The Young Pope walks into a bar. A cigarette hangs loosely from his lips. He glides up to the barkeep.

“Whiskey. And a pork sandwich,” he whispers.

The frazzled barkeep gasps.

“It’s Friday! You can’t have pork!”

“What can I say,” the Young Pope says before he flicks the lit cigarette directly into the face of the barkeep.

“I’m edgy.”

- - -

A rabbi, a minister, and the Young Pope are on an airplane. The engine goes out and the plane begins plummeting to the earth. There are only two parachutes onboard.

“I should get the parachute!” the rabbi insists. “Thousands of people look to me for hope and guidance every day!” He grabs one and jumps out the door.

“I should get the other parachute!” the minister yells. “My congregation will be lost without me!” he grabs the other and follows the rabbi out the door.

The pilot comes in from the cockpit and looks at the Young Pope. “What are we going to do??” he yells.

The Young Pope takes a long drag on his cigarette and pulls two parachutes out from under his seat. He tosses one at the pilot and puts one on himself.

“We’re going to parachute to safety. I’m not sure what the rabbi and the minister are going to do with my backpacks full of skin mags and illegal firecrackers.”

The Young Pope and the pilot high-five.

- - -

A man walks into a bar. Inside, he sees a 12-inch pianist playing the piano. Young Pope sits at the bar next to a genie. The man walks up to the Young Pope.

“Young Pope,” the man asks. “What’s going on here?”

The Young Pope takes a drag on his cigarette.

“This genie grants wishes.” The genie nods.

“Oh,” says the young man. “Does he have a hearing problem?”

“Huh?” says the Young Pope. “Of course not.”

“So… so you really asked for a 12-inch pianist?”

“Sure. My dick’s already a foot long, and I love classical music. I’m the Young Pope, bitch.”

- - -

A drunk gets on a bus, reeking of booze. He sits down next to Young Pope and opens a newspaper. After a moment, he asks the Young Pope a question:

“Young Pope, what causes arthritis?”

The Young Pope looks down his nose at the drunken slob. He pulls a long drag on his cigarette before he answers.

“My son, arthritis is caused by drinking too much, by partying too hard, and by rejecting the man in all his forms.”

“Oh,” says the drunk.

They ride in silence for a moment before the drunk says “By the way, I don’t have arthritis. But I was just reading here that the Young Pope does.”

“No shit, Sherlock.” the Young Pope replies before flicking his cigarette directly into the drunk’s face.

- - -

The Young Pope arrives in Heaven. At the Pearly Gates, he is approached by St. Peter.

“I’m sorry, Young Pope,” says St. Peter. “We can’t allow you into Heaven. You have lived too loosely. You have drank too much, partied too hard, and flipped the bird at too many elementary school crossing guards. You cannot enter these gates.”

The Young Pope stares at St. Peter for a moment before removing the cigarette from his mouth.

“I’m not asking, old man. I’m telling.”

With a snap of his fingers, the Young Pope summons a motley crew of bikers, revving their Harleys and careening over the clouds of heaven. The frightened St. Peter ducks back behind his podium and cowers in fear as the bikers crash through the Pearly Gates. The Young Pope slowly walks in behind them.

“You’ll get yours, Young Pope! You’ll get yours!” shouts St. Peter, angrily shaking his fist.

The Young Pope takes a final drag on his cigarette before flicking it over his shoulder and directly into St. Peter’s face.

“Maybe I will,” he responds. “But not until Season 4, at least.”