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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I could not be more outraged if I found out the country of Paraguay was needling my sister. Everything in my penthouse apartment is gone, everything. The switchblade toothbrush, the hydro-powered vacuum cleaner, the lithograph of the Zapruder film still. All of it gone, all because I was too trusting. Because I thought I was hip and "with it," because I thought I could reach the young people.

Well, fuck the young people. I want my stuff back. Those guys from M-TV's Cribs were just lousy thieves. Came in, shot a few hours of footage of my penthouse apartment, left, came back in the night and made off with everything. Even the roast beast. I'm starting to think they weren't really from M-TV at all, too.

It started off innocently enough. I had just finished paying off my bookie and had to make another large withdrawal when I realized I had not yet paid the "cleaner" for solving my problem with former commune Office Manager Phil Lampost. I had just emerged from the bank again, counting the thousands of dollars I had withdrawn, when the "talent scouts" for M-TV's Cribs came up to me. I thought them common hoodlums, but they recognized me right away and said they loved my work—although, it occurs to me right now they couldn't place my name.

They told me their predicament, that they had to film an episode of Cribs for M-TV right away and their guest for the episode, comedian Paul Rodriguez, had dropped out on them at the last minute. Once I checked a TV Guide at the local newsstand to verify such a show called Cribs exists (I'm no dummy), I told them it was okay to use my crib for their latest episode. They assured me the young people would be trippin' to have me on M-TV.

It was luck that they had the camera (a Hi-8, and five tapes) with them, so we were off right away. I opened my doors and my fridge to these frauds, and I must say they drank some very expensive foreign beer known as Dos Equis. Hours of footage shot, and perhaps I should have suspected something by the extra attention they paid to the locks and security systems, but I had no idea, I've never seen Cribs before and the young people get into all sorts of weird fads. When they left, I thought I had done a little to bridge the generation gap and reach the future of America. Failing all else I hope these thugs at least have enough facts to know the truth about the Apollo 13 mission.

The fact that they made off with everything I own and, again, drank some pricey foreign beer doesn't bother me all that much. Alright, it bothers me. It bothers me more than you'll ever know. But what really bothers me is the subterfuge and the dishonesty. Perhaps if they had come up to me, forward and honest, and asked for everything I own I might have… no, that wouldn't have worked. I have to admit they at least knew what would work effectively.

No question, I've once again been played like a two dollar fiddle by some sort of fiddle-musician. Just when you think you're as suspicious and distrusting as a soul can get, you learn it's still not quite enough to keep your entire penthouse from being stripped to the bone. I can replace the furniture; it just means cutting salaries all around and selling some of those new-fangled computers I got for the reporters. But I'll never be able to replace the trust, unless there's some place you know that does that invasive sort of procedure.

Fortunately, I have my memories of this deception. And their descriptions. Now, if you don't mind, I have another visit scheduled with my "cleaner" friend.

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I've always believed that a sense of play is paramount to the health of any long-term relationship. And though some times I may have doubted it, Dan, now I finally understand that you feel exactly the same way.

I have to admit you had me going for a while there, when you "broke up" with me, quit your job and moved to Tacoma. Things got a little weird when you didn't leave a forwarding address and I started to wonder if we were doing okay. But then I remembered how you loved to play-act when we were together, going home from the bar with other girls and conveniently "forgetting" to tell me that you'd changed the all the locks to the apartment. I have to admit; you sure knew how to keep a girl coming back for more! But your little "hard to get" routine didn't fool me then and I wasn't about to let it fool me when I was put to the big test. Before you could say "disappeared in the middle of the night" I was in a Seattle-area private investigator's office, proving just what I was willing to do for your love.

Of course, I wasn't naive enough to think that would be enough: after all, most any girl with a road atlas, a lock picking kit and a flexible career path could track you down in Tacoma and surprise you in your new apartment at three in the morning.

But only the true of heart would endure the endless trips to the police station and rounds of legal maneuvering necessary to prove their conviction over the next several months.

You knew I'd come through for you, Dan, and I did. No amount of door slamming, table-lamp swinging or screaming "Back to hell with you, bitch!" could shake from my mind the love I still saw in your eyes. Lesser girls probably would have given up after being shoved off the fire escape, but then of course they wouldn't have been worthy of your love.

A restraining order can send a lot of messages, but if you really wanted me to stay away, I know you would have made sure it was for more than a mere 100 meters. That's practically a Valentine's card, an invitation to buy some high-powered binoculars and peer into your bedroom window from the parking lot of the Taco Bell down the street. You know these little lovers' games drive me wild, you tease!

After all, if you really meant what you said about the end of Fatal Attraction, why would you go to the trouble of installing those electronic sensors in my bed to monitor my masturbations? Or what about the wafer-thin cameras hidden inside the patterns in my wallpaper? That just doesn't make sense.

Everybody thought I'd for sure throw in the towel when you married Darlene, or at least when Alicia and Barnaby were born. But they just don't understand us, Dan. I'm in this for the long haul. My love only goes stronger with every additional test, and with every night spent sleeping on your rooftop, peering down through the skylight until my breath fogs the glass.

Say what you like to the papers, Dan. I know you love me.

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