For Cardinal paleo, life is nothing if not complications. The Real Popehoodness, my life's ambition, is being thwarted, no white smoke, no dancing in the street, just calls from Immigration and Customs Enforcement, wondering about my background.The questioning was ferocious, particularly when they learned that I was into adults.
I suspect it was the doing of that Cardinal Scalia, Diocese of Opus Dei C. Bitch has been jealous since the day we wore the same cossack to Timmy's to-do, I was a-dorable, he, well, didn't really pull it off. At all. (Hag.)
I.C.E. eventually turned me loose, I mean, I like to arriviste fashionably late, but the conclave was locked and I had to berate a footman to get a damn cup of espresso, much less let in the door, they took my stylish man-bag and found my back-up Blackberry (I am sooo naughty...), so no tweeting, sorry my loves.
Trouble, trouble, trouble. And now Archcardinal Mahony is doing his lip-sync routine to the CHANT! album, attention whore. Poo.
I'll update when I can, once some of the older conclavists get into the Mogen David it will be easier to get some privacy.
Delirium Tremens, ta-ta!