The Muppets Take Vatican City
I feel very sorry today for the Pope after seeing the CNN television news updates on his recent world travels spreading God's word through any assortment of snores, snorts, or drawn out uncommital moans. Geez, it seems that even when the Pope merely farts the entire Catholic world interprets it as the next Commandment of God!
Each time I see the Pope on television I expect to see strings attached to his limbs and imagine that Jim Henson is up above the platform somewhere feverishly pulling the strings to conduct the Pope's actions as he throws out Holy Blessings and Hail Mary's to the adoring crowd of worshippers. Then I keep expecting to see Ms. Piggy emerge from the crowd in flowing white robes and a pointy hat and proceed to karate chop the Pope back into the Dark Ages with a mighty "Hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii-YAH!"
You'd think that with all the accumalated wealth of the Catholic Church over the ages through the sale of personal indulgences, pieces of the original Arc and Cross, the annual release of the Vatican City Bishops Bikini Calender, and the St. Peter's Bake Sale in the Spring, that the Church would be able to afford to buy poor frail Pope John Paul II some sort of state-of-the-art electronic translation and communication gizmo with which to deliver his sermons and gospels to the faithful masses a little more effectively and clearly. Perhaps a special keyboard that could simply be plopped under his face so that he can type out the word of God with his nose: "G-O-D-S-A-Y-S-K-I-L-L-M-E..."
I wonder if God is getting pissed off that his holy vasal is no longer fit or able to deliver his devine proclamations and is up there looking down and fuming like a Buffalo Bills fan on Super Bowl Sunday; "C'mon, c'mon, c'mon....say IT, mutherfucker! SAY IT ALREADY!!"
I wonder if God ever gets so pissed off over being misquoted through the Pope’s inaudible mumblings, and that he can no longer communicate with his chosen people through this mute lifeless muppet and instead takes out his pentup frustration by creating a new plague of Biblical proportions in the jungles of Zaire, and makes frogs rain from the sky at little Schlomo Dickowitz's backyard family barmitzva.
As it is now, the Church has had to employ a Holy Interpreter to the Pope to clearly translate his vague grunts into the proper Catholic ideology ~ in essence: an "Interpreter to the Interpreter of God's Word". Now, THAT'S the job I want!! I bet that position would get me laid at parties, huh?
Pope: "mumblegrumblegrooooooangrumblemumble..."
Interpreter: "...and God says: 'the Hawaiian Islands shall be given unto me and harems of holy virgins will bring me tribute each day at noon'"
or...
Interpreter: "...and God says: 'The Sacrements of Holy Communion from this day forward will now be Rootbeer and Chicken Nuggets'"
All the while, the Pope sits there almost comatose in his Holy motorized wheelchair, mutely gesturing effortlessly like Steven Hawking trying to order a glazed donut off the wall menu at Krispy Kreme.
Each time I see the Pope on television I expect to see strings attached to his limbs and imagine that Jim Henson is up above the platform somewhere feverishly pulling the strings to conduct the Pope's actions as he throws out Holy Blessings and Hail Mary's to the adoring crowd of worshippers. Then I keep expecting to see Ms. Piggy emerge from the crowd in flowing white robes and a pointy hat and proceed to karate chop the Pope back into the Dark Ages with a mighty "Hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii-YAH!"
You'd think that with all the accumalated wealth of the Catholic Church over the ages through the sale of personal indulgences, pieces of the original Arc and Cross, the annual release of the Vatican City Bishops Bikini Calender, and the St. Peter's Bake Sale in the Spring, that the Church would be able to afford to buy poor frail Pope John Paul II some sort of state-of-the-art electronic translation and communication gizmo with which to deliver his sermons and gospels to the faithful masses a little more effectively and clearly. Perhaps a special keyboard that could simply be plopped under his face so that he can type out the word of God with his nose: "G-O-D-S-A-Y-S-K-I-L-L-M-E..."
I wonder if God is getting pissed off that his holy vasal is no longer fit or able to deliver his devine proclamations and is up there looking down and fuming like a Buffalo Bills fan on Super Bowl Sunday; "C'mon, c'mon, c'mon....say IT, mutherfucker! SAY IT ALREADY!!"
I wonder if God ever gets so pissed off over being misquoted through the Pope’s inaudible mumblings, and that he can no longer communicate with his chosen people through this mute lifeless muppet and instead takes out his pentup frustration by creating a new plague of Biblical proportions in the jungles of Zaire, and makes frogs rain from the sky at little Schlomo Dickowitz's backyard family barmitzva.
As it is now, the Church has had to employ a Holy Interpreter to the Pope to clearly translate his vague grunts into the proper Catholic ideology ~ in essence: an "Interpreter to the Interpreter of God's Word". Now, THAT'S the job I want!! I bet that position would get me laid at parties, huh?
Pope: "mumblegrumblegrooooooangrumblemumble..."
Interpreter: "...and God says: 'the Hawaiian Islands shall be given unto me and harems of holy virgins will bring me tribute each day at noon'"
or...
Interpreter: "...and God says: 'The Sacrements of Holy Communion from this day forward will now be Rootbeer and Chicken Nuggets'"
All the while, the Pope sits there almost comatose in his Holy motorized wheelchair, mutely gesturing effortlessly like Steven Hawking trying to order a glazed donut off the wall menu at Krispy Kreme.
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