Pope Is A Rockstar Artinya Novels & Stories

RIP masculinity. The crowd didn’t react. They watched like they had no idea what was going on or what it meant. They were here because everyone else was, that’s where their interest began and ended. I suspected most of them were season ticket holders at Old Trafford. “No, no, what are you doing?” screamed the Pope. He had a very strong American accent. Up above, he’d sounded very RP and full of game show gravitas. Down here he sounded like a New York arsehole, bada bing, bada boom. “Are you crazy? Those were two of my best guys. Jeez. Can we get a cleanup crew down there, please.” He had a real beleaguered air to him.

Chris scolded Satio, who had pulled him immediately he had called Lena inside. Now Lena was gone. “She was with that spin man, so don’t fucking go near her,” he scolded, and Chris snorted. “She is my girlfriend; I have every right to go after her.” “You don’t get it; she just spoke with the pope right now. Do you know who a pope is?” Satio scolded, and Chris was confused. Wasn't a pope the head of the catholic church? “Yeah…yeah…he is the head of the mafia.”

Is he giving me a chance? The Pope slams his hand down on the table. “You will acknowledge me, witch.” I jerk and my chair skids backward, away from the table. “I apologise, Pope.” I purposefully slur my words so they’ll think I’m still drugged up. “It’s hard--” I tap the side of my head --“to think.” The Pope looks at Lester. “You drugged her?” “It’s the standard procedure, Pope.”