The Dope Pope came in like frogs, burping and wrestling with his own clothes. No one stood in awe and why should they? The Dope was gone. The Pope was a fraud. He had no blessings to give, no material to transubstantiate into flesh or smoke or under-drippings. They took his crown when they came with their roaring vacuums in the sky. You could feel the dope get sucked right out of everything, and the mystery fled.
The court was silent. The air was heavy with hot words and bullets. Everything ripped and fell in holy tatters. The Dope Pope alone glowed with angelic glee. Here it was. The end of all he had known and protected. The tubes were gone now, the dope and hope and all of the maniacal songs he used to find in the morning to awaken the pleasure of his flock. Gone. No one stepped from the sky. They simply fell around him with pieces of metal in their brains and leaked.