*In a dream. But please, don't let the shameless false advertising in the title stop me from sharing this totally loony story with you.

It's so ridiculous I have to type it out before going back to sleep, or I'll forget it or stop believing I ever had it. It also must be related in full detail, making it a bit too long for the "What Are Your Dreams" thread but ideal for a blog, so here it is.

I was over at a relative's house. My aunt and uncle's place , to be precise. It looked exactly like my grandparent's, at least on the inside, but different outside. So for whatever reason, they were having someone staying over with them for a night or so: THE POPE. Yes. Pope Benedict XVI is my aunt and uncle's houseguest. I don't know why, but he is.

So as my dream went, the relatives were all gone doing whatever it is they do, and I was still there. Well, I thought, I'm not religious at all. In fact, I left Catholicism long ago because my private school sucked and I was tired of hitting intellectual brick walls everywhere I turned. But if you had an opportunity to see and talk to the Pope in person at your aunt's house, would you pass it up?

So I go downstairs to the guest room he was staying in (the same one I once used after moving out of my parents' and before I got an apartment). And there he is, standing in the doorway in full regalia. He looks just like he does on TV, except a little bigger and somehow more...not sure how to say it. There's just something faintly sinister about him. (Or maybe I always thought that. Look at his picture. You can't tell me this man is not evil.)

Naturally I'm a little nervous. I figure you're supposed to bow or something, so I do just to get on his good side. "Er, Your Eminence...I'm sorry for disturbing you, but may I ask you one question?"

"Why, certainly, sonny," the Pope says kindly.

"I'm sure you hear this all the time," I say carefully as he discards his outer robe and seats himself casually on the carpet. "But...what's it like being the Pope?"

"I'll tell you," he replies, "But first you have to come over here and sit on my knee."

"Um...okay." Gee, that's weird. I'm a grown man and he wants me to sit on his lap? But I go over and do it anyway, since it's a dream and you kind of have to go where your mind takes you. I never could manage that lucid dreaming stuff...but it would have come in handy here, because as soon as I'm sitting on his knee, the Holy Father does something very bizarre...

He makes a pass at me.

I don't remember what he says, just that it's gross and I get the hell off his knee. This is even more uncomfortable to write about than it is to read, folks.

"Hold on," the Pope says, and now he's looking more sinister and crazy with each passing second. "Don't you want an answer to your question?!" And he reaches behind the bed and pulls out a speargun.

Like the kind you would use against big fish in the water or something. Except there are no fish around, only me, and this innocent scenario is taking a highly unwelcome turn into dark comedy.

Laughing crazily, His Unholiness fires. The first spear misses me and splinters the closet door I'm standing next to. "What the f*** is wrong with you?!" I scream as he fires the second spear into the ceiling above me. I'm standing like 15 feet away, so he must not be a very good shot, but I have to get away from him just the same. The third shot goes into the wall where I was standing; I'm already racing up the stairs and into the living room. I run out the front door and lock it behind me.

I know no one in my family will believe this, but as I run, I realize there's one thing I have to do, even if I have no idea why. The Pope isn't athletic enough to pursue me, but he's still in there and still dangerous. I quickly find a friend of my cousin's and get a spare set of keys off him. "What do you need them for?" he asks. "I can't tell you. You'd never believe it," I answer. I run back to the house, unlock the front door, eye the living room to make sure no homicidal religious leaders are waiting for me...and I sneak out their big flat-screen TV.

At that point, my dog started whining and the dream ended. Yep. So THIS horrible near-death experience is the first dream that I remember in months, and I will never be able to see Pope Benedict in the paper or on television again without thinking of it.

Hallelujah. 

I never would've had a dream like this about Pius IX or John XXIII...they just don't make Popes like they used to.

"I have as much authority as the Pope...I just don't have as many people who believe it."

--George Carlin, 1937-2008