Mein Kiss – By “Tucho” Fernandez (Satire)

Mein Kiss

From the desk of His Efflorescence, “Tucho” Cardinal Fernandez 

Preface: Talk to The Tucho. Tell him your secrets. Whisper sweet nothings into his ears after saturating them with smoldering kisses from those sumptuous lips.

Roses are red, violets are blue.

The Tucho is magnificent, and you could have been, too.

But, it all changed, when I saw that face.

I wasn’t a believer, my heart lessened its pace.

Yesterday, you defied The Tucho. You forced him to suffer such clumsy and furious nibbles from those lumbering lips. That violent hickey, leaving a massive boil, was the last straw for The Tucho. I banish you from all further touching.

Gone With The Witch

Now get away from me, witch!

I said “witch,” not bitch.

You stupid Gringos can never translate!

My kissies are transcendent, but you cannot relate.

It’s all over now. I’ve had quite enough.

Those wart-filled kisses were slobbery, coarse, and rough.

I’ve been a whole lot easier since the witch left town; it’s been a whole lot happier without that face around . . .

Little miss, little miss, little miss can’t be wrong!

Did I just steal from some foolish song?

Yes, and I’ll do it all day long.

From Kisses to Ambitious

My homeboy, Bergy-G, knows he can always call me . . . 

Whenever he needs Amoris, or some other heresy.

Yes, when he’s getting “hairy,” I can always supply . . .

With a Freemason exhortation or bald-faced lie.

But, what will I do with no one to kiss?

Where will I find that ecstatic bliss?

Prayer and meditation cannot compare . . .

. . . to raw carnal pleasure, like a steak → bloomin’ rare!

Ah! I think . . . I know . . . what I shall try!

I’ll calm my remorse and make Holy Church cry.

No more kisses from The Tucho, I shall instead devour.

Soon you’ll experience . . . my unlimited power!

Battle Ensues! Tucho Rising

Perhaps you think my words wreak from “pop” references.

Nothing is less true, infidel! Raise your feeble defenses!

En garde! Touche! Tucho! *Glove Slap*

While you laugh and giggle, I’ll spring my trap!

You find yourself in the den of The Tucho, so brace for strife.

All those who deny me, ensure a pitiful life.

Tucho: No Mere Kissing Caricature

Let your guard slip, my dear?

Oh, there’s plenty to fear.

Meet Arthur the Roach, my mighty confrere.

I’ll keep him close, yes, always near.

To suffocate the old Mass, you hold so dear!

Tucho’s Burgeoning Power to Further Unfurl

Reflection: Now, I’m a Cardinal, not a bird, for I soar higher. I can feel the infallible energy, surging through my veins, like so many intoxicating kissies. I cast aside affection for power! How did I come to deserve such favor and reward?

The Holy Spirit chose me, and not you . . . through The Francis, indeed.

Don’t underestimate my powers, for it is The Francis I’ll succeed.

For men like us, there are two: one with power, and another who craves.

Am I his apprentice, who always misbehaves?

I just can’t wait to become your Oily Father!

Me? “Bishop of Rome”? I’ll be like no other!  

Look into my eyes, what do you see?

A cult of per-son-al-i-ty?

Even if my poem is a Dung Burger con queso . . .

I remain The Tucho, an alto grande espresso!

While they make an awful lot of coffee . . . in Brazil.

I’m Argentinian, like The Francis, yet far superior, still.

Even if my episcopacy is scripted from “BishopGPT”

My next stop is the Vatican, for The Chair, permanently.

If you wish to find orthodoxy, then better keep lookin’.

I always do better . . . if you smell . . . what The Tucho’s cookin’!