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So, the Pontiff’s in hamlet. (I just looked for a generic NYT clause to link to here but they seem to be cranking out a new one every five minutes or so and I am overwhelmed with options. So, you’ll have to faith me, even without Google Word Search backing me up). I got an email from my dad detailing when big papi will be cruising up 5th entrance and asking me if I’d be there to see him. Response: No. I couldn’t even get myself out of bed to see the elephants advance by steps through the midtown funnel when the circus came to hamlet, and I actually cognate elephants, so things aren’t looking advantageous for the leader of my science of obligation. I hope my non-appearance there is palpable (popeable?), as I have some issues with senor benedict xvi, and I ruminate he needs me (the metaphorical “me”) more than I necessity him (the literal and metaphorical “him”) to keep universality chugging along.

However, if there’s some fitting occasion to see the Popemobile when it does not comprise someone who genuinely believes gay race don’t go to vault of heaven, I would be all over that. Because, let’s be straightforward, this is a really luscious ride:

Though I do fail to hit the older, domed models, that have always reminded me of the plank game Disturb, to the point where I puff of air up singing the “you can pop a lot of put out of order on the pop-a-matic blob!” skilled in commerce jingle every duration I see the pope, or anyone in a ludicrous hat.

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