Surrounded by twelve microphones
which would record all local tones.
There is a problem when at mass
a Pope is harbouring some gas.
Well, this one was expecting trouble
from what began as a small bubble.
He was a German Pope, of course
and had been, in his school, a force.
Had studied modern electronics
and knew a bit about the sonics.
The volume knob was next to bass,
(he’d squeezed his cheeks to close his ass) ,
he cranked the loudness to the MAX
which made his gluteals relax.
The thunderbolt was heard for miles,
small flames had hurried past his piles,
in desperation he exclaimed
‘you people ought to be ashamed,
you heard His anger of expression,
He knows you lied in your confession.’
And when the service came to end
the people went around the bend
and stood with melancholy grins
before the box to shed their sins.
There still was left inside the Pope
some gas with which he had to cope.
The oldest woman went inside
and told the Pope she was a bride
and to be married very soon
out at the zoo, to a baboon.
As you might guess, the woman had
over the century gone mad.
The Pope had never met her though
and laughed just like a giggolo.
Not realising that relaxing
can be, on anal sphincters, taxing.
And out it flew, a big misfire
that shook the pulpit and the spire.
The woman now remarked ‘Force Ten’,
‘We’ve made Him really mad again.’