Identical Pontiffs

It's now been over three months since the Catholic Church has officially had two popes with Pope Benedict formally stepping down while Pope Francis officially stepped up.  Although only one holds authority over the Holy See, for all intents and purposes we've now got two, two, two popes in one! to paraphrase a well-known breath mint/candy mint commercial from long ago. 

TV producers have predictably lost no time in exploiting this turn of events to  develop a situation comedy based on the dual pope premise. Although the name of the program is still open --- candidates include The Odd Prelates, Two and a Half Popes Minus a Half, and Two Broke Popes  --- the theme song is already fixed. 

And, I might add, well familiar to many Baby Boomers ... 

Identical Pontiffs

Meet Benny who's reigned most everywhere 
From Avignon to St. Peter's Square. 

But Franny's only seen the sights 
A guy can see from Argentine heights ---

What a pastoral pair!

But they're pontiffs, 
Identical pontiffs all the way. 

One pair of matching prelates, 
 Different as clergy and lay.

Where Benny adores a baguette, 
Worldly trappings and anisette. 
Our Franny wants to feed the soul, 
Austerity makes him lose control ---
Augustinian and Jesuit!

Still they're pontiffs!
Identical pontiffs and you'll find
They walk alike, they talk alike,
At birth control, they balk alike ---
You can lose you mind!
When pontiffs are two of a kind!

Here's hoping the new show will be a big hit and run for many, many successful years! 

Just like Seinfeld.

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If you liked this post you might also like The Pope's Tweets,  That President!, and Meet the Beatles, Mr. Zuckerberg. 

If you hated this post, I'm afraid there's precious little in heaven or earth either of the two popes can do to help you.  And don't expect me to lift a damn finger for you either!

Coca-Cola Cold Turkey

Heaven, I'm in Heaven ...

Why?  Because ...  

Things Go Better with Coca-Cola, It's the Real Thing, I'd Like to Buy the World a Coke and Keep It Company, Coke Adds Life,  Have a Coke and a Smile, Hey Kid, Catch!, Open Happiness, and just plain old

 Enjoy Coca-Cola!

That's why.  I love the sparkly refreshing stuff.  Always have, always will.

But now, the Greatest Love of All is in serious peril.  My last dental checkup has resulted in my mouth warranting a full-blown response from FEMA, and my dentist Dr. Kropotkin has made an audacious, almost unthinkable demand upon me.

He has warned me that it is essential I  give up Coca-Cola.

"But why, doctor?"  I protested.  "You don't need teeth to enjoy Coke!"

"Perry, be serious!  You are one step away from Clark Gable teeth!"

Clark Gable teeth!!!  The famed actor had a full set of dentures throughout his entire movie career.  Not that I'd  normally mind  being compared to the likes of Clark Gable, but when it comes to teeth I wouldn't want to be compared to First in War, First in Peace, Father of Our Country George Washington either!

Coca-Cola has been with me my entire life.  From those early days when Coke came in returnable glass bottles to the stupefying introduction and speedy reversal of New Coke  in 1985 to the modern day incarnation of multiple Coke products for every taste and temperament,  there have  been but two constants throughout: the unsurpassed flavor of the original  formula and me drinking the stuff.  
Don't try to hand me a Pepsi or an RC!  They are poseurs, frauds, confederate colas!  I'll  pass any taste test you throw at me --- blind, double blind, or deaf, dumb, and blind! Even in a quiet vibration land, I'd know the difference.

So how to live without that clean crisp delicious kick to the throat and mouth?  How to bypass that incredibly refreshing pause that refreshes whenever  I pause to refresh,  which can be as many as 3 or 4 times a day but who's counting other than Dr. Kropotkin?

Well, I could drink water.  Ice cold water after you've hiked 3000 miles across the Gobi Desert is kind of okay, but otherwise drinking a glass of water has all the allure of sex with a woman out of  a Norman Rockwell painting. 

I could drink juice. Orange juice, grapefruit juice, and the like are indeed sympatico with pancakes and eggs and bagels and cereal, but what about after 9:00 AM? Orange juice with a corned beef sandwich? I'd be drummed out of Judaism! 

I could drink Perrier with a twist of lemon. That actually has kind of an appeal  as I could wear a beret, sit in a corner cafe,  and feign sophistication and international savoir faire.  Nah, forget it --- I've never even read Sartre!

And my self-control is hardly legendary. Once I gave up eating chocolate for an entire  week.  At the end of that week I traveled to Hershey Park PA and ate the gift shop.  Once I gave up fast food for an entire month.  At the end of that month I couldn't hear the song "Old McDonald had a Farm" without crying.

But now it's all different.  I'm 62 years old and I had six cavities at my last dental check-up. If things continue at this rate, the next time I have a Coke and a Smile I'm going to look like a member of the backwoods cast of Deliverance. 

So, I'm going Coca-Cola Cold Turkey!  I'm going to start right aw ... tomorrow! How am I going to survive once I can no longer Open Happiness?  I'll just have to ramp up the coffee,  another love of mine,  to the  point at which I'll probably never sleep.

Which is a good thing.  

Because if I did sleep, quite frankly, I'd only dream of Coke.

(More to come.)

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Sweet and Carbonated Dreams, Perry!

Piano Man

No, it wasn't just the ill-chosen socks and shoes for the 2013 tour. 

Somebody really doesn't like Billy Joel!  

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Yep, Mr. Joel apparently didn't manage to get this one fan feelin' all right. Too bad for the Piano Man but not too bad for me, who landed this week's contribution to the Friday Fictioneers just the way it are at 19 words.

Check out the the other Fictioneers by clicking right here; all of them are entertainers who get it right the first time and will no doubt get you high tonight.  So, don't make me wait!

Think this post was something of a cheat? Keep it to yourself, it's my life!

U. S. Open House

The U.S. Open Golf Tournament is being played this week at par five distance from my front door, and this is surprising news to most people. The fabled Merion Golf Club is not in Merion at all,  a neighborhood where much of the blood is so blue you could use to sign the Declaration of Independence, but rather directly adjacent to modest Havertown PA, where I live.  

Many feel this is the greatest thing that's ever happened around these parts, but I'm not so sure. Traffic is jammed, roads are closed, and restaurants and businesses operating at SRO capacity. What's so Open about all that?

Still, opportunities abound to pick up extra money in and around the tournament, and some folks are renting their homes out for the week to tourney attendees looking to save money on  a hotel. Since my house is so close to the course, I decided to jump on that option myself, but there was a problem. Most people renting out homes find someplace else to live for the week, but I frankly can't afford that.

So, me and Mr. and Mrs. Frank Lumpkin from Sioux Falls ND are spending the week together at my humble abode in humble Havertown!

"Hey, Frank!  Clara!  You guys going over to the course today?" I hollered yesterday morning, sitting at the breakfast table in my stained blue bathrobe and several days' old underwear. 

"Yes,  Perry," said Clara.  "That's kind of the reason why we're here, you might remember, to see the Open."

"I knew that!" I replied.  "Say, you guys think you could  pick me up some pop-tarts on the way back?  No rush!"

They seem like such a nice couple, the Lumpkins, but frankly I didn't know how to plan for their stay beyond doing a little light dusting, cleaning the crapper, and stocking up on Miracle-Whip.  You see, the Lumpkins are of the gentile persuasion, and I wasn't sure of their tastes, especially when it comes to alcohol. 

"Since you guys aren't Jewish," I said to them, "I figured maybe you like to drink it up.  What  kind of booze should I get for you?

"Perry, neither my wife nor I drink alcohol." 

"Go figure. And I do drink!  Hah, so much for stereotypes!"

The Lumpkins have been spending all day and a lot of the night over at Merion, so they're hardly ever at the house.  I can't figure out why they're never around,  except that these two must love golf almost as much as Tiger Woods loves bimbos!

"Say, Frank, are you guys any good at golf yourselves?" I asked the two of them yesterday evening. "After all, at your ages and with Clara's stout build, it's got to be difficult to get around an entire 18 holes!"

"Perry, I am a scratch golfer, and Clara is a  7 handicap." 

"I'm not bad at golf either," I said. "On the 16th at City Line Mini, I can get it through the windmill in under three strokes! Get it? The Windmill! LOL!"

Today the Lumpkins announced they'd be moving over to a hotel for the rest of the Open. They don't even want back any part of the money they paid for the rest of the week.

Once again, go figure!

"Sorry to see you go, guys," I shouted to the Lumpkins as they hastily packed their bags and sped off to a waiting cab.  "Should you see Tiger Woods,  please tell him there's a room open if he's interested. Free Pop-Tarts!"

"Oh, and Frank, Clara?  Make sure and tell Tiger that at La Maison Block, bimbos R welcome!"

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Sure I can keep my mouth shut, big guy!