There's some shit going on outside

Holy fuck! I don't know what to tell you all. When I came to there was this dude in a dress trying to crack open my fuckin head with a hammer. Next thing, I got him by his fuckin poncy beads and I'm trying to beat the fuckin truth out of him.

'Leave me alone, leave me alone' - he's startin' to whimper now - 'I'm just doin' what you aksed.'

So I let him off, and he tells me about the hammer you got to batter tha fuck out of the Pope with, to tell he's dead. Hit him three times, and if he doesn't scream or beat tha fuck out of you, you're in tha clear. And you save on callin tha fuckin doctor, who's not cheap round tha fuckin Vat.

I was so stoned I couldn't even talk for, like a year or some shit. They tried to wheel me out during mass last week (it was some sort of important shit, apparently) and I could barely say shit. I think I coughed or somethin, and an ould one in the front row thought it was her dead husband speaking thru God speakin through me. And I thought I was on some powerful shit, baby.

So, then they try to stick a feed tube up my ass, and no dice. They decide I'm dead. They dig out the hammer to see if it's true. Guy in the dress tells me he was on hit number two. One more, and no reaction, I would a been officially dead. Same thing happened wit Jesus.

I tells tha guy in the dress to go fuck himself, takes the hammer, and goes to see my flock.

Across the square, out my window, thousands of peeps blubbing over some Polish fnubsnaggler. It's anough ta make you wanna go skate for a few days - chill out while they find a legit successor to that phoney throne. I'll be in the South Central Roma skatepark if anyone wants me - don't try callin until ya see the white smoke ya plocksniffers!

What tha fuck was that?

Woke up last nite in the pontifical scratcher, baby, you know what I'm sayin'. Hear this clinky clankin' downstairs, so I pick up one of those big-ass pope metal things with Jesus on them and shit and creep down tha stairs.

I took the metal Jesus thing cos it could beat the fuck out of someone if they were tryin to fuck with tha Pope. No one does that. The Jesus stick was real heavy in my hand, you know?

I looks out the window and see this fuckin guy on a BMX and his friend has found an altar we were throwing out. It was in a skip outside. It just didn't cut it in Pope-terms anymore. It was slowing down mass. I can show you the figures and diagrams if you want, YOU FUCK! It was all on the up- and-up, for sure.

Anyway, this other guy, a kid, snotnose little bastard, was crouched down and was trying to fuck my fuckin' altar! Do you know the kind of disrespect this shows for tha Pope? A FUCKIN LOT! I been laid up in tha hopsital for weeks after tha spill I took off tha roof of the Vat, now some clown's having intercourse with my furniture!

Needless to say that chubby fuck Cardinal Tomas O'Shea was nowhere to be seen.

I grabbed the punk and slung him across the yard into the inflatable paddling pool, then beat him to within an inch of his life with the Jesus stick, then stuck his shoes in his mouth and kicked him out the gate after givin him a wedgie. That's him learned!

The Skatepope is available for after-dinner talks and bar mitzvahs.

Yo!

Yo! Fuck!

My story

Dis time I been spendin' in hopsital is givin' me a period to reflect on stuff. You know: bitchez I've boned and shit.

So I've started writin' my otto biography, assholes! Cardinal Tomas O'Shea's the holy ghost-writer on this shindig. I can't write it: my arms are broke ta fuck, and they're covered in plaster up ta my pits. Arm. You dig?

So, it's all gonna be about me, da skatepope, and will be illustrated with photos of cool ollies I did. I know you'll all buy this piece of shit. Later.

Laid up pretty bad

Took a spill off the roof of the Vat the other day. That's fucked up! Cardinal Tomas O'Shea, that blobby asshole, bet me I couldn't skate the dome.

I says to him: "I'm the fuckin' dome skater, bring it on ass-for-brains!"

When I fell 200 feet and hit the floor he started blubbin' like a pussy.

So, the Cardinal's takin' over some of my business affairs, at least until my broken spine heals. Damn cast's starting to itch.

The Skatepope is not available for after dinner speaking until further notice.

Frontin? Fuck y'all

Some bitch-ass motherfuckers been frontin on this site, sayin things about da Pope that are way out of order, actually. What do I say to y'all? Meet you in front of the Vatican for a skate-off, then we'll have a full measure of our respective values skate-wise. For sure.

So, the fuckin plan is this: get your board and get yo' ass on a plane. See you in St Peter's squah on Sunday morning at 11. I skate your ass into the ground, then I go say mass. It's simple: you're fucked.

Danza, this goes for you too!

The skatepope has left the building.

Whoa, Now That's Fucked up!

Jesus, Skatepope got food poisoning from eating two day old burritos tha otha day! Fuck! I was like a shit fountain, man, for real!

First of all, I was skatin down tha pipe with some of the fathers and Cardinal Tomas O'Shea, and he was like: 'Dude, you look fuckin' green' or some shit, and I was like: 'I think I'm going to spew'.

So he stood back like he was giving me space to hurl. Then he kicked me in tha balls. Fuck!

So he starts laughin his head off like some crazy fuckin lizard.

That's when I got the shits. Everyone else starts runnin like there's a volcano of shit erupting. There was, in a way.

Truly fucked up - a pair of Dickies, fuckin destroyed. A tear.

The skatepope has left the building.