Dear Pontiff,

Like wow, hi! Is it really you? I wasn't sure it'd work. Thanks for taking the time to read this. Cool shades, nice shoes, better than the last guy who had the job, the one who looked old even before he started. Must be strange taking a position with no exit clause - "the only way out of here's on a stretcher" - hardly reassuring.

So, wie geht's es ihnen und all that, figured you'd appreciate the language thing, et tu, Ponte? BTW, do you guys argue over whether to do litany in German or Italian like those guys dissing German opera in "Amadeus"? Or are the fly boys just happy to have someone not speaking Slavic after all those years? Anyway, I'm kind of nervous, and don't really have anything to say. I just kept seeing all these Open Letters to somebody important somewhere and thought I'd try it out too. But most of the people I'd want to write to are already dead ("Dear Albert, do you think String Theory is a crock? Thought so, Love Des" or "Dear Rev. Falwell, now that you've met Attila the Hun, can you tell us definitively whether you're to his left or right?") or the ones I'm under court order to stay away from. Okay, probably more info than you needed. So I thought about contacting the Dalai Lama, but he's a bit too new agey and besides, the Chinese might take offense and disqualify our synchronized swimmers or raise the price on my cheap sex toys (by the way, how many Hail Mary Full of Grace's for the sex toys? I should get started early, there's a lot of them - you should see some of the rosary beads they sell - talk about NSFW. Hey, what's up with those fake priests at confession? Does that happen often? Gives you the heebie jeebies, doesn't it?).

And then I thought about writing Dick Cheney - God knows I have a lot of questions for him, but by definition every letter's already open to him - must see himself as the Lord's emissary on earth, you know? Okay, that's probably in poor taste. Anyhoo, so then I was going to write the head of the UN about all those wars and bombings and stuff, but for the life of me couldn't remember how he's called - boy, ain't that the kicker, you'd think he'd be out making a name for himself trying to stop war and famine or something, but probably too busy counting his comp tickets to the Beijing Opening.

So I ended up writing you instead. Hope you don't mind. The nice thing about writing the Pope is you never have to remember his name or address. "Pope, Rome", that's it. Hell, I probably didn't even have to include a stamp. But now that I got your attention, I got this great idea for a sequel to "The Devil Wears Prada" -  "...But the Pope Wears Gucci". Okay, maybe you've heard that one already, kinda obvious. I have you pegged for more of a Simon Baker type than Meryl Streep, if you know what I mean - and I hear he's Catholic to boot. As long as you're down under, might as well look him up, maybe he's already in the stadium. (I never figured out those crowd masses - doesn't it take hours to do the wafer thing? And be careful with the Aussies and all that wine - they get a bit rowdy for large sporting events.) Well, that's it, hope I didn't bore you. TTFN, KOTPR (I made that up, pretty clever, eh?), see you at the Vatican.

Your obedient servant and faithful TPM reader,
Desidero