by Ken Briggs
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Somehow a draft of the Pope's backup file of tweets landed in my mailbox. Among the messages in the pipeline:
"What to give this Navidad to the One who made everything? Suggestions invited."
"Am looking for a vinyl of Burton's 'How to Handle A Woman'. Lots upset with me, don't do as I say. Was it easier in Camelot"
"Remember, if you choose a church vocation the wages of sin might be a nice house in a Roman basilica. Just saying. Think about it."
"Come to your sensus, fidelia. It's sort of a joke."
"Domestic help is so hard to find."
"Wish you could all have been at the Opus Dei Christmas party. One hundred purging pushups got us started, then we got down to brass tacks, souffled."
"Actually it's not so lonely at the top when you have all these bank examiners swarming around."
"We'd (papalese) love to know the back story on the Copt "pope" picked from a hat by a blind boy. Anything to worry about here?"
"How about we tweek Revelations a bit in case the Mayans were right?
"The knock on my new book is that I don't think the angels sang to the shepherds. Okay, it was rap"
