I Rubbed St. Peter's Foot

Yesterday my roommates and I walked to Vatican City. They brought their passports because they thought we'd have to show them to get in. I laughed, that's why the Pope has his Swiss guards. Speaking of which I think I'd pay good money to see a Swiss guard fight a ninja, wouldn't you? In that outfit?

We walked along the Tevere, which is the major river that runs thorough Rome (yes it's green), passed the Castel Sant Angelo and up to St. Peter's Square. It was raining and in the center of the piazza a crew of workers were taking down a giant manger. As it turns out we're not the only ones who put off taking down the Christmas decorations until months after the fact, so too does old Benny XVI, our Supreme Pontiff.

We walked inside the Basilica and I explained Catholic things to the others, for instance why people were lining up to give St. Peter's statue a little foot massage. We gawked at Michelangelo's Pieta. No matter how many times you've been in that place it is always larger and more magnificent than you remember. We decided not to climb up to la cupola that day because the rain was getting nasty, but we did go down to see the crypt of the popes. John Paul II's grave was crowded with people it made me feel bad for the other guys, but I'm sure they're all hanging out with Jesus by now, so they probably don't care too much. When we got back into the square, the Pope himself came out and asked me to dinner. Not really, but what if he had?