19,200,000,000,000 Parsnips From Earth, Part Three: The Panamian Aviary

...and predicated on the manner in which we contacted several planetary leaders recently about meeting with various contestants from this year's Miss Universe Beauty Pageant that the All John All The Time World Church was "sponsoring", we had no idea WHO to contact about the above. (See my posts from 9/23 and 9/25 for the rest of the story; oh, FYI, that's Ms. Panama, in her "ethnic" costume.)

I was thinking of a traditional Thanksgiving dinner this year, with an enormous turkey, stuffed to the max with...well, never mind that now.

Love and plumage,

PJTT

copyright 2011 Krissongs, Inc.

19,200,000,000,000 Parsnips From Earth, Part Two: The Martian Rejection

And as a follow-up to my post from 9/23, where I explained the recent trip that myself, Harley, Mike my consigliore and some of our staff from the All John All The Time World Church made to the planet Remulak, I wanted you all to know that we had also considered sending a message to the Old Ones of the Planet Mars as well (and thank you, Mr. Heinlein, so very, very much), asking them if they would allow us to make a missionary trip to their ancient and venerable world, similar to our visit to the home of Beldar and Prymatt Conehead on Remulak, and sent them the above photo.

We told the OO's that the young lady in the picture, the representative from Tanzania in this year's Miss Universe Pageant, shown in her "ethnic" costume, would be accompanying us and that she might be someone they would be interested in meeting, since as we all know, Mars is named after the Roman God of War, and Ms. Tanzania sure looks like a warrior to me, so to speak.

I'm thinking Ms. T either looks very ready to do battle with the forces of evil, or she's having an identity crisis that involves a rhinoceros.

But she's still way hot, even in that silly-looking get-up; nice job, you go, gurl.

We have yet to receive a response from the Martian authorities.

(ring...ring...ri)

"PJTT...hi, Mike, how was the golf game Saturday?...you shot an 83, wow, nice job...so what's up?...they did?...why?...are you kidding?...yeah, I know that's the name of my ship, that's not funny...well, screw'em then...THEY WHAT?!?...no, absolutely no way...no...no, under no circumstances is that going to happen, no...I don't care WHAT you tell the Bored Of Elders, no way...a LIFETIME subscription to "DDD Beauties"? no, still no way...no, but how's this, tell the BOE to throw in six cases of Thin Mints AND the subscription and they've got a deal...okay, lemme' know...yeah, okay...call me later."

That was my consigliore, the Left, err, Right Reverend Monsignor Michael Jordan, (no, not same one who used to live in Chicago); it seems the Martian Old Ones turned down our request, something to do with an unsavory reputation, and for the life of me I couldn't understand how Harley could have an "unsavory" reputation on Mars.

Then Mike explained further.

Seems like the OO's are okay with Ms. On The Horns Of A Dilemma, and they particularly wanted the HD to be there, and they were okay with all the support staff and what have you...

...but they preferred, according to their response, that we send Ms. T and the Harley Dog...

...only.

Shit.

I am deeply insulted, but I will step aside and allow my colleagues to make this important missionary trip to spread the message of the soothing balm of Johnism without me, for the good of the AJATTWC.

I am bloodied but unbowed.

Now if I can just figure a way to keep Harley out of my TM's; if he had opposable thumbs, they'd never be safe. I'll figure that one out later.

In the meantime, I wonder when my first issue will show up?

Love and battleaxes,

PJTT

copyright 2011 Krissongs, Inc.

19,200,000,000,000 Parsnips From Earth

"...so I sent an email to Beldar Conehead yesterday to see how they felt about a "promotional tour" of you, HD and the girls, and he seemed open to the idea. He wants to meet with the Council people first, but he was saying all the right things."

"How soon?" I asked.

"Probably 30-45 days to get through the detail BS, getting Remulakian passports for all of us, the usual preflight shit, some permits, shouldn't be a big deal."

"Okay, Mike, keep me posted," I said, and hung up.

The Bored Of Elders of the All John All The Time World Church has for many years desired to establish a "missionary outpost" on the planet Remulak, and have been trying to find an "entrance" into the Remulakian society, so to able to bring the message of the soothing balm of Johnism to that heathen planet.

(Remulak, you may recall, is the home planet of Beldar and Prymatt Conehead, who, along with their teenage daughter, Connie, emigrated to Planet Earth back in the 70's, and gained quite a bit of unwanted notoriety after being "outed" by the cast and writers of the late night comedy series "Saturday Night Live". Beldar and Prymatt, who were not from France as they so often stated, eventually returned to Remulak and became active in Remulakian politics, and over the ensuing years Beldar rose to great prominence among the leaders of the planetary councils. Connie, the daughter, stayed here on Earth, went to school for awhile, hung around with an "artsy" crowd in NYC and eventually faded into obscurity; she was last seen in Elko County NV with a traveling carnival, working as a one-person "ring-toss" game.)

The idea to launch a "missionary trip" to Remulak was actually the Harley Dog's; he had been watching the Miss Universe competition last weekend, saw Ms. Kazakhstan (on the left in the picture above; see up) and Ms. Russia in their "ethnic" outfits, made the connection and he we are, getting the Kidding ready to take me, your favorite Pope of the AJATTWC, the Harley Dog, the Right Reverend Monsignor Michael Jordan, (no, not the one who played at North Carolina), my consigliore, Captain Art Senscrafts, our ship's commander, various staff members and, of course, the "ladies".

Harley talked the girls into making this trip; I have no idea what he told them, or how many of those European money things he offered them, but they agreed to make the trip, and seemed genuinely excited about the prospects of a) meeting and hanging out with HD and myself, b) earning their fees and c) gee, I don't know, maybe the chance to travel to another planetary world got their panties all damp too, ya' think?

Oh, so you know: Harley is my sidekick, roommate and BFF, as well as the backup navigator when we're on board my atomic powered rocket ship, the Royal Unionship Kidding, or RU Kidding for short; that's his smiling face staring back at you over there to the right (for those of you who are Tea Bag Republicans, that's your OTHER right). We've been buddies a long time now.

The Kidding is equipped with HyperAromaDrive, which enables her to reach, and occasionally exceed, the Speed Of Aroma, which is another sensory gradient used to measure velocity, such as the Speed Of Light and the Speed Of Sound. ("Speed Of Light" would be a cool name for a rock band, don't you think?) Since Remulak is 896.35 parsnips away, the trip should take a little over a week, so, damn...

(phone ringing in background)

"PJTT...hey, Mike...I'm sorry?...okay, I wrote "parsnips" but it's "parsecs"?...are you sure?...yeah, okay, if you say so...I never heard of "parsecs", what the hell is a "parsec"?...oh...so what's a "parsnip?...oh...(large sigh of resignation here)...okay, I'll change it...yeah, thanks...okay...yeah, and hey, let's get the team out to Hooters for a pre-season meeting...yeah, soon...okay."

That was Mike again: did you know that a "parsec" is a measurement of astronomical distances, and equals 3.26 light years, which is 19,200,000,000,000 miles, which is a shitload, anyway you look at it?

A parsnip is a vegetable, and not a real pretty one like asparagus or eggplant, either.

(Another large sigh of resignation here.)

So as soon as Mike and the crack AJATTWC staff can make all the arrangements, we're off to Remulak, with Ms. Kazakhstan and Ms. Russia from the Miss Universe Pageant and their wonderful ethnic costumes, on board. Along with the Harley Dog and your Pope Guy.

Should be an interesting trip.

(...several weeks later...)

"...there's no way he could have known beforehand; he's not THAT smart, geez."

"Maybe not, but you have to admit, accidental or not, it was a stroke of marketing genius."

"Yeah, Mike, and the "marketing genius" is currently out in the kitchen, trying to figure out how to climb up to the cabinet where I keep the Thin Mints, and getting pissed at me because I won't give him one. Oh yeah, some genius..."

(...barking is heard in the background...)

"...I don't care if you're the hero of the Church right now, no more Thin Mints before dinner and that's it. Get outta' the kitchen," I yelled at my dog while my consigliore waited on the other end of the line.

We had just returned from a triumphant, and that's the only word to use, visit to the planet Remulak, where we were greeted like conquering heroes, everywhere we went; I mean, the message of the soothing balm of Johnism never went over so big, anywhere else in the Galaxy.

We were Media Stars (caps intentional) on Remulak.

Why?

Well, it seems that the Remulakianians only have one planetary religion, which is the worship of the mythical Goddesses Of Love, Nubile and Elibun, and that the Goddesses rule over all facets of life on the planet, including when to plant crops, when to marry, when to have children, when to play a round of gerbil golf (although on Remulak they use flartens instead of gerbils) and all matters personal and, for that matter, all matters of planet governance as well.

Nubile and Elibun are big deals on Remulak; REAL big.

And it just so happened that Ms. Kazakhstan and Ms. Russia, in their ethnic costumes, were dead ringers for the two Goddesses. Absolute spot on identical twins.

And the Remulakianians weren't upset that we were somehow mocking their idols, oh no, they thought the girls were the real thing, and that somehow we, as members and representatives of the AJATTWC, had managed to bring their beloved Goddesses to life, and to them; they were thrilled beyond plastic.

It was really weird.

I'm not going to get into all the events and conventions and cocktail parties and meetings and what not that we attended while we were on Remulak; suffice to say that Remulakian vodka, which is made from parsnips grown on the planet Lors41Deep rather than potatoes, is amazing.

Their hospitality was amazing as well; we had a great time and made lots of new friends, and lots of converts for the Bored Of Elders (they get paid by the convert; it's in their individual contracts with the Church).

The only thing that bothered me was how vague the Remulakianians became when they tried to explain how they were going to "merge" Johnism with their worship of the Goddesses; something tells me that, if the "Remmys" are anything like us humans, the only "belief" that will still be standing 50 years from now will be the Goddesses.

And Ms. Kazakhstan and Ms. Russia, what became of them, you ask?

They stayed on Remulak, after they were both offered permanent, full-time positions as "Goddesses", with all their expenses paid, a great retirement plan, a 401gd (it's like a "401k", but only for goddesses), stock options and all the Girl Scout Thin Mint cookies they can eat.

Harley was involved in the negotiations between the Remulakianians and the ladies; I have a feeling he had something to do with the "cookie" provision in their work contract.

Now he's going to start working on me as well; no go, fetid breath, no more TM's for you, you're maxed out, dude.

(...and in the background, Harley is heard to enter the room, and a great deal of ear-scratching, tummy-rubbing, tail-wagging, wrestling and other dog/person interaction ensues...)

"Okay, one, and that's it, you big thief." The tail of the mascot of the AJATTWC thumps the floor in anticipation.

I have to call my consigliore later; I want to start working on an AJATTWC-sponsored beauty pageant, with HD and I as the only judges.

***The Miss Johner Pageant"***

Coming soon to a planet near you.

Love and tiaras,

PJTT

copyright 2011 Krissongs, Inc.

Rhymes With Sanity

It amazes me how often my ex-wife gets her picture somewhere on the 'Net.

Okay, that's not really a photo of my ex-, that's an enlargement (gee, no shit, Mr. Obvious Man) of the compound eyes of a dragonfly, with beads of water on them, magnified about a 100 gazillion times, give or take a few gazillion.

(If I ever rolled over to something that looked like that, I'd SERIOUSLY consider never drinking again. Or starting. Apparently however, since to the best of my knowledge, dragonflies are not on any Endangered Species list anywhere, other 'flies must find this look alluring, or at least acceptable. Hey, look at Lady GaGa and tell me dragonflies have no taste.)

But that isn't the subject of today's essay from your favorite Pope Dude and all around decent person, to say nothing of devastatingly handsome, John The Tall of the All John All The Time World Church. (Boy, don't think that's not a helluva a mouthful, something I have never been accused of having.)

No, today we're going to be discussing a letter-writing campaign that I'm going to initiate, and I'll be asking all of you to help me with your participation.

First off, take a look at the license plate above (see above) and tell me what you think is wrong with this picture. (My Mom once showed my Dad a school photo of me and asked him the same question.)

Now for those of you with smutty minds, much like my own, what you're probably seeing there is a "contraction" for the phrase "I Love To F U", which for us smutty-minded individuals is another way of saying "I'm An Asparagus". Or maybe your mind is even smuttier than that and you see "I Love To Do The Horizontal Bop" only with a MUCH earthier word for "Horizontal Bop", if you get my drift.

Now, if you're NOT the proud possessor of a really dirty mind, and how sad for you, like Whitney Calk, a PETA employee who lives in the great state of Tennessee, what you see here is a statement of gastronomical preference: "I Love Tofu". And that's the message she was trying to get across to other drivers when she applied to the Tennessee Department of Revenue, Taxpayer and Vehicle Services Division for a vanity plate with this lettering.

The TDORTAVSD said no; they apparently have the same dirty, repulsive mind that I have. Nope, they said, someone may "misread" the plate and attach the "wrong" meaning to the message.

(Quick poll: by show of hands, how many of you out there like to F U? (One, three, ten, seventy-eight, a hundred, hey, you with both hands and a leg in the air, one vote only per person, forty-nine thousand, twenty-three million, sixty bajillion, EVERYBODY, okay, that's fine, you can lower your hands now.)

This reminds me of the Janet Jackson "wardrobe malfunction" from the Super Bowl half-time show a few years ago; a quick glimpse of a woman's nipple, and the entire country goes in the shitter. How ridiculous; anybody can go online these days and find nudity, perversion, porn of all types and you-name-it. Hell, you can see worse in the advertising on your favorite TV shows; think Victoria's Secret, as an example.

Same thing; and that's a little like what Mark Twain said about the weather: "Everybody talks about the weather, but nobody does anything about it."

In this country, everybody thinks about sex, but no one wants to admit it.

So here's the letter-writing campaign I said I wanted to initiate; I want all of you red-blooded, F U loving Americans out there to write, email, send telegrams to or in some manner contact the TDORTAVSD and let them know that we think Whitney Calk, even though she is one of those repulsive PETA nutcases, and a lover of tofu as well, should have her ILVTOFU license plate. (One good thing: Whitney, as a member of PETA, is probably not a Tea Bag Republican. Hey, you get your silver linings where you can.)

Let's give the old TDORTAVSD a small piece of our collective minds (some of you be REAL careful with how much you give out, since you're probably not starting with a lot in the first place) and help Whitney get her vanity plate. She probably doesn't deserve it, but I'm feeling magnanimous today. (I had a similar problem a few years ago with the CA DMV; I was working for a sausage-maker at the time and wanted "ILVWEENIES" on my vanity plate. The DMV said no go; assholes.)

And speaking of getting to school in record time (we were?), take a look at the link below (see above): that's a jet-powered, flames-shooting out the back, 320 MPH...school bus. (Click on the headline and go down to the paragraph about the video and click the "click here" phrase to see the video.)

http://editorial.autos.msn.com/blogs/autosblogpost.aspx?post=188a570b-03e6-4f4f-9fe5-a463ab062d20

When I was a kid in grade school, back right after the Civil War, I attended a small, rather poor Roman Catholic school named St. Jude's. (FYI, St. Jude is the patron saint of hopeless causes; hello, Chicago Cubs, this is PJTT, I have a patron saint for you goofs.) Since a number of the other kids who also attended St. J's were "outlying" (in the parish but too far to walk to school) we had to have a school bus. Problem was, the church could swing the money for the bus, but there were no funds for a driver. Since those big sons-of-bitches aren't equipped with an auto-pilot, a driver on a school bus is a very important accessory.

So my mother volunteered to drive the school bus. Every day, out and back. My petite, cold-blooded, "I Hate Kids" Mother, says, sure, I'll drive a 66-passenger, bright yellow school bus, twice a day, for free, to ferry all the wonderful children back and forth to their lessons. No problema.

I rode my Mother's school bus; I was an "outlyer". (My mother used to tell people I was also the only kid on the bus she could smack.)

Now as many of my loyal followers out there may already know, I have a "difficult" relationship with my mother. (We haven't spoken in going on four years.) So I'm checking out the vid of the jet bus, and all the time I'm having my own "mental video" of me when I'm about 12, and I somehow manage to get the jet bus to the garage where the church kept "our" bus, break in, switch the vehicles, and of course, never tell my mother...

...and then I'm there, WAY back away, when she fires that big mother up.

Yeehaw, Franny, ride that bronco, you go, cowgirl.

Mom applied to the State of Illinois DMV back in the 60's for a vanity plate; yep, she wanted to celebrate her degree from her alma mater, Illinois Harvard Teachers University.

IHATEU.

She still has the plate, just not on her car.

Love and flashing red lights,

PJTT

copyright 2011 Krissongs, Inc.

Thank You America

It is at times like these that I am reminded, as I hope all my fellow Americans are, that despite our differences and arguments and disagreements, this is still, by far, the greatest country on the face of the Earth, and when they choose to be, Americans are the most decent, most thoughtful, most compassionate, most caring and most concerned people in the world.

Hands down, no competition.

It's times like these when I'm most proud of being an American; to see our people come together to mourn, again, the events of September 11, 2001, is inspiring.

Thank you, America; even though I oftentimes think this country is on it's way to hell in a handbasket, all I have to do is watch the outpourings of support and caring these past few weeks and I remember why it'll never happen.

Watch over the souls we lost that day, Lord, and help us all not to hate. In your Son's name. Amen.

PJTT

The Monthlies (Announcements, That Is)

Jesus told Peter and Andrew that they should come and follow him, that He would make them "fishers of men", (Matthew 4:18-19), and this has applied to Popes down through the centuries.

I just hope this wasn't what He meant.

This may be a long one, guys, I haven't posted anything in awhile, so buckle up and let's have at it.

Most organizations of any size these days have some kind of internal "organ", if you will, a company or organizational "newsletter" to keep all interested parties informed of the group's activities, achievements, etc.

And so it is with the All John All The Time World Church; we have our monthly newsletter, The NOBULLetin, and since August is a month of vacations and family outings and church outings and colonoscopys and what not, we didn't publish a NOBULLetin last month, so we have lots of news and announcements to get to, and lots of items to cover this month, so without further ado, let's don't, here is the AJATTWC's NOBULLetin for September, 1872:

*"Johner Of The Month" For August*

            The AJATTWC is happy to announce that it's coveted "Johner Of The Month" award for August 2011 went to...Kristina Medows of Joliet IL. Congratulations, Kristina.

            Ms. Medows earned this month's award for her unfailing support of both the Church and your Popemeister, me. (The fact that she is my daughter was of no significance in her selection for this sought-after prize.)

            Kristina will be presented with a plague commemorating this momentous event, and with that plague and $5, she can get a Mocha Frappachino Latte Bowling Ball Cinnamon Arugula Vente from Starbuck's. And a beef jerky.

*"Johner Of The Month" For September*

            Boy, they're popping up outta' the ground like Republican Presidential nominee hopefuls; here's another one.

            The AJATTWC is also pleased to announce that women now have the vote! No, wait, that's old news, hang on, where did I put the damn thing..., yeah, here we go, the "Johner Of The Month", the coveted and highly-sought after award given every month by the AJATTWC to some unsuspecting, err, deserving person who has, with their actions and lifestyle, given support to your Pope Dude, for the month of September 2011 goes to...(a flourish of tubas, ahh, trumpets here)...Ms. Lisa Worth of Chicago IL. Way to go, Lisa.

            Ms. Worth's unflagging support of and devotion to your Pope has earned her this most impressive of awards, and she will be presented with a commemorative plague, much like the one we gave what's her name last month, and with that award and about 6 bucks, she can go to McDonalds and get a Happy Meal, complete with McHamsterheads, rutabaga sticks and a small pomegranate juice.

            Keep up the good work, Lisa, and keep those donations coming as well.

*Men's/Women's Clubs Combined Outing To Medieval Tournament*

            Men's Club President Brother Les Philling recently announced that the combined Men's and Women's Clubs outing to the local Medieval Tournament was a great success and that a wonderful time was had by all (please see the pictures that were posted on the Church's website). We did post one photo to the 'BULLetin (see above).

            That's Brother Allen Wrench, who seems to be guilty of a) taking this whole tournament/jousting shit a little too seriously and b) having been over-served by some inconsiderate waitperson.

            Brother Allen has been suspended from the Men's Club indefinitely.

*AJATTWC Announces Huge Raffle Of New Car*

            

            The above is a picture of the DeltaWing, a new race car design that is so revolutionary that they make all the fans in the stands close their eyes when they wheel the Delta onto a race course; too much of a good thing all at once.

            So we're gonna' raffle off one of these beauties, assuming we can get our hands on one, and raise a lot of money for me, I'm sorry, I mean for the AJATTWC, so we can continue our various missionary projects and outreach efforts.

            Chances are $1000 each, or 3 for $4000, with the "most" of the proceeds going to the Church-sponsored charity, the Home For The Chronically Bewildered.

            We would ask that you please be generous (Harley needs to be groomed and to get a new collar, something with semi-precious stones this time). http://editorial.autos.msn.com/blogs/autosblogpost.aspx?post=468eb86e-f9f4-4e6c-8051-6f14bbb286f4

*Women's Club Bake Sale*

            Once again, there will be NO Women's Club Bake Sale this month; however, since there has never been a NOBULLetin yet that didn't make some reference to a Women's Club Bake Sale, we felt that this item should be included in this month's edition.

            Again.

*Science Series Lecture By Dr. O'Lading*

            The Church-sponsored Center For The Consideration Of Weighty Matters' director, our own Dr. Bill O'Lading, has announced that he will give another in his ongoing series of lectures on all kinds of interesting "science stuff" next Whitsuntide evening at Star Date 4963.21, in the Church Meeting Hall.

            The topic of Dr. O'Lading's lecture will be: "Geocentrism: Have You Lost Your Mind, Or Are You Just Kidding?" Dr. O'Lading's remarks will address and answer some of the controversy recently caused by the Society Of St. Pius X, a Roman Catholic organization that, amongst other goofball ideas, rejects much of the findings and teachings of the Second Vatican Council in the early '60s. In particular they feel that Galileo Galilei, the famed 16th-century astronomer, got it all wrong when he postulated that the Earth revolved around the Sun, contrary to what the Roman Catholics had taught at that time for years (they taught the Earth was orbited by the Sun and Planets, making it, and them, the center of the Universe). So back in 1615 Pope Urban VIII had Galileo tried by Inquisition, found him guilty of heresy and banished him to New Jersey, where he fell in with a bad crowd and was never heard from again.

            Dr. O'Lading will discuss the Earth's orbital path and tangents as it moves around the Sun, the role of the other planets in a "heliocentric" orbital scheme, as well as non-orbital planetary bodies and "quarks"; Dr. O'Lading will also be available for a question and answer period immediately following his talk; we would ask that, in respect for ourselves, that no questions such as, "Are the "SOSPX" people as crazy as shit-house rats, or what?" be asked, so as to maintain the dignity of the proceedings.

 

*Pizza And Bowling Night For The AJATTWC Teen Club*

            Teen club President Kelly Green reports that the recent Teen Club outing to Sam's S&M Dungeon and Pizza Parlor was a resounding success, and that a fun time was had by all, and especially by Brother Art Gallery, whose picture at the event appears above.

            Great job, Brother Art; you don't look like too much of an asshole or anything.

*Prayer Requests*

            -Sister Maureen Corps asks that you remember her cousin, Nathan Mark Hardy, who was recently arrested leaving a grocery store with a pork loin, two bags of jumbo shrimp and...wait for it...two live lobsters, all stuffed down into his cargo shorts.

            Charges are pending.

            http://www.aol.com/2011/09/07/nathan-mark-hardy_n_952017.html?ir=Weird%20News

            -Brother Phil Harmonic asks that you remember his pet Gila monster, Susan, who is having a renal procedure next week.

            -Sister Sandy Beach asks that we all remember today is the 56th anniversary of the premiere of the TV series "Gunsmoke" on CBS in 1955.

*Please Patronize Our Sponsors*

            The Bored Of Elders of the Church asks that you patronize the local merchants who so willingly support our activities, even the goofy ones. (Our goofy activities, not our goofy sponsors.)

-The Law Firm of Dewey, Cheatum and Howe, Attorneys At Law

"We're in it for the dough."

            www.MyLawyerCanWhipYourLawyer.com

-Sam's S&M Dungeon and Pizza Parlor

"Tie Me Up and Feed Me Pizza"

227 North Bondage Ave.

-L.A. Beautiful-"It's Time For Your Dream Body"

            Visit us at www.labeautiful.com

            All Types Of Plastic Surgery including:

            -breast augmentation

            -breast lifts

            -male breast ("moobs") reduction

            -hammer toe, (and "screwdriver ear")

            -facelift

            -tummy tuck

            -and many others

            Receive $1000 OFF any qualified procedure with this bulletin

            Free Limo Service with qualified procedures

(The above is an actual ad that appears periodically in the L.A. Times. Other than the "bulletin" part. You can check out the website if you don't believe me. Only in LA.)

Well, that wasn't TOO bad, was it?

Love and hymnals,

PJTT

copyright 2011 Krissongs, Inc.

I Know The Feeling

There was a song in the 1951 production of the Lerner & Loewe Broadway comedy "Paint Your Wagon"; it was called "They Call The Wind Maria" (the word "Maria" was pronounced as it had been many years previously as "Ma-RI-ah".)

And towards the end of the song, there's a line that says:

"...and now I'm lost, so gone and lost, not even God can find me."

I have never understood those words so thoroughly as I do right now.

I hope somebody (or Somebody) finds me.

Soon.

PJTT

Diamonds Are A Pope's Best Friend, Or So My Best Friend Tells Me

"...wadda' ya' mean, what's Harley up to, what's he doing?" I asked my consigliore, the Right Reverend Monsignor Michael Jordan (no, not THAT one), when he called me earlier today on the Popephone.

"He's been dragging things out to the Kidding for the last couple of days, like he's leaving or something. You guys don't have any trips scheduled to anywhere that I know of," he said. "So why all the loading up?"

"You know, now that you mention it, he has been acting weird lately, at least, more weird than usual. I'd better look into this; I'll call you later."

(No, the picture above has nothing to do with today's message of the soothing balm of Johnism; I just thought it was pretty funny, and thought that you guys might like to see it as well.)

Now for those of you folks who are not faithful followers of the Pope, and shame on you, let me give you a little background info.

First, the "Kidding" that Mike referred to: that would be the Royal Unionship Kidding, or RU Kidding for short. The Kidding is the Pope's atomic powered rocket ship, and is capable of speeds in excess of the Speed Of Aroma. She has cabin space for 8 adults, or a shitload of midgets, err, excuse me, vertically-challenged persons, plus a swimming pool, a lap pool, a wading pool, a car pool, a McDonalds, a pool parlor, a pool cleaning service, a synagogue, dry cleaners, two Pizza huts, the Leaning Tower of Pizza and it's own area code; yeah, she's a beauty.

In addition, as I said, she's capable of haulin' ass, ahh, sorry, of reaching, and exceeding, the Speed Of Aroma, which is a measurement of velocity akin to the Speed Of Light, which is a visual gradient, or the Speed Of Sound, which is an aural gradient; ergo, the Speed Of Aroma is an olfactory gradient. As opposed to a pepperoni pizza, which you can get onboard the Kidding at either of the two Pizza Huts that serve the crew and passengers of the Pope's ship.

Second, the "Harley" that Mike referred to is my roommate, sidekick, BFF and the official mascot of the All John All The Time World Church, the Harley Dog. He's also the backup navigator when we're onboard the Kidding, a position of responsibility he takes very seriously, or as serious as someone who's favorite pastime is to lay on his back with his legs in the air while I rub his tummy is capable. Yeah, we're a real serious group here at the AJATTWC.

So now that we've gotten all that out of the way, I better go find out what my dog is up to, and why do I have the feeling it's no good?

...later in the day...

"No, that's final, no, we're not going."

(...a piteous whine is heard in response...)

"I don't care how much you want to go, it's not gonna' happen. Are you crazy? Do you know what kind of press we'd receive if what you want to do ever got out; no, no way, fur-breath, ain't gonna happen." I shot my dog a scathing look of intimidation as I finished, which he ignored, which is his general reaction anytime I try to affix him with the "evil eye". (He doesn't listen well.)

I set out to track down the Church mascot to see what he was getting into that he shouldn't, and it didn't take long to find His Harleyness, face-first in the cupboard in the kitchen where I keep his food, trying to drag something out with his teeth.

"Hey, what are doing in there, huh? Out, dude." He backed out, tail swishing back and forth, and sat down on his haunches, with a look of "well?" on his face.

"What are you looking for in the cabinet? You know you're not supposed to get in there. And just what are up to anyway?" I asked, as if Harley would answer.

Actually, in his own indomitable, doggy-way, he did. He stood up, walked down the hall into my office, where I could hear him rummaging through some papers for something. Next thing I know, here he comes towards me with several papers and reports in his mouth. (Oh, and there's nothing better than the smell of dog-breath all over something you're trying to read.) He walked up to where I was standing and dropped what he had in his mouth at my feet.

The first item was a recent edition of the LA (pronounced LAH) Times newspaper, with the paper open to page A16, which had an article on the right side of the page called "Science Briefing", and when I looked at Harley questioningly, he "nosed" at the final item in a column of several.

"Planet thought to be diamond", the headline read.

"So?" I said, looking at him and shrugging my shoulders.

He "nosed" it again; obviously he wanted me to read what the article said about the "diamond planet".

Here was the article in its entirety:

Astronomers have spotted an exotic planet apparently made of a diamond racing around a tiny star. The planet, lying 4,000 light years away, is far denser than any other known and consists largely of carbon. Scientists calculate the carbon must be crystalline, so a large part of it would effectively be diamond. “The evolutionary history and amazing density of the planet all suggest it is comprised of carbon — i.e. a massive diamond orbiting a neutron star every two hours,” said lead author Matthew Bailes of Swinburne University of Technology in Melbourne, Australia. The study was published in the journal Science.-Reuters

That was it.

"So?" I asked again, for the second time in as many minutes.

Then he pawed at another paper on the floor, lying with the others. I picked it up and read the headline at the top of the page: it was a preliminary report from one of my staff members on the value of the religious and secular art treasures currently being held by the Roman Catholic Church in various locations all over the world, particularly at the Vatican. (It's possible that the value of the art in the Vatican alone may be incalculable.)

Once more, with feeling.

"So?"

Back to the pile on the floor; this time it was this week's TV Guide, open to yesterday.

"Yeah?" I thought a change of pace might be in order.

He nosed the listings from the previous evening, right around dinnertime. I looked at the page, and realized we had watched the Evening News together last night, something we rarely did, because I NEVER watch TV news; it's inane for the most part. I thought that was what he was trying to tell me, that it had something to do with the news report we had seen.

"Does this have something to do with the news from yesterday evening?" I asked His Furriness; the tail started going back and forth at about the Speed Of Aroma.

"Okay, what about it?" I asked; Harley barked in response, a sharp, quick bark.

I tried to think of what part of the news Harley was trying to get me to remember; it was obviously something in which he was interested.

Then it dawned on me.

"Does this have anything to do with the story about that dog at that jewelry store?" Another quick bark, accompanied by almost spastic tail-wagging.

"Okay, the story was about a dog that lives in a jewelry store that his human owns, and where he hangs out all day, and how he ate a bunch of diamonds off one of the showcases one day recently. I don't get it." I looked at him quizzically.

He nosed around for another sheet of paper on the floor, a picture that I had printed out from the 'Net, showing Paris Hilton Hotel holding one of those useless little puffs of fur that purport to be dogs, which was wearing a diamond collar. (Paris had on a matching collar as well.)

"You want a diamond collar?"

One thing about having been around Harley for all these years, I've gotten to know when he's frustrated with me. He pushed the Vatican report at me again with his nose, and then the article on the "diamond planet", and then sat back on his haunches again and looked at me like, are you kidding? (That's the name of my ship; I knew I had heard that phrase someplace before.)

A diamond-eating dog, a diamond-wearing dog, a report on the art treasures of the RCC and a "diamond planet"?

And then it clicked.

"You want to take the Kidding, head out 4000 light years away to a planet that MAY be made out of diamonds so you can have a diamond collar and live a life of luxury and the Church can get rich like the RCC, is that what this is all about?"

The look of triumph on his doggy face said it all.

"First of all, since when do you give a shit about "having" things? You've never cared about stuff like before." Harley cast his eyes towards the floor; I think he heard a "BAD DOG" coming, and believe me, for Harley, a BD is the nuclear bomb of punishments. He HATES being told he's a BD, which is why I so seldom do it.

"Second, the AJATTWC doesn't need all that dough to spread the message of the soothing balm of Johnism, you know that. The two things just don't have anything to do with each other." Now the head is really hanging down.

He looked up at me, and then bent down again to the papers on the floor, and uncovered one more I hadn't seen before: it was a brochure on the Pagani Huayra, which to my mind is the most beautiful automobile on the planet (and the source of great longing in your Pope's heart). Then he looked up at me with this "pleeeeease" look on his face.

"No, that's final, no, we're not going. I don't care how much you want to go, it's not gonna' happen. Are you crazy? Do you know what kind of press we'd receive if what you want to do ever got out; no, no way, fur-breath, ain't gonna happen. (Scathing look at canine companion here.)

"And besides, you don't even know if the planet IS made of diamonds; they just THINK it is, you big dummy."

Damn dog tried to bribe me.

I called Mike back to tell him about Harley, and to ask him to check with our head pilot, Captain Art Senscrafts, to find out about how long it would take, at the Speed Of Aroma, to travel 4000 light years.

Do you know how good a Huayra would look in my garage? WAY better than that Nissan pickup with the ass on the tailgate.

Oh yeah, and that line back there about how "the AJATTWC doesn't need all that dough to spread the message of the soothing balm of Johnism, you know that. The two things just don't have anything to do with each other." 

Maybe someone should explain that to the Roman Catholics.

Love and carrots, (that's "carots", you bird-brain),

PJTT

copyright 2001 Krissongs, Inc.