Monday, April 04, 2005

Pope 'n Coke

I'm sitting around, trying to think of something to say about the pope being dead. I've surprised myself with how little I have to say about Mr. Pope the II. The only thought I keep having is about how quintessentially Catholic and toldja-so of him it was to go ahead and kick the bucket (full of holy water, one could safely assume) about ten minutes after Terri Schiavo did.

Still though, as someone who has an opinion about virtually everything under the sun and who somewhat proficiently keeps up with current events, I felt compelled to come up with something to say about Il Papa.

I turned to the Rants and Raves section of CraigsList looking for inspiration. Normally a haven for zealots in all flavors, I was expecting to find either a post to convince me of John Paul Deuce's redeemable qualities or at least a justifiable reason to unleash the barrage of dead pope jokes I feel brewing in my cauldron of tactlessness.

Hardly anyone had even mentioned the pope. I did, however, click on a particularly fantastic posting entitled "People of Truth," wherein its author listed a hundred people he believes to profess Truth, in that Philosophically Capitalized Sense of Truth.

He claims they are in no particular order. As such, both Bob Marley and Meryl Streep beat out Jesus; pop-punker Avril Lavigne totally wallops prophets Elijah and Ezekiel; John Belushi creams Beethoven; 50 Cent beats Shakespeare (as does Michael Stipe); and, my favorite, Confucius hangs onto his number 13 spot by a fingernail as Johnny Depp and Benicio Del Toro look to advance from slots 14 and 15.

Though I have come to no revelations about the pope, I have reached that all-important plateau in every adult's life wherein one comes to understand that one should never, ever use CraigsList as a source for anything, ever.

Now that I'm fresh out of pope material [unused in the name of propriety, despite my innermost desires: Lollipope, Popels, Popesicle, Pope Tart, Snap Crackle and Pope, Pope on a rope, Pope suds, Pope opera, Pope springs eternal], it's time to do the weekend recap.

Since I'm going on vacation on Thursday, I felt it necessary to do some liquor cross-training this weekend in preperation for any and all drinking I plan on doing in Ohio. Prior to Friday night, I can't remember the last time I had drank enough to necessitate sleeping until 2:30 the next afternoon.

The progression of drink names throughout the evening is a pretty good indicator of both my sobriety and the general candor of my company. I began the night with a couple of mellow Bass Ales, ordered by yours truly, and somehow found myself three hours later with an "Irish Car Bomb" in one hand and a "Kamikaze" in the other. I had ordered neither. I drank both.

I think in my old age (and hyperbolically increasing sobriety, wherein my alcohol intake grows infinitesimally smaller until it is virtually nothing) I've become a frank drunk. I'll own the fact that I was once a maudlin drunk. But, like some kind of inebriated dandelion growing towards a Bacardi Limon sun, I've definitely matured in my intoxication to the point where I don't lament, but rather wield bluntness like a weapon.

However, without being disparaging, I'll say that I was drinking with one philosophical, touchy-feely drunk, one pining, maudlin, touchy-feely drunk, and a third weepy, territorial drunk. The frustrating part about being a frank drunk in the company of the other three is that when you look, say, the philosophical drunk in the eye and, with all the gravity you can muster, tell him he is an idiot, he will laugh, tell you how your hands are warm, and then ruminate on his career options.

From the depths of my unimpaired, Monday, mid-morning psyche, I would like to recant any drunken claims I made about him being an idiot. Indeed, I will be replacing those drunken claims entirely.

With deeply sober claims that he is an idiot.

Eat, drink, and be merry, folks, that's how it goes and it goes like that for a reason. Why spend an ungodly amount of your measly paycheck on liquor if you're just gonna dilute your Jack and Coke with tears? Ex-significant others are seldom worth mourning, especially at five dollars a spilled shot.

I've seen the light, and it's over here in "I didn't end the evening with my crotch covered in liquor spilled while, yet again, rehashing the story of my latest meeting with my ex" land. We've got a nice view. Y'all should join me.

2 Comments:

Anonymous Mike said...

Here's my bit of Pope crassness that I was secretly hoping would come to fruition:

The announcement of his cascading health was made on April 1st. Considering the domino effect of organ failure (oops, the Pope's a CUTI with a Chronic Urinary Tract Infection...oops now his heart failed...oops, his kidneys are kaput...ummmm....) it sounded like a setup for a joke of some sort. So, instead of being on Celebrity Deathwatch, the way I usually am, I was waiting for him to do that creepy window appearance thing where he was wheeled in out of the darkness and he starts to giggle and clap, a la April Fool's!

After seeing the pic in the Times today, I was still waiting for him to pop up and go "Gotcha!"

Still waiting...

9:02 PM  
Anonymous brad said...

or for ashton kutcher to wheel him out, give the finger to the catholic world, and proclaim "every last one of you just got POPE'D!"

11:40 AM  

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