Roman Catholicism is really the gayest of all religions: the pomp, the circumstance, the embroidered vestments, consuming the body of a shirtless dude splayed across some wood in a tastefully decorated establishment. Try telling me a queen didn’t come up with that.
Of course, there’s also the rampant suppression of sexual desire mixed with millennia of self-loathing — say it with me: closet case. That entire religion exists in one giant, stain-glass closet just waiting to throw on an afro wig and some lucite heels so it can sashay away in the nearest and queerest pride parade. I’m not fooled, and though many are falling over themselves to name Pope Francis as our holiest ally, he’s done more than any other modern Bishop of Rome to de-gay the Papal station.
A recent profile in The New Yorker describes how Franny eschewed the glamour of his predecessor, One Ms. Ex-Pope Benedict XVI:
As Pope, Francis has simplified the Renaissance regalia of the papacy by abandoning fur-trimmed velvet capes, choosing to live in a two-room apartment instead of the Apostolic Palace, and replacing the papal Mercedes with a Ford Focus. Instead of the traditional red slip-ons, Francis wears ordinary black shoes. He declined to order a new set of fine tableware from Leone Limentani, the high-end Roman porcelain company that, since 1870, has supplied every Pope from Pius IX to Benedict XVI with crest-embossed table settings. I visited the shop, where a proprietor told me with a shrug, “Pope Francis has not ordered a new ring—why should he order new dishes?”
BLASPHEMY! Blasphemy, I say! You’re getting rid of Prada loafers, fur-trimmed capes, and Mercy-Benzes like Bernie Madoff just took over your portfolio?
It’s no wonder Francis is against gay adoption; the man clearly has no morals or standards. But the Pope explained his simple kind of life to the Italian Jesuit newspaper, La Civiltà Cattolica, saying, “My choices, including those related to the day-to-day aspects of life, like the use of a modest car, are related to a spiritual discernment that responds to a need that arises from looking at things, at people, and from reading the signs of the times.”
Boring. André Leon Talley would slap Pope Francis out of that Ford Focus if he didn’t think a “Ford Focus” was just a move one does in yoga.
Meanwhile, Pope Emeritus Benedict, before she ran off with her silver foxy sexetary, was bedecked in more jewels and capes than Liberace and so deep in the closet she was coughing up moth balls. After all, what was really the point of all that anti-gay rhetoric? Someone doth protest too much.
Seriously, though, under PEB, the Vatican was like 54 with less blow and more gay hookers. Priests were on their knees more often than a toddler learning to walk. There was so much gay porn Michael Lucas thought of converting from Judaism.
Even after giving up the Papacy, Benedict is still sitting in the lap of luxury — that’s his nickname for Monsignor Gänswein — while Francis is kissing the feet of Muslim prisoners. Benedict wouldn’t be caught dead humbling himself like that…unless those Muslim prisoners could do amazing things with their shirtless bodies:
In that case, Benny would be puckering up faster than you can say, “Ho-sanna in the highest.”
Well, now that my seat in hell is all but shored up, let’s get a group table so you can join me in remembering that time Pope Benedict had a religious experience in front of everybody. In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Get Iiiiiiiiit!