Pinger

During really boring meetings with the Cardinals, I start brainstorming about other possible careers. I doodle on whatever paper I have in front of me and dream about my other passions. I know that I'm kind of stuck being Pope, but I still really want to pursue another career on the side. I'm thinking about sending my resume to Hostess.

I maybe the only person that appreciates the inherent value of preserved-packaged food, but for some reason vending machine foods make me smile. I've often thought of getting a job working in a development position at Hostess. I'd get together each day with the other Hostess development executives, and we'd brainstorm together on creating new Hostess treats. Here's my first pitch to the group:

"I can't help but think about the genius of the Chocodile. When Hostess wed the Ding Dong and Twinkie to produce the Chocodile, it shot up sales forty-percent. So I started thinking about a possible marriage between the vanilla Zinger and the coconut Pink Snowball. I'd like to call it: Pinger!"

Not only would I want to be involved in giving the green-light to new Hostess creations, but also used to punch-up the older treats.

"Sales on Pink Snowballs are slowing down, and we need to start thinking of ways to encourage sales. Now, we just did a survey on people living in Norco, California, and we learned that these people are more likely to buy the Pink Snowballs if we include three balls instead of just two. It would also help to have some sort of cross-promotional deal with NASCAR."

In order to get a development position at Hostess, one must be extremely familiar with the design and traits of packaged goods. Candidates for a development executive position at Hostess should be thoroughly versed in Cicero's De Treatus Packagedis (roughly translated: Concerning Packaged Treats).

In his writings, we learn that food offered in vending machines must be of a special hybrid: durable enough to sustain the fall once released from the metal coils, and yet soft enough to feign eternal freshness. Much like a seasoned prostitute, vending machine food must be scantily clad in some transparent outfit, and yet never allowing the viewer to cop a feel until the price has been paid.

But whereas in ancient Rome a prostitute could be seduced through an oration of Ovidian poetry, we must be aware that vending machine food will never come until the dollar is inserted in the machine. Reciting Ovid to a vending machine will only produce madness--never packaged cookies.