Popes Crack! Me! Up!

'This is not the post you are looking for.'
This is not the post I am looking for.

Updated 12/8/06: New entries added, many old entries revised, all entries titled.


~o~o~ pope nan ~o~o~


By the time Vatican officials counted and recounted the group and realized someone had, in fact, got lost somewhere along the tour, it was too late. Gladys Mankowski - grandmother of three and Bingo enthusiast from Trenton, New Jersey - was already pope.


~o~o~ would she? ~o~o~


Exquisite! So beautiful, so supple! I wonder if she...if I asked...would she let me just touch...bah! John Paul, you old fool! What are you thinking?! You could never fit into that...


~o~o~ i'll burn in hell for this one ~o~o~


Their routine was flawless...until the dip. Catch it this week on a very special Dancing with the Stars: The Audition Show.


~o~o~ the art of papjitsu ~o~o~

'Ka! Ra! Te!'


And just like that, John Paul would attack...


~o~o~ pope magellan ~o~o~


'Ahhhhhh. *inhale* *exhale* Simply beautiful! *sigh* Yep, I'm lost.'

The Vatican is a big place. At night, one wrong turn and you might find yourself in the servant's kitchen, trapped inside a display case, or, worse yet, in Canada. Luckily, John Paul's winter coat rendered him nearly invisible to his natural predators, and later that Spring, with the help of Seymour the Hare and Greta the Moose, he found his way back home.


~o~o~ the real world: vatican city ~o~o~


Which must mean the hamper isn't a toilet, the pope realized with a sigh. Should I even ask where the dead hookers should go? Jesus, I'm so confused.


~o~o~ pope to block ~o~o~


'I'll take John Paul II to block.'
'Oh, John Paul...according to Nature Magazine, what is the average lifespan of the common housefly? One day, one week, or one month?'
*snore* 'What?! Where am I?!'

'Uh-oh, not again. Richard, would you be so kind as to keep our John Paul entertained and awake?'
'I'm on it like butter on a bun!'
'Marcia?'
'Hmmm... I'll have to disagree.'
*shriek* 'Get this chubby sodomite off of me!'
'Oh, don't be such a poo-head!'
'As well you should. The correct answer is, of course, one month. And X gets the center square for the block.'


~o~o~ pope sniffles ~o~o~


Gesundheit, mein Herr!
(The poor man; he's had that cold for months it seems, always with a runny nose and handkerchiefs. He must sneeze like a baby mouse, because I hardly ever hear them - isn't that adorable? Bishop Lewis and I are whipping up a fabulous chicken soup for him tonight. I hope..it does...the...trick...There! There it is again! Do you smell it? See, isn't that the strangest thing? It's like glue or something...just comes and goes with the wind. Anyway, that poor man...)


~o~o~ decisions decisions ~o~o~


'Mmmmm...*smacksmack* hmmm...I just... *smacksmack* I just can't...*smacksmack*...decide! *smacksmack* mmmmy goodness! They're both *smacksmack*...so delicious!' *smacksmacksmacksmack!*


~o~o~ american idiot ~o~o~


Hour Two: As the American president's official visit dragged on and on in smiling idiot silence, an increasinly bored Pope John Paul II could only watch the clock and think upon Moses wandering the desert for 40 years. Lucky bastard.


Hour Four: As Bush struggled in vain with the pronunciation of yet another polysyllabic word in his speech, a far-too-sober-for-this-shit John Paul II could only quietly weep and think upon Jesus tortured and hanging by nails from the cross. Lucky bastard.


Hour Six: As the president presented JP2 with some tacky plastic pendant that smelled suspiciously like Cracker Jacks, thereby making him an honorary 'Texash Ranger' (whatever the hell that was), the underwhelmed John Paul II could only smile in faint disgust and think upon Lot's wife, who was turned into a pillar of salt when she looked on something half this horrible. Lucky bitch.


Hour Seven: 'Exshcuse me, Your Excellently?'
'Dumbass. I called you a dumbass, dumbass!'


Hour Eight: 'What's what, Mr. President? Do...do you mean the ocean?'
'Waddle!'
'Nono. No, water. Wa-ter. You know...you drink it.'
'Want Mommy!'
'*Sigh* There's no need to be afrai-'
'Harry Potter!'
'*Sigh* No, that's a bird - not Harr-um... You know, sometimes you can actually see Harry fly by on his broom if you lean really far over.'
'Harry Potter?'
'Oh, yes. Go ahead now, take a peek before he's gone. Bend waaaaay over. That's right. A little farther now...'


Hour Nine: As the pope replied that, no, unfortunately they couldn't 'exorcise the stupid out of someone' and, yes, divorce is a sin but no one would really blame her, President Bush quietly contemplated the magic of Jell-O.


~o~o~ blessed are the filthy ~o~o~


'Do not be afraid, my child. Now, bow thy head, at peace in His love. Very good. And...oh. Oh, my god. Yep, head lice. Big ones. Like jellybeans with legs. Just disgu-NONO! No, no hugs! You just stay right there. Now, off you go, you filthy little thing. Off with you. Go. Shoo!'


~o~o~ it's the glasses ~o~o~


Hmmmmm...you know, now that you mention it, no, I don't think I have ever seen Pope Benedict XVI and billionaire playboy Rex Steele in the same room at the same time!


~o~o~ flytrap I ~o~o~


'Your Holineth...?'
'Yes, my child?'
'Your...your fly ith open.'
'And your mouth is open. Do the math or step aside for your hot sister there.'


~o~o~ worst! easter mass! ever! ~o~o~


And with a shriek of panic that witnesses would later describe as 'eerily inhuman,' the startled John Paul II tore the hapless dove to shreds.

In the confusion of swirling feathers, spurting blood, and the horrified screams of the crowd, the second dove was released before anyone could stop it. But JP2 was ready this time. With the speed of a cobra, the shrieking Pontiff easily plucked the bird from the air, tore off its head, and was squeezing its blood into his mouth before stunned handlers could even aim the tasers.

As children screamed, women fainted, and Vatican guards vomited in horror, a calm came over the Holy See, even as the tasers impotently flooded his body with electricity. He smiled serenely as the next Easter Dove took flight. And with an almost imperceptable flick of his tongue - only confirmed later by slowing the video - the third dove disappeared into the dark deep of John Paul. And then, as he sat motionless to the naked eye, gone went doves four and five, a single feather the only evidence they had existed at all. When a crying child ran up to John Paul, sobbing hysterically and looking for the birds, the pope smiled down at her, calmly, sweetly, and she disappeared. That's when they brought out the guns. John Paul, somehow sensing the danger, turned ever so slight slightly and sprung out of his chair in a blur, just as the tranquelizer darts peppered the still-inflating impression he left on the chair. Cackling madly, the Pontiff scurried up the wall spider-like and disappeared through an open window. Three days and 47 corpses later, he was finally recaptured.


~o~o~ pope noxious ~o~o~


'They don't even know where it's coming from!' B16 snickers with glee as eyes water and noses crinkle around him. No one really associates flatulance with the papacy. Oh, but they should...


~o~o~ today on jerry springer ~o~o~


'Fucking bitch!'


~o~o~ peek-a-pope ~o~o~


Yes, John, we see you! Very cute!
(*Sigh* Did anyone actually see him take his meds?)


~o~o~ immaculate light & magic ~o~o~


When JP2 learned his scenes had been cut, George Lucas was immediately excommunicated. [Not shown: Frank Oz]


~o~o~ kith me ~o~o~


'Hmmm. That was pretty good. You're no altar boy, but not bad. Not too wet, not too long, and just the right amount of sloppy. I enjoyed it - can you tell? Go ahead, feel it...no, a little lower...there. See?'
'Yeth.'
'A lot better than kissing a pillow, isn't it?'
'Yeth.'
'Remember to watch your teeth - nibbling can be fun but I'm not lunch - and don't suck so hard. You nearly ripped my tongue out.'
'Yeth.'
'Would you like to try it again?'
'Yeth.'


~o~o~ smells like sand ~o~o~


In a major faux pas, John Paul then sniffed the Koran for bombs.


~o~o~ rulers make bad lovers ~o~o~


'Hmmm...mmmm...oooo....mmmm...rock on, gold dust woman, take your silver spoon, dig your grave...bumbum...'


~o~o~ be vewy vewy quiet ~o~o~


See, the trick to capturing a live pope is catching him by surprise. There's nothing more dangerous than a frightened, cornered pontiff. A nasty excommunication from a feral pope following a botched ambush can take weeks to heal.


~o~o~ high, piercing violins ~o~o~


I'm almost within range when the beast senses my presence and suddenly turns - *High, Piercing Violins!* - and the world turns insideout. I can feel it, feel him, like cold fingers sinking into the soft folds and sticky creases of my brain, peeling apart my mind like a head of lettuce. I scream in horror and pain but remain perfectly still and silent, frozen in place, my nose just beginning to bleed. Then a thought occurs to me: If I can just reach the fire pit, I'll win. Of course! I'll destroy his evil forever - but only if I get in that fire. While he's still weak! I know it! And I begin to walk. That I think these thoughts in Polish, which I didn't even know was a langage, goes unnoticed. So I keep walki-Ouch. Ouchouch. Ouchouchouch...


~o~o~ popapalooza ~o~o~


Confused but obediently Catholic, the nuns did as they were told by the swirly-eyed pontiff and put their hands 'in the air like you just don't care, beyatches!' It sure seemed like a good idea at the time, but the first and last annual Popapalooza lasted only 17 minutes. The acid? 14 hours.


~o~o~ glurp ~o~o~


...and then he - oops! - threw up a little. Y'know, they don't call it Ugly Betty for nothing.


~o~o~ oooh! ~o~o~


'Please, Mrs. Bush, take your pick. Our virgins - they are quite delicious.'
'Oooh!'


'The blood - do you see? So rich und thick, hardly a clot...'
'Oooh!'


'I do apologize about the...unfortunate incident vith your spawn - Jenna vas it? Anyvay, the poor child simply opened the wrong door und saw vat ve simply cannot allow to be seen - you understand. I promise you that her death vill be relatively brief und no more painful than deemed absolutely necessary. I imagine having a spare twin must be of some comfort to you. Here, please accept this small token vith my condolences - a souvenir of your visit here today, if you vill. The casing is pearl und that lining - velvet from the throne of Napoleon himself! Her tongue fits quite nicely, don't you think? Ve vill forward her other parts as they become available. Tea?'
'Oooh!'


~o~o~ pope atkins ~o~o~


'What a beautiful child. So fresh, so tender, so few carbs.'


~o~o~ never skip a meal ~o~o~


'You fools! Can't you see that I am decaying?! Qvick! Bring me virgins! Juicy, succulant virgins!'


~o~o~ later that day... ~o~o~


Pope Palpati-no...wait. My mistake. I think. No...wait...


~o~o~ x-communicator ~o~o~

'Dude, I shit you not! Check this out...'
*Surround Sound - click*

'Whoah! Duuuude! No fucking way!'
'His eyes should starting bleeding...right about...there.'

'No fucking way! Let me see it!'
'See, I told yo-be careful with it, dumbass! Ooh, try this button...'
*Eject - click*

'Holy shit!'
'Exactly. And it's always kinda green like that. Nasty.'
'No fucking way!'
'Way!'
'No fucking way!'

Oh, way, Scott. Way fucking way.
The Sony X-Communicator
Finally...a Universal Remote That Works.


~o~o~ old saint dick ~o~o~


Pope Malevolent I scans the crowd for the next naughty little boy or girl. If 'Santa Claus' is what these little heathens want on the day Our Savior was born, then Santa's Claws is what they'll fucking get!


'Here comes Santa Claus, here comes Santa Claus...' Nothing says 'Christmas' to B16 like a fancy Christmas bonnet, a big red cape, and the screams of frightened children.


'Oh, YES! Yes! Yes! Toes! Me likes the toes and the fingers very much! Likes them wiggle and scream and crunch, me does! Crunchy crunch! You brings baby for Santa? Please? Brings Santa juicy baby? Naughty juicy baby with the little baby toes? Oh, the babies have the best ones! Like blueberries they is, but red and warm! Screamberries! Best! Best! Best! I smell it! I smell baby! Where baby?! You hide baby? You do! You hide! Give it! Give Santa baby!'


~o~o~ ride of the valkyries ~o~o~


'Attack formation Leviticus IV, on my mark...'


~o~o~ breadcrumbs, nummer eins ~o~o~


It was a very long, very uncomfortable stare. Hansel sensed danger.


~o~o~ thanks, jojo ~o~o~


'Let's see...http://...um...wonderfu...nonono, that's not it...backspace backspace...oh, yes...god...less...wonder...dot...'
JP2 filling in for me last year during my camping trip. Sure, he was a little slow - it took him six days to type the one post, and then he hit the wrong key and erased it - but still, what a trooper! Thanks, JoJo!


~o~o~ the pope wears prada ~o~o~


'Just look at this dress! Look at it! It's official: I'm fabulous!'


*clickclickclick* Home. There really is no place like it...


Still in the running to become America's Next Top Model...


Milan? Paris? New York? Rome?
Simple...
Gucci.


~o~o~ pope renfield ~o~o~


That spider never had a chance.


~o~o~ fun with tk ~o~o~


Eek! A ghoul! Oh! No, wait, it's...it's just the pope. OK, calm down, Darren...just clear my mind and focus, just like the Professor taught me...now concentrate...must...concentrate...and now...reach...

...reach...feel the silk with my mind, feel its softness, that gold embroidery that could feed a family...feel the silk rise...slowly...slowly...almost got it...

Ta-da!

[This episode of "Fun with Telekinesis" has been brought to you by mutated DNA and a generous donation from the Chubb Group.]


~o~o~ the devil's workshop ~o~o~


Yep, I'm bored. Bored, bored, bored.


~o~o~ pope vesuvius ~o~o~


As the second wave of cramps tore through his intestines, causing his testicles to shrivel in retreat, Ben realized that those milkshakes weren't dairy-free at all. That vendor had lied to him, lied to the pope, for Christ's sa-Ooof, wave three came like fiery knives across his belly, and a sticky bubbling sound was faintly caught by the microphone. Ben clenched as tightly as he could against the oncoming flood, but he knew it would be no use. Panic set in and to the shock of the fathered masses, he muttered perhaps the most appropriate expletive for his dilemma, as they would soon understand...
[Papal Lava countdown, T-minus-eight, seven, six...]


~o~o~ il superpapa ~o~o~


Wait...now I'm confused. Which one's the Nazi again?


~o~o~ church vs. state ~o~o~


Christmas Day, 2006!
Benedict! McCheese!
Church vs. State:
The American Evolution!
Pope Eggs Benedict XVI vs. Mayor McCheese in a Holy Day Battle to the Death!
$49.95 Pay-per-View

A Don King Presentation


~o~o~ holy host ~o~o~


Now the size of a dinner roll, the parasite was becoming difficult to conceal.


~o~o~ it's a bird...it's a plane ~o~o~


Pope Kickass I, 'The Sunovabitch.'


~o~o~ absolut pope ~o~o~


'Yeah, yeah, yeah...hail Mary, world peace, Valley of Death, the meek, so on and so forth. Blah blah blah. *sigh* Someone get me a Bloody Mary and an Advil before I hurl.'

XI. Thou shall not do vodka shots at a strip joint with Mel Gibson the night before mass.


~o~o~ vatican slam ~o~o~


Excuse me, miss? Yes, this Pope Benedict I ordered - it tastes like old man. And not in the good way. Can I get something else?


Perfect! Alas! If only popes were this delicious...


~o~o~ kill...me... ~o~o~


By Ashlee Simpson's third encore, John Paul prayed for death.


~o~o~ i-is...is he..? ~o~o~


At the end of a very long day, the Pontiff paused briefly for a few final moments at the Wailing Wall, as the papal entourage packed up their equipment and prepared to depart. Then someone pointed. 'Is he...he's not...is he...?!' Yes, he was. The growing stain now pouring down the Wall was unmistakable. When JP2 then lifted his robe to squat, stunned handlers sprang into action...


~o~o~ he shoots, he scores ~o~o~


At the inauguration of the short-lived Vatican Vandals hockey franchise...


~o~o~ Jay-P ~o~o~


With Usher on the set of Krush Groove III: The Holy See.


~o~o~ negative ~o~o~


Test results just came in. Negative. Thank God im Himmel...


~o~o~ spotcheck ~o~o~


'Yep, it's spinach.'


~o~o~ pope jetblue ~o~o~


When not returned to your fully upright and locked position, it's hard to look cool.


~o~o~ pope inviblish ~o~o~


Sometimes, that Pope Benedict gets me so angry I could just rip his soggy head off and shov-YEAH, YOU BETTER HIDE!!!


~o~o~ the vatican's funniest home videos ~o~o~


'Pretty! Mine! GROWRRR!'

Popes are often drawn to shiny or colorful objects, an attraction that can sometimes have tragic, even deadly consequences, as the family of young Maria Cortez, shown here with her head still attached, is about to discover. Let's watch...


~o~o~ pope smeagol ~o~o~


'We hates the abbottses, we do!'


~o~o~ testi venti ~o~o~


What started out as a playful mock struggle for the holy staff while photographers snapped away turned into something quite different when the pope suddenly and unexpectedly slapped Mother Teresa, hard, sending her dentures skittering across the floor. Hissing, the nun sprang backwards, ninja-like, landing a safe distance away, like gravity was her pretty little bitch.
'Testi! Venti!'
She then muttered a few words in some ancient Italian dialect, her hideous claw carving strange symbols in the air, and then disappeared in a puff of red smoke, her cackle echoing long after her departure. 'Whatever,' smirked John Paul. Whatever indeed. The gypsy curse took effect at sundown. And he learned that 'ballth the thize of Noah'th ark' wasn't a compliment after all.


~o~o~ how did she do that? ~o~o~

'How did she do that?! Old gypsy vitch! She made a sort of claw thing - owow! hand cramp! - und then svirled it around.

'Yes, yes! Und then she sprecht some magic vords! What vere they again? Something like...

Pesti! Venti!


Oh, dear! That von't do. Pasta makes me gassy. Maybe it was...

Testi! Vesti!


Mein Gott! It's hideous! Had to be...

Testo! Devito!


*Shriek!* Gott im Himmel! It's hideouser! Very well, gypsy vitch! Take your secrets to your grave!'


~o~o~ pope sonuvabitch ~o~o~


Battlepope and that pussy tree-hugging barefoot unemployed hippie liberal drifter Jesus.


~o~o~ why have you forsaken me? ~o~o~


He pushed and pushed, but the door wouldn't budge. At first, the pope thought it merely a mistake: Someone had locked the Vatican doors without realizing he was still outside. But after several minutes of pounding to be let in, he grew angry, threatening to excommunicate the entire staff unless they let him in. So hungry and so cold, he demanded a Ding Dong or something to eat or there would be Hell to pay. No answer. By hour two, as the sun began to set and the air grew chill, he became frightened, and started sobbing uncontrollably. By hour three, he tried bargaining. He promised to only use his Inside Voice in the Vatican from now on. No answer. He promised to not drink so much wine at dinner, to eat all his vegetables, and to leave the altar boys alone. No answer. He promised to play nice with the other popes. Still nothing. Pressing his forehead against the door, his sobbing resumed. At hour four, as the howl of a wolf nearby chilled him to the bone, the pope soiled himself, liberally, and collapsed to his knees, weeping in a puddle of his own filth. No answer. At hour five, he threatened to kill himself by holding his breath. Didn't work. So he threw himself down the steps, only to bounce back up unharmed, cushioned from damage by his elaborate dress. His begging had become incoherent babble through the tears. Hour six found him in the fetal position, soaked in the urine of passing dogs. It wasn't until hour seven, as he was angrily writing obscenities with his feces on the wall, that he tried pulling the handle. And then, whistling casually, he strolled on in.



~o~o~ p.s.: love the shoes ~o~o~


Squeaking in just under the gay ban...


~o~o~ flinged his own pope ~o~o~


Pope Cornelius I, 'The Prehensile.'


~o~o~ pope the question ~o~o~


'...and make me the happiest man on Earth?'


~o~o~ and the winner is ~o~o~


With a time of eight minutes, six seconds, the Dalai Lama was declared the winner at the first and last annual 'Get Out of Your Chair, Old Man!' Challenge.


~o~o~ put it right here ~o~o~


Well, that's what he told her to do. Over and over. Commanding her! The pope himself! What could she do?! So, being the good Catholic she was, Marie DeFalco shrugged, made the sign of the cross, and then proceeded to 'kick the baby.'


TOUCHDOWN!


~o~o~ deja vu ~o~o~


As the microphone was adjusted, Pope Bene-Flashback! 1975! San Francisco! The Cockpit Bar! Bathroom Stall #3! A confused young priest! An attractive older man! The taste of warm, salty seme-dict XVI paused, seemingly a million miles away...


~o~o~ red shoe diary ~o~o~


Ouch! Staffs are pointy!


~o~o~ so pure & innocent ~o~o~


'Your little girl - just look at her! Truly one of God's most beautiful creations! That smile, so pure and innocent - you must be very proud! Very well, I'll take her. GUARDS! Now Father Prizzi, please pay these kind people, shoot them if they resist, and send this beautiful chi- aww, don't cry, my pretty! - send this little angel to my chambers.'


~o~o~ later that day... ~o~o~


By the third disappointing sip, one fact had become quite clear: That girl was no virgin.


~o~o~ the pepsi challenge ~o~o~


'*Smacksmack* Mmm...yes... *smacksmack* Yes! YES! Now that's a virgin!'


~o~o~ pope euphoric ~o~o~


Well, looks like someone found the vicodiinnn...


~o~o~ pope bling ~o~o~


Nice, um, solid-gold hat. *Sigh* If only starving children could digest precious metals...


~o~o~ flytrap II ~o~o~


In spite of JP2's lightning reflexes and ravenous hunger, the fly escaped.


~o~o~ boingboingboingboing ~o~o~


Crystal meth and popes don't mix.



~o~o~ flytrap III ~o~o~


'Your Excellency...?'
'Yes, my son?'
'Your...your fly is down.'
'Exactly. East cloakroom, 1:30, don't be late. Leave the dentures at home. And remember: Everytime you spit, the baby Jesus cries.'


~o~o~ where's everybody gone? ~o~o~


It wouldn't be until Thursday morning, days after the Easter Mass, that someone at the Vatican finally asked the question everyone was avoiding: 'Did anyone remember to pack the pope?!'


~o~o~ a pope & an actor walk into a bar... ~o~o~


'What the fuck you looking at? Yeah, you, numbnuts! You wanna piece of me, too, motherfucker!'

Perhaps it was his blood-alcohol level, high enough to wipe out a small army of Janis Joplins, or the heady adrenaline of having beat nearly to death a hotshot celebrity one-36th his age. Whatever the reason, one thing was clear: If John Paul wasn't going to take shit from that drunk little bitch Russell Crowe, he certainly wasn't going to take it from some altar boy with a so-called "lazy eye." But Jimmy Gambini's eye wanders no more. The pope saw to that. Services are this Thursday.

The Vatican: 1 Russell Crowe: 0.



'How vas I supposed to know it vas his beer? It's not like it had his name on it! Und I meant vat I said - that band of his does suck cock! Big kangaroo cock! Have you heard them? Horrible! They suck und svallow! And then he hit me! Me! I'm the pope, motherfucker! Ooooh, that Russell Crowe is sooooooo excommunicated!'

The Vatican: 1 Russell Crowe: 1.



Her original prediction on Good Morning America was, of course, bleeped for graphic language, but the gestures Sister Betty George made that day were unmistakable. The fight itself - a Don King presentation - could not, for the obvious reasons and the spurting blood, be repeated without heavy pixilation. But just as she predicted, Sister Betty 'Attila the Nun' George - apostle of Mike Tyson and former Dyke on Bike - ripped off Russell Crowe's testicles in Round 2.

The Vatican: 2 Russell Crowe: 1.


~o~o~ pope what? ~o~o~


The reign of Pope Squeaks I was as short and odd as he.
She.
It.
Whatever.


~o~o~ konk ~o~o~


Headbutt!


~o~o~ horrible afflection ~o~o~


Doctors could only guess that around Jingle All the Way, JP2 swallowed his own tongue, and he probably clawed out his own eyes at Gigli. It's not uncommon. But the diagnosis was unmistakable: A Ben Affleck Movie Marathon had claimed another victim.


~o~o~ great moments in aviation ~o~o~


A moment that would go down in pigeon history as the Greatest Gulp of All Time...


~o~o~ JP + JT ~o~o~


'...dance with me!' When aides would ask him, oh-so-delicately, about all the CDs and the stacks of magazines by his bed, Pope John Paul II would forcefully explain that it was 'vital!' for him to 'understand the youths of the world,' and only by 'reading what they read and listening to their music' could he 'better address their spiritual needs in the language they blah blah blah.' That's what he told them, and he supposed on some level it was at least partially true, but that wasn't the reason. And it certainly didn't explain the posters he kept hidden in his chambers or his secret blog. So why, then? Good question. John Paul couldn't quite explain it to himself, actually, this obsession of his. But hour after hour, day after day, he just couldn't stop. The magazines, the CDs, the hours online, the posters, the DVDs, the giggling like a schoolgirl - it wasn't enough! There was just something...something unexplanable...

...something strangely intriguing...

...Something...something... undeniably bewitching...

...utterly intoxicating...

...something just...just dreamy about that Justin Timberlake!



~o~o~ pope vader ~o~o~


'I find your lack of faith...disturbing.'


~o~o~ handsome ~o~o~


Hmmmm... "Handsome!" That's the word I'd use. Grandma is a very handsome woman.


~o~o~ pope squigmund ~o~o~


Schlemiel! Schlimazel! - from the opening credits of Laverne & Shirley: 2025.


~o~o~ who da man? ~o~o~


'Nono, your Holiness, YOU da man!'

'...to Cardinal Mahoney und two to Car-Vait a minute...did that cocksucker up there just call me 'de-mon'? Listen to me: He is to be skinless und eating his own genitals by noon und dead by dinner, do you understand? Good. Now kiss my ring und get the fuck avay from me. I'm praying.'


~o~o~ pope dawg ~o~o~


It was the worst rendition of 'Sweet Child O' Mine' that Simon Cowell would ever hear.


~o~o~ god save the queen ~o~o~


It was the worst Sex Pistols cover that Simon Cowell would ever hear.


~o~o~ jazz hands ~o~o~


'OK, it's vun-two vun-two backstep backstep turn jazz-hands! kick one-two...no, vait, it's kick backstep vun-two...no...it's...um...dammit!'

This week, on So You Think You Can Dance?


~o~o~ a maze in grace ~o~o~


'*grunt* *gasp* Goodness! I thought I'd never reach the top. I hope this is the way ou-oh! Another dead end! Motherfuck!'

Day 7, Hour 22, Minute 16 of the first and last annual Running of the Pope. Seemed like a good idea at the time. But of course, popes can't run.


~o~o~ pope who ~o~o~


Pope Whatshisface X, 'The Indistinct.'


~o~o~ new & improved ~o~o~

'But Jim - I'm a busy working gal with a family and home to take care of! Between business meetings, making dinner, and getting the boys to practice, I just don't have time to change diapers and apply smelly ointments! Am I right, ladies, or what?!' [Audience applauds]
'No problem, Janet! The new and improved Pope B16 is a cinch to keep clean! Just watch this! One quick wipe with his patented Cleanie Beanie and...
*squeak* *squeak*
...there, you're done!' [Audience gasps]
'What?! Already?! That is amazing, Jim! Isn't it, folks?" [Audience cheers]
'Janet, it really is that easy! And with the B16, no more sudden shriveling or embarassing droopage! The days of the JP2 leaving unsightly, smelly stains on your carpet are over! And 50% less drooling, thanks to our patented Leak-No-More Drawstring evactuation system! Watch this...
*flush* *plop*
...right into the bucket!' [Audience applauds]
'So Jim, I get the Pope B16, 12 Cleanie Beanies, three funny hats, and if I order now, the Weeping Virgin lawn sprinkler - all for just three easy payments of $29.95? Jesus Christ, where do I order?!'


~o~o~ pope in the hall ~o~o~


'Do you see what I'm doing?! I'm crushing your head! Crush! Crush!'


~o~o~ breadcrumbs, nummer zwei ~o~o~


When she noticed the oven door was left open, Gretel lunged forward.


~o~o~ laundry day ~o~o~

Dum-de-dum Do-de-do...
Think I'll do a white load first...


'Oogah! Boogah!'
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!! Jesus Christ, Benny! What the Hell are you doing in the clothes hamper, you little shi-What?! Ooh, charades! Yay! OK, Four Words - First Word: One Syllable:

Hmmmm...stop! Halt! No! Slow! Wait! Don't! Yes?! Don't?! Ok, first word is "don't"! Second Word: One Syllable, Sounds Like:

OK, it's just freaky when you make your robes do that. Um...veil! Shroud! Blind! Face! Cover! Mask! Yes?! Sounds like mask?! Um...task! Flask! Ask! Yes?! OK, second word is "ask." Third and Fourth Words: Two Syllables, Sound Like:

How do you do that?! Um...lily! Flower! Doily! Bagel! Donut! Yes?! Longer than "donut"?! Um...donut shop! Dunkin Donuts! Donut Hole! Donut Hole?! Sounds like "donut hole." OK, let's see: Don't. Ask. Donut Hole. Don't ask Donatella Versace! No? Um...Don't ask, don't tell? Ah, and now you're making the sign of the cross with a limp wrist.

Very funny, you homophobic little prick.


~o~o~ popes suck ~o~o~


...and then - shloop! - sucked her brains out!


~o~o~ sister ida kilja ~o~o~


Well, of course, they look like regular nuns. That's the point. You underestimate them, dismiss them as doddering old women...until one of them hands you your own still-beating heart. See that one with the 'limp' on the left? Over 200 kills. See, the illusion of frailty is the nunja's deadliest weapon...


~o~o~ papal facial expressions for $200, alex ~o~o~


A smile. Pretty damn sure.


~o~o~ let them eat gold ~o~o~


Gold, y'all! He's worth it!


~o~o~ whore of babylon ~o~o~


To this day, no one knows exactly how she managed to breach Vatican security - or even why she did what she did. That secret even the Grand Inquisitor could not...persuade her to reveal. But what she did on that terrible day, well, everyone has seen the footage. By the time Vatican officials even realized something was happening, she had already shed her nun disguise, loaded her weapon, and dropped backwards with catlike grace, landing on her hands and feet like some strange, giggling, gum-snapping spider. Before security could reach her, burying her in an avalanche of thundering fists, she had already fired off three rounds - grunt, grunt, grunt - and the damage had been done. Her first shot missed the Pontiff by only a hair, ricocheting off his chair to strike a hapless altar boy in the back of the head, sending him facefirst into the lap of a 'horrified' bishop (who didn't look quite horrified at the time). The third shot misfired as she was tackled, randomly striking the Cardinal of New York, who fell backwards into a display of candles and - well, you'd think he had been soaked in kerosine, he went up so fast! But the second shot - that one hit its intended target, striking John Paul in the forehead, leaving a small wet mark at the point of impact. The room gasped into a hush as the Holy See reached up to feel the wound and pulled his hand away, wet. Faintly smelling of spoiled fish. It was that second ping pong ball that earned her a place in world history and religious infamy. She would later reveal to the inquisitors that she'd learned the Viet Pong Love Cannon trick from an aging prostitute in Hong Kong, but she revealed little else, taking her motives with her to the grave as the world watched, live and commercial-free. To this day, That's Hot: The Exorcism of Paris Hilton remains the highest-rated primetime special of all time.



~o~o~ pope expletive ~o~o~


Little yellow bastard!


~o~o~ gesundheit ~o~o~


Coochie-Coochie!


~o~o~ munchies ~o~o~

Something salty... Ooh! Perfect!


'WACKA! WACKA!'
AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! Stop doing that!


~o~o~ batch #17 ~o~o~


What do you do when the blood of modernday "virgins" just doesn't taste quite as virginal as you like? Grow your own!


~o~o~ smackdown ~o~o~


Forget to bow? Bitchslap. Really, it's a simple rule.


~o~o~ the holy veil ~o~o~


'Und to the youths of the vorld, I have a special messag-mmphlm-GOD DAMMIT!'


'Und the vimin und the gays must never be allowed into the priesthoo-mmphlm-MOTHERFUCK!'


*Tee-Hee* God could just fuck with the pope all goddam day!


~o~o~ pope innocent...innocent, i tells ya! ~o~o~


The defendant then illustrated how he performed the so-called Blessing of the Boob on that stripper. 'Even Jesus loved whores," he added. The jury didn't buy it.


~o~o~ vatican mind meld ~o~o~


And in just a few short moments, it was over: The tender bonding between holy father and child captured by newspapers the world over. But it didn't feel tender to little Missy Gideon, who, disoriented and weak, staggered back away from the pontiff, only to then be quickly led away from the crowd by men she didn't know...away from her parents, who disappeared in the masses...back to a castle made of gold. But she didn't feel like a princess in a castle, she felt old, and scared, and confused, and sick, and so very tired. And then she collapsed, her body found in front of a mirror. Missy never regained consciousness, and days later she died in her sleep. Meanwhile, little John Paul got a pony for Christmas!


~o~o~ pope vs. technology ~o~o~


'What?! Huh?! Speak up!' Stupid corndog!


~o~o~ hold this ~o~o~


Witnesses would later compare the sound to that of a large egg cracking...and then gurgling...and then twitching on the floor and spitting blood. Helpful Hint: When the pope says, 'Here, hold this,' goddammit, you better hold it!


~o~o~ make-up sects ~o~o~


'You know I love you, right? Und that I vould never do anything to hurt you? I vould rather die than cause you a moment's pain. So believe me when I say, I'm sorry. It vas a mistake, he meant nothing to me, und it vill nev-...look at me. I promise you, it vill never. Happen. Again.'


~o~o~ bib fortuna ~o~o~


And just like that, pudding stains became a thing of the past.


~o~o~ psych du soleil ~o~o~


The hallucinations were becoming more vivid...


~o~o~ john paul CXXVI ~o~o~


JP2 at his 126th birthday celebration...


~o~o~ john paul CCXXXII ~o~o~


...and at his 232nd, his new skin still pink and tender from his recent molting.


~o~o~ the final countdown ~o~o~

...and, Jimmy, get this: researchers from Columbia University carbon-dated one of his toenail clippings, and guess how old it said he was? At least one thousa...uh-oh, did you see that?

Look at him! OK, PEOPLE, THIS COULD BE IT! BETTING IS NOW OFFICIALLY OVER! Jimmy, start the timer. And...here we go!


Ooh, that's not good. And he's going...


...and going...


...going...


...and going...


...still going...


...and go-HE'S DOWN! GAME OVER! DEAD AS A DOORNA-


...no, wait! He's back up! Ok, going...


...and going...what time do we have, Jimmy?


...and goi-HE'S DOWN AGAIN! COULD HE BE...?!


YES! They're putting in the Holy Air Freshener! IT'S ALL OVER!


NO! Unbelievable!


YES! HE'S DOWN! Quick boys, SEAL THAT COFFIN!


HE'S GONE! IT'S ALL OVER, FOLKS!


~o~o~ later that day... ~o~o~


'What?! He diiiid?! No! Really?! At last! I didn't think the old fart would ev-'

'*Ahem* Of course, I mean: No! How tragic! At least he is at peace with our Lord. What a terrible, terrible loss to the Church! You must tell the others immediately! Go!'
'(thankyou thankyou!)'


~o~o~ laterer that day ~o~o~


'Excellent! Now it's Benny's time to shine! MWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!'


~o~o~ the only good pope is... ~o~o~


'I'm sorry, I cannot help you. Your petty little problems no longer concern me. You see, I'm dead. Now piss off.'

Dead? Yes. And by now, the excrement of worms long dead. But John Paul II will be forever immortalized in the ancient, eternal medium of comic boo-

'Poke me in the eye again and I'm going papal on your ass!'
Sheesh! Sorry! (asshole!)

'What did you say?!'
Nothing, nothing!
















Dead.















That's what everyone thought. Everyone saw his corpse dragged across Italy and paraded around for days like some withered Rose Parade float, wrapped in gold and jewels and the buzz of flies. Children poked him with sticks - not so much as a flinch. Dead? Dead, yes. He was dead.

For awhile, anyway...













For on the other side of the world, in the land of Mordor, in the fires of Mount Doom, the mysterious cult Opus Dei worked in secret to forge a remastered John Paul II! His somewhat unexpected death had forced them to act on their Project: Lazarus before their theories could be fully tested - but before his soul could become one with Heaven forever. They gathered their subjects, both living and dead, some willing and some by force, and employed science, magic, and faith in an attempt to turn back time! Cosmic radiation! Voodoo magic! Genetic mutation! Cloning! Prayer! Cybernetics! Kaballah Stuff! Dianetics! Could these combined forces pull life itself from the very belly of death? Was miracle or blasphemy at work? Science or chance? Or something inbetween? Were they playing God, or merely using the tools He provided them? Could the second coming of Pope John Paul II unite the world under Catholic dogma, as was ultimately hoped? And would their efforts here today have any effect at all?

To at least the last question, Opus Dei had its answer when the body of Pope John Paul II, dead nearly two weeks, finally opened its eyes, which glittered with JP2's trademark twinkle to the initial delight of the scientists - right before their brains hit the wall. Their efforts had an effect, as the screams and death throes of Opus Dei scientists now echoing down the halls make clear, although not quite the one they had hoped for...















To be continued...?!