Ok, so the Pope was a shirt-lifter. Aright, a cassock-lifter. He was gay. So the recent rumours being rather maliciously spread, would assert. And much as both myself and definitely the quality controllers of this site try to avoid gossip, scandal, reactionism and anything else you’d normally find in the Daily Mail, there are some snippets which are just simply too good to pass over. I’ve never been ashamed to lower my standards, and I’m proud of that.

Yet here’s the irony: the Pope is fucking celibate. Let me rephrase that for purposes of contradictory expression: the Pope is celibate. He has to be. Does it really matter whether its gels or boys that he DOESN’T shag? He’s the original V-cel. The opposite of an ‘INCEL’. They are ‘involuntary celibates’ who live mainly in America who live out their sad and sorry lives moaning about lack of sex and trying to murder the women who they blame for their plight. Thus, a v-cel. A voluntary celibate. As are all Catholic cardinals. Well, they’re supposed to be, its just that sometimes…

How hypocritical would it be for the leader of the world’s Catholics to promote celibacy whilst engaging in naughty deeds with little boys. Or big boys. Even with big girls would be just wrong.

Today we bury Pope Francis. I say ‘we’ but I’ll in fact be playing tennis. As my mark of respect to the Pontiff. It’s the least I can do. I could get on a plane to Rome and ‘become part of history’, but there are many histories in this world. I have a similar desire not to get on a plane to Kyiv to be part of that history. And even less to get on a train to Anfield for tomorrow’s dose of ‘history’.

When I was 8, Winston Churchill died and I experienced my first ever ‘state funeral’. And I was in a state. They’d taken off Saturday morning cartoons to show horse drawn carriages riding very slowly round Westminster. Where’s the fun in that. It went on forever. I never forgave Churchill, nor the (2) tv channels for that day. IT RUINED MY LIFE!!!! Consequently, I’ve been a state… everything-a-phobe ever since. Royal Weddings? Burying Queens (I don’t mean the Pope, that hasn’t been proven), or even burying old Argentinians. The agony of all that synchronised slowness, the very tone of the voices of the commentators, the ‘pain’ you can hear as they speak. All bollocks. I’d rather watch re-runs of Friends.

As as I mentioned, tomorrow we go to Liverpool to… basically, get beaten. We’re always beaten there but tomorrow will be way more significant. They need just 1 point to secure the league title. And it’s all down to mighty Spurs to stop them. I’m taking all bets on a Spurs win, just call me with your credit card number.

Happy Burying the Pope Day

A xxxx