I just thought you folks might like to see a picture of my new, well, more on her below.
Okay, scene from "Snow White And The Seven Dwarves": the dwarves (now known in our PC world as people who are "vertically challenged"), marching along, singing "Hi ho, hi ho, its off to work we go", and I'm thinking, shit, they sound like they're stoned hookers with a stutter.
(Popephone rings in the background)
"...PJTT...hey, Mike, how was your Fourth?...you guys were at that game? Cool. So, what's up?...I did what?...oh, "stutter", what did I say?..."Shutter"? So it came out like I was talking about hookers who were high carrying window treatments?...shit...well, too late now, huh?...yeah...okay, yeah...hey, would you see if the girls in the office can line up four tickets to the All-Star Game next week?...yeah, you, me, the Harley Dog and, well, a friend...never mind, "who's that?", that's my business...okay, lemme' know, thanks."
Once upon a time, in a land far, far away...wait, sorry, wrong story.
That call I received was from my consigliore, the Right Reverend Monsignor Michael Jordan, (no, not the one who golf's with Charles Barkley); he noticed a small error in my first paragraph and wanted to bring it to my attention. (Working for the All John All The Time World Church is sometimes like living in a fishbowl.)
Your Pope was all over the map last week, with "missionary" trips to all kinds of Godforsaken places like Port Collection Of Trees WAH and a city in Holland where a guy named Johan Huibers is building a replica of Noah's Ark, and we almost had to haul ass to Radnor PA, but considering the problem there, I was REAL glad when that trip got axed. (You guys will just have to go back to my post on 6/27 to find out what that was all about; here's a heads-up: it was gross, which I suppose applies to a lot of what I write about.)
So along with my roommate, sidekick and backup navigator onboard the Pope's "official" atomic powered rocket ship, the Royal Unionship Kidding, affectionately known as the RU Kidding, and no, that's not three different persons, they would all be the Harley Dog, we finally made it back to the bucolic and hotter than the, as my Mother used to say, "hinges of Hades" San Fernando Valley, home of the headquarters of the AJATTWC. (Apparently there was a hinge factory located in Hades in which my Mother had some interest.)
I was finally able to check in with my various Department Heads (lettuce, cabbage, waiter, etc.) and get fully up to speed on what's happening in the world around us, and by sharing with all of you their reports, I can a) edify you and b) further spread the message of the soothing balm of Johnism. So with no further ado, or adon't, here we go:
*From the Boy, Did I Get That Backwards Department*
According to a report from AP, (that's "insider" talk from us media gurus for "Associated Pull"), a Mexican women recently "was caught trying to sneak her common-law-husband out of a Mexican prison in a suitcase following a conjugal visit."
Now this is a novel attempt at jailbreak, but that's not why I included it in my report. No, the reason you're reading about this lady and her wayward "husband" was because when I first read the article, I thought SHE was the inmate, and HE was visiting HER, and I couldn't figure for the life of me why she was smuggling HIM out, or for that matter, since I thought SHE was the prisoner, how SHE was even pulling a suitcase with HIM in it and...well, this is what happens with advancing age. First it's not understanding an article about stupid jailbreaks, then next thing you know, its Depends and drool-cups. Shit.
*From the Great, Now Those Drones At The DEA Will Declare ANOTHER Front In The War On Drugs Department*
In his newly released book (and I love this title), "The Compass Of Pleasure: How Our Brains Make Fatty Foods, Orgasm, Exercise, Marijuana, Generosity, Vodka, Learning, and Gambling Feel So Good (and a big Amen to all of the above, other than fatty foods and gambling, unless its just a fin on whether the Cubs will be mathematically eliminated from the pennant race by July 1st, then it's okay, and a good bet), author David Linden talks about how animals will "voluntarily and repeatedly consume psychoactive plants and fungi". (And who could blame them?)
According to Linden, the list includes birds, elephants and monkeys that scavenge for naturally fermented berries as well as African boars, porcupines and gorillas that ingest the hallucinogenic iboga plant, as well as goats that are getting a cheap rush by munching on wild coffee berries and, of course, the "infamous magic mushroom-loving flying reindeer". (???)
I just hope this doesn't become a problem with domesticated animals; I'd hate to have to lock-up my stash to keep it from the Harley Dog.
Hey, do any of you guys know where I can score some iboga plant?
*From the Can't We Make Them Take IQ Tests Before We Elect Them? Department*
Anthony Weiner.
John Ensign.
Eliot Spitzer.
Bill Clinton.
Newt Gingrich.
Mark Sanford.
Arnold Schwarzeneggar.
And on and on and on...
Geez.
*From the Speaking Of That Asshole "The Governator" Department*
Maria Schwarzeneggar filed for divorce from her philandering mental-midget husband, citing as reasons for the breakup, "a complete inability for the Plaintiff to understand how the Defendant, a man who seemed to have everything life could offer, including financial success, artistic acclaim (?), a beautiful and adoring wife and children and a burgeoning political career could be such a hopeless, only thinks with his gonads, horndog". (Actually, I made that all up, but you have to admit, if I'm Maria, and I'm glad I'm not, because I don't like her anymore than I like him, that's how I would have had my attorney draw up the divorce papers.)
What a jerk this guy is, and even better, aren't all the geniuses in CA proud of their votes for him for Governor? Good job, guys, and who's next? Charlie Sheen for Attorney General?
Geez again.
*From the Does Anybody Have Two Wheelbarrows And Some Rope I Can Borrow? Department*
Okay, I finally got to the "picture" above, and so help me, I did not make up this name, nor the story: Norma Stitz, the woman (no shit, Mr. Obvious Man) who, according to the Guinness Book of Ale, err, sorry, World Records, has "the world's largest natural breasts". Norma's monster hooters are a size 102ZZZ, which translates into 3.5 feet of cleavage and an individual weight of 56 pounds EACH. (Imagine having two second-graders stapled to your chest; yeah, there you go.)
Norma recently appeared on a British TV show, "This Morning", (as opposed to "That Morning", I would think), to discuss what it's like to have over a hundred pounds of boobers at your beck and call every day. "You know, life ain't easy for a boy named Sue," she commented, "although my name's Norma, so I wouldn't know anything about that."
I intend no belittlement of Ms. Stitz; I cannot imagine what it would be like to possess breasts like these. I have a female friend (no shit again, Mr. OM) who's breasts were so large that she finally had a reduction done, so it must not be much fun. Ms. Stitz also works for several Internet porn sites, so things can't be too bad for her, either.
Okay, remember the four tickets to the All-Star Game I asked Mike about when he called earlier?
Hey, I thought maybe she's a baseball fan and would like seeing the Game next week; I mean, she's probably back from England by now, it would be a chance to get to know her, find out what she's all about, you know, spend some "quality time" together.
I can see the headline now: "Pope Killed, Smothered By Tits".
Love and Maidenform,
PJTT
copyright 2011 Krissongs, Inc.
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