Flaming Iguanas.
Yeah, don't tell me that wouldn't be a great name for a rock band.
Flaming Iguanas.
It could also be one of those real fancy "on-fire" desserts you get in those snooty restaurants where, when the waiter first comes to your table, he introduces himself as "Ferdinand", and tells you that he will be your server this evening, and then hands you the "Kiddie Menu" to peruse, because he can tell, just by looking at you, that there's no way in hell you can afford anything on the regular menu.
"...and our dessert specialty for Tuesday is baked Flaming Iguanas, covered in a rich boysenberry sauce. With pickles."
Okay, none of that has anything whatsoever to do with your Pope Guy's message of the soothing balm of Johnism for today. No, today we're going to talk about "scanning electron microscopes", no, wait a minute, I already talked about that a few weeks ago. How about if we make our topic for today: "Boogers: Gross Expectoration Or Miracle Adhesive?"
Ring...ring...rin
"PJTT...hey, Mike, what's up?...uh-oh...yeah...yeah...so why do we have to go there?......they said what?...that's a long way to go to just for that...oh...no, never heard of him...yeah, we can check out both while we're there...sure...okay, but when HD and I get back, how about we check out a Dodgers game, whatta' say?...yeah, that would be great...okay, I'll call you when we get back...hey, tell the guys in back to start getting the Kidding ready, okay?...thanks...yeah...hey, have you seen my copy of this month's "DDD Beauties"?...okay, maybe Harley has it...later."
That was my consigliore, the Right Reverend Monsignor Michael Jordan, (no, not the one that used to live in Chicago); he tells me that the Bored Of Elders of the All John All The Time World Church have a "missionary trip" they want Harley and I to go on. (Harley? He's my roommate, sidekick, sparring partner and backup navigator when we're onboard the Royal Unionship Kidding, my atomic powered rocket ship, which we affectionately refer to as the RU Kidding for short; that's his picture over there --->. Handsome devil, isn't he? Just like his owner. Hey, there's a picture of the RU Kidding over there as well. Fine ship, wouldn't you say?)
It seems that the staff here at the AJATTWC alerted the Bored Guys to a situation down in the Philippines ("Pines Of Phillip"?) that the Bored wants HD and I to go investigate and then do what we can to spread the message of the soothing balm of Johnism. (The Bored Guys get paid by the convert.)
So we're off in the morning on the Kidding to the Philippines, to check out the story about...
...not using geckos (you know, geckos, small, green lizards, icons of Geico Insurance) as a medical cure for impotence.
Now when the RRMMJ told me about this assignment, I had no idea why the Bored thought that using geckos to help people who have an inflated view of themselves, well, it just didn't make any sense. Why do they care if somebody in the Philippines thinks they're special? I just don't understand what one...shit, damn phone hasn't stopped ringing all morning.
"PJ...Mike, I'm right in the middle of writing my post for today, what's up?...it's what?..."imPOtent", oh, I thought they were saying "important", for crissake...yeah, that changes things completely...yeah, okay, thanks."
My consigliore again; he tells me I, well, let's just say I had a slight misunderstanding of my assignment.
Since the Kidding is capable of speeds up to and exceeding the Speed Of Aroma, we can make the "jump" to the Philippines in about 1.36 hours, or about as long as it took Lindsay Lohan to screw up after she was released from "house arrest" recently.
Up, up and away...
(Later the next day...)
So we arrived here in the sweltering Philippines today, and immediately contacted environmental officials here to explain why they feel people shouldn't use geckos to treat impotence. We were granted an audience with Dr. Gary Indiana, a Filipino/American doctor who recently was named as Director of their national health agency.
Dr. Indiana told us that he didn't particularly care if Filipino's used geckos to treat their impotence problems or not, but that since an 11-ounce gecko, which is apparently the average size of your average gecko, is right now selling over the Internet for at least 50,000 pesos each, which is about $1,160.00 in good ol' American dollars, he wants this illegal trading of these animals halted until he can figure a way to get in on the action.
I looked at HD, and with a dismissive shake of our heads, bid Dr. Indiana a good morning and got the hell outta' there. There wasn't much either Harley or I could do for this guy.
Besides, that was only one reason we were sent to the Philippines.
It seems as though one of our Bored members, Brother Terry Cloth, heard of a miracle that had allegedly taken place on a farm back in the Filipino hills outside of Vanilla, the capitol of the Philippine Islands, and that was what they REALLY wanted me to check out when we were there.
We already knew the location of the farm where the supposed "miracle" took place, so we hopped on our rented Vespa (hey, collections are down almost every Sunday these days, so you save where you can, okay?), and headed up into the hills.
We arrived at the farm a little after lunch, and when we knocked on the door of the small, but very neat farmhouse, a short, balding man dressed in rural clothing answered the door. We introduced ourselves and explained why we were there. His name, we learned, was Petras Moss, or Pete as he was known in the small village where he resided.
"Oh," he said, "you want to know about Hiram, my pet three-legged pig."
"Was this the animal that was involved in some kind of supposed miracle recently?" I asked him.
"Yeah," he said, "that's the one. Come on, I'll introduce you to him."
So he took us around back to a pigpen behind the house, and there in the pen was a normal-looking, pretty much every day pig, except for the fact that it only had three legs; it was missing it's front left leg, along with hoof, fur, etc.
"So, Pete, how did Hiram come to lose his front leg?" I asked. (Harley decided that Hiram was too big to eat, and went back to take a nap in the shade of our "chopper".)
"Well," says Pete the Filipino farmer, "that's a great story."
"This was last July; I came out one morning, figured I'd do some plowing that day, needed to bust up the middles, so I went into the barn and got my plow and all the rigging out, and I was just starting to hitch up the team to the plow when a dog-faced water snake (honest, I didn't make that one up, it's indigenous to the Philippines) crawled out from under the barn and spooked those mules somethin' awful. They heaved up on their rear legs, snortin' and tryin' to stomp that snake, and with all the jumpin' around and such, they pushed me right over on my back with the plow right on top of me, and as I hit the ground, I heard my arm go snap, and I knew she was broke, sure enough." He took a moment to look over at Hiram in his pen.
"Yes, sir," he says as he turns back towards me, "ol' Hiram really saved my bacon that day, pardon the pun."
"Why is that?"
"Well, that ol' snake, he's tryin' to get away from those mule's hooves that are landing on the ground all around him, and he turns and starts wriggling right towards me. Ol' Hiram sees this, sees I can't get up with the plow on top of me and my arm all twisted around funny, so he jumps over that fence there around his pen, charges right at that snake, and before the snake could turn to meet him, Hiram gets his snout up under the snake and "throws" that sucker back under the mules, who then stomp the shit outta' of it. So then Hiram runs up on the back porch, snortin' and gruntin' and making all kinds of noise and 'bout that time, my wife hears all the commotion and runs outside to see what was going on and, well, I guess you could say ol' Hiram saved my life that day."
"Wow," I said, "that's an amazing story. Did Hiram still have all four of his legs back then?"
"Oh, yeah, he didn't lose that front leg of his until just this past spring."
"How did he lose his leg?" I asked.
"Yeah, Hiram there, he's a hero in this house, best pig ever," he said. "Don't know that I've ever seen a smarter one than him."
"You know, you're probably right, Pete, but tell me, how did he come to lose his left front leg?"
"We let ol' Hiram start eating his meals with us in the house; figured that was the least we could do for him, you know, since he saved my life and he's a hero and all. Yes sir, that Hiram, he's a special pig, I'll tell you what."
"Okay, right, Pete, but how did he lose his leg?"
"You know, we've had lots of media people out here, asking about Hiram, ever since the accident; he's sorta' our "reality star" here in the village, people coming by, stoppin' to see him and all." ("Why Emm Cee Ay, it's fun to stay at the Y-M-C-A...") (Okay, "village, people", get it? Geez.)
"Pete, HOW DID HIRAM LOSE HIS LEG??" I finally screamed.
"Oh," says Pete, "Hiram's a great pig, a hero. You don't eat a great pig like that all at once."
Harley and I returned to the bucolic but always sunny, at least when it's in season, San Fernando Valley the next day.
Love and ham sandwiches,
PJTT
copyright 2011 Krissongs, Inc.
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