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Bruce, we gave you tha keys, and THIS is what you brought home?

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Monday, April 18

Fly on the wall

UPDATE: I can finally hold my head up high as I visit the rest of the CBA, since I have now caught up on a lot of my links. Thanx to Scott from the Northside Lounge, because I cheated and copied his source.


The 115 eligible "Princes" of the Catholic Church have been sealed together in the Sisting Chapel to elect a new pope. As of this writing, they have voted, but did not elect a new guy, black smoke was emitted from the building, thousands of Italians who have nothing else better to do cried "E negro!" and crossed themselves hundreds of times before walking home in their pointy shoes.

We've all had times, whether it was training camp, deep camp, detention, or baseball season, where you've sealed yourselves together, a bunch of men, for a long period of time. A bunch of women do it, no biggie. Nobody cares. But a bunch of men alone together, your mind grasps, briefly or not, on the homo factor.

But what do a bunch of cardinals do sealed up together? Is it the same as a bunch of your friends?

Somebody, at least one somebody, has gotta have bad garlic sausage gas, and thinks it is just the HEIGHT of comedy to keep rippin' away.

Somebody else is far too proud and talky about something he just bought: a TV, a power washer, a jet ski, or maybe a new chalice. "Yep, this baby's Solid Gold, not that cheap-ass gold plate that gets all tarnished up, and your boys gotta scrub on it weekly."

Somebody's preoccupied, thinking about his woman, and how mad she is that he's gone today. Not a problem here. There's probably a few missing their little servant boys back home, but not to the point that they're not paying attention to the game, or calling them on his cell, or anything like that.

Some fucker always takes the last beer out of the fridge without initiating any of the process of loading it up with more.

Some other fucker takes four slices of pizza right away, and puts them on his plate because he's afraid that the rest of the hogs will eat it all, and he'll miss out.

Some arrogant prick is turning the channel all the time, just because it's a commercial doesn't mean we weren't watching. What if there's a new Coors Light girl, or another Hootie chicken sammich spot? Can't get enough of the two sluts letting ranch dressing drip from their lips. Of course, the cardinals don't have TV in the chapel, but they certainly have Linda Fiorentino videos, like "Jade". The third-world prelates sure love their Linda Fiorentino.

At least one little fuckwad keeps looking up, and when you finally press him on what he's doing, he's thinking that he coulda done a better job painting the ceiling. Look at the drips on the walls?

There's never enough room to sit, and these guys are all far too good to sit on the floor. Humulity before the Lord, my cardinal red ass. So there's a lot of "claim jumping" going on: as soon as one guy gets up to drain the lizard, there's some other schmoe stealing his seat.

As trends will go, you can bet six or seven of these crimson fucks got a raging game of "hold-em" going on. The youngest guy who keeps going "all-in" with the communion wafers is pissing everyone else off. It's JUST wafers, you mope. This ISN'T for real money.

And, just like any other gathering of guys, when you're all holed up together for a long time, nothing gets done. Deer go unhunted, trees go uncut, and popes go unelected. They should just let the people elect the new guy, by dialing '900' numbers. That way, they can make an extra 75 cents a call, and the Church never turns its back on another great revenue stream.