2005-04-20 - 8:10 p.m.
On the second day that the Holy Conclave of Cardinals gathered to elect the next Pope, the oaken doors slammed on the Sistine Chapel, sealing the great and wise Princes of Peace within the ancient church. The walls were vivid with Michelangelo frescoes and statues from Ancient Rome and Greece – but, even amidst the trappings of pomp and tradition and religious ecstasy, the elderly Cardinals seemed a world of Holiness unto themselves.
Seated at long tables covered with blood red tablecloths that matched their crimson cassocks, the church elders – hair grey, faces wizened, lines etched on their faces – felt weighed down by the importance of their task of electing the next Representative of God on Earth. Who would they choose? Would God himself move within them and help them to pick the Perfect Pontiff?
Cardinal Parmagiana had taken upon himself the role of acting as moderator for the fiery debates that had been raging within the Conclave. He now stepped forward, approaching the center of the room.
“Well, my deary dears,” Cardinal Parmagiana lisped, his syballants choking in his reedy voice. “I think we can safely say that we have whittled our choices down to three (his lisp made it sound like he was saying ‘twee’). Does anyone have an objection if the three worthy potential Popes step forward and introduce themselves to us?”
Irish Cardinal Wimpus turned to English Cardinal Kidneypie and whispered, “That lisping old goat is such a bossy boots!” But he then stood up and intoned, more loudly, “I think we have no objection, Cardinal Parmagiana. No objection at all! Let us meet the three Candidates!”
“Excellent,” smiled Cardinal Parmagiana. “First, I would like to welcome our first candidate, our own dear beloved Cardinal Pedophilis Porkolini, from the American city of Boston!”
Cardinal Pedophilis Porkolini heaved himself to his feet. He was an enormously obese Cardinal, whose capacious vestments barely covered his pendulous, barrel-like belly. His hair was wispy white and his cheeks were round and pink. His eyes crinkled with malice and spite. As he opened his mouth, his wet, pink tongue played over his lips like he was licking a big old lollipop.
“Ahhhhhhhhhhh,” Cardinal Pedophilis Porkolini leered. “Thaaaaaank you sooooo much for this chance to speak to you about my beloved Church. I have always served our Jesus. And what a handsome specimen of manmeat he was, too! Those pecs! That beard! And you know he was hung like a houseboat underneath that loin cloth. Mmmmm, if only we saw men like HIM at the Faultline, what a world this would be!”
Cardinal Pedophilis Porkolini leaned back, cackling, his hands rubbing his belly. “Now, I see the church as needing to reach out to all people. But essssspecially to the young. To the young men! I will fill the church with dear, darling young men. Blonde boys! And Brunettes! And even a redhead or two – but only if their collars match their cuffs.”
Foam started to appear on the side of Cardinal Pedophilis Porkolini’s mouth as he warmed to his subject. “Oooooh, if I were Pope, I’d make all the altar boys carry their candles in crisp, white tight briefs – and nothing else! If I were Pope, I’d turn all the confessionals into Glory Hole booths! And if any of those cute, young, hot Italian Catholic boys wanted absolution for their sins of… of… masturbation or fornication or adultery, they’d have to slip their holy organs through the holy Glory Hole and let me… oh, oh, OH!” For by this time, Cardinal Pedophilis Porkolini’s plump right hand had slipped beneath his cassock to vigorously massage something unseen.
Cardinal Parmagiana cleared his throat. “Yes. Well. I think we can guess what kind of a Pope YOU would be. You may sit down!” Blushing as red as his crimson cassock, Cardinal Pedophilis Porkolini seated himself, his hand still vigorously twitching beneath his robes. “And now we shall hear from the second candidate. Your Emminences, I should like to introduce you all to Cardinal Kwasi of Nigeria!”
The elderly, distinguished-looking Cardinal Kwasi stepped forward. He was tall and bone lean, his face as Ebony as a starless night sky in the Kalahari Desert. He was a gentle man, with wise, sad eyes that had seen the world, known suffering, and found peace through the ministering of the persecuted.
“My brothers,” Cardinal Kwasi intoned, in a deep, melodious voice. “Thank you for the opportunity to address you. The Church is love. And I think we should adhere to Christ’s words that we should love each other. We must bring love, hope, and peace to all the world! That is my dream for the Church and my desire if I were to be Pope.”
Cardinal Fishbone of Paris unexpectedly raised his hand and stood up. “Pardon me, Cardinal Kwasi. I am sorry to interrupt your insightful words. But I just had one quick question. If I may…?”
“Of course,” replied Cardinal Mwambe. “Ask!”
“All right,” replied Cardinal Fishbone, waggling his finger at the speaker. “Here it is. As you are speaking, I could not help but notice that, well. Um. I mean, you ARE black aren’t you? You are a black man?”
Cardinal Mwambe blinked. “Of course. I am a native of Nigeria. And I have served the church my whole life.”
“Yes, but you are BLACK,” noted Cardinal Fishbone. “So there you are.”
“Indeed!” added Cardinal Parmagiana. “You had better sit down, Cardinal Kwasi. We have heard enough from you. Perhaps next time you can be elected Pope of the Barbecue! Or Pope of the Basketball Court! Ha ha ha ha ha ha!” The Cardinals all laughed merrily as Cardinal Kwasi slumped in his seat, tears racing down his face.
Cardinal Parmagiana continued. “Now, finally, we shall hear from the Third Candidate. I call upon Cardinal Adolph Nazinger!”
With sunken eyes and a deep set smirk that barely hid his fang-like yellowing teeth, Cardinal Nazinger rose to his feet. “I thank you for this opportunity to serve you as the Prince of Peace. And I wished to assure you: You must not worry about my past! Yes, I admit that I was a member of the Hitler Youth as a child. But it was not my fault! They made me do it. And, yes, I also spent time in the German Army during World War II – but I did not actually kill anyone. I deserted!”
Cardinal Nazinger took three, jackbooting footsteps forward. “And, yes, I admit that I was a guard at Auschwitz. But what of that? Everyone in those days was a guard at Auschwitz. It’s not as though I actually used the whip as I shoved the Jews into the Shower Room. And I repented of all the wicked deeds I performed while toiling for the glorious, wonderful Fuhrer, may his name be praised! Why, I even went onto E-bay last week and sold my last human-skin lampshade! Though, with your permission, I am keeping the sweater made from human hair – you can hardly blame me, it was a gift from my Aunt Eva Braun. But other than that, I would make a fantabulous Pope!”
As one, the College of Cardinals erupted into delighted applause and cheers! “Habemus Papem!” they shrieked joyfully. “Habemus Nazi-um Papem!”
A short time later, Rabbi Yisrael Goldenberg sat calmly before a roaring fire in the Vatican welcoming room. Suddenly, the doors swung open and Cardinal Nazinger rushed in. “Rabbi!” he grinned, his hand raised. “I am so glad to see you. Thank you for coming! You are a generous man to agree to see me on such short notice.”
“Ach, it is nothing,” replied Rabbi Goldenberg, shrugging stoically. “You should see the traffic getting here during rush hour. Oy! Now THAT is trouble, that is. But when you called, you mentioned that you wished to meet me to plan a new summit to forge links between our two great religions. For that I would bear any traffic.”
“Yes indeed,” smiled Cardinal Nazinger. “I think that this is an opportunity for us both. After all, are the Jews not the Big Brothers to us? Come! Let me give you a big old hug!”
Rabbi Goldenberg stepped forward as Cardinal Nazinger embraced him in his arms. Suddenly, though, Cardinal Nazinger swung round, lifting the Rabbi up by his shoulders. Facing the massive, two storey-tall burning hearth in front of them, Cardinal Nazinger gave a fierce shove, and tossed Rabbi Goldenburg into the furnace. The Rabbi screamed as his robes caught fire instantly. He writhed and screeched as the fire burned him from head to toe, roasting him alive.
Outside the Vatican, Chrstiane Ammanpoor barked with hysteria as a plume of smoke emerged from the Sistine Chapel chimney. “There is the plume of smoke! We have a Pope! We have a Pope!” The cameras focused on the Vatican balcony, as Cardinal Nazinger, now caparisoned in pure, clean white robes, stepped forward, waving his hands to the crowd. “I shall call myself by my new Papal Name!” he crowd. “Vos vocabis me – You may call me -- Pope Hitler the First!”
The crowds roared...
