Lately, I have been drawn into the affairs of the Vatican like a flirtatious butterfly to sweet smelling nectar. I have been submerged into the traditions of men with long, black, red sometimes white gowns and red caps. They were the cardinals that would select the next pope. The entire holy shenanigan had been sometimes confusing, because we were told that electing a new pope is not a political issue, but a spiritual matter. But when I started hearing words like "vote" and "election" the political fire inside me started bringing out smoke from my ears.
First, white smoke, then as I get warmed up real good and looked at the history behind the selection of past pontiffs, the smoke turned black. But I plugged my ears and held my breath let me see if the eggs laid by chicken will hatch snake or if the mature cassava will yield a harvest of yams, this is a spiritual matter, remember. An unusual thing has to happen like having a black pope. I was waiting to see if the cardinals would pick Francis Arinze as the new papal.
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