusted with various jewels or precious metals. You really have to sort of work to find something besides the truckload of bling you're toting around on the holy body.
Speaking of Pope Benedict, our church has put up a giant portrait of him in the foyer right over the door to go into the main body of the church. It's sort of scarier than anything I could possibly imagine; he looks down on me with knowing eyes. "You're thinking entirely inappropriate thoughts during Mass, little fangirl," his gaze seems to say. "I can read your mind."
Also, it's the sort of picture whose eyes follow you, no matter where in the room you're standing. It makes you edgy and on your best behavior. I half wonder if they put it up for that very purpose.
At any rate, I've come back from midnight mass with my family, and all's well. Sitting with them is a little like sitting with the goddamn mafia, because my brothers' tastes all run to black suits, slicked dark hair, and shades, but it did keep the usher from trying to cram another person or two into the pew.
Anyway, Merry Hannukahdanzaa. Or whatever you've cause to be celebrating. Go to it, man. Gather around the Christmas tree, light a menorah, pour some tambiko, go to the mosque, raise your hands to the sun, sacrifice a bull to Mithra, or whatever, and know that you've got my well wishes on whatever it is.
I'd meant to do mp3s, but this just seemed easier. Mind you, I was tempted to give him an eyepatch and subtitle it "Yo ho ho" instead, but I reckon that was enough divine-lightning temptation. You can also read some articles on the pope and his new status as a fashion mogul. Dude, if I were the pope, I'd totally wear Prada. I mean, when you're the pope, most of your ceremonial vestments are already encrusted with various jewels or precious metals. You really have to sort of work to find something besides the truckload of bling you're toting around on the holy body.
Speaking of Pope Benedict, our church has put up a giant portrait of him in the foyer right over the door to go into the main body of the church. It's sort of scarier than anything I could possibly imagine; he looks down on me with knowing eyes. "You're thinking entirely inappropriate thoughts during Mass, little fangirl," his gaze seems to say. "I can read your mind."
Also, it's the sort of picture whose eyes follow you, no matter where in the room you're standing. It makes you edgy and on your best behavior. I half wonder if they put it up for that very purpose.
At any rate, I've come back from midnight mass with my family, and all's well. Sitting with them is a little like sitting with the goddamn mafia, because my brothers' tastes all run to black suits, slicked dark hair, and shades, but it did keep the usher from trying to cram another person or two into the pew.
Anyway, Merry Hannukahdanzaa. Or whatever you've cause to be celebrating. Go to it, man. Gather around the Christmas tree, light a menorah, pour some tambiko, go to the mosque, raise your hands to the sun, sacrifice a bull to Mithra, or whatever, and know that you've got my well wishes on whatever it is.