Plan B


As you should be well aware by now, my campaign to be the next Pope has hit a slight snag. Early last week, white smoke poured out of the chimney atop the Sistine chapel which meant that either a new Pope had been elected, or somebody had left a bagel in the chapel toaster. Well it turns out that bells don’t ring, and large crowds don’t gather at the Vatican for scorched Jewish donuts. You might get a smattering of American tourists with a few piping hot pop-tarts.

So anyway I had to get into the conclave in order to maximize my chances of getting elected as the top dog. The problem is that only cardinals are allowed into the conclave. After two thousand years of conducting this particular goat rope, the Catholic church has become rather complacent with security. I entered the Vatican wearing my trusty Kurt Warner-Arizona Cardinals jersey. Fortunately the roaming clown show known as the Swiss guard let me pass without much trouble. Once inside I thought I would have to use intense prayer and deep faith to become Pope. Little did I know that’s simply not how the conclave operates.

So here’s how the actual conclave went down. It started with all cardinals observing a brief moment of silence and intensive prayer in hopes that God would send them a sign. That sign came in the form of a massive pizza and beer delivery. A special thanks goes to the cardinal from the Philippines. He managed to smuggle a cell phone, a bottle of hooch, and the sports illustrated swimsuit edition into the sistine chapel.

As soon as everybody was properly inebriated I convinced the Ukrainian cardinal to nominate me for Pope (I owe him 2 packs of Marlboros and an autographed Justin Bieber CD)

The large group of nominees was widdled down by  a series of drinking competitions, a few dizzy izzy relay races, and a blistering round of pin the crucifix on the Bishop. The field was reduced to a small group of finalists who plead their case as to why they should become pope. Nobody knows what the cardinal from Naples said, he clearly was an inexperienced beer drinker thus he was eliminated. Then came the talent competition, the cardinal from Honduras was eliminated after his stunning display of skill tossing flaming batons. He really put on a hell of a performance but the flaming baton ignited the back of his robe. Apparently the judges were rather unforgiving of his predicament. It’s considered bad form in the conclave to sit your flaming butt in the holy water.

I kicked ass in the swimsuit competition, what can I say, I have really nice legs. I made a respectable showing in the evening gown competition, but the Cardinal from France really owned the show, as he had shoes and a handbag to match his passion pink sequined gown.

The cardinal from Korea absolutely dominated the karaoke competition. My strong showing up to that point gave me a slight lead, but my dreams were crushed when the final event sank me. I absolutely got my ass kicked in the latin spelling bee which left me in a dead heat with the lad from Argentina. Everybody knows there’s only one way to break a tie. We drew straws to see what we would perform in a random dance-off. I had to dance an electric boogaloo with a little pop-locking flair for added pizzaz. The cardinal from Argentina picked the tango!!! the tango for Gods sake!!!! Well he just plain killed it and as a result he’s the new Pope.

What can I say, I gave it my all but came up short. Now it’s time to chase women.


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