April 3rd, 2005

Vatican email

theferrett has some thoughts and the email of the Pope's passing:

When a Pope passes on after a long reign, his apartment is surrounded by the faithful, who watch for signs of his death. The traditional first sign of the Pope's death is that the fabled Bronze Door, beneath a portico just off of St. Peter's Square, is closed - but that's not always accurate. Some believers say that the true first sign is inevitably the closing of the shutters on the Pope's apartment.

Or, in these days, an email is sent.

But though the news tells us that technology has trumped ritual, what is less known is the content of the email that was sent out when the Pope passed away. Fortunately, I have it here.

To: Eddie Marty Somalo <camerlengo@vatican.com>
From: Jim Harvey <popes_housekeeper@vatican.com>

Subject: OMG!!!!!!!!

THE POEP JUST DIED! can u beleive it? i thought for sure this was the apocalips. anyway, get on that puffy smoke thing.

XOXOXOXOXOXO,
Jimmy
Shock
  • libram

demented_pants, on choosing a new pope...

Okay, so now that JPII has kicked the papal bucket, I'm guessing some of you are wondering exactly how the Catholic church goes about choosing the new pope. I went and looked it up on Wikipedia, and this is the reader's digest version:

1) the old pope dies. (Check).
2) The old pope's chaimberlain, also known as the Camerlengo, verifies that the Pope has, indeed, kicked the bucket.
3) They bury the old guy in the hall of popes or whatever it is they call the graveyard where they bury popes.
4) They lock all the cardinals between the ages of something and 79 in St. Peter's Basilica. Nobody is allowed to leave once the room is sealed. And there's no electricity; only a fire.
5) The cardinals vote. Everyone present is eligible for Papacy except the master of ceremonies, which is usually an eligible Cardinal who's just barely eligible, on the too-old side.
6) Once they decide on a single candidate to be Pope, they send up a white puff of smoke. There is much rejoicing. (Yay.)
7) There's a giant ceremony, which mainly consists of "Tag. You're Pope."

The end.



EDIT: I know I'm going to hell for this, but for those who don't bother reading comments I'm posting the resulting icons here. Feel free to use them, but credit me in the keywords so St. Peter can give me a proper whipping when I finally kick the bucket.



Also, brought on by the influence of my brother itburnsitburns, in a Thai restaurant:


Repeat: Credit me please, if you plan to use these.
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Dreamer

(no subject)

bean_shadow muses on how a Hummer salesman makes his pitch after seeing a Hummer covered with Dale Earnhart Jr stuff:

"What's money? Would you put a price on having an abnormally large penis? Yeah, they are expensive but think of the future. People don't do that enough. But you are a smart man who can see into the future. And what you see, and what I see as well, is a man who will get another raise and probably a better job because your boss or future employer will know you have a big penis."
"I never thought of it that way."
"May I ask you what your favorite sport is?"
"I like racing. NASCAR."
"Well then I'm glad you came here when you did. All the big penis men in the racetrack parking lot make fun of you and your small Honda. You want to show them. You want Dale Earnhart Jr. himself to see you in that Hummer and think, 'Man, I never thought anybody could have a large a penis as me but that guy does.'"
"Yeah."
"So what do you think?"
"I'LL BUY ONE!"
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    amused amused
pale embrace

(no subject)

From a private pixink post, reprinted here with permission:

flitflitfloop.
After thinking about it for awhile, I've decided that my favourite kinds of songs are the ones that make me feel like I'm either flying, or falling backwards in to water.
K: Eeep, Eeep
  • kielle

ursulav, upon seeing Sin City

And just about the point that I was thinking "Okay, all these stories so far have involved women getting killed by psychopaths, and if a chick doesn't start kicking ass soon, I'm gonna get a little pissy--" they introduced a whole bunch of hookers with guns and swords, and all is right with the cosmos.

However, I am left with one burning question...

When did Rutger Hauer get so old?

I realize that you see an actor in a movie, then you don't see 'em for awhile, and you're always a little shocked. Since I hadn't seen him in anything since...oh, probably Ladyhawk or Blade Runner, (I'm told I haven't missed much) my mental image went from "The android with the sword and the giant black horse, right?" to "DEAR GOD, IT'S THE CRYPT-KEEPER!"
choose

Final Wishes

crevette is rather looking forward to the film Kingdom of Heaven starring one Orlando Bloom. She is noted for being a bit fond of said Orlando Bloom person.

I don't think KOH will have that snark factor. I'm sort of thinking it has the earmarks of being a really, really good movie. And it will bring the pretty. And the pretty will be grimy and dirty and bloodsplattered, carrying a sword and being all HAWT, and being capable of growing facial hair. Those pictures have inspired me to start writing Kingdom of Heaven Haiku. (speaking of haiku, did you realize that "restraining order" is exactly 5 syllables? Yes, I wrote that out in one.)

Dear Lord, I'm so dead. D.E.D.

My crotch will spontaniously combust and I'll just burn up in the Oldsmar 20.

As a resident of Florida, and being just a few miles from the Terri Schaivo circus, I will now state for the record: If this movie doesn't kill me D.E.D., but instead causes me to have a stroke or to have convulsions, or cause myself to beat my head against a hard, unyielding surface until I have brain damaged myself beyond all sense(always a possibility...), do NOT put me on machines, do NOT insert a feeding tube(unless you're feeding me margaritas), do not take extraordinary measures to prolong my life. And especially do NOT call Jesse Jackson. If you call Jesse Jackson to stand over my bedside and pray, I will come back and HAUNT your ass. Correction. I will come back and haunt your ass and then BEAT it.


Read the whole thing here.
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