THE POPE MUST DIE!

THE FUCKING Pope is at it again! The man in the ornate dress is shortly to release his latest bulletin on the state of bonking in the late 20th century, entitled Veritatis Splendor.

Sam Snort's Latin isn't as good as it once was - the most accurate translation I can come up with for Veritatis Splendor is "The Usual Load of Old Bollocks" but I reckon it's pretty close.

In this weighty document, concocted by the Pontiff and the crew of sad mo' fuckers who surround him in Vatican HQ, he will lecture the faithful on the desirability of keeping their peckers dry, or the need to create an offspring every time you make sweet leurve all night long with a babe, and other such celibate bullturd which makes the world give daily thanks that there are men like Sam Snort doing the rounds, yes and telling it like it is, offering wise counsel, and generally radiating light and hope like a massive phallic beacon! Praise the lord . . .

I have often wondered how much better the world would be if there arrived a Pope who was more in touch with the needs of the people, who understood their hopes and fears in the way that Samuel J. Snort SJ does, and could instruct them according, rather than spending vast chunks of precious Vatican funds telling people what not to do with their dicks.

I have wondered about the possibility of Pope Sam the First!

Hail Marys

Immediately, I can see a small technical difficulty. As an atheist, I accept that I might have a slight problem convincing the College of Cardinals of my suitability to the onerous task of steering millions of mad Catholics on the road to eternal paradise.

On other counts, though, I would surely be an irresistible choice for my raw charisma and roust sex appeal, qualities that are crucial in the leader of any major organisation, even one as raddled, nay absurd, as the Church of Rome.

I'm sure that they would do the right thing to restore their sagging fortunes, not to mention their sagging scrotums, and I can only imagine the level of hysteria in St. Peter's Square when the puff of white smoke goes up, and Pope Sam I swaggers out on the balcony to receive the adulation of his fans and roars "How're we doin' on the left side . . ."

They would, of course, have known it was me coming out, because for the first time in history, they would be able to guess the identity of the new Pope by smelling the immortal puff of smoke. I'm thinking in terms of some excellent Red Leb for this unique occasion, and as large a bamboozler as ten babes can carry out onto the balcony of St. Peter's fabulous basilica!

I will certainly be the first Pope to begin his Pontificate by calling for a moment of hush, and then yelling "paaaaaaaaaaarty in 87 different languages.

Settling in to my new surroundings will present few problems for a man of my authoritative demeanour. I will gather all the priests and nuns together in my splendid bedroom in the Vatican, and address them thus.

"Howdy, y'all. The name's Snort. Sam Snort. And I'm your new fucking Pope. Now I should establish from the start, guys 'n' gals, that there are going to be a few little changes around this here swinging city.

"All you nuns can get rid of those habits and slip into something sexier, something more appropriate to your new role working the customers in the casino which, incidentally, I am building in what used to be the Sistine Chapel.

"We'll be looking to attract the high rollers because, as my old buddy Bugsy Marcinkus used to say, 'The Church doesn't run on Hail Marys'. Right? Right!

"Those guys will like to see a bit of cleavage and plenty of ass, so I can rely on you to come up with something appropriate. If you've got any questions, just call my old babe Madonna, and she'll give you a few handy hints!

"Guys, if you insist on butt-fucking rent boys on Vatican time, try to do it so it doesn't get in the papers, huh? I know that you gotta have your fun, and that the only reason you are here is to bugger your way to oblivion, but the popular prints are getting kinda bolshie about that sorta thing, and Pope Sam I has better things to be doing with his time than holding press conferences defending you sonsabitches.

"We are all in this together. That will be all. Now go forth and boogie for Jesus. Amen."

bollock naked

I will immediately begin the drafting of a major policy document entitled "Vatican II - The Sequel."

It will be the first Papal Encyclical to be made into a major motion picture with accompanying soundtrack album, featuring Motorhead.

Unlike Vatican II, this one will feature extensive material about leather bars, and how Catholics should go to them, because they're great crack.

On the celibacy issue, the key chapter will be entitled "Me? I Couldn't Give A Flying Fuck (and If I Couldn't Nobody Could)" and will advise the faithful that if they want to copulate with a Friesian heifer, it is a matter of utter indifference to the venerable Pope Sam.

With the help of Gordon Thomas, I will draft a lengthy section recalling all the bonking bishops from exile, and appointing Eamon Casey as Papal Nuncio to Las Vegas.

Indeed, I was thinking of having old loose fly Casey pictured on the cover, bollock naked, with a horn on his that could open up a furrow on the Long Acre.

Ah yes, there are exciting times in store for Mother Church, or rather, Motherfucker Church.

How refreshing it will be, on Christmas Day, to switch on Urbi Et Orbi, and see the Pope standing on the parapet of St. Peters, cassock fluttering in the wind, mooning unselfconsciously at the excited and delighted congregation.

Since the current shithead refuses to croak, I suggest that a bit of Pontificide is in order, the way that they offed the hapless John Paul I.

Let us pray, assholes, let us pray.

• Rev. Samuel Snort SJ

(Pope-In-Waiting)