It was a pope dive of sorts, just moments after I arrived home from work—the search for the source of an awful crash ended at the basement steps: NO, it was my commemorative John Paul II decorative plate! Now only tidbits on dirty concrete. I had to flip some pieces over to take this crime scene photo. Much as the cats deserve to be thrown to the wolves, they were not guilty. A brief investigation showed the little hanger still on the nail--epic glue fail! My only religious icon bites the dust.
Must I take another trip back to Rome to replace my plate, or would I arrive to find only souvenirs of the living pope? Sorry, but with his necromancer's face and lack of an inspiring Marvel Comics biography, Pope Benedict simply doesn't cut it for me.
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