Walking into a room filled with squawking geezers, Evil Editor, his voice booming like God's the first time he caught Adam polishing the bishop, yelled, "HEY, KNOCK IT OFF," adding, "Holy Christ, I haven't seen this much red since the time I edited Stallone's autobiography."
"Who the hell are you?!" the fat one said. Actually, they were all fat, as you'd expect of guys who hit the buffet at Mama Rosa's Lasagna Conclave every day.
"I'm here about the opening," EE replied.
"The janitorial position? Check with human resources."
"No, no, I heard you were looking for someone to run this joint.
"I'm not sure I follow--"
"Pope, you idiot. I'm applying for the job."
"I see. We generally choose the pope from amongst--"
"Yeah, yeah, from amongst yourselves. How's that been workin' out? Look, you need fresh blood. Someone whose attitudes aren't as outdated as those of a radical fundamentalist Muslim cleric who's just been transported back to the Cenozoic era."
"What makes you--"
"The position's become an embarrassment. Why do you think whoever gets it uses an alias?"
"And you could do better?"
"Is the pope Catholic?"