Pope Goes the Weasel

It’s about time we had some earthquakes in Rome. The historical home of the fiddle hasn’t had a shake in ages. Global warming may be biggie, and Iran may prove tsunamis to be minor ripples, but the man in the big hat has been bust, he fiddled while kids were razed.

I’m comforted to know that the creepy feeling the men in dresses gave me as a youngster was a sign of perception, not possession. I’ve always wondered what Jesus would think if he came back and found his franchise head office to be an embossed carbuncle, a pedo-pageant with the world’s resources in its manicured claw.

Of course, Discovery has nothing on the best insurance policy in the universe, faith — what a brilliant glamour — the very act of looking for life’s fine print will damn you to the devil’s house with no chance of parole … suffer the children indeed … the pope is not God’s man — he’s a CEO elected by the board. My dad always said that clubs and societies were for people who doubted themselves — God bless you, Dad.

Meanwhile, some guy who heads up Resistance Against Communism has objected to speculation that Eugene may have “ministered” to youngsters himself. Does anybody really need to resist communism? Doesn’t it have a history or resisting itself?

Anyhow, apparently it is “low” to accuse a Christian of homosexuality … and the accusations “suck” … he went on to say that anyone who levels such accusations will be “cursed” oy vey … there’s only one thing for this irony — tetanus shots.