By now, what with the release of their very own movie, you'll all be well familiar with The Hardy Bucks. Among this group of craic merchants from Castletown in Mayo is The Viper. Known for his no-holds-barred opinions and his general intimidating brilliance, here on entertainment.ie he vents his thoughts on the election of the new Pope; Pope Francis.
The election of a new pope is a lot like a general election except it's not decided by everyone; just a select handful of holy lads in secrecy. Nevertheless, like a leader of a modern democratic republic, Pope Francis must pursue policies that are in the public's interest. Policies such as getting rid of johnnies, campaigning against women being able to choose what they want to do with their bodies, and not being sound about gay lads - issues which are close to all of our hearts and minds as we smash forward into summer 2013 like a massive ignorant fist.
But what goes on inside those gold-lined walls? My hunch is that the last Pope had to get the f*ck out of town, fast! Some other scandal, one we haven't heard about yet, is going to hit... BIG TIME. I know what you're thinking - another loony tune conspiracy created by some bedroom bound keyboard-smasher. Well I might be writing this in my bedroom, in my underpants, but hold that thought as I blast the secrets of the Vatican WIDE OPEN. None of that DaVinci Code boll*cks, this is Dan Brown meets Taranf*ckintino, hey.
Last year I was on the lookout for a brief career switch, so I undertook a vacancy for commis chef at The Vatican. Roman life was sweet and much like the Roman times we had learned about in school except with less disease, gladiators and slavery. The place smelled bad, and like the Romans, the church seemed to have a relaxed attitude towards same sex-gang bangs. Anyway, I digest. As romantic as my Roman holiday sounds, I was peeling spuds and gutting fish around the corner from St. Peters for six months. Still, a far cry from hanging about Castletown, intimidating people. From September 2012 up until last week, I caught a glimpse at how these holy men do business, and it ain't pretty.
On the eve of the election, I was ordered to dispatch 15 quail eggs to the ‘Smoke House' - a members club located within the Vatican compound, just yards from the conclave's decision making unit. On approach to the entrance, I could hear laughing and generic group banter. The windows were fogged but there seemed to be a lot of movement going on - a right knees up!
Intriguingly, someone seemed to be laughing manically, much more than the rest. I knocked twice and thought nothing of giving the handle a firm twist - the door arched halfway open but was abruptly forced shut in what seemed like a panic. The music and noise stopped except for one person who couldn't stop laughing. I heard a few gasps and someone uttering the words "did he see it?" in Latin.
"What's going on? Is everything okay in there? I've got your quail eggs, hey. I'm sound" I shouted. Silence, apart from the one person still laughing. I could feel tension in the air, like I'd arrived at a bad time. Someone shouts back:
"Just leave the eggs on the step and f*ck off".
There was €350 in a tight wad on the step. I had experienced abuse from customers and other romans during my time as commis, it was nothing new, but I was being paid very little at the time and wasn't prepared to forfeit my tip.
"S'craic with the tip hey? I'm only being sound and delivering eggs like a good delivery boy."
"You're not a delivery boy, you're a funny little Irish man."
Silence. Again, one person remained laughing - this was really beginning to sizzle my sausage. I pushed the door open and I couldn't believe my eyes - they had who is now Pope Francis, attached to a kind of spinning wheel, naked, with feather dusters lining along the arc of his bare feet. The cardinals stood stock-still in stunned silence, Francis remained spinning like a holy wheel, laughing hysterically even. A part of me felt bad - the lads were having the craic and I was the party-pooper. But then again, I'd been insulted and left tipless while these "men of honour" played silly buggers with the Pope's feet. I felt like it was time to give them a reality check, so I stood up on a chair and addressed them all.
"Well, well. Isn't this sweet, hah? I dunno what the hell ye're doing but you're making a bollocks out of this man in the name of laughs and, it could be argued, the lord."
"The guards are on the way." Some cheeky cardinal shouted.
"Call the guards, call the guards man. Ya think no-one's ever called the guards on me before? You've a few thousand holy Joes outside waiting for a puff of white smoke to come out of that chimney, and this is what you're at?" They all stared at me, like children who'd been caught jig-acting by mammy. Right then, a pair of muscular jesters came through the door.
"F*ckin' hell lads, a spinning wheel and jesters? Ye're a trapeze and a mistreated elephant away from a f*ckin' circus, hey."
It was only when the clowns started to batter me that I realized they were the Swiss Guard. This was scary for two reasons - I was being beaten, which is always a terrifying experience and secondly, I had an irrational fear of clowns. They made hands of me and I was knocked out. On dragging me out, I came to and heard someone shout "WAIT". I stopped and the big man himself, Francis, walked over to me, crouched down and clasped my chin, tilting my smashed puss towards his frail aul faceen.
"Don't you ever say a f*ckin' word about this, or you're finished" he said, before placing on his red velvety Papal slippers and giving me a savage volley right in the bread basket. I tried to say "NO" as he repeatedly filled me in, but I couldn't speak - my jaw had been punched loose by Bobo and Pennywise. I could only let out a noise which sounded like "uwoaargh", which he mistook for "more".
I woke up the next day in A&E with three broken ribs and a dislocated jaw. The police laughed at my claims and my manager, Giuseppe, simply told me "Your face… It's not nice, you cannot work here" anymore.
This is my story. People say I'm deluded, but they cant see that THEY'RE being deluded by all this God stuff - it's just a ruse to claim cash of people in order to pursue a big secret lifestyle in a big strange palace. Well to Vatican boys I say this:
Not on my watch Francis. I've got you pegged, ya bastard.
Words: The Viper Follow The Viper on Twitter here: @viperhiggins
