Working in the darkest of corners to bring about their inscrutable ends, the great Papa John cult has hidden behind claims of pizza quality while scheming mischievously to bring about some of the largest swindles of our decade. Come inside their dark and titillating ceremony, that you may better understand the sickness that infects them, so it might not come upon you unknown should you become infected yourself. And should you become infected, may the Lord have mercy on your eternal soul.
Inside the Cheese Crust of the Selection Ceremony
Meeting in secret at the dead of night, the twelve Cardinals John convene at the Dome of Pizza in Jeffersontown, Kentucky, the cruel homeland of that birthed the first Papa John. Only such a wasted land could produce the darkest hearts, and darkest Kentucky is no exception. From there, they link hands and spiritual energies to evince the spirits of the pizza beyond to come upon their meeting and bless it with their insight and grace. So blessed, the Cardinals John proceed to bring in the virgins, dressed in white and pure as snow. It is with their sacred energies that the ceremony shall be powered, and the righteous brought forth. The number varies according to their availability, but at least seven virgins must be used for proper sanctification of the events.
Sitting upon an altar made of corrugated cardboard boxes that read “You’ve Tried the Rest, Now Try the Best,” the virgins gorge upon Papa John’s superior pizza pies, specialty sides, and disc-shaped deserts. They may choose from among promotional items both current and no longer offered: such is the power of this wicked conclave. The carnival of delights continues deep into the small hours of the early morning. And when the virgins have fully sated themselves on this brutalist stand-in for pizza and this Dadaist joke masquerading as food, they collapse under their own weight, quietly slipping into a carbohydrate-induced reverie.
From here, the Cardinals John begin their true work. As the virgins slump in half-sleep, the Cardinals listen with their ears upon their lips. And the first Cardinal’s name uttered by all these refuse-filled virgins in concert will be named the Papa John and raised above all other Cardinals.
The public knows the foul ceremony is completed when the Pietà in Vatican City begins to cry the freshest of super-market grade olive oils—the same olive oil used in Papa Johns discs of sin—and the wound in Jesus’ side seeps red pizza sauce. How is this done? By deepest deception. Few know that famed Renaissance sculptor and humanoid sewer-dwelling turtle Michelangelo was a close confidante of many among the Knights Templar, the order that preceded the Sacred Order of the Johns. With his cooperation, the Johns are able to rig the sculpture with secret tubing, which may be made to leak their sickly pizza fluids upon demand.
Who Shall Be the Newest Papa John?
After the disgraceful retirement of the most recent Papa John, who shall take his place? What man of flesh and blood could possibly step in to the mighty shows of our once great Papa-ist? Only time, and the sacred selection ritual, will be able to answer that question.
What is sure is that it must be someone clean of any taint, light skinned with his internal goodness and blessed with a palest complexion so that his divine light might shine through his translucent skin. Ain’t ever been no black Papa John, that is.