Two months ago, you came to Europe looking for adventure. The plan was to backpack across the continent, drinking and carousing your way through country after country with no agenda but to live life to its fullest. You wanted to eat, sleep, and breathe all of the different amazing cultures, but, disappointingly, you’ve hardly done any of that. All you’ve done is visit a bunch of old buildings, usually among crowds of other tourists. And today—the last day of your trip—is no different.

You’re here at the Vatican, looking at old buildings with a tour group. Your window for a grand European adventure is quickly closing, and if you don’t do something soon, your trip will have been a waste.

What? No! Doing calf raises in public does not count as adventure. Try something else.

Jesus, what the hell is wrong with you? That lady did absolutely nothing to you. What kind of psychopath spits on a stranger in a church?

Well, the good news is that you’re finally going to have that big European adventure you wanted: You got arrested and are now being taken to a weird foreign jail. Have fun, ya fuckin’ lunatic.

You sneak away from the tour group and begin wandering around the Sistine Chapel. Against better judgment, you duck beneath a couple velvet ropes and tiptoe through some unauthorized areas before finding yourself at the mouth of a mysterious, dimly lit corridor.

At the end of the corridor, you find a new corridor that’s even more dim and mysterious than the last one.

Ahh! There’s a huge spider behind you now! You’ve got no choice but to go down the scary hallway.

At the end of the dark corridor is a strange, bright doorway.

Ahh! There’s a dangerous pumpkin man behind you now! You’ve got no choice but to go through the strange doorway.

“Halt! Who are you? What are you doing here?”

Through the doorway, you are met by a menacing guard with a sword.

“You’re not a murderer or anything, are you?”

“Okay, good. Mind keeping an eye on His Holiness for, like, five minutes? Just gotta run out real quick.”

“Yeah. You just gotta stand there and make sure he doesn’t leave the room—we don’t want him getting into any mischief.”

“Great, thanks. Come with me, I’ll introduce you to him.”

“Pope, I’ve got a new friend for you to meet,” the guard says to the infallible leader of the world’s 1.2 billion Roman Catholics, who is currently standing four feet in front of you. “He’s gonna be in charge for a little while, so don’t give him any trouble, okay?”

“The Pope isn’t much of a talker,” the guard says. “But it looks like he wants to shake your hand.”

“Great, looks like you’ve got a handle on things. I’ll be back in a bit, but just remember: Don’t let the Pope leave this room.”

You nod reassuringly. The guard leaves, and suddenly it’s just you and His Holiness alone in the room.

Sitting across from you, the Pope stares silently. Looks like it’s up to you to steer the conversation.

The Pope says nothing.

The Pope remains silent.

“…”

The Pope raises his hand. Looks like he has a question.

“I need to make toilet, please,” the Pope says.

Hmm. The Pope needs to go to the bathroom, but the guard said that he needed to stay put.

“I must make toilet. I am the Pope.”

“Very well,” the Pope says.

“…”

“…”

You notice a little twinkle in the Pope’s eye. He grins ever so slightly. Then it hits you: the unmistakable aroma of urine. You look down and notice a sizable wet spot spreading across the front of the Pope’s vestments.

“I told you I had to make toilet, did I not?” says the Pope, smiling slightly.

“Oh, come on!” says the guard, returning to the room just as you’re frantically attending to the Pope’s piss-soaked vestments. “What the hell happened? I was gone for literally four minutes.”

“Okay, but he’s not a fucking 5-year-old. He’s the successor to Saint fucking Peter, and you wouldn’t let him go to the bathroom? Goddammit! Sorry, but I gotta send you to jail for this one.”

The guard charges toward you with a pair of handcuffs.

You throw elbows left and right, but you’re swiftly dispatched by the team of elite sword-wielding guards who have filed into the room to subdue you. The Pope continues staring at you wordlessly, and just before you’re hauled out of the room, he gazes directly into your eyes and gives you a little wink.

That fucking rascal.

You do not resist arrest, but the team of elite sword-wielding guards who have arrived to subdue you beat the shit out of you anyway. The Pope continues staring at you wordlessly, and just before you’re hauled out of the room, he gazes directly into your eyes and gives you a little wink.

That fucking rascal.

While the Pope is using the bathroom, you gaze around the papal residence. Everything looks very nice, but also weirdly shitty.

Most of the furniture is the typical kind of furniture that old, rich people buy—the kind that you can tell costs a ton of money but is always uncomfortable no matter how you sit on it.

Like, see, this chair probably cost ten thousand bucks, but it’s terrible. Why’s there so much brass and wood in places that are supposed to be soft? No one wants to sit in that.

Hmm. The Pope’s been gone for a while now. Going to the bathroom shouldn’t take this long.

That’s weird. There’s no audible toilet use happening in there. Better make sure everything’s okay.

Huh. No response. What if he died? That’d be awful. You’d be remembered forever as the guy who couldn’t watch the Pope for five minutes without him dying. They’d probably assume that you killed him, too, and then you would go to jail.

You should go in there and make sure he isn’t dead.

Oh, shit! The old man flew the coop! You shouldn’t have let him leave the room.

Better go find him fast, otherwise you’ll be in serious trouble.

Okay, don’t panic. The Pope ran away, but it wasn’t entirely your fault. You can’t be blamed for not suspecting that a 78-year-old might do that.

Now think. How can you fix this?

You decide to leave the Vatican and go play Skee-Ball instead. You’re on vacation; you shouldn’t have to worry about keeping the Pope alive.

Hopefully he doesn’t get run over by a car or anything, though.

You run out to St. Peter’s Square hoping to find the Pope, but you can’t see him anywhere. You check the ground for fresh scat, but you find nothing. This isn’t going to be easy. To find the Pope, you’re going to need to think like the Pope.

Where would the Pope want to be?

Yes, of course! The Pope probably just wanted to go look at some Bibles! And seeing that the Bible is a book, there’s really only one logical place he could’ve gone: the library.

You enter the library and make a beeline for the librarian’s desk.

“Hi, where is the Pope?” you ask her, mimicking the loud, vulgar lilt prevalent among the Italian people.

Silenzio!” she replies in the loud, vulgar lilt prevalent among the Italian people.

You don’t know enough of the language to decipher what she said, but you have a good feeling that it was, “He is over there, to the left.”

Now that’s a spicy meatball!

Sure enough, you spot the Pope exactly where the librarian said he would be. Excellenzio! Unfortunately, the Pope spots you too, and as soon as you start walking toward him, he throws a chair through the window and escapes out into the street.

You chase the Pope down to the banks of the Tiber river, but just as you’re about to catch him he hops into an idling motor-gondola and speeds off into the sunset, perhaps never to be seen again.

“I am the fast Pope!” you hear him shout from far off in the distance. “You are the slow Pope!”

You wander up and down the dark streets for hours trying to piece together how things went so wrong.

Eventually, you walk past a small café with a television facing out toward the street, and something catches your eye. It’s you. Your face is being shown on a news broadcast as the man who kidnapped the Pope, which isn’t what actually happened, but, given the evidence, you can understand how that conclusion was reached.

Before you even have time to worry, you suddenly see bright blue lights glaring at the end of the block, and two police cruisers start barreling toward you angrily meep-meeping their little horns. Shit.

“Hulkster, sorry to bother you, but the man who kidnapped the Pope was recently seen wandering around this general area,” one of the cops says. “Have you seen him by any chance?”

“But if you’re not Hulk Hogan, why did you just rip your shirt and flex?” the other cop asks, eyeing you suspiciously. “Only Hulk Hogan does that.”

You’re dangerously close to blowing your cover. Better play this one smart.

“Ah, now I understand,” he says. “In light of this new information, I believe we should take you to jail.”

“Hmm, sounds suspicious,” he says. “But I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt since you were my favorite wrestler growing up. Meet us back at the papal residence in five minutes—with the Pope. You’re walking on thin ice, buster.”

You make a dash toward the border but are immediately halted by the police, who were closely monitoring you because they’re not idiots. They don’t savagely beat you like American cops would, but they make some condescending remarks that really hurt you on the inside. It’s no fun.

The good news is that you’re finally going to have that big European adventure you wanted: You will now spend the rest of your life in a weird foreign jail. Have fun!

You return to Vatican City, where thousands of tourists are swarming the main public square. Considering the size of the crowd, you realize that your odds of finding the Pope are slim.

You are immediately placed under arrest. The cops don’t brutally beat you like American cops would, but they make some condescending remarks that really hurt you on the inside. It’s no fun.

The good news is that you’re finally going to have that big European adventure you wanted: You will now spend the rest of your life in a weird foreign jail. Have fun!

Yikes, where do you even start? With a crowd this size, finding the Pope seems just about hopeless.

Oh. There he is.

You grab the Pope and hustle back to the papal residence, where you find the cops waiting for you.

“So, did you find the Pope or what?” one of the cops asks. “If you didn’t, we will take you to jail, and you will have to stay there for soooo long.”

“Yes, actually, I did find him,” you report. “He is standing right over there.”

“That’s not the Pope,” the cop says.

“What?” you reply, the alarm audible in your voice. “Of course that’s the Pope!”

“No, it’s not,” he says. “I don’t even think that’s a real guy. Looks like some sort of latex ape robot or something.”

“Of course he’s real!” you insist. “Watch.”

Your projectile nails the Pope-like being squarely in the forehead, but it reacts in no visible way. It just stands there. Slowly, it begins to dawn on you that whatever this thing is that you’ve brought back to the papal residence, it is almost certainly not the Pope.

“Okay, you’re going to go to jail now,” the cop announces.

http://www.clickhole.com/clickventure/can-you-keep-eye-pope-just-5-minutes-2979