Pope Benedict XVI commissioned a custom-blended eau de cologne that mixes “hints of lime tree, verbena and grass.”
The Guardian
“Thank you! I’ll be here until I die, be sure and tip your priests and nuns!”
As I gaze out from the Vatican balcony over St. Peter’s square, I think to myself–I should be happy. After all, I’ve got just about everything a pontiff could want: a Popemobile that is the envy of the head of every other world religion, a wardrobe that is to die for, full health and dental–no co-pay!–four weeks paid vacation. And yet I feel . . . unfulfilled.
Paris Hilton “Fairy Dust”
I may be the CEO of the world’s largest membership organization–ten times as big as the American Automobile Association, our closest competitor! I may own more land than any individual in the world except Ted Turner; and I may have more retail outlets than any franchise except McDonald’s, and yet–something is lacking in my life.
“We’re giving away free samples today!”
And then it dawns on me. The thing that’s missing is something that Madonna, Beyonce, Jay-Z, Sting, even Paris Hilton has–but not me! My own cosmetic line, with personal scent!
Let’s see–what would I call it? Penance? Naw–too negative. Heaven? Too wimpy. The Communion of Saints and the Forgiveness of Sins? Hard to remember, although you have to if you want to pass 7th grade Catechism.
I’ve got it–Sin! The scent that corrupts–and redeems! God–I mean, gosh–can’t you just imagine how hard it would be for your poor, tired working woman to make it past the spritzer girls at the perfume counter if the come-on was–“Would you like to try a little Sin? It comes with a complimentary make-up bag.”
“Hey Benny–I’ve got a balcony too!”
I’d have to throw out all my old favorites–Old Spice, English Leather, Brut Soap-on-a-Rope, but that’s okay. Those brands are ancient history to young people today, whose olfactory senses are so sophisticated from the massive amounts of premarital sex they have in direct violation of the Sixth Commandment, I might add. That’s why Nude–a scent inspired by the smell a woman’s skin emanates in a state of ecstasy–is so popular with the Hannah Montana crowd. At ten bucks a bottle, they can pay for it with a night of babysitting.
Let’s see–what kind of spell do I want to cast with my signature fragrance? Naughty–but nice. Earthy–but luxurious, so it will make folks hesitate before leaving their spare change in the collection basket. I want to see a sea of green in there, people!
So I suppose a hint of lime tree, to suggest gin and tonics. Grass, to inspire psychedelic visions of the Blessed Virgin, like at Fatima. And what else . . . lemme think. Who was that farm girl from the midwest who made a pilgrimage here last year and ended up cleaning the baptismal founts all summer? The one with the 4-H jacket and the thunder thighs that made it look like two hogs fighting under a sheet when she walked down the aisle. What was her name?
Ah, I remember now–Verbena!
Available in Kindle format on amazon.com as part of the collection “Here’s to His Holiness: Fake Stories About Real Popes.”