Hey, there.

It’s me, (insert name here)! I know it’s been a long time since you’ve seen me, and that I’ve been (emotionally absent / sealed within the Sistine Chapel). I am incredibly (ashamed / humbled) by the events of the past few days. But the time has finally come to (apologise / celebrate), and for me to deliver some (bad / good) news. I have returned to officially inform you that I have (been having sex with multiple of our mutual friends and even some of your extended family / elected the 267th Pope of the Catholic Church).

Of course, I felt it was crucial for you to hear this from me before anyone else told you first, and there were many (good / noble) intentions that led us to this moment. I thank you for your patience over the difficult past few weeks. I think, in this moment, we can all agree: it is exceptionally odd how a single (accidental text message / vote with my fellow Cardinals) can change the course of history. Hopefully, now that you’ve finally seen me emerge from (your cousin’s hot tub with hot cum dripping down my leg / the Papal conclave after the expulsion of the fumata pianca), you can finally breathe a sigh of relief.

I hope knowing all this gives you a sense of closure.

In this current moment of (shame / celebration), I (cannot / can only) imagine being incredibly overwhelmed, knowing that I currently have (no more hot cum / the love of God) coursing through my veins. Whilst I am obviously very (proud of / humbled by) my (body count / election), I would ask that we not dwell too much on the past and begin thinking about the future. This is a long strange journey that began with (me telling your cool cousin that she should buy one of those “cool baths that Rob Corddry swam around in, you know, in the movie Hot Tub Time Machine?” / routine voting), but if we all muse too much on how odd life can be, we will be here all day.

So, from this moment on. I promise to devote every single fiber of my being to (not cheating / being the Pope), and I will do (the most / everything) I can to (avoid / aid) the lonely, tired, and desperate in our community, and all your beautiful brothers and sisters across the world.

If doing this will (win you back / appease the will of Madonna that she may protect Rome), then I will (try my best / perform this holiest of tasks). Over the next (week / lifetime), I know that the (trust we had / Pontifex online brand) will never be the same. But, over time, I hope you can (give me a second chance / allow me to hone my Twitter voice and online persona into something creatively distinct from Pope Francis’ own acerbic witticisms).

If there’s any regrets I have about the tension and debate of the last few weeks, it’s only that I wish I (didn’t accidentally use Siri auto-text to send you a Spotify link to the Four Tops’ song “Loco in Acapulco” 48 times with the same corresponding caption every single time, which read in full: ‘PLEASE TRANSFER TO THIS SONG TO THE HOMEPOD MINIS BEFORE WE FUCK IN THE HOT TUB’, and that my defense for sending this odd text wasn’t just that I was “joking about owning a hot tub, as a funny reference to your notorious cousin and her weird impulse purchases”, then that I hadn’t strenuously denied that I was sleeping with her when you made a top-of-your-intelligence connection and correctly deduced everything that had happened, beat by beat / had prayed more).

But, I can now state with no equivocation: I’ve made up my mind, and I now believe that God is real. From this point again, I hope to redeem my indecision by doing everything he commands at all times.

Also, I promise will never have sex with anyone ever again unless you explicitly give me, (insert name here), permission. Thanks.

Oh, sorry, almost forgot this part: amen.