I decided this morning to accept an invitation I received recently from Noloc Moraine, the Tetrarch of Pyrites on the planet Xanthous, to attend a conference of religious and spiritual leaders of our galaxy that the Xanthousian High Council is holding next week on their planet, as a representative of the All John All The Time World Church. Attending conferences and meetings of this nature is one of the collateral duties of being the Pope Guy and leader of the Church, plus it gives me the opportunity to exchange ideas with and discuss and examine the positions of other galactic moral thinkers and also get away for a few days of well-deserved rest. (As you may or may not be aware, Xanthous has a lot of great resorts, with some superior gerbil golf courses, a number of superb restaurants (where several of them feature, as their specialty of the house, a baked Krillion ebert in thrane sauce, the Krillion ebert being a distant cousin of the Lower Zimbabwean ebert from our planet) and a shitload of white sand, nude-only beaches where native Xanthousians, as well as visitors from other worlds, congregate to lie around, sunbath and generally unwind. (Female Xanthousians bear a remarkable resemblance to Earth women, other than having three breasts, with which I personally have never had a problem; I am a firm believer in the merits of occasional excess.)
In order to make the journey to Xanthous, I instructed my ground crew do a full maintenance review and overhaul of my atomic powered space ship, the Royal Unionship Kidding, or RU Kidding for short, to ensure it's airworthiness for a trip of this magnitude. (Xanthous, for you non-aeronautical types, is 2.69 gazillion parsecs from Earth, which is, as you might imagine, more than a few blocks. The "Kidding" is capable of speeds well in excess of the Speed of Aroma, but the journey to Xanthous will still require several days of travel. For comparison, the speed of light is a visual measurement, the speed of sound is an aural measurement and, accordingly, the Speed of Aroma is an olfactory measurement, and is considerably greater than that of light.)
Its sound like I really know what I'm talking about, doesn't it?
I also decided to have the official canine of the Pope Guy, affectionately known as the Harley Dog, accompany me on my trip, as my companion and backup navigator. (Smart dog, huh?) We've had to make several special accommodations for Harley, to allow him to be able to travel abroad the ship, such as a hydroponic "lawn" in the cargo hold of the Kidding, because "going outside" in a space ship is a big no-no, for obvious reasons. (Do you remember the scene from the movie "Apollo 13" where the character played by Bill Paxton, astronaut Fred Haise, did a "waste dump" and, as they showed the "golden shower" (all of you perverts out there, stop it right now) exiting the side of the spacecraft, his comment was "...the Constellation Urine, what a beautiful sight..." He pronounced "urine" as "UHRHINE", as though the word rhymed with the name of the river in Germany.) We also had to come up with a special spacesuit for Harley, and he looks adorable in it; the only problem is that he can't wag his tail because we had to keep it inside the suit for fear of radiation burns, because you don't want radiation burns on your butt, believe me. Or anywhere else for that matter.
We're leaving this afternoon around 3:30, which is Star Date 6532.158 on Xanthous; we're leaving a little earlier than I had initially intended because of a change in our flight plan. We were originally set to take route 529DL5 from Southern California, which would have taken us north/northeast over the Rockies, the plains and then, curving slightly further northward, over the Great Lakes region, including flying directly over the city of Cleveland, before entering a subspace planetary orbit, prior to the jump-off into HyperAromaDrive. But as of this morning, I decided to take the Polar route, 623HB8, to avoid Ohio. ("Second star to the right, and straight on 'til morning...")
The reason I decided to take the Polar route and not overfly Cleveland was to avoid the incredible stench that's arising over the city from the Lakers/Cavaliers NBA game that took place there last night, in which the TWO TIME DEFENDING WORLD CHAMPIONS (the Lakers, who also have the highest payroll in the NBA this year) lost 105-99 to the WORST TEAM IN THE NBA CURRENTLY (the Cavaliers). That's right, sports-fans, the mighty Lakers, whose lineup includes arguably the best player in the game today, Kobe Bryant, were out-hustled, out-rebounded, out-shot and generally stunk the place up so bad as to be ludicrous. Its a good thing Phil Jackson, their Hall Of Fame coach and winner of 11 NBA Championship rings, is a peaceful man and doesn't own a gun; if he did, I'm sure he would have been SORELY tempted to shoot those assholes afterwards. Prior to last night's game, the Cav's record was 9-46; yes, you read that correctly, they had amassed a whopping nine wins against forty-six defeats. Worse yet, the Cavaliers just ended, by beating the other L.A. NBA franchise, the Clippers, last Friday, a 26 game losing streak, which set not only an NBA record for futility, but a modern professional sports record as well; no team in ANY other professional sport has ever lost that many games in a row.
This loss was unconscionable; there was no way a team as talented as the Lakers should ever lose to the Cavaliers; it was the equivalent of them losing to a mildly talented college team. (Shit, they played the Cavs five weeks ago and beat them by FIFTY-FIVE POINTS.) This, this was...I have no words (and you'd better believe its a rare occasion that I'm speechless).
I have been a huge Lakers fan for many years, and it hurts me to do this, but I will make a fearless prediction here, and an offer to make a bet with anyone who's interested: One Hundred Dollars ($100) says the Lakers don't get past the second round of the playoffs this year. A C-note.
Einstein's Theory of Relativity (E=mc2) was based on the premise that, if you could accelerate matter (m) at the speed of light (c), squared (2), that said acceleration would produce energy (E); that's the basis of fission, which is what makes the atomic bomb work as it does.
But basketball isn't rocket science, and you don't have to be an Einstein to play the game. So I'm going to offer Dr. Jerry Buss, the owner of the Lakers franchise, the use of the RU Kidding, at his discretion, and then make this suggestion to him: take the entire team, all 15 of them, stuff their big, ugly carcasses into the ship's cargo hold and we'll send them off into the farthest reaches of the Caecilian Nebulae, where they can stink up that corner of the solar system all they want with their lazy play and lackadaisical habits.
At least I won't have to watch it then. Geez.
Love and space stations,
PJTT
copyright 2011 Krissongs, Inc.
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