The Pope wants me dead.

Now, I'm not Catholic. Those of you who know me are aware that I'm a Greek Orthodox Christian, so I've never had a reason to pay any attention to the Pope. But that's not why he wants me dead. He doesn't event want me dead because I'm not Catholic. There's a far deeper reason for the Pope's loathing for me.

You see, back at Skidmore, I auditioned for a sketch comedy troupe appropriately named the Sketchies. Although I never was a full-fledged member, I was an extra in two skits, the first of which was "Varsity Green." This was a take on Varsity Blues that juxtaposed football with Ultimate Frisbee (the average Skiddie/Hippie's sport of choice, commonly played on the campus green, hence the name). My role was that of a nameless walk-on player. Harmless stuff... it's the second skit that really fired up Juan Pablo Dos.

"The Adventures Of Popeman And Cardinal."

This was a take-off on the old Batman TV show with Adam West and Burt Ward. Considering how campy and kitschy the original product was, you can only imagine what the parody had to offer.

Popeman and Cardinal live their lives as average everyday Christians, and spend their days watching televangelists and PAX. But when sin is on the horizon, they receive a call from the Commish.

Jesus Christ.

That's right. The Sketchies set up a phone with a little light-up plastic Jesus that would flicker when the phone rang. On the other end, a dirty hippie named Gareth with long hair and a fake beard posing as the Lord, our Savior.

I'm so going to Hell for this.

So J.C. plays the part of Commissioner Gordon, instructing Popeman and Cardinal to jump into action when all that is good and holy is in danger. After He wishes His boys good luck ("...And may my Dad be with you"), these two mild-mannered Bible-thumpers become the Dynamic Duo, the Papal Pair, Popeman and Cardinal. Popeman adorns the massive Pope hat that we've all come to know and love along with a white tunic, and a large red "P" on his chest a la Superman. Cardinal, on the other hand, sports a red tunic with a small yellow "C" encased within a black circle, and wears a black mask in the style of Robin or Kato.

Straight to Hell, do not pass Go, do not collect $200.

In this week's episode (which is the only episode to date), the malevolent Dr. Polygamy, a rogue monk entrenched in a harem of wives, is planning to rig the Annual Papal Awards in hopes of pecoming the new Pope. Along with his wicked wives and his illegitimate son, Bastardo, he will wreack havoc on the Roman Catholic Church!

In case you're wondering where I am in this mess, I was one of the wives. Yes. I dressed in drag. Once. It was not a pretty sight. I've seen more attractive people at the burn ward. Do your best to erase the image from your mind. You'll thank me later.

Anyway, Popeman and Cardinal arrive on the scene to thward Dr. Polygamy's plans only to be confronted by his harem. Cue your standard cliched Batman-inspired climax/throwdown, replete with fisticuffs and theatrics. Only the "Bams!" and "Biffs!" have been replaced with more... pious exclamations. A punch is thrown and "Bible!" flashes across the screen. A wife grabs Cardinal in a rear waistlock, and the Altar Boy Wonder nails an incoming sinner with a double kick to the midsection to the tune of "Psalm!" You get the idea.

Long story short, the pair are overcome by the wives and taken prisoner, left to the devices of the Devilishly Darwinian Evil-Lution. Basically an excuse to put a guy in a monkey suit. Naturally, the good guys escape, and arrive at the Papal Awards just in time to stop Dr. Polygamy (posing as Antonio Sabado, Jr.) from accepting the Papacy from this year's presenters (Steve Martin and Goldie Hawn). Everyone good lives, everyone bad dies or goes to jial. Life is sweet, cue the dance routine.

For participating in this sketch, the Pope is making me pay from beyond the grave. See, I work for a company that specializes in collectibles. Model cars, elegantly bound books, commemorative sports novelties, etc. My dividsion deals with the philatelic side of things.

Translation: I work with stamps and coins. Yep. I bust my ass and drive over an hour to work every day so some wishy-washy no-life shmuck can have a collection of decorative panels featuring coins minted from FDR's presidency and commemorative stamps in honor of the signing of the Federal Deposit Insurance Law and the like (I'm not making this up), all packaged in a "handsome" limited edition deluxe collector's album with vinyl sleeves to keep the coins and stamps (which are already encapsulated in acetates) in mint condition.

People wonder why I drink a quart of turpentine when I get home from work every night.

Well here's the thing... my division underwent a massive changei n operation when Princess Diana died several years back. Now we make a good portion of our bread through memorial programs for beloved public figures in lieu of their deaths.

So you can imagine that when J.P. II took a trip to the O.R., our creative department was already developing art for an upcoming program in honor of his great life. When he bought the farm on Saturday, I knew that Monday (and the week to follow) was going to be hell in a hand basket.

I come to work before my assistant manager arrives (as always) and find out that I have to order 7 million unites of marketing materials (letters, brochures, etc.). That 7 million quickly jumps to 7.5 mil. As I write this, we're at 10 mil, and that's just what's been estimated in 2 days. I'm sure that as the masses that flock to His Eminence's corpse increase, so will my workload.

The irony of it all. The Pope, perhaps the holiest man known to the world, is now putting me through hell. All because of that Goddamn skit.

I just cringe to think at what he'll do to the cat in the monkey suit.

Goodnight and have a blessed tomorrow.