At Least He's Not Dating An Alien From The Planet Noloc

Hey, sports fans, its the Pope here, with more scintillating comments on the state of the world as I see it.

Scintillating; pretty good word, huh? (Almost as good as "gerbil".)

I was perusing the 'Net the other day, as part of my duties as the leader of the All John All The Time World Church, when this headline leaped out and grabbed me by the private part:

"Culkin Denies He's Dating A Porn Star".

Okay, now I realize that we exist in an age where there are lots of "celebrities", using the term loosely, who are strictly famous for nothing more than, well, being famous. The Kardashians, all 587 of them, Paris Hilton Hotel California, that repulsive Nicole Richie, the Michelin Tire guy and others who show up at all the right parties, all the right red-carpet events, say inane things that have absolutely no relevance to anything taking place in the real world, and then return to whatever alternate universe in which they reside.

And at least MacCauley Culkin has done some movie acting, most notably the "Home Alone" movies, to give him some cachet as someone who's particular story might be of some interest to the general public, unlike someone like, say, Rachel Uchitel, whom I had never heard of until I saw her on the VH1 series "Celebrity Rehab", who to my knowledge has never done anything of any newsworthiness other than be gorgeous and "party" with other equally "famous" and gorgeous people, and who was told by Janice Dickinson, another "famous" celebrity and costar on "Rehab", that "you were born with a silver spoon up your ass". Yeah, at least MacCauley has a little street cred, although I don't recall any of the "Alone" movies winning any Oscars, or for that matter, any Felixes either. (Since I wrote this post, I found out the Rachel Urchitel was one of Tiger Woods', how can I say, liaisons. Now there's something to be known for; how proud her parents must be.)

But then I see this headline, and the first thing that occurs to me is, Huh?? I mean, who gives a shit if Culkin is or isn't dating a porn star, or for that matter, if he's dating Paris Hilton's Chihuahua. I wasn't aware that the dating habits of MacCauley Culkin were of any particular import to anyone, (other than MacCauley) even if it was a porn star. At least it wasn't a maiden of the Testicles (pronounced TES-TI-CLEES) Halcyon from the Nebula of Cerritos.

But the bigger issue here is, I believe, whether Rachel Urchitel could, in fact, have been born with a silver spoon up her wazoo. I don't know about you guys, but first off, unless Janice Dickinson was there when Uchitel was born, how does she know that? I'm certain Uchitel didn't tell her; I'm pretty sure that Rachel doesn't remember because, like most of us, she was probably quite young when she was born and has little recollection of the event.

Secondly, even if its true, and I believe that issue is debatable, given how uncomfortable that would have been for both Rachel and her mother, once again, who gives a shit? She could have been born with a John Deere tractor in her left ear for all I care, and I suspect most of the people in the "non-famous" world would agree with me.

But my real concern here is how stories of this nature affect my followers in the AJATTWC, and as their Pope, I intend to do what I can to stop this frivolous reporting of what purports to be "news" involving people of questionable notoriety.  I believe reports of this nature lead to confusion in the minds of the common person, which is how I consider myself, despite my Popeosity, about what's important and what is germane to their lives, and gives them a false sense of reality, much like the one so many of our political leaders in Washington seem to have.

I will join this battle just as soon as I finish the article I'm reading about Kim Kardashian; according to the report, she's currently dating the Pillsbury Dough Boy, and says that, despite his rather rotund appearance, he's really a "studmuffin", (pardon the unintentional pun) and that they intend to marry and raise a whole slew of flaky croissants.

I just hope for Kim's sake that none of them are born with a kitchen utensil up their wazoo.

Love and tabloids,

PJTT

copyright 2011 Krissongs, Inc.

I Suppose I could Always Try Monster.com...

You know, being Pope of the All John All The Time World Church has become a full-time position, but it wasn't always that way; when I first applied for the job, it was strictly part-time, less than two hours (show up for services on Sunday, pass the plate, count the money, hit the road) a week. The pay was just fair but the hours were excellent, so I took the gig.

Even though it has been some time since I went through the screening process to get the job and become Pope, I still remember most of the questions (and my answers) on the employment application that I was required to fill out:

Q: DESIRED POSITION:

            Prone, preferably, but Pope is okay too.

Q: DESIRED SALARY:

            $50M annual plus stock options and all the holy cards I can get. In lieu of that, I'll take pretty much whatever is offered.

Q: EDUCATION: Yes, barely.

Q: LAST POSITION HELD: Verbal punching bag for my ex-boss.

Q: SALARY: Way less then I was worth.

Q: MOST NOTABLE ACHIEVEMENT: An incredible collection of stolen pens and Post-It notes.

Q: REASON FOR LEAVING: The job, and my ex-boss, sucked.

Q: HOURS AVAILABLE FOR WORK: 1:00pm to 1:30pm Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday, and as needed on Sundays.

Q: SPECIAL SKILLS YOU POSSESS: Cat-skinning, tree-climbing and others more suited to an intimate environment with a consenting adult.

Q: MAY WE CONTACT YOUR CURRENT EMPLOYER: If I had one, would I be here?

Q: DO YOU OWN A VEHICLE: That runs, or just do I have one?

Q: ANY SPECIAL AWARDS OR RECOGNITION:  I may be the winner of the Publisher's Clearinghouse Sweepstakes.

Q: DO YOU SMOKE: Only when I'm on fire.

Q: WHERE DO YOU SEE YOURSELF IN FIVE YEARS: Just about anywhere but here, say like, on a beach in the Bahamas, surrounded by beautiful, and scantily clad, women.

Q: DO YOU CERTIFY THAT THE ABOVE INFORMATION IS TRUE AND COMPLETE TO THE BEST OF YOUR KNOWLEDGE: Yes, and I dare you to prove otherwise.

Q: PLEASE SIGN HERE: Pisces.

What was most interesting about this application was that they gave me the job despite my answers.

So now I'm Pope of the AJATTWC, and you know what? These people have this really old-fashioned idea that, for them to give me a paycheck every week, they expect me to show up and actually work. What an archaic attitude; I mean, how 1950's is that? So I sit here every day, focusing on issues that affect my flock of followers, trying to be the best Pope I can be, (remember that commercial from back a million years ago, "Be, all that you can be, in the ARRARRARRMEEE.") when I would much rather be on that beach in the Bahamas, sipping on an adult beverage, while mostly naked, gorgeous young women periodically rub me down with suntan oil, laughing the whole time at the goofy-looking hat they make me wear as Pope.

There was another commercial for the Armed Forces from back a lot of years ago that went, "It's not just a job, it's an adventure"; my consigliore, Monsignor Michael Jordan (not the ex-baseball player) says I should look at my Pope gig the same way. Yeah, it's also $362.54 a month, after taxes, and all the holy cards I want.

I figure that, if I really want a significant increase in salary, with even fewer duties, I can always run for Congress. They wouldn't make me wear a big hat either.

Love and Human Resources,

PJTT

copyright 2011 Krissongs, Inc.

Butch Celery And The Peapod Kid

As leader of the All John All The Time World Church, I try to keep myself informed of health issues that could potentially impact the members of my church, (yeah, all one of them) things like the spread of the HIV virus, vaccination of children against childhood diseases, flu shots and many others. But the one health issue that has me, as Pope of the AJATTWC, really concerned is the intestinal growth of vegetables. It's insidious, and it's here amongst us.

I recently learned of this dreaded nightmare from an article I read somewhere on the 'Net, about a man who, after complaining of abdominal distress and while being examined at a local emergency room, was found to have a pea plant growing in his stomach. Doctors theorized that the man, a middle-aged man named Jack, had apparently somehow eaten a pea that had then germinated in his stomach, and sprouted a root and what appeared to be the beginning of a stem. (I just remembered, Jack's thing was a beanstalk, wasn't it? Oh well, I guess I blew that one. The rest of the story is true.)

Now, I don't know about you, but the idea that there may be vegetative matter growing in my intestines creeps the shit outta' me. It's gotten so bad that now, whenever I eat things like tomatoes, with all those little seeds in the middle, I scrape them all out before I eat them. I really like tomatoes; I cook with them, put them on sandwiches, in salads, I even eat them sliced as a side dish. But not before I scrape the seeds out, because the last thing I want to have to do is go to the emergency room and try and explain to some doctor why I have three feet of tomato plant stem growing out of my asshole. (It's hard enough trying to explain having three nipples, one of which is in the middle of my forehead.) No, no more tomato seeds for Mrs. Pope's son.

Now, with all that said, if I thought that would work with marijuana plants, I might give it a go, you know, fire up a batch of brownies, leave a few seeds in, and start harvesting my nether regions about three months later. Think of the money I would save on buying...well, never mind that now. And besides, I know that would probably violate a number of rules of the AJATTWC, and as the Popester, well, we can't have that now can we? You know, lead by example, like Bill Clinton did.

I also don't eat fresh pumpkin, for the same reason. (I once worked for a guy who used to eat peanuts in the shell...whole. Yep, peanut and husk, right over the tongue and down the old shoot. Can you imagine how hard that would be, outbound, on your asshole?)

(Popephone rings...JTT...hey, Mike, how was your weekend?...you were at that game? Awesome...whatta' you mean I can't say "asshole? Why not?...hey, it's better than wazoo, and it's a whole lot better than Republican...I have to say 'anus'? Geez, that sounds wimpy as hell...(big sigh)...all right, I'll change it...yeah, you too...

Can you imagine how hard that would be, outbound, on YOUR ANUS? (That's a planet, right?)

This PC stuff is getting a little absurd, you know that? Next thing you know, I won't be able to say "asparagus" for fear of offending some arugula farmer somewhere. (For the longest time I thought "arugula" was an island in the Caribbean, you know, like "Arugula, Jamaica, oooh, I want to take you...")

And, apropos of absolutely nothing, "Anniston" is not only the last name of one of the major hotties of all time, but it's also a city in eastern Alabama. (Somebody explain to me how a guy can dump someone as gorgeous as Jen, which would be, in most guy's opinion, a MAJOR dumb move, and then move right in with Angelina. NOBODY normal has that kind of luck. As Pope of the AJATTWC, I'm having Brad Pitt investigated for possible dealings with the Devil; in the movie version, the role of Satan will be played by Jack Nicholson, well-known Laker fan.)

Rutabaga is a small town in Lower Zimbabwe, isn't it? No, wait, that's Arugula.

Love and peapods,

PJTT

copyright 2011 Krissongs, Inc.

Boys And Their Toys

One of the things I get the biggest bang out of doing with the official atomic-powered rocket ship of the Pope of the All John All The Time World Church, (that would be me) the Royal Unionship Kidding, or the RU Kidding for short, is flying over convents inverted (that's down-side up for you non-aeronautical types) at about 48 gazillion parkingmeters (that's the next measurement up from kilometers) per hour, swooping in really low to scare the living bejeezus out of any nuns that might be out in the yard. Why convents/nuns? Latent hostility towards the "other" Pope, (you know, the one in Rome)? A death wish on my part? General orneriness?

Honestly, I've never actually done that, you know, flown low over a convent; I just wanted to see if you guys were paying attention. (Hey, speaking of "official" stuff, like the "official atomic-powered rocket ship of the Pope", am I the only that thinks this whole "official" endorsement thing has gotten a little out of hand? You know, like those little "blurbs" on TV sports commercials that tell us, "Wally's Worms And Wigglers: Official Bait And Tackle Provider For The NHL", or "Poophead County Morgue, Official Sponsor Of The MLB". Come on, guys, you mean to tell me that the $500 gazillion trillion dollars you already make on ticket sales, ads, sports apparel, kickbacks, etc. isn't enough? I mean, I'm all for free enterprise, hell, I'm in favor of just about "free" anything, but I don't know, these "official" thingies seem...tacky.)

Us Popes have always had, over the years, all kinds of "toys", you know, like atomic-powered rocket ships, Popemobiles, (I guess if I were Santa Claus that would be the Skimobile), a yacht, a dog-sled team and a juggling/acrobatic troupe from Argentina (The Flying Evitas).

Now, you're probably asking yourself, myself, how does a man of the cloth, a Pope, a man who has dedicated his life to helping sinners, who has taken a vow of poverty, how does he afford all these expensive toys? What, are you serious? (RU Kidding?) You guys ever see pictures of the Vatican? The value of the art treasures alone in that place would support every man, woman, child and orangutan in the State of Rhode Island for the next several decades. Afford a yacht? Ask Robert Schiller, you know, the preacher, excuse me, "televangelist", who founded that church down in Orange County CA that built the Crystal Palace. (Although they recently declared bankruptcy so maybe he's not the best person to ask; besides, Schiller wasn't a Pope.) Afford a yacht? The Pope in Rome could afford his own Navy if he wanted. ("Arnie's Army/Navy Store, this is Hugo, how can I help you?" "Hey, hi Pope, 'sup?" "Okay, what do you need?" "Uh-huh...uh-huh...yeah...uh-huh...okay, lemme' read this list back to you... you need a George Washington-class aircraft carrier, a battleship, two frigates, an Aegis intel ship and three guided missile cruisers? Did I get everything?" "Hey, we got a special going this week, buy one Aegis ship, get an Ohio-class nuclear submarine at half off, how about if I...?" "Oh, yeah, I forgot, no ballistic nukes, only tactical, okay, just wanted to mention it. How soon do you need them?")

The SS Dee Dee, the "official" yacht of the Pope of the AJATTWC is a 245 foot, twin-engined beauty capable of 5982 knots (that's 38 mph to you landlubbers, or E=mc2 less the excise tax), sleeps 115 guests, has a swimming pool, beauty salon, casino, massage parlor, tennis courts, the Statue of Liberty, two pubs and a partridge in a pear tree. Just what every discerning Pope needs.

I mean, it's all about image, right? Perception is reality? Besides, who wants to have anything to do with a church that preaches poverty and giving to the poor, you know, like that Jesus guy talked about? Boy, what century did he live in?

Love and Rembrandts,

PJTT

copyright 2011 Krissongs, Inc.

Just Like Rare Wine, We Get Better With Age (Not)

As long as we're on the subject of old age (we weren't, but when you get to be my age (118), you're kinda' always on the subject), let me throw a few things out there for your consideration.

First of all, getting older is definitely not for sissies (Richard Pryor once opined that "You don't get old bein' no fool; lotta' old people out there, they smarter than a motherfucker.") and you certainly can't avoid it, given the alternative. And it's no secret that, in America, people are living longer and longer lives. (I love the advertisements for all the exercise/health nuts that claim to add five years on to your life if you follow their regimen faithfully, and of course, spend $8 trajillion on their machines, diet supplements or food, depending on the vendor. Yeah, that's great, add five years on to my life at the END, when all I can do is drool, pass gas and poop myself, sitting in my wheel chair at the Distant Horizons Home For The Aged and Chronically Confused. Why the hell can't you people find a way to add five years on when I was back in my 20's, and I could still get the damn thing up more than once a millennium and...well, never mind that now.) Yeah, old age is no trip to the beach, lemme' tell you.)

As Pope of the All John All The Time World Church, I'm concerned with the issues of the aging, and have directed my staff to undertake studies to determine what we, as one of the leading spiritual institutions in the country (?), can do about it. Unfortunately, I believe I may have to make some staff changes; the first idea they came up with was to shoot all people upon reaching their 75th birthday. (Personally, I thought that was too harsh; I thought the age of shooting should be at least 80.) And there were the legal issues involved as well; I understand that some states in this country have laws against the indiscriminate subtraction of the population base by the use of firearms (other than AZ), so that was a problem as well. (I love the comment I read in the paper recently from one gentleman here in CA, who was an advocate of "open-carry", who said something to the effect that, even though, in CA, you can openly carry only an UNLOADED pistol, he didn't mind that prohibition because, with his gun on one hip and the clip for it on the other, he was only two seconds away from action. That's just what I wanted to hear, that someone can be driving on the freeway in his or her car, get cut off by some inconsiderate asshole, and in two seconds can have his piece locked and loaded, ready to do battle. Gee, that's really comforting.)

So I rejected the "shoot'em at 75" idea and sent the team back to the drawing board, so to speak. The next idea they came up with was establishing an old-folks colony on an island somewhere (maybe in the Sargasso Sea), and shipping everyone there when they reach their 75th birthday. I guess they thought segregation was better than shooting. I told them that we were looking for ideas to help the aging, not separate them from the rest of society, but they made the argument that, when you consider how nasty looking some old people get as they age, with all the drooling, food-spraying and gas-passing, etc., sending them off to a remote island someplace would certainly enhance the aesthetic level here at home. (Hard to argue that logic.) But after long and careful consideration (about 15 seconds), I rejected that idea as well.

Well, in the meantime, the staff here at AJATTWC is still examining the problem and, much like our Congressional representatives, will spend an inordinate amount of time (and money) examining this issue and most likely accomplish nothing. And while the waste of time and money bothers me greatly, what the hell, we're a charitable organization, all we have to do is accept donations, buy expensive homes and automobiles and live the high life.

Just like our elected representatives in Congress.

Love and Geritol,

PJTT

copyright 2011 Krissongs, Inc.

The Popemobile And Other Unrequited Dreams

Are you guys familiar with the Popemobile that my counterpart in Rome, the other guy, rides around in? Have you seen this thing? It looks like a bad copy of the Batmobile with a huge, Lucite-looking block sitting on top that the Pope (the other Pope) stands in and from which he waves at the crowds. The Lucite or Plexiglass or Lexan or whatever the hell it's made of cube is bulletproof; this security precaution was undertaken by the Vatican staff in response to the actions of a serious nutcase who tried to off the Pope a few years ago with a pistol from fairly close range, and, no, I'm not going to make any jokes here because this kind of response to people whose opinion someone doesn't agree with is sad beyond description.

As Pope of the All John All The Time World Church, I understand how difficult it is to combine safety and personal security with a cool ride. I know my staff has spent countless hours examining this problem, to no avail. Any vehicle that could save my fat butt from being brought down by some half-wit with a Glock 9 (which he purchased ten minutes previously at a gun show around the corner, just after the 25 second security check was completed; Vendor: "Okay, are you crazy?" "Okay, no, good answer. Next question, ever shot anybody and gotten caught?" "No, okay, another good answer, that'll be $525.60, will that be cash or plastic?) is typically as ugly as a bucket of assholes. So despite the objections of my consigliore, the Right Reverend Monsignor Michael Jordan, (no, not the one with the all the shoes), I went ahead and ordered my very own Popemobile; a 2011 Porsche 918 Spyder. Hey, would you want your spiritual leader to ride around in anything less than a Porsche? I mean, anybody can have a Rolls or a Bentley, shit, they're a dime a dozen out here in LA (pronounced LAH), but a 918 Spyder, hey, that's a real car.

I thought about buying that new Bugatti, the one with the V12 engine that produces about 8 gajillion horsepower and does 0 to 60 in 3 nanoseconds, but you know what, it was just too Italian, and I'm just not that kind of Pope. (Actually, it really hard to say what kind of Pope I am, but I'm having fun, so who cares?)

(John Wayne doing the opening soliloquy in Act 3, Scene 1 of Shakespeare's Hamlet: "Ahh, tubby or not tubby..." Okay, I thought it was funny. Jerks.)

But the one thing I do know is that I live, and do my Pope thing, in a city where appearances are everything, and perception is reality. So I didn't want to settle for some fuddy-duddy, old guy's Ford Crown Victoria-looking monstrosity, and went the LA way and considered perception first, and safety second. (Did you ever notice that any time you see a Crown Vic on the road, no matter what model year it is, when you get up close, there's always some guy driving that's, minimum, 75 years old, with his wife, who's just barely tall enough to see over the dashboard, sitting across from him in the passenger's seat, looking vaguely perplexed.)

Yeah, no old man's car for me, I'm getting a Porsche. A Spyder. A 918 Spyder. A 2011 Porsche 918 Spyder.

Except that Porsche hasn't started producing them yet.

(Big sigh of resignation.) Oh well, there's a Ford dealership just down the road.

Love and carburetors,

PJTT

copyright 2011 Krissongs, Inc.

Hey, Does The Pope Wear A Tall Hat?

As much as I enjoy my work as the Pope of the All John All The Time World Church, there are drawbacks to being the spiritual leader of so many, as well as a prominent world figure and renown sports fan. I think the one thing that bothers me most is the occasional insult directed towards me, as Pope, by inconsiderate, thoughtless assh...sorry, by people who disagree with my teachings and my opinions on the issues that effect my flock. (Good thing my "flock" isn't sheep; sheep and shepherds are the common building blocks of Old Testament abominations. Like in the Book of Secretions, Chapter 9, Cubs 3.) I realize that, as a public figure and as a man of the cloth (gabardine), I should offer up these slings and arrows of outrageous fortune (that's Shakespeare, Book of Hamlet, Act 3, Scene 1, and the Dodgers/Giants no score, just getting under way here at Dodger Stadium) to whatever higher power exists in the universe, and suffer little children to come unto me. (???) And mostly I'm able to do this, to bear with the personal insults to further my vision of a world at peace, a world free of hatred and malice towards each other, a world without end, amen.

And while the assaults on my lofty and exalted position as Pope I can dismiss, as long as they're made in the heat of a good, clean debate of the issues, whenever an attack on my Popeship becomes personal, it seriously pisses me off, ah, upsets me greatly, sorry.

A few years ago, a trend was abound in our country, and continues today to some varying degree, to use a phrase of frank obviousness, as an ironic rejoinder to a statement of equal or even greater obviousness. To wit, "Gee, does a cat have nine lives?" or "Yeah, no shit, and do the Cubs suck?", etc. But the one remark of this genre that has always rankled me, that I felt was demeaning and insulting to my Popeness was the one that goes, "Yeah, does the Pope shit in the woods?" I'm sorry, but I just feel that a remark like that lacks respect for my ever so lofty office and person.

Why can't we have civility in our discourse, why...hang on, there goes the Popephone again...JTT...Mike, how ya' doin', buddy?...a bear?...and what?...the Pope wears a tall hat...shit...well, I got that one wrong, didn't I?...tell Miller in research he really blew this one...no, don't fire him, but dock him a week's pay, all right?...thanks... According to my consigliore, Monsignor Michael Jordan (no, that's ANOTHER Michael Jordan), I apparently misunderstood what was being said. As far as I know, bears do shit in the woods. (For my money, any animal as big as a bear, with all those really huge bear teeth, hey, he can shit anywhere he likes. And FYI, this consigliore thing isn't like in "The Godfather", okay? Its not a mafia thing, I'm not Italian, I don't run an olive oil import business and I've never made an offer that couldn't be refused, just ask all the women I've tried to get in...well, never mind that now.)

Well, now that I know my Popeosity isn't being ranked as I believed it was, it's on to other more critical issues. Why is it so hard to find a really good pizza place here in the Valley that delivers?

(I was reading about the President of China the other day, a man named Hu Jintoa, and I thought to myself, if he gets a single, then Hu's on first, right? I don't know; he's on third.) (Okay, excellent baseball joke, stolen gleefully from the movie "Hot Shots"; would do you do with an elephant that has three balls? Walk him and pitch to the rhino.)

I'm thinking of dropping a better camshaft in the engine of the Popemobile, and maybe some headers too; you know, looking to gain a higher power.

Love and quotations,

PJTT

copyright 2011 Krissongs, Inc.

Gay Marriage In The Rudest City In America With The Kardashians (???)

I totally do not get this whole hoohaw over gay marriage.

As Pope of the All John All The Time World Church, I believe that it is one of my duties to keep abreast (I'd like to keep more than one) of the issues that face the world and our members every day, so that I can address these topics and be a beacon of light and logic to those that look to their Pope guy for guidance.

Hard to say all that with a straight face.

But of all the issues that the world deals with daily, whether it be the economy, the plight of the poor, healthcare, gun control, terrorism or the latest reality show starring the Kardashians, (just exactly how many Kardashians are there anyway? Every time I look, its like there's another one, doing this photo shoot or that red-carpet appearance, shit, they're like rabbits), the one that perplexes me the most is gay marriage. Why in the world wouldn't you want somebody's marriage to be gay? Wouldn't a happy, carefree union, one that is joyous and spontaneous, wouldn't that be something to strive for? Why would anyone not want...hang on, the Popephone is ringing...JTT...dude...its what?...between two men or women?...whoa, that's not what I was told...Bill, down in the altar and throne department...you're kidding...first of all, tell that asshole that's not funny, then fire him...now, today, yes...okay, call me back when its done...that jerk. (That was my consigliore, the Right Reverens Monsignor Michael Jordan. No, not that one.)

(Frankly, I think gays should be allowed to marry; why shouldn't they just as miserable as the heteros?)

And with no segue whatsoever, in a recent poll in Travel & Leisure, a magazine for Republican boomers with too much money and time on their hands, Los Angeles, the City Of The Angels (the heavenly kind, not the baseball team that plays in Los Angeles of Anaheim), according to the people who were polled, is the Rudest City In America. Not the most scenic, or having the best restaurants, or the most hideous architecture, no, the rudest. In America. The whole country.

Now I live in L.A.; I lived in Chicago and its suburbs almost my entire life, and moved west to Los Angeles when I was 50, having grown tired of standing ass-deep in snow while I spent 10 minutes cleaning off the windshield of my car so I could drive two blocks to the grocery store for a gallon of milk and the latest edition of Big Breast Annual. Notwithstanding the weather, I loved Chicago; great restaurants, incredible museums, including the world class Art Institute, an amazing shoreline along Lake Michigan, the best blues clubs, yeah, Chicago is way cool in my mind. (Chicago is also the home of the world's worst sports franchise, the Chicago Cubs, who, as of this writing in early 2011, have not won a championship in over 100 YEARS. 1908. Sad.)

But I don't agree with the poll that named L.A. as the Rudest City In America. Most stupid, maybe, certainly the most narcissistic but rudest? I don't know, that seems kinda' harsh, you know? I don't think L.A. is any more or less "rude" than any other big city; hell, we're downright civilized compared to some cities. (So I don't have to hear the howls of protest, I'll not mention them by name. NYC.)

So I decided that I would use my bully pulpit as Pope of the AJATTWC, and in defense of it's honor, it's reputation, rally all the residents of Los Angeles to rise up in defiance of Leisure & Travel magazine and have the Kardashians removed from all media in the country. L.A. controls the entertainment industry, and we have the power. That's right, America, all you thoughtless poops who dissed my adopted home, we'll take away the one thing that I know you people cannot subsist without, that's right, the Kardashian family, however many of them there are.

Rudest, huh? Well, you've picked the wrong Marine to screw with, America. From now on, just see how dull your reality shows are without Kim, Khloe, Kourtney, Konnie, Kenny, Kermit, shit, the list just goes on and on and...

Love and TMZ,

PJTT

copyright 2011 Krissongs, Inc.

...and I Thought Being Pope Had It's Problems...

One of the biggest responsibilities inherent with being Pope of the All John All The Time World Church is taking a leading role in talking about what's being done to combat debilitating and life-threatening diseases, encouraging research into these dread killers and promoting fundraising to support that research. The AJATTWC has created a number of missions to address such horrors as acute hangnail, shingles (the disease, not the roof-covering), bubonic plague and many others. The AJATTWC stands second to no other organization in its quest to find cures for the maladies that face all of mankind, every day.

But despite all our efforts, not to mention the $9.38 we've spent pursuing ways to combat such heart-breaking illnesses like crickets, halitosis...damn, hang on, the Popephone is ringing...JTT...hi, Mike...its what?...oh, RICKets...sorry, I guess I blew that one...thanks, dude...

That was my consigliore the Right Reverend Monsignor Michael Jordan (no, not that MJ) on the phone.

Anyway, it recently came to my attention that there is rampant in the world today a new and insidious malady that, even with all our resources and manpower, ($54.36, two bunsen burners, a pipette, which I assume is a small pipe, and a couple of lab techs from the Alfred E. Newman School of Medicine and Massage Parlor), we have failed to bring under control. It's a disease that, up until now, has been largely overlooked by and rarely spoken of in the halls of medical science.

That's right, boys and girls, I'm talking about orgasm allergy.

I first became aware of this monstrous disease from an article I read on MSN.com, where the plight of a Mr. A and his battle with orgasm allergy was chronicled.

It seems that Mr. A (which is how he was portrayed in the article), a 50-year-old married man, had suffered from this allergy since the age of 19. Every time he ejaculates, Mr. A "would experience fever, weakness, exhaustion, loss of initiative, headaches, disordered speech, irritability, forgetfulness and frightening dreams, not to mention swollen lips and throat." Yeah, not to mention. (Needless to say, puberty for this guy was the only time sex was any fun. And in those days, you're all by yourself. And thinking about some of the women I've slept with over the years, I totally get the "frightening dreams" thing.)

The article goes on to state that, "The symptoms were so severe that he and his wife (HIS WIFE!!) planned intercourse for Fridays so he would have two days to recover before returning to work on Monday." (Then it gets serious.) "HE ALSO SUFFERED FROM PREMATURE EJACULATION, SO THE PROBLEM WAS NO PICNIC FOR MRS. A EITHER."

Okay, I'm Pope of the AJATTWC, and, as such, people expect from me a modicum of compassion for my fellow man and his travails. And while I'm sure this is not a laughing matter to Mr. A, you have to admit that, just on the surface of it, it does have its humorous side, although I suspect Mr. A, however, is probably not what you would call a happy camper.

As of this moment, as Pope of the All John All The Time World Church, I am pledging all of our considerable resources (the 54 bucks, the equipment, the two lab techs, the whole schmear) to battle this dread sickness, and I will further pledge that I will see that every effort is made to effect a cure for orgasm allergy in our lifetimes.

And it was no picnic for Mrs. A either.

Love and test tubes,

PJTT

copyright 2011 Krissongs, Inc.

The Benefits (?) Of Being Pope

There are all kinds of benefits to being the Pope of the All John All The Time World Church: free use of the Popemobile, lifetime medical/dental, loads of hot women flocking to your side (yeah, right, the only way I would get the opportunity to be close to a hot woman is if I were a fireman and some poor lady was ablaze and I had to put her out), the recognition of other world and religious leaders (I just got a call the other day from Winston Churchill, who wanted to discuss my position on the Iranian sanctions, wait, hold on, my Popephone is ringing...JTT...hey, Mike, 'sup?...whatta' mean, it was a crank call?...he's dead?...shit...okay, thanks).

Never mind.

But all the great bennys notwithstanding, there is one VERY big drawback to this gig; there's no retirement/pension plan. That's right, sports fans, being Pope of the AJATTWC does not automatically come with old age security, and at my age (127), that's a real concern.

Or at least it was until my consigliore, Monsignor Michael Jordan (not THAT Michael Jordan) took me aside and explained to me how this whole Pope thing works. (That was him on the phone just now.) It seems that I'm just like those other guys there in Rome that run that Roman Catholic house, you know, the group that has the ex-Nazi as their Pope now; I have to die to leave office.

No retirement party, no gold watch, no enjoying my sunset years in a little place by the shore, no, baby, the only way to leave this gig is feet-first. And nobody explained this to me before I took the job, otherwise I might have gone in a different direction, I don't know, maybe into marketing or maintenance engineering. Shit, I might have gotten a job in politics, because God knows you don't have to be an Einstein for those gigs. (You want proof? Several years ago, the citizens of the great state of Minnesota elected an ex-pro wrestler as their governor (Jesse "The Body" Ventura) and in 2004, in my home state of California, the voters thought that the guy they had elected less than a year earlier, Gray Davis, was a thorough piece of shit, turned him out of office and replaced him with... wait for it...Arnold Schwarzenegger, the movie star, who isn't likely to ever be confused with a Rhodes scholar.) On second thought, I just realized that I'm way overqualified to be a politician; I have an IQ over 75. (Although not much over.)

I'm not real crazy about this whole "'til death I can't part" aspect of being Pope of the AJATTWC; I only took the gig as a bridge between my previous career (ladies-room attendant) and whatever I was going to do next. It seemed like a great job; like I said, great benefits, lots of perks (like the Popemobile), etc. But what a tradeoff; I thought, hey, be the Pope, bring about world peace, wear the big hat, canonize a few saint-like folks and then ride off into the sunset in a blaze of holy cards.

BUT NOOOOOO, you gotta' stay 'til the end, like it or not. And I'm not liking it one bit. I even tried to quit, but they wouldn't let me. They said they had too much money invested in the custom-tailored robes and surplices and all those other Popey accessories. 

So, now that you know all that, aren't you glad George Bush was President and not Pope?

Love and tall hats,

PJTT

copyright 2011 Krissongs, Inc.

Some Clarifications

You know, those of you have taken the time to read my previous blogs (see the archive list to the right, and thank you) might be a little confused about some of things that I, the Pope of the All John All The Time World Church, said in those missives, as well as just what it is I do as Pope John The Tall of the AJATTWC.

First off, a little clarification is probably needed about a) whether I live in Southern California or on a remote island in the Sargasso Sea, as I mentioned in my profile and b) whether and how much I beat my dog, Harley, as I also mentioned in my profile. (About the only thing I didn't mention in my profile was my hat size, which I don't know, and the size of my johnson, which, depressingly, I do.)

As to my where I live; I spend most of my time in the Southland, where I'm needed in my role as Pope of the AJATTWC and as a fundraiser for the church's favorite charity, the Home For The Chronically Bewildered. Then during the off-season winter months, Harley and I move back to our island paradise in the Sargasso. (Is that a great word, or what? Almost as good as "gerbil".) Our island is named Snacilbuper (pronounced SNACK-IL-BUPER), which is Republicans backwards; Harley and I are not Republicans, at least I'm not. I used to be until I realized that George Bush would go down as one of the worst presidents this country has ever had, and that he was the best the party had to offer, which scared the hell out of me, and I became a Librarian instead. Excuse me, that's Liberian. (Shit, never mind.) No, we're not Republicans (I don't really know what Harley's political affiliation is, but I know he's too smart to be a Republican.) No, the reason we named our island Snacilbuper was that it was just too funny to pass up.

Now allow me to be serious here for a moment; in light of the Michael Vick dog abuse scandal, the subject of harming a defenseless animal isn't funny, it's sickening. Mr. Vick paid his debt to society, so he's square with the house, for my money. That doesn't make what he did right or any less reprehensible. Just that it's over and its time to move on.

But please know one thing; I was making a joke when I wrote about beating Harley. Truth is, he's a 13-year old Golden Retriever who has been my boon companion for the last seven years (he spent the first six years of his life with my daughter), and I'd cut off my hands before I would harm him in any way.

And he's a good guy. Will Rogers, the humorist from back in the Twenties and Thirties, once said that he had never met a stranger, just friends he hadn't made yet. Harley has the same point of view about people; there's no such thing as a stranger to the Harley Dog, just people who haven't had an opportunity to pet him yet. He will walk right up to almost anyone, stick his big head in your crotch and dare you not to pet him. (Weighing in at 100 pounds and standing 27" tall at the shoulders, the threat has some substance.) A better-behaved, more affectionate being has not yet passed this way. As I frequently tell him, I love him to pieces.

For the record, I never beat my ex-wife either. She was a Shamdar maiden from the O'Ryan Cluster (populated mostly by creatures of Irish descent) of the Milky Way and the Shamdars are people of odd habits. She would frequently walk up to strangers, stick her big head in their crotch and dare them not to pet her. As far as I know, she's never bitten anybody, but you know, there's always a first time.

I wonder if the Shamdars are Republicans?

Love and politics,

PJTT

P.S. I am not a Libertarian either, by the way, nor a Democrat for that matter. I don't have to be; I'm the Pope.

copyright 2011 Krissongs, Inc.

Taking A Stand On The Issues

As Pope of the All John All The Time World Church, I feel that it is my duty, as I believe it is the duty of all our moral leaders, to take a stand on an issue and actively advocate for that belief. I believe it is incumbent on us all, but particularly heads of major religions such as the All John All The Time World Church, to speak out about injustice, about inequality and about how Frank McCourt, the owner of the L.A. Dodgers, should just sell the team and disappear back into the rat hole from which he crawled several years ago, just before purchasing and becoming the co-owner of the franchise, along with his wife, Jamie, who, subsequently, was apparently caught by Frank while engaged in various adult activities with her chauffeur. (Not THE chauffeur, HER chauffeur.)

Needless to say, Frank took exception to this type of activity between his spouse and an employee, and sued Jamie for divorce, claiming mental cruelty (that one will be hard to prove, given the general lack of "mental" going inside Frank's head), alienation of feelings and severe mopery. (I have heard "mopery" described as someone exposing himself to a parking meter, but I'm not sure that's accurate. I couldn't find the word in Webster's New World Dictionary Of The American Language. Not to be confused with the English language, I assume. George Bernard Shaw, the Irish playwright, once described the United States and Britain as two great countries separated by a common language.) Yeah Frank, sell the team so you can payoff Jamie and then slink back to Boston where you came from. They would love to have you back, but then, what would you expect from people that are Red Sox/Patriots fans.

As your Pope, I have agonized over an issue for some time now, and I feel that, in accordance with all those fancy things I said in the opening paragraph, I must now come out and speak my peace on...alien induction.

That's right, boys and girls, alien induction. Please do not accuse me of xenophobia or racism; I have absolutely no problem with beings from other planets. Be they the Green Turtle Men of the planet Zatox, my home planet (see my profile to the right <--, oops, sorry,-->), or the Testicles people (for those of you who are not familiar with our other world friends, that name is pronounced "TES-TA-CLEES") from inside the Nebula of Scrotum, nor any other traveler from the Outer Limits or the Twilight Zone. I have encountered many of these fine alien beings during my missions onboard the RU Kidding, my atomic-powered rocket ship, and have hoisted many a fine mug of Rxdytzsdo beer (that's Budweiser in Cerulean; this Rxdy's for you) with my fellow space adventurers. I hold no ill will for any of our brothers, sisters and host surrogate tenderloins from out there beyond our solar system.

But I see no reason why they should be inducted into our military services. Alien induction is not the American way. America should populate its armed forces with strong, red-blooded young men and women of native birth, not green-blooded Fliptans or the three-handed Marplegloogers of the planet Huptwothreefour (the only creatures I know of who can play cards and with themselves at the same time). I believe that alien induction is a threat to...wait a moment, there's an incoming call on my Popephone...JTT...yeah, Mike (it's my consigliore, the Right Reverend Monsignor Michael Jordan)...yeah, I'm working on it now...its what?...ABduction...shit...are you sure?...okay, yeah, thanks...

Never mind.

Love and green cards,

PJTT

The All John All The Time World Church

I was cruising along in my atomic-powered rocket ship, the Royal Unionship Kidding, or RU Kidding for short, about three hundred parkingmeters (which is considerably farther than kilometers) west of the island of Parth out over the Sargasso Sea, when it occurred to me that, now that I had introduced myself in my blog, (see my post from 1/18/11, "Allow Me To Introduce Myself"; clever title for an introduction, don't you think?), I should probably take a few minutes and tell you about my church, the All John All The Time World Church, of which I am Pope.

(By the way, the RU Kidding is the same atomic-powered rocket ship that I flew in my attempt to be the first person to break the Speed of Aroma, back on Star Date 6384.29, or about three weeks ago. Speed of Aroma, as you may not know, is the equivalent to the Speed of Light for our vision and the Speed of Sound for our hearing; the Speed of Aroma is the measurement for our sense of smell. I don't know about the measurement for taste; the speed of bagels?)

The All John All The Time World Church is a non-denominational, all-inclusive group that has few canons, little dogma and only a few simple requirements for membership; you must be named John, live in Southern California (from Santa Barbara south), be tall, breathtakingly good looking and be in possession of an enormous Schwanzschtuka. (That's the technical term for the control stick used in the RU series of atomic-powered rocket ships; each pilot has his own, personalized control stick. And thank you to Teri Garr and Mel Brooks in "Young Frankenstein" for the term. Funniest movie of all time, hands-down.)

The AJATTWC preaches love, harmony with nature and other humans, peace and the consumption of copious quantities of beer. And you have to be a Lakers/Dodgers fan. (No Angels fans allowed.) The church was founded by me, Pope John The Tall, just last week, and has grown steadily since inception. We welcome all persons who possess the attributes for membership (see above), and hope that all those who qualify will seek us out and join us in our quest for spiritual fulfillment, enlightenment and a World Series appearance for the Dodgers. (We may have a shot at two out of the three.)

Like any good church, the AJATTWC has a number of "missions" that we support; for example, we sponsor our own in-house charity, the Home For The Chronically Bewildered, a charity that has enormous potential for good, given the extraordinary number of people here in the Southland (9 out of every 10 adults by most estimates) who are in need of help. We hope to raise awareness for this debilitating condition, and funding as well, by a series of bake-sales and other fundraising events, such as our Annual Pud-Pulling Competition or our 5K Walk To Stamp Out Bewilderment In Our Time, which will take place this year as soon as we figure out what this walk thing is all about. (FYI, pud-pulling, while not an exclusive Southern California phenomena, being well known outside the area, is however expertly practiced here locally, and involves, well, never mind what it involves, you'll have to come to the Competition to find out.)

As you can see, the AJATTWC is an active, vibrant organization with skilled leadership and a strong message that helps guide and instruct our members as they make their way through the pitfalls and fleshpots of our modern world. Indeed, our members seek out these palaces of sin, (and revel therein) to have the opportunity to be witnesses to the Faith, the beacon of hope that is the All John All The Time World Church.

Won't you join us, or at least send a generous, tax-deductible donation so we may continue this important work? Or at least suggest a way that the Dodgers can come up with a big bat for the middle of the lineup?

And some bullpen help would be nice too.

Love and dogma,

PJTT

Allow Me To Introduce Myself

Since this is the first post on my new "blog" (wouldn't that be a great name for a sci-fi monster; you know, like "The Blog That Attacked Cleveland"), I thought I should introduce myself; my name is John and I am the Pope of the All John All the Time World Church. My offical title is Pope John The Tall, and I am the first of what I hope will be a long line of confused but cordial Popes.

By way of introduction, I thought I might give you some background information on myself.

I was born a poor immigrant child, into a family of Etruscans who were living on the planet Uranus at the time. When I was 43, we emigrated to the planet Zatox after Uranus planetary officials discovered that my parents, Gorvack and Huh?, were on Uranus with no proper identification papers.

I was educated at various schools on Zatox, and received a Bachelor of Arts degree in channel-surfing from the Orion Technical Institute and Pizza Parlor on Star Date 8523.51. I have a Masters from the University of Lower Piedmont in Total Nonsense and a Ph.D. in Hard Knocks from Harvard (IL) University School of Hard Knocks.

I am currently self-employed, mostly because no one will hire me, as Pope of the All John All The Time World Church, and along with my dog, Harley, live in seclusion on a remote island in the Sargasso Sea.
My hobbies are interviewing Civil War generals for articles I never write nor publish, listening to zither music and beating my dog cruelly and viciously every other day, whether he needs it or not.

I am also currently writing my memoirs, "A Day In The Life Of An Irish Setter", hopefully to be published soon.

As Pope of the AJATTWC, I am very active in fund raising for my favorite charity, The Home For The Chronically Bewildered, and would ask that any donations to this worthy organization be sent, in bills of $20 or less, to my home address.

Well, that was certainly a mouthful.

Please watch my blog for my periodic views and opinions on all sorts of news stories, personal points of view, ideas for better living through chemistry (that was, for those of you too young to remember, the slogan for the DuPont Chemical Company back in the '50's; I assume it was tounge-in-cheek) and general nonsense.

And remember, I may be going slow, but at least I'm not getting anywhere.

Love and autobiographies.
PJTT