THE PRESIDENT: Good afternoon. It's a real honor to be here in Rome. I've always admired that whole "empire" thing you people invented. I learned all about it in a wonderful old documentary called Caligula.

So hey, have you heard the one about the Pollack Pope? He prayed to Buddha!

(Boos. Hurling of Rotten Fruit.)

Sheesh. Tough crowd. Well excuse me for trying to lighten the mood around here. Because yes, as any human being who's spent more than four seconds near a TV or radio this week can tell you, Pope John Paul II has at long last passed away at the obscenely too-ripe old age of 84. As such, the Catholic Church has lost its dress-wearing mascot, and decorum calls upon us real Christians to pretend to care.

Get the GODLY New Book!

Yessir, this here is one politically tricky situation. If I don't lay on the schmaltzy pretend sorrow real thick, America's womb booger and vegetard-loving Mary Worshippers may take offense. Yet if I overdo it, my Catholic-despising Baptist base gets whipped into a frenzy over me consorting with the pasty corpse of a surrogate of Satan. So I'll just play it down the middle here, and take some comfort knowing that Americans have the memory spans of fruit flies.

I brought former President Bill Clinton along, because he'll kiss any ass just to catch another ride on Air Force One, and because I know how much he loves to tease "grief sex" out of the bereaved. You should see the Polaroids from his recent trip to Southeast Asia!

Anyway, it's hard to believe it's been almost three years since my Papal audience. Yes, ours was a brief meeting, but from it I took away a very clear picture. A picture not just of a stooped, wrinkly little albino gremlin – but a picture of a man of great influence and curious contradictions.

A man so tireless in his efforts to steal my "Culture of Life" thunder, yet too racked with dementia to realize it simply doesn't apply to Negroid prison inmates and thousands of Iraqian civilians.

A man so forceful in his defense of the sanctity of hot man-on-girl action and opposition to faggasexuality, yet who populated the ranks of his clergy exclusively with abstinence-proclaiming fudgepackers.

A man with one tippy-toe touching down in the 21st century, yet with the other foot and both hands furiously clutching onto the Middle Ages.

And last but not least, a man with his fingers on the purse strings of two millenia worth of criminally ill-gotten wealth, yet too paralyzed by that dumb "modesty" stuff to even buy himself a decent stretch limousine with blacked-out windows instead of toodling around in that retarded fishtank-on-a-golfcart thing.

At this point I do want to mention that just because it was Catholics who cooked up Christianity, doesn't mean that Jesus isn't still pissed off that they wrote such a shoddy first draft. Thank goodness that super-horny anti-Papists like Martin Luther and Henry VIII came along to polish things up and get Christophilia ready for primetime televangelism.

Mind you, in fairness, old Mr. Popo was nothing if not consistent. He Never waffled or flip-flopped on anything, which I have to confess is admirable. So there. Nice stuff said.

I look forward to meeting John Paul II's successor. I'm sure that after enjoying this 21 day non-stop infomercial beamed round the world for nary a penny, the church will be sure to pick someone who can deliver a sequel funeral in a whole lot less than 24 years.

Thank you, and may God Bless America – and have mercy on the Pope's embarrassingly misguided soul.

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