Thursday, April 07, 2005
Exit With Grace
Pope Pope Pope Pope, all the time Pope. The Pope is dead, the Pope's dead body is mobbed by people from all over the world, the Cardinals are going to have to pick a new Pope, the Pope's funeral is coming, the Pope thought about resigning, the Pope once shot a man in Reno just to watch him die, Pope Pope Pope Pope Pope...
Meanwhile, who mourns for Prince Rainier III of Monaco?
If Rainier had died at any other time, the press-orgy would have been all over him, but the white-hot Pope media-fire has consumed all the oxygen. The Prince Rainier story ends up a tiny spark on some damp pine needles by comparison.
Rainier hasn't been the only victim. Look at Terri Schiavo. That story already looks as irrelevant as the shark-attack stories of the summer before 9/11. People look at each other now and say "Yeah, that Schiavo thing was sad, but what did she ever do to fight the commies?"
I don't even think she was Polish.
I don't think we should shrug off Prince Rainier so easily, though. Let's do a comparative study of the lives of the former leaders of Europe's smallest sovereign states, shall we? This is my fucking blog, so we shall.
POPE JOHN PAUL II: resisted Nazis and Soviets as priest and bishop in Krakow, first non-Italian Pope in 455 years, most traveled head-of-state in the history of the world, spiritual leader to nearly 1 billion people, instrumental in supporting Solidarity in Poland which was the first blow to communism in the eastern bloc, headed the largest charitable organization in the world, a crusader for world wide human rights, wasn't a fan of the gays, invented cake.
PRINCE RAINIER III OF MONACO: Banged Grace Kelly, ran James Bond's favorite casino.
Man. Sure, one list is longer than the other, but you have to look at the quality of the entries too. I mean Grace Kelly. Hott. Who did the Pope ever bang? As far as we know, nobody. That Solidarity thing is nice, but come on. Grace Kelly... man...
The Pope also has a built-in advantage of having all these wigged-out church-y processes for selecting a successor, so this story is going to drag out and drag out until the group of geriatrics in the red dresses pick one of their own to trade red for white and be the sacrificial sucker who follows what is proving to have been a pretty popular act.
Meanwhile in Monaco, power has already transferred quietly from Prince Rainier III to his closeted gay--sorry, "confirmed bachelor"--son Prince Albert II. Blink! No conclave, no black smoke/white smoke hokery, no anything.
I bet he gets one hell of a credit line at the casino, though. That and the opportunity to run into James Bond at the baccarat tables every now and again.
Albert's got quite a legacy to live up to, though, just like the next pope will. It's not like Albert can go out and bang Grace Kelly like his dad did and not just because he's not that in to girls either. She's, you know, dead and all. Plus, she's his mom.
Necrophilia incest is where I try to end all my posts.
This post on the Narcissus Scale: 2.5