The Lambo Of God

Hey, Pope Francis. New car?

“Si, si. I got-a da Lambo. Is-a nice. Gonna take it to-a da club. Make-a da valet park it out front. Gonna get-a da chicks.”

Your Holiness.

“I kid. You wanna get-a da chicks, you gotta drive-a da Ferrari.”

Your Holiness!

“I kid!”

You had me worried.

“I’m-a da silly goose today. Full-a da beans. I give-a da car to charity. Make-a da money for da bambinos. Feed-a da hungry.”

That sounds like you.

“Look at-a dis silly thing. Pope can-a no drive this.”

It’s off-brand.

“Si, si. And-a my big hat won’t-a fit.”

Maybe Lamborghini does a convertible.

“I’m-a set. Got-a da Popemobile. Is-a nice in there. Is-a roomy. Got-a da wifi, Sirius XM.”

Heated seat?

“Si, si. I have-a da driver turn it on before-a I get in. I get-a da toasty tush. Best part-a da day sometimes.”

Sure. You know, that sucker’s got a 5.7 liter V10 that puts out 500 horses.

“Good for-a da car.”

Not a gearhead, huh?

“No, no. Is-a nice to raise-a da money for charity, but I tell-a you something you already know.”

What’s that?

“This car is-a da sin.”

It is.

“Si, si. Is-a da middle finger to-a da poor. All-a those hours spent-a making it and-a for what? So some-a rich asshole can tell-a da world what a rich asshole he is. Forgive-a my language.”

You’re forgiven.

“That’s-a my line.”