The Pope Came to Me in a Dream Last Night

The Pope Came to Me in a Dream Last Night



There is nothing, nothing, nothing worse than when the Pope comes and haunts you.

I've written before about how Richard Nixon and Jesus will occasionally come "visit" me in the nighttime and trash my place and generally piss me off.

Well, now the Pope is in on the hauntings.

I don't know why the dead are so fond of me, maybe because I'm one foot in the grave, or maybe it's because I make delicious Hot Pockets a lot.

Either way, they can't get enough of me. I'm like the hotspot on Earth for dead dignitaries.

Well, last night the Pope came to me around one and demanded Funyons.

I'm not joking.

No one jokes about things like the Pope, and certainly no one would ever assume that the Pope would enjoy snack chips.

So, am I being honest?

Is the Pope a dead Catholic?

He woke me up and asked in that creepy witch voice "Matthew...Matthew...Funyons. I need....Funyons....please help me Matthew. Maybe? Maybe?"

"Holy shit! The Pope!" I was scared witless. The fact that he was freshly dead made him creepier than Christ or Nixon.

"Do you have any Funyons?" He was kneeling at the end of my bed, playing with the tag on my sheet coyly.

"No. God! What is it with you people? I'm trying to live a normal life here!"

"Oh, don't be that way, I just feel like some Funyons...and some Cherry Coke. Do you have Cherry Coke?"

"Are you stoned?"

"Maybe."

"Look, I don’t have any Funyons. There's a 7-11 right next door. Can't you go buy some?"

"But, I have no money. I'm a dead Pope. Dead Pope's don't carry money." I noticed he was childishly stomping his scepter with each syllable.

"Look, John, I really – fuck it. OK. Wait here." I moved passed him and threw on some jeans and a T-shirt. "Funyons, right? Anything else? Wait, Cherry Coke and Funyons. Anything else?"

"DVD. Do you have any good DVDs I can watch?"

"Fucking look in the cabinet over there. Wait, no, I have to work tomorrow. Come with me to 7-11, cuz you're not sticking around here, I need to sleep."

"Pope rub your back? Pope help clean up. Pope be real quiet when he's watching DVD. Maybe late night TV? Rockford Files?" He was standing now and resting his head on his scepter.

"Pope, I have to work tomorrow. Isn't there all this shit up in heaven?"

"Pope don't like heaven; must be meek. Pope like pops and whistles – first person shooter games, new Britney Spears album. Pope into pop culture. Pope really into pop culture."

"Pope is leaving, I'm going to bed, I'm going to summon Nixon to kick you out if you don't leave now."

He started pouting, then crying. "You make Pope cry. Pope feel bad. Pope need hug."

So, I hugged the Pope and told him "Look, come by on the weekend and we'll get baked and watch The Last Temptation of Christ."

"You promise Pope?"

"I promise you."

So, the Pope left and I went back to bed.

Now I have to entertain the ghost of the Pope on Friday and I'm none too pleased. Before he left he made me also promise I'd take him to the zoo on Saturday. So, my weekend is full of Pope.

I hope you are all happy.



Pleace,

Matt