The fourth Holy Week since the Evil Clown became Pope has started, and the script can be written already now. There will be poverty rethoric, inclusive claptrap and Dalai-Lama-esque banalities galore. There will be social envy, enmity for the Chuch, and hatred for faithful Catholics. There will be an awful lot of “this is that” waffle: not hugging an illegal is being Judas, and the like.
What one notices very clearly is how easily predictable, and how outright boring, this has become. The wearing out of the novelty effect has left an old man increasingly fewer people without the Church consider worthy of any attention, perhaps remembering him here and there when no more exciting vehicle for homo or globalist propaganda can be found. In the meantime Trump builds walls, America is made great again, and Le Pen scares the Obama out of the European political establishment.
The world goes its own way, and does not stop to watch an old clown perform a routine they all know. The first time you see a street artist eating fire it attracts your attention, but at the fiftieth you don't even look. Francis is pretty much there. Minus the art.
We will see the washing of feet of strange people again, and by the fourth time it will be barely registered. We will hear heretical homilies no one wants to listen to anymore. We will see an old clown making an ass of himself on his way to hell.
The death spiral has already set in. In order to keep pleasing his rapacious ego, Frankie will have to become more and more outrageous. This in turn will make him, soon enough, predictable and boring again.
The man's antics are now just as useless than yesterday's news. Because in fact, it's all they are.