What Does Steven Spielberg Have That I Don't, Besides Talent, Money And Kate Capshaw

It was back on 2/22, the day before my birthday, which is apropos of nothing, that I made the comment in my post from that day (please see "Second Star To The Right And Straight On To...Cleveland) that the way the Los Angeles Lakers were playing at the time, that they would make it to, but not out of, the second round of the playoffs.

Yesterday afternoon, the Dallas Mavericks eliminated the Lakers four games to NONE in their second round matchup of this year's NBA Playoffs.

Assholes.

And back on 4/25, I posted an essay that contained a partial "screenplay" of an animated video I had decided to make about the Pope (that would be me) and the Harley Dog (that would be Harley, the "official" canine of the All John All The Time World Church and my sidekick and roommate), and have it showcase one day in the lives of the Pope Guy and Harley as they battle the forces of evil and sluttiness all over the world. I asked all of you loyal followers of the Pope to give me your suggestions as to how I could "punch up" the script, and after looking them all over (all two of them), I decided to dump what I was working on and take a whole different approach.

Which I did.

But I did finish the screenplay, and you can check it out below.

I also finished the video about the Pope, and it's called "The Pope John Cheer", and you can check it out at:
<http://www.xtranormal.com/watch/11995168/the-pope-john-cheer>.

WARNING:
          The video "The Pope John Cheer" contains two instances of flatulence. From a female character. For which she apologizes both times. (The second one is a really good one, too.)

Like so many of your Pope's efforts, this one is pretty funny (pardon me if I do say so myself) and is being considered for an Oscar in the category of Best Animated Short By A Pope, which I think I have a good shot at winning, considering the competition. (Yeah, the only Pope competition I have is from Strudel Boy over there in Rome, you know, the genius who recently published a book that said, among other things, that the Jews didn't kill Jesus, the Romans did, and that he thought the Jews ought to be left off the hook for that crime after all these years. You just now figured that out now? What Bible have you been reading, huh? Geez, I knew the Jews were innocent of that charge when I was a kid back in grade school at Our Lady Of Perpetual Motion, even though the good nuns were still trying to pin the deed on descendants of David, the King.)

But I digress, which if you're a regular reader of the Pope's, you know it's something I do frequently. And with no apologies.

So check out the unused screenplay that appears below; it's still a good glimpse into the inner workings of the AJATTWC, what few there are, and shows in vivid detail, how decisions of momentous proportions are made at the highest levels of leadership in our country.

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the Pope, Harley and the Pope's consigliore, Mike.

OPENING SCENE

A voice-over announcer begins speaking, over a patriotic background of a waving American flag, with a choir, off-camera, softly singing "America The Beautiful".

A: "A rising tide of hysteria and ambergris is sweeping over our nation today, as citizens pour from their homes to protest economic conditions, quality healthcare issues, unemployment and a raft of other social ills, including a serious dearth of Lindsay Lohan films. The people are up in arms, and leaders are needed to steer the course of our mighty nation away from the rocks and shoals of tyranny and chaos and back onto the road that leads to peace and security."

            "But where will these leaders come from? Politicians in Washington are grid-locked, as always, on how to approach the problems that face our country, with partisanship and political party "loyalties" preventing any meaningful dialogue that addresses the issues that the people are protesting. Congress and the President can't seem to be found, and our nation needs a man to step up and be a symbol, a guiding light, to the citizens all over our great land."

            "Is there such a man? Is there a leader out there to give us the benefit of his strength and courage? Is there a man who can turn the tide of history and lead us back to the good times of years gone by? Where is that man?"

ACT I, SCENE I

Office scene, with the Pope, Harley Dog

Open with P sitting at desk, facing camera, head down, working; H rushes in from door behind Pope, and exclaims,

H: "Pope John, the peasants are revolting!"

The Pope, without even looking up from the paper he's reading, replies, "Aw, come on, Harley, they aren't that bad."

H: (agitated, obviously upset) "No, you don't understand, the citizens are rising up against government tyranny, high taxes, crummy working conditions and a shortage of Lindsay Lohan films. There's protests and marches going on all over the country, and the uprising is spreading as fast as Charlie Sheen's latest stupid comment over the 'Net. Pope, you have to do something!"

SCENE II

Street scene, with Protestor #1, Protestor #2

Scene opens to "mob action" on a street somewhere, lots of people milling around, shouting and waving signs of protest. Someone throws a "Molotov cocktail" with a burning wick against the foundation of a building, but it dies out and the fire doesn't spread.

Protestor #1, to Protestor #2, who threw the "cocktail": "Hey, what did you just throw against that building?"

P #2: "It was one of those "Mazeltov" cocktails, you know, like a home-made bomb. You fill the bottle with matzo, stick a fuse in and light it, and then toss it."

P #1: "That's "Molotov" cocktail, not "Mazeltov", you douche-bag, and you fill the bottle with gasoline, not matzo!"

P #2: "Shit, no wonder it didn't burn."

SCENE III

Scene dissolves back to Pope's office with P and H.

H: "Pope John, the people are in desperate need of a leader to step forth and, well, you know, lead; the government is in chaos..."

P: (interrupting) "No its not, its in Washington."

Harley shakes his furry head in disbelief.

H: "How did you ever become Pope of the All John All The Time World Church? Did you cheat on the IQ part of your job application?"

P: "Yeah." Shakes HIS head in disbelief. "Doesn't everyone?"

H: (Still shaking HIS head in disbelief) "You're the Pope, for shit sakes, you're supposed to be above that kind of stuff."

P: "Yeah, but if I hadn't gotten the gig, you and I wouldn't have the all the perks, the Kidding, the Dee Dee, all the women..."

H: (interrupting) "What women?"

P: "Okay, forget the women. Hey, we get to go all over the galaxy and visit all kinds of strange new worlds, hob-nob with planetary big-wigs, we always get comps on the rooms and food, come on, this is a great gig, except for those stupid "missionary" trips the Bored is always sending us on. Anyway, what do you want me to do about the riots? Its not my fault the peasants are revolting."

H: "Come on, Pope, they're not that bad."

SCENE IV

Scene dissolves back to same "mob action", same two protestors, still talking to each other while other rioters run all around them. The scene is general chaos, which is where the government is located.

P #1: "Hey, did you hear that Lindsay Lohan has been hired to play the wife of mobster John Gotti, Jr. in the new biopic about Gotti's father, John, Sr., who was the head of the Gambino Mafia family before he was finally convicted of FIVE murders in 1991?"

P #2: "No shit, sounds like a great role for her. When's it coming out?"

P #1: "Sometime next year. Just as soon as LiLo gets out of jail and they can start shooting." (P #1 raises his eyebrows.) "Great example of type-casting, huh?"

SCENE V

Scene dissolves back to Pope's office, with Harley and the Pope, and new character, Right Reverend Monsignor Michael Jordan (no, not the one that played baseball for the Birmingham Barons), who is the Pope's consigliore. M is standing to the side of P's desk.

P: "Mike, what can we do about the riots? Should I release some kind of statement, make an appearance, play some gerbil golf, what's our approach here?"

M: "Well, Your Loftiness, there are several ways to approach this situation. A round of gerbil golf probably isn't a good idea right now, okay, so let's get that out of the way right out of the gate."

P: "Shit."

M: "Well put, Your Immenseness, very descriptive. Okay, what's our reaction to the situation in the streets? I think we low-key it, and let events run their course..."

P: (interrupting) "I thought we weren't playing gerbil golf?

M: "No, Your Thickness, "run their course" is just a saying; it means we let things develop naturally, without any interference from us. The saying has nothing to do with golf courses." (The consigliore turns away from the Pope towards Harley briefly, and raises his eyebrows at Harley, shaking his head slightly.) "But we will have to have you make some kind of general statement, deploring the violence..."

P: (interrupting again) "Hey, what's wrong with violins? I LIKE violins."

M: "No, Your Grace, v-i-o-l-e-n-c-e, violence, not violins, you deplore the violence in the streets."

P: "Oh."

SCENE VI

Back in the streets again with all the rioters, and the two Protestors, #1 and #2. The situation is still chaotic, and there are more people now running about, breaking windows, terrifying citizens and making them afraid to leave their homes, defying authority, stampeding people and raping cattle. (Thank you, Mel Brooks.)

P #1: "Hey, how about those Dodgers? A new manager, now we got Davey Lopes coaching at first, MLB takes over the team and throws Frank McShitwad out, hey, what a way to start the season, huh?"

P #2: "Yeah, and they beat the Cubs two out of three at Wrigley last week, even better. They might have a decent season yet."

P #1: "Hey, aren't we due at the effigy burning in 10 minutes?"

P #2: "Shit, yeah, we gotta' go, dude."

The two protestors hustle off, stage left. (You know, "Exit, stage left.")

SCENE VII

In the office of RRMMJ, with M talking on the phone.

M: "...yes, sir, that's going to be the Pope's position on the "disturbances"...no, sir, he won't be playing gerbil golf until the crisis is over and things return to normal...yes, sir, I realize "normal" for Pope John is something different from other people's "normal", but I'm sure you get my drift...yes, sir, he will ask the protestors to return to their homes immediately before martial law is invoked by you...yes, sir...yes, sir...no, we won't let him make any other statements...a muzzle and a whip...yes, sir, I'll tell him...thank you, sir, the best of luck to you as well."

P walks in just as M is hanging up the phone.

P: "Mike, what's the latest?"

M: "Well, sir, I just got off the phone with the President; I advised him of your statement and what you plan to say to the protestors. He was concerned, sir, that you might, how can I say this, ahh, step on your johnson with the folks on the streets if you aren't careful, you know, maybe say the wrong thing, make matters worse somehow..." M's voice peters out at the end of the sentence.

P: (not really listening, looking nervous and uncomfortable) "Do we have enough Girl Scout cookies on hand, in case things get really ugly out there and we can't place an order for more? I don't want to run out of Thanks-A-Lots."

M: "Yes, sir, there's several cases in the storeroom, and more on order."

As the two men are talking, Harley walks in the office, stands in one place for a moment, and then walks out, never saying a word. Suddenly, both men get pained looks on their faces and, placing their hands over their noses, walk simultaneously to the open window.

M: (gasping and keeping his nose covered with his hand) "Geez, what do you feed him, roadkill? Nothing that isn't already dead should smell that bad."

P: (also gasping and dry-heaving) "Dry dog food, I swear that's all he gets, its like breathing the air here in the Valley gives him gas. Man, that's awful."

ACT II, SCENE I

In the Pope's office again, with P behind desk, staring at cameras across from him at the far side of the room. He is addressing the cameras, and has some papers on the desk in front of him. P appears in his "Pope" clothes, a surplice and the tall "Pope" hat.

P: "...and so, in conclusion, my fellow Americans, let me just say that until and unless all protestors stop their illegal acts and vacate the streets, law and order cannot be restored and the Girl Scouts will continue to have great difficulty in making their deliveries, which is a situation that none of us want. Please, I implore you, cease your activities and go back to your homes so your government can begin to get things back to where they belong, and we can start to undress the issues that you have raised."

(A quick cut to M's face as he grimaces at hearing P say "undress".)

P: (continuing his speech) "Thank you for taking the time to listen to what I had to say here this evening, and so you know, my staff is currently working on scheduling a tour for myself and the Harley Dog, where we'll travel to as many cities as humanly and caninely possible, bringing the soothing balm of Johnism to you all. Watch for announcements as to where and when we'll be appearing."

            "Please, if you love your country and great cookies, please, all of you, return to your homes and let's give peace a chance." (In the background, a choir in robes files into the Pope's office, humming quietly, and lines up in rows adjacent to the P's desk, and with a signal from their director, who filed in with them and took a place in front of the group, they begin singing "All We Are Saying Is Give Peace A Chance".)

P: (over the singing) "Thank you, my fellow Armenians, and may Dagon bless. And Go Dodgers!"

(Another quick cut to the face of M, grimacing again at the Pope's words.)

Director: (off camera) "Cut, that's a wrap."

(Cut back to P, who is removing a tiny microphone from where it was clipped on his vestments.)

P: "Well, whatta' ya' think, that went pretty good, didn't it?"

M: "Yes, Your Unbelievableness, it went fine."

Just then, the Harley Dog walks in the Pope's office, stops in the middle of the floor, stands for a moment, and then leaves again, without saying a word.

And suddenly both men grab their noses and head out of the office in a rush, as the scene fades to black.

The End.

So whatta' think, it's Oscar material, right? (Yeah, Oscar the Grouch.) Anyway, Harley really liked it a lot; he was particularly pleased with the "flatulence" scenes. (Have you noticed a flatulence trend here?)

And of course, the Hollywood bug has bitten him: he demands to have some input into who plays him in the video; he wants James Franco, but that's a no-go for yours truly, because I thought Franco dissed Anne Hathaway at this year's Oscars, and since I also think that AH is a MAJOR cutie/hottie, no Franco.

I'm thinking of Zelda Rubenstein to play the Pope, you know, the tiny little actress who played in "Poltergeist", which, by the way, is the German word for "Roman-hater".

Love and Academy Awards,

PJTT

copyright 2011 Krissongs, Inc.

Living Alone, Talking To Yourself And Whale Weinies

Your Pope was going through some old papers the other day, and stumbled onto several "songs" that I had been working on, many years ago, back in the day when the muse was stronger in my life and I still believed I had undiscovered talent. (Nowadays, the muse is absent, or at least out sick, and I still believe I have undiscovered talent.) Reading through some of my unfinished masterpieces, I came to realize something: you're really pissed and stretching like crazy when you're writing a song about an ex-girlfriend and you're rhyming scheme is "piglet/cigarette"; I'm glad at some point I decided to pursue more enlightened endeavors.

Like being Pope of the All John All The Time World Church. That's right, music lovers, being the Pope Dude has been, so far, an enlightening experience, more so than, say, rolling tortillas, although I've never rolled a tortilla, so I really don't know that for certain. (I bet they don't roll near as well as gerbils on skateboards, or a cheese blintz.)

Yeah, so far, the whole thing has been a real learning experience; my staff has unearthed and forwarded to me stories and reports and articles on the damnedest subjects, like the four naked people that the cops found in the cab of a pick-up truck they had stopped for being "suspicious", (the truck, not the people; its hard to act suspicious when you're buck naked) or the roommates that got into a fight over Thin Mint Girl Scout cookies, or the bigamist in Grand Rapids MI who had a wife in RI AND a wife in MI, yeah, you could say we've found a few loose nuts out there that could use tightening down.

But that's not why I took the Pope gig; I took it so I could have the opportunity to preach the Gospel of Johnsim to the masses (that's you guys), an opportunity that I wouldn't have otherwise. Wait, I hear the Popephone ringing...

"PJTT...hey, Mike, 'sup?...no, I didn't hear about that...really...no shit...under the seat?...its almost a great idea, ya' know...hey, are we still on for Hooters tomorrow night?...great...yeah...okay, yeah, thanks."

That was the Right Reverend Monsignor Michael Jordan (no, not the one that owns the Charlotte Bobcats); he was telling me about an article he saw in yesterday's Times about a guy who got arrested down near San Diego in a wheelchair, posing as a disabled person. No, he didn't get arrested for impersonating a disabled person, with intent to commit mopery, he got arrested because the police found FIVE POUNDS of marijuana under the seat of his wheelchair that he was trying to smuggle into the United States at the border crossing at San Ysidro. Drug-smelling dogs tripped him up. (Just like in the movie "Up In Smoke"; remember the scene with the station-wagon full of nuns crossing the border back into the U.S. from Mexico?) (Why does the phrase "a station-wagon full of nuns" strike me as funny?)

"Hey, Pope Guy, is there a point coming up in the immediate future?"

Sorry, I got off-track.

I've noticed a number of things in my life recently that remind me that, like it or not, I'm single and live by myself, not including the Harley Dog. (For those of you who are new to my blog, Harley Dog is the "official" canine of the AJATTWC, and my roommate.) Its not like I had forgotten, or Dagon forbid that I want to be married again. (Dagon was the Amorite fertility god back in the time around 2000 B.C.; some of the more obscure sects of the AJATTWC still worship him today.) It's just that, occasionally, I suddenly remember that there are a number of differences between living by yourself and living with others. People, I mean, not orangutans.

Okay, an example: the other day I'm in the kitchen, getting myself a glass of soda. Items needed, a glass, ice cubes and soda. I already had a glass out, so I opened the freezer, took out the ice-cube tray (hey, this "pope" gig doesn't pay enough to be able to afford a 'fridge with an automatic ice thingie), and dropped a few cubes in my glass, only to realize that now, I had one ice-cube too many, meaning that either a) I could put the extra ice-cube in my glass, but then there would be too many, and that would mean less soda, or b) I would have to put the tray back in the freezer with just one cube in it or f) I could deep-six the extra cube and fill the tray with water, which would be the right way.

Now if you're living in a household with multiple folks, the answer to this dilemma is simple: put the tray back with the one, lonely ice-cube in it and let the next guy handle it. (This is called the "Pull Up The Ladder" theory of communal living; you use the ladder then pull it up behind you so the next guy can't.)

But the whole "living alone" thing comes crashing down on you in the above scenario; to wit, if you're the only person on the premises, there's no one else to fill the tray later. If you put that one, lonely little ice-cube, sitting forlornly in its cup in the ice-cube tray, back in the freezer, the next guy to reach for the tray will be...you again. Boy, there's a lose/lose rotation for you.

Shit.

Being an adult (Harley refuses to be, so I get the nod by default in this household), I tossed the lone ice-cube in the sink and filled the tray with water. (Large sigh of resignation here.) I hate being an adult; the responsibility is stifling.

The other thing I hate about living alone, and I know this is common, at least, I know two other people who admit to doing this besides me, but I talk to myself all the time. Out loud. (So far, it's been one-sided conversations only.) All the time.

And you know what the worst thing is? Sometimes, I get tired of the sound of my own voice. That's when you know you've been living alone too long.

So imagine my surprise when my staff found this article on the 'Net and forwarded it to me:

"Bizarre Iceland Museum Gets Donated Human Phallus".

(As you can obviously see, I have nothing but disdain for the common segue.)

According to a report by Raphael Satter for the Associated Press, Pall Arason, an elderly Icelandic resident, always strived for attention while he was living; in death, he got what he wanted: the 95-year-old Icelander's pickled penis will be the main attraction in one of his country's most bizarre museums.

"Sigurdur Hjartarson, who runs the Phallological Museum in the tiny Icelandic fishing town of Husavik, said Arason's organ will help round out the unusual institution's extensive collection of phalluses from whales, seals, bears and other mammals."

Interestingly, a number of other potential donors have pledged their "johnsons" to the museum, but Arason's is the first human penis to actually take up residence at the facility.

"'I have just been waiting for this guy for 15 years,' Hjartarson told The Associated Press in a brief telephone interview."

I'm sure Mr. Arason would be pleased with the attention and dedication he was shown by Mr. Hjartarson. (Obviously, these Icelandic folks never heard of the names Smith and Johnson.) (Another bad, although unintentional, pun.)

Well, won't you rest easier knowing that the Phallological (who comes up with these terms, anyway?) Museum now has a human exhibit to "round out" their display. (No mention was made in the article as to where in the hierarchy of size of various animal peni' the human member of Mr. Arason falls; I believe we're safe in assuming that, in the animal world, size doesn't matter, as long, pardon the pun again, as it works.)

"Highlights of the museum's collection include a 67-inch sperm whale penis preserved in formaldehyde, lampshades made from bull testicles and what the museum described as an 'unusually big' penis bone from a Canadian walrus."

And all I can think is I'm that really glad I'm not Mrs. Sperm Whale (speaking of bad puns, if there's a worse pun for this subject than "sperm whale", please someone tell me); SIXTY-SEVEN INCHES. Boy, (yeah, no doubt about this guy's gender), that's enough to make the stallions from Sunnybrook Farm drop their heads and turn back to the barn in shame. SIXTY-SEVEN INCHES long lying down is 5' 7" standing up, or slightly under the height of the average male human being. And I bet those bulls weren't too happy about the lampshade thing either.

I love living alone with HD; he thinks my silliness is great, but you can bet there's no woman in the world that would put up with gerbil golf off the balcony, dog farts and stories on the Internet about old guys that donate their schlongs to a museum.

Although Billy Ray Cyrus is married, so how hard can it be to find a woman with the IQ of a boysenberry plant who will tolerate a guy and his "eccentricities"? (Hey, at least I haven't willed my penis to a museum in Iceland. Yet.)

Okay, gotta' run; I need to fill some ice-cube trays and finish writing a song about my ex- that I started the other day; its called "You Broke My Heart So I Busted Your Jaw". Its all about unrequited love and why men are jerks because they never put the seat back down, although why anyone would sit down on a toilet without looking first is beyond me.

Probably something to do with living alone and talking to yourself.

Love and hermits,

PJTT

copyright 2011 Krissongs, Inc.

From The Department Of Departments

I, your ever diligent Pope Guy, continually check in with my department heads here at the All John All The Time World Church, to keep abreast (or two) of news and "factoids" of information of which I, as your spiritual leader, feel you should be aware. With your kind permission, I will share a few of them with you (please prepare yourself to be edified):

From the I Refuse To Take Aim At A Target That Easy-taking a moment to be serious, a very rare occasion indeed: I have, over the past several weeks, taken a number of verbal potshots at the actor Charlie Sheen, for his a) obvious unwillingness to do anything realistic about his admitted substance-abuse problem, b) for some of his unbelievably inane remarks about the producer of his hit TV show "Two And A Half Men", c) his equally inane advise to both the UCLA Men's basketball team about staying clean as well as his offer to help fellow dumbshit actor Lindsay Lohan with her substance-abuse problems and mostly d) his seeming disregard for all the employees of "TAAHM" that he has put out of work with his nonsense, for which I called him a "douche-bag", which he is.

But after his latest rant directed at show producer Charles Lorre several days ago, which was not only mostly incoherent, as is a great deal of what Mr. Sheen says these days, but also vaguely anti-Semitic, I have decided to halt all criticism of Mr. Sheen for three reasons: 1) his situation has gotten beyond funny; it's become sad; 2) even if I thought for a nanosecond that Mr. Sheen is aware of my critical remarks, which I'm absolutely sure he isn't, I'm equally sure he couldn't give a rat's ass less anyway and 3) it's just too easy.

I quit, Charlie, screw up all you want; I promise I won't say anything else. But you're still a douche-bag.

From the FYI Department-the word "potshots", which was used in the second paragraph (above), does not describe plays in basketball involving marijuana.

From the How Tacky Can You Get Department-there was a report on MSN.com recently that, after taking a poll of movie-watchers throughout the country, a public-opinion group has determined that the most "paused" scene in movie history is the one in the movie "Basic Instinct", which you will recall stars Michael Douglas and Sharon Stone, where Ms. Stone, wearing an extremely short skirt and sitting across the room in a chair from a group of police detectives that are interrogating her at the time, crosses her legs in a way that makes it clear to the viewer that the only thing Ms. Stone doesn't have open is an account with Victoria's Secret.

From the What's Wrong With This Picture Department-in their Sunday, 2/27/11 edition, the Los Angeles Times ran a photograph of snow (SNOW) that had fallen the previous evening on the streets of Burbank CA, which is approximately 5 miles east as a crow flies, assuming he hasn't frozen his tail feathers off, from the headquarters of the AJATTWC; that further, it was THIRTY-SEVEN DEGREES this morning when the official canine of the Pope, the Harley Dog, and I went out at 6:35am so that HD could relief himself. I realize that, in terms of winter in, say, the Midwest, this doesn't qualify as an Arctic blizzard, but for Southern California, this is ridiculous. Shit.

From the Its Good To Know I'm Not The Only One That Sees These Things Department-also from the pages of the L.A. Times, I will now quote, in it's entirety, a letter that was run in the Opinion section of the paper's 2/26/11 edition, as a follow-up to my post of 2/28 (yeah, I write them a few days in advance, its not a time-warp). To wit:

                       

DANGER CALLING

Re “Phones trigger brain

activity in study,” Feb. 23

A new study says that

the use of cellphones affects

the brain. Well, let’s

see: People become oblivious

to all around them, and

rude and isolated, while

they turn into zombies.

They speak loudly without

any regard for the rest of us

who are subjected against

our will to their conversational

nonsense. They are

completely unaware of

everything.

For this they need a

study? I think not.

Frances Terrell

Lippman

Sherman Oaks

Thank you, Ms. Lippman.

From the I Knew There Was Something Suspicious About Those Kids Department- in another follow-up story to one of my posts (2/27/11) about the evils of Girl Scout cookies, it was reported that a police officer in Villa Rica GA approached a group of Girl Scouts who were selling the insidious treats at a stand in a mall and asked to see their "peddler's permit"; when they were unable to produce said permit, they were told to shut down, and the troop leader later commented that the younger girls seemed to believe that they were "going to jail" for their transgression. Both the mayor and police chief of Villa Rica spoke to the officer involved, according to the report, and while claiming that he had done nothing wrong (like the Nazis in WWII Germany, he was merely following orders apparently), the Scouts were allowed to reopen their stand and were given a pizza party, compliments of the city, as compensation. Fortunately for the officer, the Penal Code of the State of Georgia does not have "minimum level of IQ" statute, so he won't be fired from his job. (I would have made the asshole buy 100 boxes of Samoas, and then force him to eat them all in one sitting with no milk.)

From the If They Had Any Brains They Wouldn't Be Criminals Department-a burglar entered the home of a Washington D.C. family and stole clothing and cash from the family's teenage son, and before leaving the premises, posted a picture of himself wearing the son's new coat and holding several hundred dollars of the boy's savings on the young man's Facebook page. The father of the boy, a Washington lawyer, turned the photo over to local police, who identified the burglar from previous mug shots, and went to his home and arrested him on charges of burglary, breaking and entering, trespass and gross stupidity.

Further from the If They Had Any Brains They Wouldn't Be Criminals Department-a man was arrested by police in Chickasha OK recently for attempting to steal a chainsaw from a local lawn and garden store; the man was observed by store employees leaving the premises with said chainsaw shoved down the front of his pants. Police were called and the man was apprehended after a brief chase, subsequent to which one of the arresting officers remarked on how easy the capture had been due to the awkward way the thief ran with the merchandise in his pants. The officer further commented that the man spoke in a "very high-pitched voice" upon apprehension.

From the Cutting Down On The Carbs Diet Department-according to Time Newsfeed, a new era of a much slimmer Mr. Potato Head doll was recently introduced by the toy's manufacturer, Hasbro, and that the new doll is now wearing pants, something that, apparently due to what a fat ass the doll had been previously, had not be the case with earlier versions of the toy. Although the Mrs. Potato Head doll is also sporting a new trimmer figure as well, there was no report on any new clothing for her. Speculation in the report was that this was a response to First Lady Michelle Obama's ongoing program to fight obesity in America and her emphasis on a proper diet for children. Unfortunately, Mrs. PH was arrested shortly after leaving the International Toy Fair, where the new dolls were introduced, for public nudity.

From the Do You Need A PHD To Know This? Department-in a report describing a study that was conducted by several scientists on the mating habits of "pygmy chimpanzees", also known as "bonobos", the author of the report, a Charles Choi, explained that the study showed that bonobos had some unusual traits in their sexual behavior, which included promiscuity, homosexuality and loud cries during sex, which were referred to as "copulation calls" that the scientists felt were somehow tied to the chimps attempt at advertising how successful they were at mating; the report went on to state that the female bonobos "give out these calls even when having sex with other females, whom they cannot have offspring with." It is the Pope's fervent hope that, while being guilty, at minimum, of poor grammar (WITH WHOM, you putz), it was the author of the report, Mr. Choi, who arrived at this conclusion, which was startling in its obviousness, and not one of the PHDs that conducted the study.

And from the How Ironic Is That Department-President Obama announced the appointment of Mr. Jeremy Bernard to the post of White House Social Secretary last week, and commented that Mr. Bernard, a long-time resident of Los Angeles and an activist in many gay and lesbian causes, was the first "openly gay person" to be named to the post. Previously, the position of WH Social Secretary, which is responsible for, among other things, "event planning", was held by various women.

Now before I continue, let me make one thing perfectly clear (isn't it fitting I should sound like Richard Nixon when discussing the White House?): I am a supporter of same-sex marriage, and a believer in equal rights in all aspects of life for all GLBT (Gay, Lesbian, Bisexual and Transgender) folks; I am repulsed by discrimination of any type. And I intend no slight to Mr. Bernard; from reading about his background, he sounds like a fine and well-qualified individual.

But I don't care what your sexual orientation or point of view is, you can't help but be amused by the obvious irony, at least to me anyway, of naming a gay man to the post of "event-planning" White House Social Secretary.

And from our Great Quotes Department-

            "Remember, this is America, the land where nothing ever gets done but lots of people debate on how to do it."

            Pope John The Tall (2011)

Thank you, oh loyal followers, for allowing me to run on so long; your patience, and your stamina, will surely be rewarded in Heaven.

Or in Cleveland, depending on what you believe about the afterlife.

Love and useless information,

PJTT

copyright 2011 Krissongs, Inc.