WARNING! The following email is sacrilegious. If you are likely to be offended by any such material I strongly recommend that you stop reading now. As you have continued to read on I feel free to heap sarcasm, scorn, and weirdness upon the catholic church.
You can’t deny that Rome has played a massive part in western, and indeed world, history. Being the seat of the Roman empire and pretty close to the heart of the Renaissance, two of the world’s most interesting times, it’s hard not to find things to look at.
My first port of call was the another great institution of Rome – the Vatican City. I say great as there is no denying its size and influence. It whacks you on the head when you enter the plaza and strain your neck looking upwards.
A strange thing happened to me as I wandered around. I felt an energy running though my limbs. That’s right, brothers and sisters, I could see the light, filtered through my fake prada sunglasses. It burnt my arm as a sign of renewal and my soul was reborn.
There were many such events taking place around the square. Old people leapt out of wheelchairs and frolicked in the fountain like children. Able-bodied people sprouted wings and with a look of glee flew into the air to copulate. Soon a light rain of bodily fluids fell and dampened the square.
I’m glad entry into the Vatican is free as I would have a problem contributing to the wealth of an organisation that houses child molesters. The Pope is obviously not universally loved as there is a security check before you go in. There is an obvious flaw in security as nuns get waved through. If any of you want to kill the pope I suggest you hire a nun’s costume and practice looking like an old Italian woman.
Nuns get a sweet deal in Rome. No security checks, free entry into the treasure room and people giving them presents, all for just a lifetime of devotion and service. I find nuns quite attractive and I imagine they’re devils in bed with all that pent up sexual energy. You don’t see many sexy younger nuns around. I think they keep them all locked away until they’re so old that sex simply isn’t an option.
Once you get inside St. Peter’s it’s hard to stop your jaw dropping as you look up. It’s an enormous space that succeeds in producing awe in the viewer. My reverence was directed to the artisans involved rather than god. You are struck by the same opulence and orgasm of colour in every church in Rome. You end up being dazzled by the light outside and the colour inside, but you can see why the churches are so popular. It’s the only place you can escape the whine of the scooter motors.
You’ll have to excuse my ignorance of all things religious, especially the names of objects and places. I wasn’t even sure the Sistine Chapel was in Rome till I peeked in a guidebook. After being suitably awed by the dome of St. Peter’s I went in search of the chapel. I tried to follow a group of people through a set of gates but a man dressed in a striped purple and red outfit with a foppish hat stopped me.
Foppish man – What do you want to see?
Me – Whatever those people are going to see.
Foppish man – They are here on private business.
I think he was just there to sniff out the non-believers.
Following the crowd I successfully made it to the Sistine Chapel and promptly joined the tourist feeding frenzy. It was standing room only as the sweating crowds hustled past tapestries and ornately painted ceilings. It was all too much for me. Perhaps if I was at all religious I would have found it a rewarding experience. Despite messages in four different languages requesting silence there was an appreciative hum in the chapel. A plump Italian guard was furiously trying to quieten people without making a noise himself. It was only when a recorded announcement was played requesting silence that people were quiet, for about 5 seconds. I found the paintings a bit garish and busy for my tastes but I could appreciate the skill and effort that went into them. I preferred some of the small pictures further into the building a painting of the dead Christ looking lost and feminine and one depicting Jesus hanging on the cross while angels collected his blood in bowls. I can only take so much religion before the birthmark on my scalp starts itching so I quickly left and pushed an old woman over.
It’s funny that Rome should be the seat of power for the catholic church as it also spawned the people who nailed their saviour to a big wooden cross. Evidence of the Romans is everywhere but the most striking remains are across the river and along a bit. I speak of the Colosseum. So let’s step even further back in history in a city that has more than its fair share.
In terms of impressive stadiums that give you a tingle the Colosseum has been knocked off number one spot by places like the MCG and Wembley, but the colosseum still has the power to give you a jolt as images of the past race screaming through your head. It happens the most when you walk along a platform through the middle of the arena. The floor is long gone, exposing the rooms below, but it is an easy place to picture full of bloodthirsty Romans demanding you kill or be killed.
I was hoping they would have real armour and weapons laid out. That way I could have started hacking my way through the crowd of tourists and satisfying the sand’s thirst for blood.
The hostel in Rome was located next to a quite busy four lane road. ‘Quite busy’ in Rome means constant traffic. The rooms were so hot that the windows had to be left open or you risked dehydration by the morning. I ended up sleeping with ear plugs in which muted the roar to a constant drone. The only bonuses were that the traffic noise drowned out the snoring and the carbon monoxide wafting in through the window helped me get to sleep.
The catholic church has become expert at getting money out of people. Even though I consciously didn’t want to give them any they got me with the entrance to the Sistine Chapel and the post office. The post office comes with authentic Vatican stamps and god has even set aside an angel to deliver the Vatican mail. If you wake up one morning with a postcard on your pillow and a warm inner glow you’ll know why. The Vatican also has a strip club round the back called ‘Heavenly Temptations’. The Pope likes to go there to let his hair down and occasionally stick his dick in some warm custard.
Dave out.
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