My neighbors are tired of all racket coming from my place, and with the water being shut off at midday to fix plumbing problems. Every day, they gather around my door. And every day, I have to release black smoke, indicating that the flooring job isn’t finished yet.
Wouldn’t it suck if one of the bishops burned something in the kitchen on the day that they were ready to announce the new pope? Everyone’s waiting in St. Peter’s Square, and they issue a collective groan when they see clouds of black smoke: “Aw, for crying out loud. Okay, whatever, we’ll be back tomorrow.” And Vatican officials go running after them “No, come back! We have a new pope--those are just hash browns.”
I’m really scared that the name of the new pope, Joseph Ratzinger, is a typo and they actually chose John Ratzenberger, who played Cliff on Cheers. That would really suck. He’d get up to the microphone and wheedle “Most people don’t realize that the papacy has a long and complicated history,” and then proceed to rattle off facts for several hours.
Believe it or not, while playing Hoopla with the typical team setup of girls vs. guys, I pulled a card that commanded an imitation of Cliff.
Oh, let me first reveal that I am very competitive. Let me also say that my girlfriends were full of inebriates. Full. So, I proceed with my absolutely perfect Bostonian accent, complete with that Ratzenberger inflection that is instantly recognizable in every freaking Pixar film. The women are staring at me. Hard. The guys are laughing their asses off, partly because my mockery is spot-on, but mostly because my partners were too flipping drunk to be able to identify the most identifiable character in television history.
Yeah, we lost. But it wasn’t because of me.