The Vatican
A ngelo Cardone’s theatrical speech was nothing short of amazeballs — that’s what the crowd called him. The new pope was amazeballs.
Some said Cardone was what’d happen if Mick Jagger was a pope.
Cardone recited the same speech about them having to fight Wonderland monsters who are nothing but terrorists, focusing us on living a lesser life. He made the crowd hail and dance. Then he stressed on his message being addressed to his followers in Oxford, where the asylum situation took place.
At some point, he told them again about his new religion, which rhymed with ‘Christianity’, but no one could really grasp the word. The crowd didn’t care. They thought the new religion thing was only metaphorical, like a new order, or a reflection of how the people were going to take matters into their own hands.
Finally, Cardone talked about what he’d came to say from the beginning.
“My dear followers, all over the world.” He raised both his hands in the air. “From this day on, we’ll do things our way. No more authorities or police force to speak for us. No more governments to tell us what to do. If we, the people, want to rid our lives of those Wonderland Monsters, then it’s us who is going to do it.”
“Yeah!” The crowd went crazy this time, fireworks all over the place.
“But this isn’t just cheap talk, because today we’ll prove it’s not,” Angelo said. A few people tensed and stopped their celebrations. Angelo’s tone was too serious to be ignored.
“I came here to tell you about a prophesied war,” he began. “A war we knew would happen from the beginning of time. One that no one wants to talk about.”
The crowd was buried in silence again.
“It’s not the war against evil. Not the one against drugs. It’s not even directly against the terrorists in the asylum,” Angelo said. “Our war is the war against…” He stopped. Everyone halted their breathing. “Insanity!”
Not all of the people grasped what he’d just said.
“When a Wonderland Monster threatens to stuff our children’s heads in watermelons, and when another makes them smoke hookah, and another kills our world leaders, then this is nothing but insanity,” Angelo said. “We’re in an eternal war against insanity. We are the sane ones. They, the Wonderlanders, the ill in the brains, are the insane. They are the enemy. And no government will fight this war for us.”
The people continued listening, waiting for the punchline.
“And from this day on, it’s your responsibility, you the people, all over the world, to kill the Wonderlanders,” Angelo said. “Be it with a frying pan or a bazooka, it’s your choice. You see them in the streets, they’re like zombies, kill them.”
People hailed again, raising all kinds of silly weapons in the air.
“Our first declaration of independence is today. Now, to the people in Oxford.” Angelo faced the cameras. “I’ve been told that the Inklings escaped the asylum. So what if they did? They will not be able to escape you! Because you will not let them.”
All broadcasting cameras zoomed in on Angelo’s face. “I’ve been sent to you to teach you how to hunt them down. Every corner, every street, every hole they want to hide in will prove futile. Because no one’s going to help them, and each and every one of you, boy or girl, child or adult, will hunt the Inklings down until they vanish from the face of the Earth, and we live happily ever after.”
The cameras zoomed in even more, now almost only showing Angelo’s lips, nose, and eyes.
“Like I said, it’s been mentioned in a prophecy,” he said. “We call it the Wonderland War. It’s either us or Wonderland!”
The crowd was going crazy, rocking the piazza with the stamping of their feet. Some cameras shifted to the cheering crowd in Oxford, who were now ready to hunt down the Inklings who’d escaped the asylum.
Then, the camera zoomed even closer, this time on Angelo’s mouth and nose.
“And like I’ve taught some of you earlier,” Angelo said. “We the people have a new salutation. It’s not with a hand. It’s not standing up. It’s not a wave or dance. It’s done like this…”
The camera zoomed even closer and closer on Angelo’s mouth. And there, he saluted his new brainwashed crowd with a grin. A wide, scary, and unholy grin.
“And if you haven’t been able to pronounce my new religion yet,” Angelo said. “It’s called Cheshiraty!”
Hypnotized and brainwashed, the people grinned back.