he newest pope has been elected and chosen the name Pope Benedict XVI, and already the supreme being of Catholicism has taken a fierce stance against faded fascist groups by renouncing his own brief history with the Hitler Youth. In the world's entire Catholic population, it would seem to be an easy task to find one respectable cardinal who wasn't previously involved with the Nazi party, but apparently Joseph Ratzinger of Germany has some inside dish that landed him in the pope seat.

Responding to accusations of being a fascist, Ratzinger addressed his Nazi history and reassured detractors he was generally against the extermination of non-Catholics. In memoirs, Ratzinger described being "forced" into joining the Hitler Youth against his will as a youngster in Nazi-fied Germany. He left to study for the priesthood, aided by his anti-Nazi family (who kept their anti-Nazism secret), but was drafted into the army in 1943, where he put his hate for fascism to work foiling the Nazi machine from the inside, until he deserted and arranged capture by U.S. troops before moving on in fascism-free Germany to become a priest.

Ratzinger renewed his fight against Nazism Thursday, answering challenges from those who opposed his Popedome.

"I have always been an enemy of fascism in all its forms," said the Pope. "And I look forward to laying down a rigid doctrine of Catholicism, the one true religion, to be obeyed by one and all."

The selection of Pope Benedict came in the wake of the death of Pope John Paul II, who some sources only at the commune claim is still alive and has been taken into hiding by Vatican officials. Why? So a younger, fresh pope of Bel-Air could reinvigorate the stagnating Catholic church.

Pope Benedict has been an advisor of the late/missing Pope John Paul for years, and an opponent of reform within the Vatican. As Ratzinger, his secret pre-Pope identity, he argued against such church-devastating movements as religious pluralism, gay rights, feminism, communism, and liberation theology, which argues that the church should play an active role in politics of change.

Before his election, Ratzinger lectured the selection committee on "relativism" in the Catholic Church, and dedication to principle was unfairly labeled "fundamentalism."

"We are moving toward a dictatorship of relativism which does not recognize anything as for certain and which has as its highest goal one's own ego and one's own desires." Then, the officials still elected him.

As the new pope, Benedict compared efforts to change and reform the church to following whims and fads, and ended his early speeches by extending his arm and shouting a rousing, "Hail the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost!" He was then asked by Vatican consultants to not ever do so again.

Theologians believed the selection of Ratzinger a clear attempt to distance the modern Catholic Church from the hedonistic reign of Polish Pope John Paul II.

"The 'anything goes' days of the old pope are gone," said professor of Theology at the Newark University Norm Chauncey, whom this reporter interviewed for strictly vindictive reasons. "The Church was obviously sick of becoming the laughing stock of the world, out of touch with the rigid morality of the modern era and its uncompromising dedication to religion. What better way to bring the wayward back to the fold than to force closer adherence to the guidelines set for Catholics in the 1960s?"

Thanking the professor, this reporter then went home and reaffirmed his commitment to atheism.

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As many of you good people may know, I am a small man, but I am overfilled with confidence. I move with a sureness many others in the world lack—whether justified or not, I am secure in every single thing I do and have ever done. Of course, like most people, I may have a few regrets here and there, but what is important at heart is I don’t regret anything I’ve ever done. Perfect? No, I’m afraid not. But I come damn close. All except one gargantuan elephant-in-the-room exception: My appearance.

Yes, whether it’s my miniscule, stocky body or the train wreck sitting on my shoulders that is mockingly called my face, I am a hideous man. Or, as my ex-wife Arvelyn used to say, before the divorce, I am insecure about my looks. Since the divorce she calls me Leatherface. So I prefer to remember before the divorce. And you know, I thought—she’s right. It’s not that there’s anything wrong with my features, at least not individually, even if they make a nauseating mess in the specific way they’re compiled. I merely lack the confidence in my looks to enjoy them.

It’s not my fault I feel bad about the way I look. Years of screams and crying children have made me believe I am not easy on the eyes. Like whiny women complain, I have been held up to unrealistic images presented in the media, or in my case, everyone else in the world surrounding me. If it were not for the people standing by, silently declaring differently, I would be quite a handsome man. Well, that may be going too far, but I at least wouldn’t notice I frighten animals. I might even be able to destroy all the world’s mirrors and reflective surfaces and forget the plight covering my skull.

But enough of this sad-sack moping, I thought. I have spent too many years assuming the worst about my mug, and it was high time I proved the world at large wrong. The opportunity came with a cable that runs right into my house. Yes, since moving back to these United States, we have acquired the Inter-Net in my house. If you haven’t received it yet, you should really look into it. Ask your doctor, or whoever needs to be asked about getting it. In addition to receiving great offers for mortgages at reduced interest rates and exciting new pornography, the Inter-Net is a great source of information. In my case, I can post my pictures on websites and find out how I rate on the "Hot/Not Hot" scale. I didn’t even know there was such a scale until a routine search for Tabasco products enlightened me.

What a tool! That’s how the Inter-Net installer Mitch referred to it. Or possibly to me, the specificity was quite uncertain. But I agree, with the former. The Inter-Net finally allows anonymous strangers to tell each other they completely conform to society’s expectations. No more needless posturing about the substance of a person. We can now know instantly whether or not we’re desirable in ways that people really care about. Some disagreeable people—hippies—might tell us the inner beauty of a person really matters. Get real. How many sites on the Inter-Net rate your personality? I don’t care. I’m not interested. All Rok Finger needed to know was: Hot or Not?

Well, I’m not. Not hot. Not at all. Quite amazingly non-hot, according to the numerical ratings. Some of the weaker-stomach sites refused to even post my pictures. The "thong of the day" site filed a lawsuit just for my mailing Polaroids.

It’s a hard, brutal truth, like a White Castle hamburger, very difficult to swallow. But I’m tough, and forget many things quickly. I’ll find a way to suck up my misery and get past it. In fact, I think as a treat to myself I’ll order that Inter-Net that everyone’s been talking about.

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"I remember it just like it was yesterday, the summer that my brother Goose and I spent trying to build our own airplane. We had it on good authority that none other than the Great Gildersleeve himself would be making a public appearance in St Louis in a month's time, and we weren't about to consider the option of not being there. We begged mom and dad for weeks, but they failed to realize the importance of this event, or the relative insignificance of the 36-hour drive to St Louis. Perhaps if we'd had Stephanie on our side we could have turned the tides, but she was strictly a Fibber McGee girl and she distanced herself from the negotiations, most likely because she was angling for a new bike for her birthday. So it remained for Goose and I to find our own means of transportation to St Louis, and a homemade airplane sounded as good as any.

Our first prototype was a simple model consisting of an old mattress we found in the garage with a red racing stripe painted up the side. And it may have gotten the job done if it weren't for Goose, who was scared by a bee when we were hoisting it up onto the roof and let go of the mattress-plane early, which slid off the roof and into our neighbor's pool. Similar was the fate of prototype number two, an old garbage can tied to a pogo stick, which slid down the roof while Goose was climbing in and ended up putting a big dent in the hood of Dad's car. Goose caught pure hell for that mishap, and I had to join the 4H Club just to provide an alibi as to where I was that afternoon.

Goose thought we should go with one of his designs for our third prototype, and I humored him although I was doubtful because of Goose's well-documented lack of imagination. Prototype three ended up being a big cardboard box with a picture of an airplane taped to the side, and all I have to say about that is I'm glad Goose broke my fall. He's probably lucky he sprained his ankle as well since Mom was pretty steamed at Goose for cutting up the "A" volume of the family encyclopedias the way he did.

After that mom and dad both forbade us from attempting any more flights to St Louis, and we ended up having to listen to the Great Gildersleeve on the radio instead while Goose was propped up on icepacks. It probably would have been more fun to be there in person, but I imagine then we would have missed the fun that night when we heard that great crash outside and all ran out to find dad in the driveway amidst a mangled pile of homemade airplane parts."

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