Bloody steak!

The Pope is on his 1988 tour of America, in the middle of a three-day bash in New York. On the second day, he is driving back to his motel after a heavy day's bible bashing. It suddenly occurs to him that he is alittle peckish and so he decides to go for something to eat. Out of the corner of his eye, he notices Mel's Diner and immediately pulls over.
He hops out, kisses the ground a couple of times and then goes in and sits down. A waitress wanders over, notices who he is and then straightens herself up. "Yes, your Holiness, what would you like?" The Pope thinks for a while. "Well, daughter, I have this terrible craving for a nice steak."
"Sure Mac, er, I mean your Holiness. Would you like it well done, medium or rare?"
"Oh, I think I'd like a very rare one please." The waitress raises her arm. "One bloody steak, Mel!" she shouts. The Pope is horrified. "Oh no, my daughter, you mustn't swear. There's no call for that!"
"But you don't understand-"bloody" describes how the steak is cooked. Very rare." The Pope smiles. "I understand, how stupid of me."
A little later, the Pope's steak arrives and he gets stuck in. It's delicious, and he goes to bed that night feeling satisfied. The next day, the Pope has an even bigger God-squadding session, in which he is assisted by 31 of his cardinals. Afterwards he calls his cardinals together. "Right lads, as you've done a really good job today, I'll treat you to a bit of nosh at this place I know. You'll like it, I'm sure."
So the Pope takes his cardinals to the diner and calls to the waitress, "Can I have 32 bloody steaks please?"
Immediately, one of the cardinals slaps his knee. "Hey, yeah! And plenty of fucking chips, okay?"