As those of you who follow the daily posts on my blog, "...from the desk of Pope John The Tall..." know, I check in with my staff and department heads here at the All John All The Time World Church periodically, to determine the pulse of the world, so to speak, and also to check up on these guys to make sure they're punchin' the old time clock. Hey, the AJATTWC is a charitable, "not for profit" organization, (as opposed to some companies out there, who are "can't make a profit" companies), so we're careful with the benjamins; we throw nickels around like manhole covers. (I started to make a really crude joke there about "manhole covers", but for once, my very slight sense of decorum kicked in...and I didn't. Aren't you guys proud of me?)
(You want to hear it anyway? No, no, never mind.)
So after returning from whatever godless, forsaken shithole the Bored of Elders of the AJATTWC sent us to most recently, the us being myself and the Harley Dog, my sidekick and back-up navigator onboard my atomic powered rocket ship, the Royal Unionship Kidding, I got a hold of my head of department people, and here's some of the reports I received:
-From the Oh, So Now He's A Marketing Maven As Well As The Pope Department:
I was watching the Dodgers/Marlins game the other evening, and I noticed on the huge advertising sign they have behind home plate at Sun Lite Stadium, where the Marlins play, an ad for the company Waste Management (who, totally apropos to nothing, were once the darlings of Wall Street), hawking one of their new products, an enormous bag-thing that you can have WM deliver to your home so you can throw out all kinds of unusual debris, like old sinks, and rusted pipes that have been removed from walls, construction debris, old mother-in-laws, etc.
The ad was divided in half; on the right half was WM's name and a corporate message. On the left side, was the following message...
Part Bag.
Part Dumpster.
...and that was it. I thought it would be much more interesting this way...
Part Bag,
Part Dumpster,
All Woman.
And now you can understand why they won't let me have sharp objects.
-From the Webster's Dictionary People Don't Need Any Help Department:
New word whose use I'm promoting: "ralphitate". You guess the meaning.
-From the A New Career In Retirement Department:
One of my staff members suggested that, after I retire from my Pope gig, I could launch a whole new career as "Mr. Phone Love", which would be kind of a reversal of those 1-900 sex-line places you see advertised all over late night TV. In my version, senior citizens (preferably women) would sign up for my service, and then, unscheduled and unannounced, I would call them up and breathe in their respective ears and whisper disgusting, filthy things I would like to do to them, if they weren't 857 years old and wrinkled like a cotton shirt that was left in the bottom of the dryer after the final cycle. You know, a little cheap thrill for Granny once in awhile, just to keep the juices flowing, so to speak. (Do you think the "manhole cover" joke would have been any worse than this? Geez.)
From the Maybe He Came In To Get Warm Department (In FL?):
According to MSN.com, a Palmetto FL woman recently discovered an unwanted visitor in her bathroom; a seven foot long alligator, who apparently has a bladder problem.
Alexis Dunbar, the lady whose bathroom the alligator decided to visit, believes the animal used a doggie door on her back porch to get inside the house (Ms. Dunbar, according to the report, has no dog, but two cats who use the door, both of whom escaped the nocturnal bathroom visitor with no apparent injuries). Dunbar, who lives in Palmetto, which is south of St. Petersburg, told WFLA-TV reporters that she also believes the 'gator hung out at her house for several hours after getting inside; some of her things had been "rearranged" so to speak. Her visitor was subsequently removed by local wildlife authorities, after her boyfriend propped a chair against the bathroom door, trapping the guest inside.
There was a quote in the report from one of the wildlife guys who "rescued" the alligator, to wit: "Spring is mating season for alligators and wildlife officials urge people to be extremely cautious, especially around water." (I assume that means "water" occurring in nature, like swamps and lakes; I suspect the people in FL would like to think their pools, drinking fountains and lawn-sprinklers are safe.)
You know, not knowing that you have an seven foot long alligator in your bathroom has to make getting up to pee in the middle of the night a much more interesting experience.
From the Is It Loyalty Or Stupidity? Department:
Last week, on April 22nd, the Dodgers played the worst franchise in baseball, the Chicago Cubs, at their home field in Chicago, Wrigley Field, which is almost as bad a joke as the team that plays there.
At game time, 1:15pm local, it was raining vigorously, so the game was delayed. (The temperature on the north side of Chicago was also in the mid 40's at this point.) After a 45-minute delay, with the temperature still dropping and the rain abated, the game got under way. There were several other rain stoppages, and the game proceeded haltingly through the sixth inning, with the Dodgers ahead 8-2. That's when I turned it on, and here's how the game ended after nine:
-it was by then in the low 40's, with wind gusts off Lake Michigan, which is only a few miles east of the stadium (knowing Chicago weather, as I do intimately, the wind chill at that point had to be in the mid 30's);
-it was still drizzling rain periodically;
-the Cubs were losing...ready...12-2; yes, you read that correctly: TWELVE TO TWO;
-it is by now well after 7:00pm, with all the rain delays;
-AND THE STANDS WERE STILL ABOUT HALF FULL OF CUBS FANS.
Einstein is credited with the theory that doing something in the same manner repeatedly and expecting different results each time is the definition of insanity; I submit that a new definition is needed, and fans of the Cubs are happily providing it for us.
Insanity, thy name is Chicago.
-From the And I Can Prove It Department:
I was looking at my didn't-shower-today-and-haven't-shaved-in-two-days face in the mirror last night, and it suddenly occurred to me, hey, I can prove, unequivocally, that Intelligent Design does not exist. Simply, the intelligence of any entity that can create that face, an ostrich and Rosie O'Donnell has to be highly suspect.
From the What's Next, Blue Light Specials At Neiman-Marcus Department:
According to an ad I saw in the LA (pronounced LAH, you know, like "Doe, a deer, a female deer, ray, a drop of golden sun", etc.) Times yesterday, 99 Cents Only Stores now have a...bridal registry.
From the Classic Literature Department:
While I was watching that same Dodgers/Marlins game from FL the other night, the Marlins, who had gotten behind in the score during the later innings, brought in a relief pitcher named Mujica, and I thought to myself, hey, if he's an only child, and has no sons, wouldn't that make him..."The Last Of The Mujica's"?
From the What? Department:
Remember all those great pirate movies from back in the 1700's (???), where the characters would use phrases like, "hoist the jib mast" and "batten down the barnacles", and my all-time favorite, "shiver me timbers, matey".
Okay, I give up, how exactly does one "shiver" his "timbers"?
Well, I can see from the sundial on my wall that it's time for my medicine, so I think I'll close for now. Harley and I have to prepare to go to, hell, wherever the Bored sends us next week to preach the soothing balm of Johnism. I hope its some place nice like South Florida, home of the North American alligator, or Lower Zimbabwe, home of the African ebert, a small, furry mammal with an enormous sex-organ. (Harley wanted to get an ebert to keep as a pet, but I said no. I hate to admit it, but I was envious. Hey, some guys are hung like stud horses; I'm hung like a stud chipmunk.)
(Wanna' hear the "manhole cover" joke now?)
Love and Bloomingdale's (departments that is),
PJTT
copyright 2011 Krissongs, Inc.
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