By Kevin D. Annett
In these latter days of planetary hysteria, everyone seems to be the enemy and the real villains keep getting away with their shit cloaked behind money or a papal procession. It’s enough to make you want to puke all over everything, you know?
These are indeed the times that try not only our souls, but our imagination. Someone says “a visiting tyrant”, and all we can think of doing is grabbing a protest sign and calling the creep names.
And so it was with some awe and elation that I was struck nearly blind by my own brilliance this morning, as the answer finally came to me.
We have to eat the Pope.
Cannibalism is a very Catholic thing to do, after all, as any good Communion-Eater knows. And it’s also the easiest and most direct way to deal with a problem: ingest it. We in the West are good at that. Hell, we chewed up some 50 million brown folks on this side of the Atlantic alone. Assimilating the enemy is old hat, and the prescribed method of all True Believers.
It’s also the moral thing to do, as well. We eat our enemies for their own good. Ask any missionary or corporate accountant.
Nor do I think that the logistics are a problem. Chubby pontiffs have been on the menu of various Roman factions for millennia, and they drop like flies depending on who’s screwing who. Pope Frank’s no exception. The guy’s got so many enemies in St. Peter’s that he doesn’t even live there.
No, it should be an easy enough thing to slice and dice that plucky little Jesuit jalapeno, and serve him up as a spicy ragout or some fileted Argentine casserole. Joe Ratzinger would be only too happy to supply the carving knives.
Consider, too, the immense moral capital that the dissection and gulping down of Jorge Bergoglio will confer on his late memory, and on his syndicate. His final, Christ like consummation: letting his body and blood be consumed by the faithful! What an unbeatable publicity gimmick for a stumbling Vatican Incorporated!
Nor will the Vatican Museum Gift Shop suffer from all those new Holy Relics provided by a freshly eviscerated Pope. Just think! Bits of Jorge’s bones, a bargain at a hundred Euros apiece, guaranteed to cure the ailment or sins of any Believer! A vial of the Pope’s blood, a sure fire remedy for baldness!
Cast your vision even further afield beyond such mundane theological concerns, and imagine the commercial possibilities of a globally televised “My Dinner with Jorge” event. Holy Smorgasbord! The thing would do better at the box office than Texas Chainsaw Massacre! And think of all the merchandising spinoffs: Blue ray DVD’s of the Pope’s Last Moments on Earth, comic books, T shirts declaring “I Ate the Pope”, and even miniature Jorge candy-dolls, with detachable and edible limbs oozing red jello. A perfect first communion gift!
Now, considering that Pope Frank is coming to the Land of the Fee and the Home of the Depraved this September, this whole Chow Down on the Papal Crown plan should work out wonderfully. After all, who’s more likely to cash in on a profitable business venture than your average Congressman? And come on: it’s not as if Obama and Co. haven’t eaten people before!
Really, the thing will work. Even the soggy mess afterwards will present no problem to the Vatican Cleanup Crew, which has been dumping human remains for a hell of a long time.
So there you have it, people: a morally, theologically and commercially winning plan. Eat the Pope, for your own good: and for his. And as someone so gosh-darned concerned about appearing to do the right thing, Mr. Bergoglio should be all in favor of his own devouring. After all, doesn’t your average priest want to be eaten?
But after all is said and done, if the Pontiff in question is at all averse to the idea of dying for the sake of so many; well, it just goes to show that you can’t trust an actor.