Coronus Vobiscum

Hey, Your Holiness. Whatcha doing?

“Da usual. Prayin’. Wearin’ da fancy clothes. Pope stuff.”

But no mask.

“No, no. No mask for-a da Pope.”

You’re like the opposite of Batman.

“Si, si. Take-a da vow of poverty. Drive-a da Fiat. And-a no punching clowns.”

You don’t have any nemeses at all.

“Eh, dunno ’bout dat. I got-a da enemy.”

Benedict?

“Dat-a guy. Now he won’t stop-a wit’ da Borat. Every ten minutes Mah wiiiiiife. Mah wiiiiife. Benedict ain’t got-a no wife! Trust-a me on-a dat one.”

Wait. Did you come out in favor of civil unions between gay partners just to annoy Pope Benedict?

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“Noooooooo.”

No?

“Maaaaaaaybe.”

You really are my favorite Pope ever. Except for the one who dug up his predecessor and put him on trial.

“The ol’ Cadaver Synod. You can-a no get away wit’ dat no more. Times they did-a change.”

Can Popes be impeached?

“If-a you dig up bodies and-a put dem on trial? Should be!”

Can’t be pulling that kind of crap any more.

“No, no. Is-a bad for-a da brand.”

Right as usual. Still, Your Holiness, I’d like to see you wear a mask. You’re 83.

“People wanna see-a da Pope face. Besides, I got-a da weapon up-a da sleeve of my cassock.”

Jesus?

“No, no. Everyone who comes-a anywhere near-a me is tested within an inch of-a their lives.”

Good plan.

“I’m-a da good Pope.”

Keep the faith, Your Holiness.

“I couldn’t lose it if-a I tried.”