Hey, New York City—I’m sure you’ll claim this is just some big, unfortunate misunderstanding, but in your hearts you know that’s not true, don’t you, ya fucking pigeon-feeders. Admit it, Pope Benedict XVI’s visit was deliberately scheduled to overshadow a more important arrival: mine. There hasn’t been Germano-Gooseish friction this bad since the Hindenburg took out half a flock on its way down.
His Holiness takes precautions against the splattery white shit I’m gonna drop on his head
I can see the newspaper offices now: “Stop the presses! Some ancient former Nazi took a plane across the Atlantic to blow kisses at us!” Meanwhile, I finish up my own thousand mile migration, during which I flew myself, didn’t have the luxuries of peanuts or goddamn drooling naps, and had to fly behind dumbass Donald, who would not stop farting in my face, yet no journalist will come near me. Welcome to the Big Crapple.
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