Irony, Comedy, Tragedy and Death

The world has been rollercoastering pretty wildly lately. With all of the hysteria around Terri Schiavo and the political and legal battles waged over there (and the subsequent continued fighting over how to lay her to rest, damn, aren't they sick and tired of being in the news?) and the Pope's own failing health with just a smattering of ridiculousness from the Wacko Jacko trial (the guy's utter disconnect from normal behaviour and rational thought is pretty sad and I truly hope they lock the sick fucker up for his pedophilia).

It looks like the Pope is coming to the end of his run. Which is sad, in an abstract sort of I'm-an-athiest-but-still-care-about-all-life kind of way. What I don't get are the people praying and praying and praying for his recovery. Recovery to what? He's an old guy with an old body that is going to slowly but surely give out on him. I would be praying (if I prayed) for him to pass without pain and with dignity. I'd also ask him to put in a good word with Pete, the doorman, if I happened to subscribe to his particular theological afterlife. Which I don't but its an interesting thought anyway.

I won't pray for him but I will send my wishes that the Pope is allowed to pass on into the next life without extreme measures and tubes and other means to stave off the inevitable.

Of course, its hard to have grace and dignity on April Fool's Day. But if anyone can pull it off, the Pope can. Or maybe Jimmy Stewart could too.