This announcement may come as a surprise, or it may come as a thief in the night, but either way, I also have decided to step down as Pope. I bet you didn’t know there was an Atheist Pope. Well, now you do. The only difference is, we call ours The Nope.
I was elected The Nope seven years ago by some cardinals that landed on our bird feeder. They thought it was a miracle how this wooden box with a perch was always full of seed, enough to feed every bird for miles around, day after day. So the cardinals met in secret and decided that I should keep feeding them, forever. They let the rest of the bird world know their decision by leaving some white drops on my chimney.
I made the most of my tenure as The Nope. I enjoyed the company of presidents and kings, and when I no longer enjoyed their company, I would just ask my wife to turn off the television. That’s right, I have a wife. You are allowed to have one when you are the Atheist Pope. I think you are allowed to have three if you are the Mormon Pope, but I am not infallible on that.
I am stepping down as The Nope to spend more time with family and maybe travel a little. I’d like to see Rome, for example, without being perched up on this balcony. I keep saying, perches are for cardinals. Anyway, arrivederci, everyone. And so long to the bubble car! I want one of those new Corvettes. In red, of course.
I am on my way to Oprah’s studios as we speak, so that I can finally confess to the world what everyone who knows me already knows: I took performance-enhancing substances when I was touring France. Yes, it was over a decade ago when I was last there, installing new hardware and software in a Kodak manufacturing plant in Chalon-sur-Saône. (Sadly, the factory is now demolished. C’est la vie.) But I owe it to my fans and supporters, not to mention all those who donated millions to my non-profit and for-profit endeavors, to finally admit that my on-the-job performance was enhanced by my sampling the regional wines from Auxey-Duresses, Mersault and Givry, as well as le café wherever it was served.
Oprah, I have to tell you the tear-jerking truth: it was not really work to go to work for Kodak in Chalon-sur-Saône. The factory cafeteria offered wine by the carafe, which was enjoyed by employees without shame. After lunch, most would walk up to the espresso machines, insert their tokens, and step away with a respectable demitasse of the brew, which they would consume in about a minute while standing around a tall bistro table. Oprah, I wanted so much to have another cup, but I was taught that the French only take coffee once a day. (I assume that this was to avoid detection by the authorities.)