Pope: Living Proof that God is Not Merciful

At 173 years old, Pope John Paul II reflects on two-and-a-half lifetimes in the service of what turns out to be a cruel and merciless God.

Speaking through an interpreter who has learned to turn the Pope's incoherent mumbling into bad Italian-English, the Pope said: "I talka to God a-yesterdaya. I aska hima to letta me die-a. God a-saya to me: 'Suck a big, fat, dick, Pope-a."


Asked about God, the Pope gives the internationally recognized gesture for "Man, fuck that guy."


The Pope has every reason to be angry. Those close to the morbidly elderly pontif report that over the last decade, he has not only lost the ability to speak, but is also unable to blink, produce saliva, or keep his brittle bones from snapping on the rare occasion that he finds a reason to laugh.

Speaking on condition of anonymity, a close associate of his Popeness described his urinary tract as "pretty much like an automatic drip coffee pot at this point."


The Pope, seen here disembarking from his private plane. Moments later, his arm tears free from his body, and he tumbles down six iron stairs, fracturing his pelvis and puncturing a lung with bone shrapnel.

At such an advanced age, the Pope's personal trainer reports, there is little the Pope can do to enrich his morose existence. "Contact sports are pretty much out of the question, as is anything involving weight-bearing or stretching. One time, I asked him to touch his toes, and he threw his fingers on the floor and stepped on them."

"His regimen is pretty much confined to sensual massage at this point -- for blood flow and cardiovascular stimulation. Which is disgusting."


Bad fucking idea.

With physical entertainment off the table, the Pope sometimes turns to humor for fulfillment.

"He's got a pretty zany sense of humor," a personal aide notes. "Sometimes we're not sure if his falls are accidental, deliberate suicide attempts, or extraordinarily dangerous slapstick."

Close friends observe that often the only way to tell the difference is to "look for blood." Although, according to those closest to the emaciated, breathing corpse, "sometimes a good chuckle will make him bleed from his mouth or eyeballs."


The Pope get's cooky: "Where's God? Where is he? I don't see him!"

Despite the Pope's own disenchantment, Cardinal O'Malley of Boston sees further evidence of God's work in the Pope's excruciating death spiral. "It just illustrates the magical cycle of life," he said. "You are born tiny, bald, toothless, helpless and diapered. And if you live long enough, to that state you shall return."