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November 3, 2006
David: In Media Res
The Pope and Hitler cruised down the Las Vegas strip in their ’65 Mustang convertible, keeping an eye out for the law and trying to remain inconspicuous.
“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” said the Pope.
“Just stay cool and act casual. Everything will be fine,” Hitler assured him. “And take off the hat. People are staring.”
“Fine?! We’ve got your dead stripper in the trunk! How are things going to be fine?”
“You can start by not shouting the words ‘dead stripper in the trunk’ near all these nice tourists. And she’s not mine. I keep telling you that.”
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February 21, 2007
David: His Day Just Keeps Getting Better
The motorcycle cop pulled over the Mustang convertible for suspected drunk driving. He approached the driver’s side of the sportscar.
“Who are you supposed to be?”
“I’m the Pope,” replied the Pope. “Can we hurry this up? I have to be somewhere.”
The little man with the combover and Charlie Chaplin moustache sitting in the passenger seat said, “Oh, is this you handling it? Good job.”
“Gentlemen,” said the officer, “I’m going to have to ask you to step out of the vehicle and open the trunk.”
“Fine,” said the Pope, yanking the release lever.
“What? No!” Hitler belatedly exclaimed.
You kind of need to read or remember my entry of November 3, 2006, to see how this fits the topic at hand.
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August 17, 2007
David: Of 'The Man' And 'Sticking It'
The Pope and Hitler sat against one wall of the holding cell.
“Listen,--“ Hitler began. The Pope cut him off with a glare.
“Not. Now.”
One of the shaven-headed bikers locked in with them prowled toward the Pope, who nudged Hitler. “Quick, do something. He’s one of yours.”
Hitler crossed his arms and hmphed. “Maybe I don’t feel like it.”
“Lookie here. We got a Pope. We don’t like your kind.”
“We’re not looking for trouble.”
“Confession and communion are outmoded practices, right, boys?” The other skinheads yarred agreement. He showed the Pope the back of his jacket. “Hell’s Baptists.”
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