I like this Pope. Okay, he may not smoke dope and he’s got some pretty obnoxious views on what women should and shouldn’t do with their own bodies, but he’s also genuinely and deeply concerned about poverty, inequality, racism and climate change and has spoken out forcefully against those who perpetuate injustice in those areas. Now it’s been reported that he is to meet with Donald Trump, aka the worst person in the world, a human shaped-turd in an ill-fitting million-dollar suit with a badge on it that reads (tragically for us) ‘I AM THE MOST POWERFUL PERSON ON THE PLANET’.
The following is the scenario which I hope will play out when they meet up.
Setting: A room in the Vatican, sparsely furnished with just the odd bit of velvet on the chairs, nice plush drapes and a couple of crucifixes and the like on the walls. On the left there is a line of seven people wearing suits, some of whom have bulges in their jacket pockets and three of whom are known members of neonazi organisations. To the right there stand three monks, two archbishops, a couple of swiss guards, a cardinal and one or two deacons. Pope Francesco and Donald Trump are sitting next to each other on two of the velvet-backed chairs.
THE POPE (addressing the hangers-on): EXEUNT!
(they all leave, except one)
THE POPE (looking slightly irritated): EXIT!
(the last one leaves)
The Pope reaches over and with a surprisingly swift jab breaks Donald Trump’s nose. The Commander-in-Chief gasps and puts his tiny hands over his face. The Supreme and Sovereign Pontiff stands up and, demonstrating astonishing agility for an eighty-year-old man, pulls his left leg full back and kicks over the tycoon’s chair. The 80’s playboy’s huge bulk goes crashing backwards and his head lands with a sickening thump. He’s making a curious keening sound, like a man very unused to being subjected to physical violence. The Bishop of Rome as head of the Roman Catholic Church turns to face the wall, takes two steps towards it and then swiftly turns and executes a full body slam on the alleged child rapist’s torso. From the look on the robber baron’s face, which is rapidly turning purple and emitting wheezing noises, there seems to be some damage to his internal organs. When the heel of the His Holiness’s right boot makes contact with the tax avoider’s chin, there’s a snapping sound. The real estate mogul is really suffering now – it’s not even clear that the reality TV show star is conscious. The climate liar has blood pouring out of what is left of his nose and his jaw is at an unnatural angle to the rest of his face. The Holy Father stands over the pretend billionaire’s bloated and beaten face breathing evenly, then reaches down, rips off the mendacious mafia frontman’s wig, then steps to the window and hurls it down to the cheering crowd watching the battle unfold on huge screens down in Saint Peter’s Square. As the tinpot tyrant lies whimpering on the floor, the religious leader formerly known as Jorge Mario Bergoglio strides over to the immense oak door and raps on it sharply, crying ‘DA MIHI IPHONE!’. He grabs the smartphone with pontifical impatience and shoots a smily selfie with the rapidly soon-to-be-former autocrat expiring in the background, then tweets it to his 10.6 million followers. Within ten minutes it has received many more likes than any other tweet in human history and the Combover Con Artist, aka the Orange Hitler, aka the Cheeto Benito, aka King Leer, aka the Last of the Mango Mohawkans, aka Fuckface von Clownstick, is no more.