The Vatican Stomp (Consider Yourself Warned About Content)

I once responded to an inquiry about my religious beliefs by saying that I was a vague pantheist. When my ex-husband applied to have our marriage annulled after 10 years I told him to list me as a Taoist, and never heard another thing about the Tribunal paying a visit. The fact of the matter is that I am a natural born atheist who was imprisoned for sixteen years in the Catholic educational system.

I wish there were a word other than atheist; no-god-nik sounds so negative, but it will do for now. For anyone who is religious who reads this, please understand that I don't hold it against you, that I really don't understand your beliefs any better than you understand mine, and that I would think it just ducky to agree to disagree on this matter for the moment. I don't proselytize, and I'd like the rest of you to return the favor. But, excuse me, I have some extreme schadenfreude to luxuriate in.

On to the Pope-a-Dope, the one, holy, catholic, and apostolic Rope-A-Dope. It is with extreme delight that I notice that I have lived to see the day that the His Royal Infallibleness resigns over a juicy, sleazy scandal worthy of the raggiest of the checkout counter rags. Sex! Blackmail! Financial Shenanigans! The trifecta of slime. I can only hope that it might be enough to knock those unsightly celebrity cellulite photos off their covers for a while, and, really, editors, those photos of a snarling Duchess Camilla are so yesterday.

For myself, I am pleased our of all whooping that the Pope and his Vatican gang are being tried in the court of public opinion and found wanting. They have never hesitated to publicly humiliate, silence, and punish those who have the temerity to disagree with their doctrines and policies, from first graders right on up to prelates, so why should anyone hold back now. This time the men in red can't pull that old “render unto Caesar” Twinkie defense—they have broken their own commandments, the ones written in stone many millennia ago.

I know that nothing much will change.  The Vatican is never going to agree to live in the future, Twitter accounts and Prada slippers notwithstanding.  A few more mealy-mouthed apologies will be issued, crimes will be chalked up to human weakness, and no one will admit that the system is flawed.  The boys will keep the "Stinky Girls Stay Out" sign on the clubhouse door.  The conclave will probably elect the African cardinal on the grounds that it will create the illusion of change and divert public attention from the suppurating mess of the scandal.

In the meantime, the notoriety is better for my mood than a bottle of Prosecco (or, as we call it in my house “Prozacco.") So what if it is only a sideshow to the other crimes they have committed and covered up? I have shed enough tears over the abuse scandals. No more hand-wringing. I want to Par-Tay. So, if you're happy and you know it, raise your foot and join me in doing a little Vatican Stomp. Let's see some sacrilege. You know you want to. 

And when you finish with that, take a listen to this:

The original and still the greatest, Tom Lehrer's Vatican Rag