The Pope in golden raiment sat, upon his diamond throne.
His Christmas likker made him bat his eyes, and he did groan. His ruddy garments glistened red, his crown with jewels glared; he gazed out toward his princely bed, and on the feast he’d shared. “It might be poisoned, maybe dead, my toes beneath the dew.
The Yellow Jacket, blasted sheet, annoys me, I’ll confess: it ridicules my blessed feat and laughs at my rich dress. It spoils my secret schemes to win political control, and otherwise commits such sin as damns its pesky soul. And yet”—and at this sage remark, the Pope gulped down more booze—“I’m better fixed as patriarch than those who wore these shoes. I have my puppets and my boobs who hail me as their Lord in every land where there are Rubes who take me at my word. And look at Peter, the first Pope; he slept out doors and ate fish-meat I wouldn’t use for soap, and toiled both soon and late. He never had an extra cent; his clothes wee rough old rags; and where he went that ancient gent walked over rocks and slags. But look at me, I feast on wine, my purse is lined with gold; I have twelve courses when I dine, and wealth in wads untold. Old Peter would have had a fit to get three meals a day; he served God for the pleasure it gave him; that was his way. “Silver and gold, I have it none,” he told the crippled man, but worshipped Christ from sun to sun, as long as his course ran. He fished and sang and prayed and worked; content, I can’t see why; a citizen who never shirked his tax, but why should I be like Old Peter, simple fool, who let his soul be guide; a toiling, struggling, earnest tool unto the day he died?
He never dreamed of world control, except by Christ, his King; I cannot see, to save my soul, how he could shout and sing. Now look at me,--here, valet, bring me in another glass of rich red wine, now that’s the thing that gives me so much class.”
The People drank down his ruby booze, and gurgled as he did: “A Merry Christmas! Off, my shoes! Come, Kiss my toe, you Kid!” The Cardinals, who at his side, stood worshipful, stepped forth, and at his Lord’s command complied and kissed for all his worth. “More wine! My money-bags, I say!” the Holy Eunuch yelled. “I’m celebrating Christmas Day; go, do as you’re compelled!” And as they rolled the Peter’s Pence in carload lots and sacks, the Pope declared he felt immense and gave his breast three whacks.
And thus his Christmas Day was spent; and at the evening hour he fell asleep, his thoughts intent on his increasing power. And so this man who knows no law but his own selfish will, dreamed that he held the world in awe, from Tiber’s Palace Hill.
But in America’s free land, Ten Million Klansmen true renewed their obligations and the Christ approved their view.
From the front page of The Yellow Jacket, Moravian Falls, N.C., January, 1924From the front page of The Yellow Jacket, Moravian Falls, N.C., January, 1924. I'm sure many find this offensive, but it's part of our history. People who believed this hated the Catholic Church and immigrants from Ireland, Italy, Poland and other countries if they were Catholic.
newspapers.digitalnc.org/lccn/sn85038642/1925-01-01/ed-1/seq-1/#words=January+1%2C+1925
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