The Facts, Ma'am, Just The Facts

(The following is a repost of my essay from 2/16/11, a day that I remember I was being particularly clever and witty; a rare moment indeed. I hope you like it a second time.)

I'd like to take a few moments today and point out some various and little known facts that may be of interest, or of some value, to you, the loyal followers of the All John All The Time World Church and me, your Pope Dude.

This information, in a few instances, is very esoteric, and possibly uninteresting to some of you, but you don't think for a moment that inapplicability is enough to stop me, do you? Mere irrelevance will never be a deterrent to my ongoing stream of silliness. Remember, your Popemeister has internal dictates to which he must respond.

Did you know-

-that the word for cetacean vomit is "ambergris'? That's right, party-goers, the formal word for whale puke is ambergris. I learned this interesting tidbit many years ago when, so help me, cross my heart, I stumbled onto a record album (do you remember albums? For those of you who don't, they were 12" round black discs made of vinyl with grooves in them that somehow, as if by magic, contained music. I've always thought they resemble anorexic Frisbees) by a rock band of that name: Ambergris. If memory serves, I'm fairly certain they actually explained on the album cover what the word meant, pretty much ensuring that nobody was likely to buy the album without being totally grossed out. Since I found the disc in a "remainder" bin, for the whopping price of $.99 (just like the store of the same name, you know, 99 Cents), you have to think there's merit to my argument. Or maybe the album, and the band, just sucked, which is probably more likely.

-that a computer keyboard does NOT have a "cents" sign, you know, like a dollar sign. I just learned that fact a few moments ago when I tried to type "99 (cent sign) Store" (see above) and had to type the word "cents" because I couldn't find the cent sign. I've got ^ and ~ and > and some others I hardly ever use, but no cent sign, at least, not on my keyboard. I swear, I never noticed that before.

-that as far back as the 1850s (EIGHTEEN, not nineteen) some scientist/inventor had the original, basic idea for the computer. Apparently, the only thing that stopped him from producing and marketing his idea besides some essentials like electricity, vacuum tubes, the silicon chip, plastic and a bunch of other high-tech sounding shit was his inability to come up with a really cute logo, like the little apple with the bite out of it that appears on the Macintosh machines. I forget where I read this, but it's probably a vicious lie, much like the libelous rumors that are currently being circulated about myself and several of the original Seven Dwarves. (There is absolutely no truth to that rumor whatsoever; maybe Snow White, she was pretty hot, but never the Dwarves. Well, maybe Sleazy.) (Okay, now some of you have got to be thinking, "Was Sleazy one of the...?")

-that the monetary unit in El Salvador is the "colon"? Yeah, and you always thought that the colon was the part of the large intestines that extends the cecum to the rectum. (Rectum hell, damn near killed him. That's the punch line to an old joke that I cannot remember the setup to.)  So, if the slang term here in America for dollars, among others, is "bucks", what's the slang expression in El Salvador for colons, "gall-bladders"?

-that my Dad, due to having suffered a fairly severe hernia, had to have his left testicle removed, back when he was in his mid-50s, and that I always referred to him after that as "One-Ball Bill", which was kinda' dumb, considering his name was Ezekial. I'm not sure how my mother reacted to this, or if she even noticed.

-that "colon" backwards is "noloc"? And that "mutorcs" backwards is "scrotum"? And that "scrotum" backwards is probably really painful.

-that you shouldn't use a seven-iron when hitting gerbils off your second floor balcony, that you should really either a) use a five-iron or b) move to the third floor balcony? And please, gerbil-golfers, always yell "Fore" before striking your gerbil, to warn any unsuspecting persons walking below.

-that the ebert is a...okay, you guys know that one, don't you?

-that "syrup" backwards is "purys"? And that "embargo" backwards is "ograbme"?

-that some lady in Massachusetts recently gave birth to a 13 pound baby? Yes, children, you read that correctly, THIRTEEN pounds. And the article I read about this indicated that the size of the child at birth came as a surprise to the woman. Now, being a typical male pig sleazebag, not to mention the Popester, I have no concept whatsoever about what a woman goes through when she's pregnant and when she gives birth, but I still have to believe that, if you're expecting a baby, and said baby has grown inside you for the normal nine-month gestation period common to humans, and that said baby weighs THIRTEEN (Holy Bathroom Scales, Batman) pounds when its born, that somewhere along the line, prior to it's birth, you must have had an inkling that your unborn child was going to be the size of a '57 Buick Roadmaster when it arrived. I mean, if she had been pulled over by the Highway Patrol a week before she delivered, the cops probably would have made her go through the truck scale. Geez, how could that have been a surprise? I bet they had to use a forklift to get her on up on the table to deliver the little monster.

-that since the Chicago Cubs last won the World Series, the following events have taken place: manned flight, manned space flight, two World Wars, the invention of the radio, television, computers, telephones, White Castle hamburgers, automobiles, vacuum tubes, vacuum cleaners, electricity and electric light bulbs, bikinis, thong bikinis (and a big ten-4 to the inventor of the thong; there must be a special place in Heaven for someone of your courage and vision) and a whole other plethora of shit that I can't think of right now. NINETEEN OH EIGHT, or ONE HUNDRED AND THREE YEARS ago as the crow flies. (If you look in a dictionary for the definition of "futile", there's a picture of Wrigley Field, which is the home of the Cubs, next to the word.

-that I was in my late 20s before I learned to spell the word "February" correctly; coincidentally or not, I was 22 before I reached pooberty. (I'm thinking there's a connection there somehow.)

-that Lindsay Lohan is NOT, contrary to popular belief, an alien from the planet Xanthous in the Hoolar Nebulae, but that she, and her goofy father, have to be two of the dumbest human beings ever to draw breath, and that a bill was introduced recently in the CA Legislature (commonly known in CA as the Home Of The Room Temperature IQ) calling for the immediate sterilization of Ms. Lohan, as a preventive measure to her becoming pregnant and propagating the world with any more stupid Lohans. (According to persons who follow the CA legislature closely, the bill is expected to pass.)

-that your Pope has written enough for one day, and that he is tired and is now going to go take a nap. (I just flew in from El Salvador in the RU Kidding, my rocket powered space ship, where I spent a ton of gall-bladders on a new seven-iron.)

Love and WikiPedia,

PJTT

copyright 2011 Krissongs, Inc.

"Pear Apples"

When I was a kid, growing up deep in the throes of Roman Catholicism, I recall that many of the teachings of the Catholic Church, the dogma and philosophies, were expressed through parables, which was a technique that Jesus often used during His time of public ministry and preaching. I figure, as the Pope of the All John All The Time World Church, if it worked for Him, it ought to work for me, right?

Of course, as a small child, I thought they were saying "pear-apples", you know, like "cranapples" or "craisins" or "strawberryrutabagas" or some similar strange combination of fruits that produces these weird advertising names, like pineapple and raisin, which would be "praisins".

As my daughter would say, whatever.

So today's post will be, as it was previously on 3/9/11, a collection of titles from some of the books in my library, that, with a slight (or maybe major) twist of the plot, could yield a "pear-apple" that could become a "teaching moment" or a chance to expound on the intricacies and joys of Johnism, as the dogma/philosophy of the AJATTWC is known.

In no particular order, other than as they occur to me:

*The Making Of The President-2012* (by Theodore H. White)

            Actually, this book hasn't been written yet, and sadly, Mr. White passed away back in 1986, but these are parables, so a certain amount of artistic license is acceptable, at least to me anyway. And since we're going with the "artistic license" gig, I'm going to make the book a novel, unlike the previous non-fictional accounts of the Presidential elections from 1960, '64, '68 and '72 by the Pulitzer Prize winning author.

            The heroine of the book is named Sarah, Plain and Loud, and we follow the would-be Pres candidate through a number of pre-primary meetings, conventions, photo ops and closed-door strategy "brainstorms", all the important things that go into the making and packaging of a Presidential contender in this age of 24/7 Internet news coverage, plus glimpses of her personal life with her husband and children, all of which have media "handlers" and press agents.

            Sarah has limited experience in elected governing, having been the mayor of a small municipality and then governor of the fictional state of Mooseland for about 15 minutes, but feels that her STRONGLY held opinions on everything Conservative (with a capital "C") more than compensates for her serious lack of practical experience in just about anything relevant to the real world outside Mooseland. (For more insight into the "strongly help opinion but no or limited experience in governance" movement, see Mitt Romney, Mike Huckabee, Bill O'Reilly, Matt Beck, Keith Olbermann, Rachel Maddow, et al.)

            Sarah doesn't feel that her lack of experience is a hindrance to becoming President, and answers her critics by saying things like, "I can see Russia from my backdoor", or commenting about the North Korea/South Korea hostilities that "...obviously, we've got to stand with our North Korean allies." Obviously, she has great foreign policy skills, and can't understand why America isn't embracing her wholeheartedly. The only "constituency" she can claim is the Tea Bags conservative movement, and poor Sarah just never realizes how ideologically narrow and limited in quantity her "base" is, and can't believe it when she not only doesn't receive the nomination of her Party for President, but in fact doesn't even win one primary, and eventually returns to Mooseland in disgrace, calling all those who were critical of her campaign, her family or her personally "assholes".

            The moral of this tale is simple: people with the IQ of room temperature shouldn't run for President, and Americans should be smart enough not to vote for them when they do.

*The Exorcist* (by William Peter Blatty)

            Another classic tale of good versus evil.

            The story opens with an introduction to the heroine, a young lady named Wiley, who has a father, Bobby Jay, who was a One Hit Wonder as a country/western singer about 100 years ago, and goes on to tell the tale of how Wiley, with intense and constant pressure from her out-of-work father and star wanna-be mother, launches a "career" of her own, as a TV personality on a kid's show, and then later as a minimally-talented, no-brain pop singer.

            The plot takes a turn into the darkness of the occult, when one night, Wiley wakes up in bed, alone, to hear weird tapping noises coming from the attic directly above her bed, and to see weird poltergeist-like movements of the furniture and her belongings in her room. From this jumping off point, we follow Wiley and her dad, as the poor girl is possessed, and then completely taken over, by a demonic presence that wants her to drop her "pop music" gig and become a porn actress, an area in which the demon, whose name is Toomuchtoosoon, is convinced she will excel, and their battle to overcome the hideous force of evil that has overtaken every facet of her pointless existence.

            Her father, as inept in this battle as he is in everything else, has no idea how to combat the demon, and calls in an Exorcist, a professional, an expert as it were, to "cast out" the malefic spirit and restore Wiley to her previous vapid ways. The Exorcist, whose name is Fred, investigates the strange goings-on at Wiley's house, and comes to realize that, yes, Wiley is possessed by Toomuchtoosoon, and begins to devise ways of casting out the demonic presence.

            After a while, however, Fred comes to further realize that Wiley and her parents aren't worth saving, and that if he lets the demon have his way with Wiley, maybe eventually she and her whole sorry mess of a family will go away and drop off the face of the Earth, doing the world an ENORMOUS favor by not sucking up any more oxygen that the rest of us could be using.

            The moral of this story is one of sadness: how sad that our standards as a culture have been lowered to the extent that performers like Wiley can come to be "stars" in the "Step Right Up For Your 15 Minutes Of Fame" world of pop entertainment, and begs the question, What? What were we thinking?

*Presumed Innocent* (by Scott Turow)

            In Mr. Turow's brilliant novel of murder, judicial malfeasance, double-crosses, big-city politics and same-sex bingo, the main character, Rusty Sabich, is falsely accused of murdering one of his Assistant District Attorneys, a beautiful woman with which he had had a brief affair. (Obviously, there's a lot more to the story than that, but this isn't Oprah's Book Club, okay? Give Scott Turow a break and buy his book if you haven't read it; hey, its a hell of a story.) In the new and now improved Pope Guy's "Parable-Of-The-Week" version, the hero, Derrick Bananarama, who is an acknowledged world leader, as High Lord Tetrox of Lower Zimbabwe, is faced with challenges from all sides, including a rapidly growing deficit, an economy that's struggling to right itself after a terrible recession, multiple nuclear threats all over the world from nations run by maniacs, and finally, an outbreak of a civil war in a land far from LZ, but a potential "humanitarian disaster", and ol' Derrick, he has to decide how much and how far with the armed forces of LZ, which are fighting real "battles" elsewhere in the world, and when he takes his time to make a prudent and well thought out decision, he's criticized in the media by his evil nemesis, the Nacilbuper Ytrap, an organization of old and crotchety old guys who are old and hate everybody and don't have regular bowel movements, as being "slow to make a decision" and "the time to act is now" and, this one mostly "he will lose this war with his inaction". GUILTY AS CHARGED.

            Except that Mr. Bananarama has never had the benefit of a jury; isn't he *Presumed Innocent* until proven guilty?

            Next, the Evil Umpire (really small strike zone guy) of the Nacilbuper Ytrap has harsh words for our hero because they didn't like what he had decided to do, although, while not very well-explained by ol' Derrick, still looked like pretty good ideas, assuming a break here or there. But NOOOOOooo, cried the Old Guys of Nacilbuper Ytrap, "that's not what he should have done" and "wouldn't it have been better if we did this" and, mostly, "he will lose this war with his actions". GUILTY AS CHARGED.

            Oh, except for that minor detail of a jury, which in Derrick Bananrama's particular case, is still out over this issue and a lot of what he has done so far as the High Lord Tetrox of Lower Zimbabwe.

That's the jury of public opinion, and that leads me to the moral of this sad tale: opinions are just like assholes; everybody has one, and mostly they stink.

*The Caine Mutiny On The Bounty* (by Herman Wouk and Charles Nordhoff and James Norman Hall and Memnon, the Under Glorth of Scklorn)

            The tragic and fateful tale of the actor Michael Caine, as he boards a tiny ship for an afternoon cruise through "the islands", only to discover, once out to sea, that the vessel is manned by cutthroat pirates, and that the leader of the band (good song by Dan Fogelberg), the cruel and ruthless Flipper, assisted by his First Mate Hooligan, intends to enslave all the people on board the boat and take them to his secret island in the Sargasso Sea, where they would forced, at gunpoint, to listen to Rush Limbaugh broadcasts all day long, and then call in and agree with everything that pinhead Limbaugh had said.

            The thought of endless Rush (not the band, that would be great, no, the blowhard) was too much for Caine, and he begins plotting with another passenger, the brilliant but eccentric Doc (Hey, I didn't want to use "Professor", okay? That would be a little too obvious, don't you think? And I couldn't think of an analogous word for Professor. Geez.) and Doc's perky nurse, Terry Cloth, to stage a "mutiny" and take over the ship and save themselves and the other passengers from a face worse than death. (???) Oh, sorry, "fate".

            Unfortunately, Flipper and his merry band of buccaneers discover the plot and kill all the passengers and drop them in the ocean and then go back to shore for a new load that they can enslave and take to their secret island in the Sargasso Sea and force to listen...okay, you get the pitcher (and I'll get the glasses).

            The moral?

            You're kidding, right?

I certainly hope that all these wonderful tales, these "pear-apples" (or "strawberryrutabagas") as it were, will be a help and a guide to better living through the light and loving wisdom of Johnism.

Kinda' makes you want to yark, doesn't it?

Love and best sellers,

PJTT

copyright 2011 Krissongs, Inc.

...and God said, "Let Us Have A Contest"...

I figure it this way; if the Roman Catholics can have bingo, the All John All The Time World Church can have contests. Yes?

Now I tried to have a raffle for the Church back in February; in fact, on the 12th I announced a Win A Hot Ride From The Popester contest, but I had to quickly change that to Win A Toaster From The Popester (which is a lot funnier) when it became apparent that the two factories that would have to donate the proposed prizes, a Ferrari 599XX and a Porsche 918 RSR, were unable to do so because both vehicles are prototypes and not available to the public yet. So we went with a multi-slice toaster from Best Buy as an alternative. (Hey, I did my best.)

So based on the overwhelming response we received to the "WATFTP" contest (all four of you), I've decided to sponsor another contest, and this one is a doozey.

Ready?

"Win A Weekend With The Pope Guy".

That's right, gridiron fans, the AJATTWC is officially announcing today, 3/27/11, that starting tomorrow, 3/28/11, we will begin accepting entries for the WAWWTPG contest, and here's all you have to do to enter and potentially win a dream weekend with the Popearama.

Ladies, write an essay, in 100 words or less, about why, and how, you would like to spend a weekend with your favorite Pope person, keeping in mind that you have to pay for it.

Gentleman, write an essay, in 100 words or less, on why guys are such sleazy, sports-addicted, addle-brained, stare-at-the-front-of-a-woman's-shirt dirtbags. (Please note: none of your essays will be entered into the contest competition, for the obvious reason; I'm not spending a weekend with another guy, unless its Bill Gates, and then only so I can bop him on the head and steal a shitload of his money. But I wanted to be fair and democratic, just like our President, and give everyone a chance to enter, even if I don't use the entries from the males of our species. That's assuming we're all from the same species, which could be debated.)

Now let me expand a little on the "you have to pay for it" part of the contest; being Pope of the AJATTWC doesn't mean a $250K annual salary, plus stock options, a 401k and benefits. In fact, if there is any benefit to being the Pope, its strictly name recognition, which might get you a better table in a restaurant, but other than that, not so much. What I'm trying to say is that, well, I'm broke, so if you're going to spend a weekend with your favorite Pope Dude, bring your Visa, because if it took a nickel to poop, I'd have to throw-up. I'm so broke I can't even afford to pay attention.

Not that I'm looking for sympathy or anything like that; hey, there's lots of folks out there these days who are every bit as broke as I am, and maybe a lot worse. And me and Bill Clinton can feel their pain. (Actually, every time I see Bill Clinton's stupid face in the media, he looks too juiced or stoned to feel much of anything. Are he and Hillary still together?) But I can empathize with how bad things have gotten for a lot of working people in this country over the last few years, myself included. Yeah, a lot of this "recession" mess was our own fault, but a lot of it wasn't, and that's what makes it so hard to swallow for most of us. I'm a huge believer in the free-market, free-enterprise system, but when 1% of the populace controls over 80% of the wealth in a country, some things need to re-examined. But that's another subject all together.

So, ladies, if you would like the pleasure of the your Pope Guy's company for an entire weekend, including whatever candle-lit dinners, afternoons spent in charming little bazaars in Marrekesh, gondola rides through the canals of Venice or an evening at the Palais Garnier, (the home of the Paris Opera) after a day of roaming around the Lourve, for which you want to pick up the tab, then lay it all out in 100 words or less and the Harley Dog and I will go over them (I'll read them to HD) and decide the winner in a few weeks. (Bribes will be cheerfully accepted.)

And don't be bashful: tell the Pope your most intimate fantasies about His Popeness and his tall hat in your entry. Don't be afraid to bare your soul (or your body for that matter) to achieve that pinochle of romance, two nights and three days with PJTT, the Popemeister.

Be still, my beating heart.

You can send your entries to: popejohnthetall@hotmail.com

Pictures of entrants are encouraged, and photos of questionable taste or content are vigorously encouraged. (All pictures of "dogs" will be given to Harley for disposition.) Please be specific with your "weekend plans" for yourself and the Pope Dude, including details of places, events, shooting of porn videos, transportation, media coverage and any other specifics that you feel will enhance your opportunity to win the BIG prize. In the event of a tie, both entrants will be awarded a separate weekend to spend with His Popeness, unless the entrants are amicable to a "threesome", which in French is known as a "pied-a-terre". (No, its not.) (I've never done a "three-way", unless you count both of my hands. Mostly I've been content with a cornet, a Die Hard battery, two eberts and a 55 gallon drum of Vaseline. Not in that order.)

Okay, girls, time to get the old word processor fired up and start cranking out those contest entries. There is no limit to the amount of times you can enter, so, like in the City of Chicago municipal elections, vote early and vote often. (Here's a "contest tip" for those of you who are REALLY serious about winning: a bra size of over 38DD is an immediate 10 point bonus for your entry; you also must have a current pic to "support" your claim, pardon the pun.)

I like this one; it's WAY better than giving away a car or a toaster.

Love and the lotto,

PJTT

copyright 2011 Krissongs, Inc.

Double Jeopardy

My mother used to say that there was no rest for the wicked; I'm not sure exactly how she knew this, because I don't think my mother was wicked, so it wasn't from first-hand knowledge. She was a little screwed up, much like most people, and not the most pleasant person, but wicked? Naw, I've got a couple of ex-girlfriends that were, so I know from wicked, but their rest habits? No clue.

I do know this much: your Pope (that would be me) just gets back in town from one "missionary" visit, gets sent off by the Bored Of Elders of the All John All The Time World Church to investigate property on the planet Hyperion, barely gets back in town from that trip and is sent out again to check out a bunch of sausage-heads in straw costumes at the Shrovetide Festival in Thuringia, Germany and now that the Harley Dog and I (Harley being the "official" canine of the Popemeister) are back from Sausageland, I'm ready for a break. I'm pretty sure I'm not wicked either, so I can't figure out why I can't get some rest.

Yeah, good luck.

Harley and I returned to the bucolic and almost always sunny San Fernando Valley last week, and when we got back I told my consigliore, the Right Reverend Monsignor Michael Jordan (no, not the one that does the Hanes underwear commercials) to convey to the Bored that our traveling days, at least for a short time, were over. Hey, I'm the Pope, I can put my foot down if I want. I just have to be careful where it comes down, that's all.

Well, I guess the Bored was sympathetic, but we'll see how long that lasts. Anyway...shit, hang on, the Popephone is ringing...

JTT here...hey, Mike...no...no...damn it (Janet, and if you haven't seen The Rocky Horror Picture Show movie, you won't get that) I'm not going out again...no...we just got back last week, no...no...a TWO year subscription to Big Hooters Monthly?...(large sigh of resignation here)...all right, where are we going this time?...Michigan?...no, I HATE the Pistons, no, not Michigan...shit...no...shit...all right (another large sigh of resignation)...send me the details...yeah...okay, we'll get together when I get back...yeah...shit.

Well, so much for the Bored's sympathy.

According to my consigliore, we're off to Grand Rapids MI on one of our "missionary" trips; it seems the good folk of Grand Rapids are in need of the soothing balm of Johnism, and guess who gets to fly there and deliver the message? That's right, your Pope and his faithful sidekick, the Harley Dog.

Usually we get the AJATTWC ground crew guys to fire up the Royal Unionship Kidding, or RU Kidding for short, my atomic powered rocket ship, for trips like this. The Kidding has HyperAromaDrive, which enables the craft to achieve speeds in excess of the Speed of Aroma, which in this instance, going from LA (pronounced LAH) to Grand Rapids, would take about 5.36 nanoseconds, or about the time it takes Lindsay Lohan to get arrested from the previous time before. (Listen, I've explained the whole "Speed Of Aroma" thing a bunch of times in my previous posts, so I'm not doing it again here, okay? If you want to know how it works, go back to the archives and look it up. And yes, I get cranky when I'm tired.)

But since this was to be a short trip, I decided to leave the Kidding and Harley at home this time (Harley's my back-up navigator when we're onboard) and just take a commercial flight to Detroit, rent a car, you know, the usual gig. According to my map of the United States, Grand Rapids is just a little over six inches from Detroit, so it shouldn't take too long to get there by car, I wouldn't think. Less than a fortnight, certainly.

...later the next day...

Well, here I am in Grand Rapids MI, known world-wide as the "Furniture City", which seems like a rather dubious claim to fame indeed. GR may know furniture, but according to Jack Ryan, a reporter for PostChronicle.com and the main character in most of the really good books by Tom Clancy, some of their residents don't understand marriage, or more to the point, don't understand that you have to divorce one wife before you marry another, unless you want to be charged with polygamy and gross stupidity.

(Full disclosure: I once had a wife, and while she wasn't wicked, much like my mother wasn't, she was an occasional pain in the ass, and though we did have a lot of fun times, and she is the mother of my daughter, who is simply the finest person I know in the world, I wouldn't have wanted to have more than one of her around at a time. My wife, I mean. The Mormons were big on this "main wife, several auxiliary wives" nonsense, but you know, the Mormon faith was founded by a guy who claimed to find golden tablets with divine messages on them about founding a church, and was directed to these tablets, which were discovered in upstate NY, by an Italian angel named "Moroni", so how much credibility do they have? No, one wife per marriage, thanks.)

Per an article on PostChronicle.com by Mr. Ryan (ex-CIA analyst and/or future/already President, depending on where you are in the "Jack Ryan Saga"), a Richard Barton, currently of Grand Rapids but previously from Rhode Island (I didn't know there were actually people living in RI, did you?), made the "more than one wife per marriage" mistake recently, when, after marrying a nice lady in RI in 2004, he subsequently proceeded to go out one night, get arrested and incarcerated, all unbeknownst to his RI wife, and never returned home, ever again. Ever.

Apparently he decided, upon release from jail, to make a fresh start of his life in Grand Rapids, including remarrying; the only problem with that was the somewhat sticky point of divorce: he was never granted one from the RI wife, which would make him a) a polygamist and b) a glutton for punishment.

His RI wife is the one who blew the whistle on Mr. Barton; in his zeal to shed the old and enhance the new, he did two more rather stupid things, as if being married to two women at the same time wasn't bad enough; first, he "defriended" the RI wife from his list of Facebook "friends" (and I'm not quite sure how the RI wife didn't know where Mr. Double Play was at if they were FB friends, but, hey, what do I know?), and then posted wedding pictures of himself and the MI wife on his FB page. RI wife duly noted both, and responded accordingly, by notifying MI authorities that they had a dumb polygamist (and isn't that redundant?) in their midst. So Mr. Barton was arrested for doubling his pleasure, and is now facing up to four years in jail if convicted of polygamy, and several hundred years for being crazy enough to even BE a polygamist.

After hearing of this calamity in MI, the Bored Of Elders of the AJATTWC decided I MUST go to Grand Rapids and preach the message of Johnism to its people, because if there are citizens in GR that are crazy enough to be married to TWO women at the same time, (or several women who agree to be married to the same guy at the same time) yeah, there's some folks that need help.

To tell the truth, though, I'm not even sure if Johnism can help these folks. (The first five words of that last sentence begin with the letter "t"; bet you can't do that. Although I did do it by accident.)

In a completely unrelated event, the management at Facebook recently announced a new "common sense" requirement to establish an FB page; that's right, race fans, FB will now require that each person attempting the create a new page must take and pass a simple "common sense" test (FB says there will be several versions that individuals may choose from) before being granted access to the website. FB spokesperson I. M. Notjoking was quoted as saying that "Facebook has decided to institute this new procedure to, hopefully, protect some of our potential FB users from themselves."

(Okay, I made up the whole thing about FB and a "common sense" test, and the quote as well, but from a strictly humanitarian viewpoint, you have to admit that the idea has merit.)

I just spoke to the RRMMJ a few moments ago; he told me that the Bored of the AJATTWC wants me back from MI ASAP. FYI. (I couldn't figure out any way I could jam the acronyms ASPCA and NASA and NAACP into that last sentence and have it still make any sense. But I tried.) It seems there's a breaking story they're monitoring about a Twitter subscriber in Chicago IL who was recently arrested for "mopery", for announcing in a "tweet" that the 2011 Chicago Cubs would win the National League Central Division, and then proceed on to the World Series. Chicago Police Department officials arrested the man, "pursuant to the recently passed city ordinance that makes the possession of the level of "goofiness" sufficient to make a person either a) want to be married to more than one woman at a time or b) be a Cubs fan, an arrestable offense".

You know, maybe we should add one more item to the "level of goofiness" test: or c) anyone dumb enough to be a Justin Beiber fan.

Love and the Tabernacle Choir,

PJTT

copyright 2011 Krissongs, Inc.

***ANOTHER MAJOR ANNOUNCEMENT***

It was Colonel Mustard in the Conservatory with the lead pipe, according to the sergeant-at-arms, although it was not a private matter, it is a major concern. There will certainly be corporal punishment involved, and a general review of the case. In any event, he was the captain of his own fate, and even the Lieutenant investigating the crime agreed.

Now that I have that out of my system, let me get to the real announcement.

As of today, I will be "blogging" three to four times a week, rather than the daily post that I have been doing.

I set myself an ambitious goal when I decided to write a post every day; when I began this sojourn back in January, I had no idea how much work was involved to write something clever and witty on a daily basis, especially when you have other responsibilities as well.

Anyway, to all my loyal followers, thank you for being there with me, how ever often that might be. I'll ask that you check out the Pope periodically, as I don't have a schedule for WHICH three or four days a week that I'll post news of the All John All The Time World Church, or of the Harley Dog's and my travels all over the Galaxy and all the other silliness that you've read here in the last two months. And I'll still put a reminder on Facebook that I've written something on the day I post a new "essay", so you should still be able to keep track of your Pope, his Dog and all the crazies in the AJATTWC and the world around us.

You guys are all right, I don't what your various ex's- say.

Love and silliness,

PJTT

copyright 2011 Krissongs, Inc.

Dah...Dah...Dah...DAH...Announcing...More Announcements

Hey, its your Pope Guy here, and guess what? The All John All The Time World Church, just like other churches, has to occasionally make announcements so that the followers of the Pope can keep up with all the events and news of the AJATTWC. In no particular order, other than as they occur to me:

*International Pi Day Celebration*

            A number of AJATTWC members have decided to have a belated get-together here in the Church Meeting Hall, to celebrate International Pi Day, which unfortunately has already passed, having taken place on March 14th, although we didn't know about it at the time; hence, a belated celebration on Monday evening, 3/58, at 7:894pm.

            "Pi", as you might remember from your high school geometry class, is the "expression of a circle's circumference to its diameter". The actual number that Pi represents is generally calculated as 3.14, but the true value of Pi cannot be expressed, as the number has infinite decimal points, leading to such expressions of Pi as 3.1456932531582477965821251449875569453687541231841899599584472365821 (plus tax, title and license).

            Why the world had to have a day of celebration for a mathematical expression is pretty much beyond me, but several Church members "expressed" interest, so there you are. A short film, "The Secret Life Of A 'Pi' Freak" will be shown, a discussion of the film will follow and refreshments will be served afterwards; we're told Sister June Wedding is in charge of the goodies, which will include pizza, apple, and cherry "Pi's". Those of you who would like to attend please contact Brother Al Toona.

*Fund Raiser For The Home For The Chronically Bewildered*

            Our AJATTWC in-house charity, The Home For The Chronically Bewildered, is once again in need of our help in raising money to fund its charitable activities, and has asked the Church members to please generously support, with your donations of money and time, this year's fund-raising event, which will take place over the next three weekends (3/36 through 3/38, 4/62 through 4/985 and the final weekend of 4/9.5 through 4/9.6).

            This year's fund-raising activity will be the door-to-door sale of Electric Baton Shock/Tricky Toy, which is a marvelous gift for anyone with a REALLY screwed-up sense of humor.

            The EBSTT is shaped just like the real "Tasor" that most law enforcement agencies use today to quell and subdue unruly citizens; the EBSTT only produces 3.6 volts of electricity, however, unlike the thousands of volts generated by a real Tasor, but will still give a harmless, but attention-grabbing, shock to (and probably scare the bejesus out of) an unsuspecting person. Best of all, the EBSTT has a powerful built-in flashlight as well.

            This is a great birthday or Christmas gift for that "hard-to-find-something-for-that's-either-legal-or-moral" person on your list, and the retailer of this handy item, FocalPrice, has agreed to give us a special quantity discount so we can market the Electric Baton at the attractive price of just $29.95/each.

            Please see Brother Bill Ding about volunteering.

*Ladies Of The AJATTWC Annual Bake Sale*

            Speaking of fund-raising, the Ladies Club of the AJATTWC will hold its Annual Bake Sale next Sunday afternoon, 3/59, here in the Church Meeting Hall. This year's goal is $1,235,263.54, of which $5000.00 will be used to purchase new hymnals for the Church, and the balance to go to the Pope's Discretionary Fund, to be used as the Pope Guy deems necessary (can you say "new Porsche"?). FYI, the hymnal the Ladies Club has decided to purchase for the Church, with the approval of the Bored of Elders, is the latest version of the New American Hymnal and Racing Form, published by those same wacky folks that recently gave you the REALLY New American Bible.

            Please contact Sister Sue Indians for details about donating baked goods for the sale.

*"Book Worms" To Review New Hagar Book*

            The AJATTWC Book Worms Book Club will hold their bi-monthly meeting this month at the home of Brother Bill O'Lading and his lovely wife, Sister Penny Loafers. The group will review and discuss the new book by rock "legend" (in his own mind) and former Van Halen lead singer Sammy Hagar, "Red: My Uncensored Life In Rock", wherein Hagar reminisces about various topics from his time as a minimally-talented, mostly clueless "rock star", such as being abducted by space aliens and describing "how the beings tapped into his mind through a wireless connection", according to a pre-book interview that appeared on mtvhive.com. (When the "the beings" found no discernible intelligence, its assumed they moved on to other more likely projects.)

            Refreshments will be served afterwards; please let Brother Bill and Sister Penny know if you're coming so they can plan accordingly.

*A Quote*

            Although we here at the AJATTWC do not believe in Satan, (although we suspect that if he did truly exist, he would reside in the person of Bill Clinton), nevertheless, we felt that the following quote deserved another airing, so thus:

            "No one can be as bad as Kadaffi, whoever comes after him. The devil himself would be an improvement." Per Akram Ramadan, a Libyan exile leader in London.

            Attempts to contact Mr. Satan to obtain his response to the above were unsuccessful.

*Men's Club Outing-"March Madness"*

            The Men's Club of the AJATTWC will hold one of its periodic outings next week, with a trip to Hooters next Friday afternoon, 3/36.3, during the restaurant's HootersHookyDay promotion of the NCAA "March Madness" tournament. Hooters will provide a free "doctor's note" to excuse you from work, plus a free appetizer to all attendees as well.

            Men's Club President Brother Bill Collector asks that you please let him or VP Brother Tim Middly know if you plan to attend.

*"Beat Deafness" Awareness Week Proposed*

            Brother Dario Inthedell, who's father, Brother Farmer Inthedell, suffered from the debilitating disease of "Beat Deafness" for many years, has proposed that the AJATTWC sponsor a "Beat Deafness" Awareness Week, to raise the awareness of (and money to continue research on) this horrible, silent crippler. ("Beat Deafness" occurs "when your arms, legs and body can't move in sync to music" or if a person is unable to tell when someone else is "NSync" (a little humor there) as well.

            Learn more about this dreaded disease at: http://bodyodd.msnbc.msn.com/_news/2011/03/11/6247114-cant-feel-the-rhythm-you-may-be-beat-deaf.

            And thanks for your concern in advance.

*Please Patronize Our Sponsors*

            The Bored Of Elders of the Church asks that you patronize the local merchants who so willingly support our activities.

            -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.)

Love and pipeorgans,

PJTT

copyright 2011 Krissongs, Inc.

           

The Bible, version 9.6.7

(The following post was supposed to have appeared on my blog on Saturday, 3/19, but somehow I screwed up and it didn't get saved when I hit the "Publish" icon, so do me a favor and pretend you're reading this on Saturday, and then pretend that the post I upload tomorrow is for Sunday, and that the one I upload for Monday...shit, never mind.)

Okay, let's have a quick time-out here; I turn my back for two minutes, and the whole world goes nuts.

I thought it was bad enough, and as the Pope Guy of the All John All The Time World Church, (and as a serious, non-professional guitar player, which is apropos of nothing but I just thought I would throw in), I'm paid to think about these things, when the U.S. Conference of Catholic Bishops came out with a new version of the New American Bible (called, I assume, the REALLY New American Bible) last week, to coincide with the beginning of the Lenten season, but then things got really stupid.

All right, for the bishops first: the new bible version "will offer substitutes for words such as "booty" and "holocaust" to better reflect modern understanding". That was a quote from the spokesperson for the Conference, whose name I forgot to write down and now that I can't find the original article, I'll probably never know, but whoever they were, that was their comment on some of the changes that were written into the new Bible. There were lots of others, but mostly it was cosmetic things like the "booty" change. (The editors of the REALLY New Version changed the word "booty" to "spoils of war", which was it's original meaning until the hip-hop crowd came along; however, the change made such sentences as "The Apostles stood there, silently admiring Mary's spoils of war as she passed by" tough to understand and interpret. 

Now don't get me wrong, I'm all for updating and finding new interpretations of things, like maybe an improved version of Einstein's Theory of Relativity (E=mc2, or energy (E) equals matter (m) times the speed of light (c) squared (2)), say for example E=BMFC3BF, which would translate thusly: energy (E) equals a Big Mac (BM), fries (F) and a Coke (C), times 3 bags full (3BF); I don't think old Albert is going to mind if we improve on his Theory, and besides, Einstien is dead, so who cares what he thinks.

Okay, so the "new and improved" version of things is an acceptable way of American life, yes? I mean, not a week goes by that we aren't inundated with new (and occasionally improved) versions of things, like cell phones, cars, douche, whatever. Like I said, it's the American Way.

But not the Bible, no, I think the Bible should stay just as it has for centuries, which of course, is the biggest and most inherent problem with the Bible: its been "interpreted" and "improved" and "updated" so many times that it isn't remotely close to the original, whatever that was, and I can't begin to imagine ANYONE who belongs to a Bible-based religion having any confidence that he/she is following the Word Of God by following the tenets and dictates of this book.

But I don't want to get into a lengthy and boring dissertation on the merits and value of the Christian Bible (besides, my daughter would disown me if I did), but I couldn't let the release of the REALLY New American Bible version last week go past without comment. (When asked to comment, the Pope replied, "I can't begin to imagine ANYONE who belongs to a Bible-based religion having any confidence that he/she is following the Word Of God by following the tenets and dictates of this book.") (You just heard that someplace, right?)

So the Catholics can't leave the Bible alone, and that's bad enough, but now, now the plot really sickens. (??) According to a report from a Jennifer Viegas for Discovery News, "God had a wife, Asherah, whom the Book of Kings suggests was worshipped alongside Yahweh in his temple in Israel, according to an Oxford scholar."

Want to hear it again? According to a report from a Jennifer Viegas for Discovery News, "God had a wife, Asherah, whom the Book of Kings suggests was worshipped alongside Yahweh in his temple in Israel, according to an Oxford scholar."

Now I don't know about you, but if this report is true, (and I'll withhold judgment on that for the moment), then I think God has some explaining to do to both this Asherah person and the rest of us as well.

Who's this new "wife", anyway? The "Oxford scholar" mentioned in the quotes above is a lady named Francesca Stavrakopoulou, which I assume is Lower Zimbabweanian, and it was through her research that this startling new discovery was made. "Stavrakopoulou bases her theory on ancient texts, amulets and figurines unearthed primarily in the ancient Canaanite coastal city called Ugarit, now modern-day Syria. All of these artifacts reveal that Asherah was a powerful fertility goddess." And apparently Mrs. Creator Of The Universe as well; Ms. Stavrakopoulou goes on to say that what is also significant "is the Bible's admission that the goddess Asherah was worshiped in Yahweh's Temple in Jerusalem. In the Book of Kings, we're told that a statue of Asherah was housed in the temple and that female temple personnel wove ritual textiles for her." And when was the last time someone wove ritual textiles for you, huh?

Okay, so if this Asherah woman was Mrs. COTU, then what was all this stuff about Jesus' being born of "a virgin named Mary"? Yeah, she was "a virgin" (do you think Joseph ever bought into that story?) but even with her "maidenhead" intact, God still had a "hand" in the whole thing, right? So, why Mary? Where was this Asherah person when the Mother Of God applications were being submitted? Why was Mary chosen over Asherah to be the MOG?

Can't you hear the conversation between God and Asherah, especially if God is a typical, weasely male dirtbag?

A: "What do you mean she's going to be the mother of your baby? What the hell is that all about?"

G: "Well, she's going to be like, ahh, an auxiliary wife, you know, like a "subordinate" wife to you, but you'll still be the "main" wife in charge, believe me".

A: "'Main wife in charge'? What the hell is that? All those 'I have to go and create a new world, I'll be gone for a few millennium, see you soon, don't forget to get the oil changed in the car' trips you took, all the times I had to make sure the Israelite's crops were okay so the stupid fucks wouldn't starve, trying to grow wheat in a desert, your chosen people, what a joke, all the years I worked as a fertility god to put you through "God University", when we had nothing but the clothes on our backs and that dumb Bible of yours that never stays the same, now, now you want to TRADE ME IN ON A NEW MODEL, YOU ASSHOLE?? AND YOU'RE GOING TO HAVE A BABY WITH THIS SLUT??

***(Okay, note to all the Christian folks reading this: I don't think Mary was a "slut", although the jury is still out on Mary Magdalene; the above is just my attempt at recreating, in a humorous way, part of the imaginary conversation that might have taken place between God and this Asherah person, under these circumstances. Please do not denounce me to your congregations, please don't burn me in effigy, or anywhere else for that matter, and please try to maintain a sense of humor here, and not act like a bunch of crazed zealots. And how many times have you written a sentence with two words in a row that contain the letter "z"? Pretty slick, huh? And I didn't even do it on purpose.)***

G: "Asherah, nothing will get accomplished by screaming, just calm down..."

A: "CALM DOWN? YOU COME HOME WITH THIS 'I'VE GOT A BIT OF A SURPRISE FOR YOU' BULLSHIT AND YOU WANT ME TO CALM DOWN?? Wait a minute," she said, as she eyed him suspiciously, "is this baby going to be that Messiah you keep promising everyone? Is that what's going on here?"

G: "Well, yeah, the baby would be, you know, the Messiah, but that's just..."

A: "Oh, so now I'm not good enough to be the mother of the Messiah, is that it? All these years of putting up with your crap and I'M NOT GOOD ENOUGH TO BE THE MOTHER OF THE MESSIAH?? YOU ASSHOLE!"

Since conversations of this type rarely accomplish anything, other than to reveal what a douche-bag the man is, I'll stop the narrative here; suffice it to say that God, despite being the COTU and the Main Guy, didn't win the argument. (What guy ever does?)

But the most telling remark for me about the existence of a wife for God came from a J. Edward Wright, who is president of both the Arizona Center for Judaic Studies and the Albright Institute for Archaeological Research. When asked about the report regarding Asherah, Mr. Wright had this to say: "Asherah was not entirely edited out of the Bible by its male editors...", implying that they tried, a charge that has been leveled at the Bible for centuries by Biblical scholars.

So let me see if I have this straight: not only is God a racist (he made the Jews his "chosen people", and basically said screw the rest of you), but now he's also married, is a bit of a revisionist and a chauvinist (His "editors" keep changing His "Word" and apparently tried to keep women out of the Bible entirely), and may be a bit of a philanderer as well.

You know, after all that, I can't wait to hear about the new version of the Torah that's being planned.

Love and epistles,

PJTT

copyright 2011 Krissongs, Inc.

...From The Departments Of Departments (Again)...

Let me start off by saying that I lied, although it was inadvertent.

Last Friday, 3/11/11, I posted my daily entry to my blog, "...from the desk of Pope John The Tall...", in which I made the earth-shaking announcement that I was taking a few days off and that I would return on Monday, 3/14/11, with a new "post" for that day.

Well, 3/14 came and went, like the proverbial back-door man, and no new "essay"; at least I provided everyone with a repost of an older piece that I wrote back in late January, which by the standards of writing a "daily" blog seems like a lifetime ago. Then came Tuesday and Wednesday and STILL nothing new; I know people all over the country were asking themselves, "Selves, what's up with the Pope? Is he dead? Is he suffering from diarrhea of the mouth and constipation of the ideas? (Wouldn't that qualify me to be a politician?) Will our hero be able to get to Little Nell in time to save her life, as she lies, helpless, tied across the railroad tracks as the 747 moves slowly towards her down the runway? Tune in next week for another edition of "Super Pope: Defender Of Justice And Designated Tall Person".

No, the truth is I just needed a few days break from the "burden" of being witty and entertaining every day. I never realized the pressure of "having" to write, rather than just writing something whenever I felt like it. (Now I know how a male prostitute feels; you MUST get it up, and it MUST work when called upon. "...with the count now 0 and 2 on the Pope...")

So between the time Harley and I were gone on our various trips to far-flung places, (Harley would be the Harley Dog, "official" canine of the Pope of the All John All The Time World Church; see picture to right -->), and then the short sabbatical I took, I haven't had an opportunity to check with my department "heads" to see what's shakin' in the world at large in the past several days. Based on the reports I received; quite a lot apparently:

From the Baked 'Gator Is A Delicacy In Some Countries Department- Narcotics agents from the State of California, the state that gave the country the "Governator", Arnold Schwarzenhooten, amongst other stupid things, made a somewhat startling discovery recently when they raided a "pot-house" in Hemet CA; the owners of the home, which was filled to the rafters with mature marijuana plants and seedlings, decided that a guard dog wasn't enough fire-power, so to speak, and instead installed in the house a 50-pound American alligator as their guard-animal of choice.

            Upon discovering the unusual "watchdog", authorities called in experts from the Forever Wild Exotic Animal Sanctuary to remove the beast; according to Joel Almquist, co-owner of FWEAS, the 'gator "wasn’t aggressive at all....this guy was just very, very mellow."

            ...hmmm, I wonder if that would work on Tea-Partyers...?

From the Will She Get Credit For Having The Right Intentions? Department- a 33-year-old mother in Fort Pierce FL was out with her boyfriend, 10-year-old daughter and 8-year-old son, giving the daughter driving lessons, when the mom and the boyfriend decided to stop and have a few brewskis, apparently having worked up a thirst with all that "driver's ed" stuff. According to TCPalm.com, after imbibing a number of tall, cold ones, the mother, Audrey Willoughby, apparently decided that she and the boyfriend were "a little too tipsy to drive", and gave the keys of her car to her 10-year-old, aspiring-to-be-an-automobile-operator daughter, to get the family home safely as the "designated driver". Everything was fine until the daughter started to actually drive; according to police reports, within "seconds" of pulling away from the curb where they were parked, the little girl hit one moving vehicle and then two that were parked, and in a panic to get the car stopped after smackng into her last auto, the child hit the accelerator, rather than the brake, and plowed into the side of a house. According to the District Attorney's office,  "Willoughby won't get more than 18 months in prison under the plea agreement".

            In the meantime, the daughter has been approached by Dale Earnhardt, Jr.'s NASCAR organization as a potential future driver for the team.

From the Who's Confused? Department- for the longest time when I would hear someone refer to the social-messengering service Twitter, I thought I was hearing the word "tweeter", (which of course is how the individual messages are referred to, as "tweets"), and I couldn't figure out why so many people were suddenly interested in the small, round speakers that reproduce the very high frequencies in an audio speaker cabinet. (They're in the door of your car as well; little round guys, like two-three inches across.) I finally got it that the world was talking about "Twitter", and not "tweeter", and I was vastly relieved.

            But then I started doing this stream-of-consciousness thing, and went from "Twitter" to "tweeter" to thinking that if you combined those words with a child's playground toy, you'd have...wait for it..."Twitter, tweeter, teeter, totter".

            I'll bet you 5 bucks the designated driver lady couldn't say that three times real fast with a half-a-dozen cold ones in her.

From the Pentagon Weapons-Testing Program Department- purveyor of "DIY Kits+Tools+Books+Fun" Maker Shed has come up with a kit to combine Diet Coke and Mentos, the breath mint, to "....recreate the Internet sensation in your own backyard! Fresh from their performance at Maker Faire, the guys at EepyBird hand-crafted replica PVC nozzles just like the ones they use themselves. Each kit contains a variety of nozzle cuts to give you the coolest, highest shooting geysers. We'll even throw in a pack of Mentos to get you started (Diet Coke not included)."

            Now I was unaware of the fact that if you combine Mentos with Diet Coke, (and shake vigorously, I would assume, although that inspired a vision of all sorts of people in America, standing in their kitchens in their baggy sweats and bunny slippers, putting a handful of Mentos into a 2-liter bottle of Diet Coke, and then shaking their arms, legs and torso around in mad abandon, and then wondering why the bottle of Diet Coke/Mentos is still just sitting there on the counter), that there would be an adverse reaction. (Gotta love the folks at Maker Shed and their hyperbole: "Each kit contains a variety of nozzle cuts to give you the coolest, highest shooting geysers", which I thought for a moment was a bunch of senior citizens with guns, firing them into the sky, but then I realized the word was "geysers", not "geezers"). Anyway, having never combined these two products, I was blissfully ignorant of the, again I would assume this, fact that the unintentional result of the mixing of two such elemental forces of nature would produce these "geezers", err, sorry, "geysers".

            Sean Fallon, the correspondent for MSN.com's Technolog feature who filed this report, suggested in the article not to "...forget to wear your goggles because I'm sure that Coke isn't nearly as refreshing when it's shot in your eyeballs at high velocity".

            Wouldn't this make a great high-speed douche?

From the Scraping The Bottom Of The Gene Pool Department- a group of geniuses that call themselves CyberGuys have recently introduced a new product that makes you wonder if it's humanly possible for people to get any more stupid.

            The "Wheelmate Laptop Steering Wheel Desk" is now being marketed on Amazon.com as the perfect complementary product for that busy driver on your gift list who needs another moronic excuse to not pay attention while operating a motor vehicle. That's right, sports fans, for a mere $24.95 (shipping and handling not included), you can obtain one of these handy-dandy little devices, and improve your driving-time work product tremendously. (Think I'm kidding? Check this out: http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B000IZGIA8?ie=UTF8&tag=craziestgcom-20&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B000IZGIA8.)

            The best thing about this article was reading the "product reviews" on Amazon from people who have actually bought and used this item. One from "Bob Dobbs" I am going to use in its entirety (which I hope is all right with Mr. Dobbs and the Amazon people):

            "I read some 4 and 5 star reviews by those who used this device successfully to change a baby while driving. On that basis, I bought one. I put my baby on it and drove for over an hour. It did not change. Same baby. I am glad it worked for some people but I will be returning mine. (The steering wheel desk, not the baby.)" (This guy Dobbs and I share a similar warped sense of humor.)

            Stupidity, thy name is human being.

From the Pentagon Weapons-Testing Program Department_Part Two- in an article entitled "Rubber Band Gatling Gun Protects Ft. Cubicle", GadgetsAndGear.com introduced a weapon of such awe-inspiring and fear-inducing proportions that words seem almost inadequate to portray the emotions raised by this frightening piece of office ordnance. (FYI, the "gatling gun" was the multi-barreled precursor of the modern machine gun, and was invented back in the 1860s by a man named Dr. Richard J. Gatling; Dr. Gatling went on to invent the rubber band a number of years later.)

            The Rubber Band Gatling Gun is made of solid billet aluminum, (did you know that the word "aluminum" is "munimula" backwards?), and is capable of being operated in either single-shot mode or a terrifying barrage of #64 rubber bands "as fast as you can crank them" mode, at the user's discretion. (GadgetsAndGear.com says that a "longer" barrel may be substituted "upon request", to provide for firing longer, larger rubber bands, I assume to inflict more punishment on the enemy.)

            I just want to know how the HR people will write up the injury report for the insurance company: "Subject employee sustained an eye injury while on a reconnaissance mission to determine enemy troop strength; employee was struck in the face with a fast-moving #64 rubber band while crawling out from behind a desk."

            There is no mandatory waiting period when purchasing the Rubber Band Gatling Gun.

Its hard for me to imagine that there are people out there in the big world that actually make my ex-in-laws look like Einsteins, until I read a few of the above...

Love and departmental memos,

PJTT

copyright 2011 Krissongs, Inc.

...and I Thought Being Pope Had It's Problems...

(This is a "reprint" of a post I wrote back in early February; a new "episode" is coming soon. PJTT, 3/15/11)

One of the biggest responsibilities inherent with being Pope of the All John All The Time World Church is taking a leading role in talking about what's being done to combat debilitating and life-threatening diseases, encouraging research into these dread killers and promoting fundraising to support that research. The AJATTWC has created a number of missions to address such horrors as acute hangnail, shingles (the disease, not the roof-covering), bubonic plague and many others. The AJATTWC stands second to no other organization in its quest to find cures for the maladies that face all of mankind, every day.

But despite all our efforts, not to mention the $9.38 we've spent pursuing ways to combat such heart-breaking illnesses like crickets, halitosis...damn, hang on, the Popephone is ringing...JTT...hi, Mike...its what?...oh, RICKets...sorry, I guess I blew that one...thanks, dude...

Anyway, it recently came to my attention that there is rampant in the world today a new and insidious malady that, even with all our resources and manpower, ($54.36, two bunsen burners, a pipette, which I assume is a small pipe, and a couple of lab techs from the Alfred E. Newman School of Medicine and Massage Parlor), we have failed to bring under control. It's a disease that, up until now, has been largely overlooked by and rarely spoken of in the halls of medical science.

That's right, boys and girls, I'm talking about orgasm allergy.

I first became aware of this monstrous disease from an article I read on MSN.com, where the plight of a Mr. A and his battle with orgasm allergy was chronicled.

It seems that Mr. A (which is how he was portrayed in the article), a 50-year-old married man, had suffered from this allergy since the age of 19. Every time he ejaculates, Mr. A "would experience fever, weakness, exhaustion, loss of initiative, headaches, disordered speech, irritability, forgetfulness and frightening dreams, not to mention swollen lips and throat." Yeah, not to mention. (Needless to say, puberty for this guy was the only time sex was any fun. And in those days, you're all by yourself. And thinking about some of the women I've slept with over the years, I totally get the "frightening dreams" thing.)

The article goes on to state that, "The symptoms were so severe that he and his wife (HIS WIFE!!) planned intercourse for Fridays so he would have two days to recover before returning to work on Monday." (Then it gets serious.) "HE ALSO SUFFERED FROM PREMATURE EJACULATION, SO THE PROBLEM WAS NO PICNIC FOR MRS. A EITHER."

Okay, I'm Pope of the AJATTWC, and, as such, people expect from me a modicum of compassion for my fellow man and his travails. And while I'm sure this is not a laughing matter to Mr. A, you have to admit that, just on the surface of it, it does have its humorous side, although I suspect Mr. A, however, is probably not what you would call a happy camper.

As of this moment, as Pope of the All John All The Time World Church, I am pledging all of our considerable resources (the 54 bucks, the equipment, the two lab techs, the whole schmear) to battle this dread sickness, and I will further pledge that I will see that every effort is made to effect a cure for orgasm allergy in our lifetimes.

And it was no picnic for Mrs. A either.

Love and test tubes,

PJTT

copyright 2011 Krissongs, Inc.

Try To Keep Occupied And Out Of Trouble, Please

!!! MAJOR ANNOUNCEMENT !!! 

(not to be confused with General Alarm or Private Screening)

TO ALL THE LOYAL FOLLOWERS OF POPE JOHN THE TALL AND THE ALL JOHN ALL THE TIME WORLD CHURCH...

Hi.

(That's what you might call a modest beginning after that buildup.)

Anyway, please be advised that your Pope Guy is taking a few days off; I will be back with a new post on Monday, 3/14/11. (And if you don't log onto my blog on Monday to see my new post, I will send Ninjas from the Church to poop in your garden, and if you don't have a garden, then in your back yard, and if you don't have a...never mind.)

You see, when I started my blog back on January 18th, I had no idea how INCREDIBLY difficult it would be to write something clever and interesting every day (I figure I hit the "clever and interesting" qualifier a couple of times a week, give or take), so after almost two months of blatant silliness, I'm ready for a break.

But I'll tell you what, I won't leave you without some alternatives. Over the next few days, rather than wallow in the misery of being deprived of my breathless prose, here's some suggestions to keep your minds occupied (you're on your own for keeping your hands out of trouble):

-read (or reread) my earlier posts; there's a whole archive of craziness to the right (--->), and I'll bet you five dollars to a cold dog turd that you haven't read all of them (shit, I haven't even read all of them);

-drink copious quantities of beer;

-write me emails begging me to return sooner (just write your sniffling, pleading entreaties to me in any of the "Comments" boxes at the end of each post, and somehow, through the magic of the 'Net and all the little guys inside my computer, they will come to my Inbox; apropos of nothing, the Pope uses Hotmail as his email provider, and Hotmail has this automatic message that pops up when your Inbox is empty that says "Wow, you have a really clean inbox" which somehow sounds mildly indecent to me);

-drink copious quantities of beer;

-run a marathon; for those of you in less than "marathon-running" condition, drink copious quantities of beer;

-or instead of writing your pathetic, whining entreaties to me begging me to return early in the "Comments" boxes, here's my email address so you can send them direct (what a dipstick I am sometimes):

            popejohnthetall@hotmail.com

-drink copious quantities of beer;

-send me some ideas for future posts (I have to tell you, its REALLY HARD coming up with topics to write about every day; how about a little help, huh?)

-drink copious, oh, I suggested that one already, didn't I? Sorry.

Okay, that should keep you guys busy until the 14th.

Love and vacations,

PJTT

copyright 2011 Krissongs, Inc.

I Want A Polish Sausage With Everything

Boy, we no more than got home from the Anophelesian Rings when off we go again; your Pope can barely find time to stop long enough to take a good crap lately.

Okay, let me explain: your Pope Guy (that would be me, Pope John The Tall of the All John All The Time World Church) and the "official" canine of the Pope, the Harley Dog, headed off to the planet Hyperion in the Caecilian Halcyon in the Rings of Anopheles last week, to check out some property because the Church's Bored of Elders said we had to ("Aw, do we hafta'?" "Yes, you hafta'."), so we went and we just got back yesterday. And I really wanted to take a few days off, but as we were unpacking, the Popephone rang...

"...JTT...hey, Mike, yeah, we just got in...what?...okay, run that by me again, in English this time...you're kidding, right?...no...no...no, no way, we just got back, we made that emergency trip to Hercyon III last week, and then the trip to Hyperion, no...I don't care if its an emergency, no...the Swimsuit Edition?...(big sigh of resignation here)...all right, tell the guys to get the Kidding ready again...when we get back I'm done for awhile, all right?...yeah...no, I'm not stopping off to get you a new hamster table tennis paddle, get it yourself...okay...okay, I gotta' go, I'll call you when we get back...yeah, you too...shit."

That was my consigliore, the Right Reverend Monsignor Michael Jordan, (no, not the one who played baseball for the Birmingham Barons); he gave me the great news that the crack(ed) AJATTWC staff has located another trouble spot in the world that needs the Harley Dog and I to fly in and bring them the soothing balm of Johnism. (I always take HD with me because he's my back-up navigator.)

So the guys in the Church ground crew went to work preparing the Royal Unionship Kidding, or the RU Kidding for short, (see photo <-- oops, sorry -->) which is my "official" atomic powered rocket ship, for the trip. The Kidding is a fantastic ship; she's equipped with HyperAromaDrive, which enables her to attain speeds in excess of the Speed of Aroma, and she sleeps six adults comfortably, or a shitload of midgets, and has her own onboard hookah bar and currency exchange. She's capable of interstellar flight, or these occasional short trips to "hot spots" around the globe, and since she can exceed the Speed of Aroma, we can usually get wherever we're going, anywhere in the world, in less time than it takes Britney Spears to get her clothes off. (FYI, let me explain the "Speed of Aroma"; the Speed of Light is a visual measurement, the Speed of Sound is an aural measurement, and the Speed of Aroma is an olfactory measurement. No, not an "old factory", "olfactory"; look it up. Anyway, it means that the RU Kidding can really haul ass.)

Prior to liftoff, RRMMJ briefed me on the "mission"; it seems that the AJATTWC staff has discovered a pagan, Druid-like ritual that takes place every year at this time in Germany, in a number of regions, but the one he wants us to concentrate on happens in Thuringia, which is mostly known for the sausage of the almost same name, the Thuringer, which is not to be confused with the "polish sausage" which claims as its home the country of Poland, or the "smoked sausage", which hails from the Great Smoky Mountains of the Eastern United States (no it doesn't), or the "blood sausage", which is originally from the planet Transylvania, as was Dr. Frank N. Furter, the mad, transvestite doctor from the movie, "The Rocky Horror Picture Show", who's main character was not a sausage (although, after watching the movie again last night, it might be thought of as the main theme). According to the staff, this pagan ritual is known in Thuringia as "Shrovetide", and is an annual event.

So we programmed the Kidding for Thuringia, Germany (..."second star to the right and straight on 'til tomorrow..."), and off we went.

We arrived in Sausageland, err, Thuringia as the festival was just beginning, and set about interrogating the "natives" about the custom of "Shrovetide", to determine what steps we would have to take to dissuade the locals from their heathen ways and to encourage them to embrace the message of Johnism. (Fat chance.)

We approached and spoke with quite a few of the people at the festival, and they all seemed like just regular, getting-ready-to-have-a-good-time-at-the-Shrovetide folks; nobody seemed to need converting to Johnism. We finally ran into the Oberburgerhorzenmeister of Thuringia, Otto Hotzenpfaffer, a roly-poly, chubby-cheeked individual, to get his take on the ceremony, and to see if HE felt the citizens of Thurinigia would be open to finding out about the wonders of Johnism.

"Mr. Oberburgerhorzenmeister, is it true that Shrovetide is a disgusting, pagan ritual where Thuringianians dance wild, naked dances in the streets of the town, consume vast quantities of German beer and sausage, sacrifice virgins to the pagan gods of the forest and wear those goofy-looking 'Straw Bear' costumes during the festival, we hope?" we asked His Honor.

"Well, Your Popeness, why don't you stick around for the rest of the Festival and find out for yourself?" he replied, with a wicked, sausage-eating grin.

So HD and I decided to stay overnight and observe Shrovetide in Thuringia.

(...the following day...)

Well, Harley and I are back onboard the Kidding, on our way to the headquarters of the AJATTWC in the bucolic San Fernando Valley; we bid a fond farewell to Oberburgerhorzenmeister Hotzenpfaffer (try saying that three times real fast with about a half dozen good German beers in you...go ahead, I'll wait...tough, huh?) and all are new Thurginianian friends earlier this morning, and off we went.

Anyway, I don't think we accomplished our mission; that's a picture of me (third guy in the line) at the top of the page, and the cargo hold of the Kidding is full of German beer and Thuringer sausages and HD is passed out in the co-pilot's seat, looking really hung over.

I'm not sure I'm cut out for this "missionary" thing.

Love and Druids,

PJTT

copyright 2011 Krissongs, Inc.

Pair Of Bulls, Err, Parables

I was poking around through my library the other day, looking for something to read, and it occurred to me that an awful lot of the titles I saw before me could easily have other stories attached to them; in fact, the more I thought about it, the more your Pope realized that, in some cases, maybe I could change the stories just a tad, and use them as parables, or teaching stories. I wouldn't change them dramatically; let's just say "alter" them a little. (Hey, I'm the Pope Guy of the All John All The Time World Church; what other word but "alter" would you be appropriate for a Church?)

Hang on, the Popephone is ringing...JTT...Mike, how you doin'?...how do you spell it?...altAr...shit...yeah, I thought it was a pretty good pun...you sure about that spelling?...(big sigh of exasperation here)...yeah, okay, I'll fix it...hey, how many do you think the Dodgers will win this season?...yeah, I figure 70 MAYBE, if they're lucky...hey, it could be worse, it could be the Cubs...yeah, okay, gotta' run, thanks...shit.

My consigliore, the Right Reverend Monsignor Michael Jordan, (no, not the one that starred in "Space Jam") tells me I used the wrong word back there in the opening paragraph; well, actually, it was the right word, but the pun didn't make any...oh shit, never mind.

So anyway, back to the titles/stories thing: I decided to take a look at some of the books in my library and come up with alternate story lines that, I don't know, might be more suited to delivering a spiritual message to my followers. So with apologies to the authors, and in no particular order, here goes:

*Stranger In A Strange Land* (by Robert Heinlein)

            "Stranger" tells the story of a young man named Charlie Sheen, an actor (using the term loosely) who was born on the planet Mars and who begins to indulge himself in drugs/booze/hookers at an early age. His parents are astronaut/settlers; his father is the astrogator for the colonizing mission, and an actor as well, and confused about the difference between a horrible disease like cancer, and his son's self-inflicted addictions, to which his son, in his sheer mopery, will not admit. Charlie comes to Earth after the colony on Mars fails, and the remaining settlers that bring him home are subsequently taken out and shot as soon as the world learns what an asshole Charlie really is and what a great disservice they had done us all by bringing him back to Earth instead of drowning this douche-bag in one of the Martian canals like they should have done.

            There's a lot more to the story-line, but mostly its the same old stupid shit, over and over again, and really not worth telling.

            The moral lesson we can obtain from this story is that if you give some guys a johnson, they'll step on it every chance they can.

*Midnight In The Garden Of Good And Evil* (by John Berendt)

            The new story line to "Midnight" is the old basic good versus evil theme, but with a twist; the "good" guy turns out to be a schmuck and the "bad" guys win, for a change.

            The "hero" of the story is a man named John Ensign, who grows up to become a U.S. Senator from a sinful state, and throughout the book is portrayed as a God-fearing, conservative Christian man who lives and believes in the principles of the "Moral Right" and courageously defends those principles in the halls of our Congress. Ensign fights the good fight at every opportunity, railing against the sins of abortion, demanding that the evil President who was caught with his pants down in the White House and then lied to the entire country about his actions be impeached (and for my money, ignoring the hypocrisy of Ensign's position, which we'll see in a moment, he was right about that scumbag Bill Clinton; I can forgive the moral lapse, hell, we're all guilty of those periodically, although that still doesn't make what he did right, but to LIE to us all, right in our faces, there is no defense for that) and fighting against the horror of same-sex marriages. Senator Ensign, a married man dedicated to his family and his constituents, was clearly on the side of the angels, and was determined to not let the evils of "liberalness" overrun our great country.

            Until it was discovered that the "good" Senator was having an affair with a campaign worker, who just happened to be married to one of his top aides, and to further the insult, had also asked his wealthy parents to pay the aide $96,000 to ensure the aide's silence about the affair, which they did.

            Faced with potential charges of hypocrisy, and the rampant inability to keep his johnson in his pants where it belonged, the disgraced Ensign announces that he will retire at the end of his current term, and not run for reelection in 2012, a contest he probably wouldn't have won anyway.

            I will use the "good" Senator's own words to portray the moral we can all learn from this sad tale: "There are consequences to sin, and when you're in a leadership role, those consequences can affect a lot of other people," he said. Gee, dumbbell, do you really think so.

*The Witches Of Eastcomptonwick* (by John Updike)

            This classic tale tells the story of two African-American sisters, and their loud-mouth warlock father, who grow up in the poverty-stricken area of Eastcomptonwick to become, with much hard work and dedication, incredibly talented athletes and international tennis stars. Unfortunately, at a point in their careers, they become convinced of their own natural superiority to all the rest of us mere mortals, and begin to believe that they may say or do as they please, and utter any kind of vapid, and occasionally insulting, nonsense that enters their heads, and that the world will accept it as "Gospel" (which is, after all, only fitting, considering they're of the Jehovah's Witness faith, so their grasp of the Word is certainly far superior to that of the rest of us), to the point where one of the sisters tells a lowly tennis line judge, who she believes made an erroneous judgment call on one of her shots during a tennis match where she was playing abysmally, that she "would like to shove this fucking ball right down your throat". (That's a quote, by the way; I did not make that up.)

            After a time, their skills begin to fade and they begin losing consistently where they had previously won consistently, and the sister with the mouth begins to experience physical injuries that prohibit her from even playing, to the threat of potentially ending her brilliant career. And there is no joy in Eastcomptonwick.

            And the moral we might gain from this sad tale? Every now and again, justice prevails, and if you stand still in one place long enough, what goes around comes around.

*Patriot Games (by Tom Clancy)*

            The author gives us an deep insight into the mind of the main character of the story, Jack Fryem, who, after foiling a plot by the evil "Liberals" to take over the government of the United States, goes on to form his own "conservative" political "party", which he calls the "Teabags" and is actually just an offshoot of the another "conservative" political party, and then goes about the country exhorting the citizens to rise up and smite the evil "Liberals", who still cling to their nefarious ways despite having their plans for domination foiled by Jack, and to force our legislators to slash spending for necessary programs, to shrink the size of our bloated Federal government and to adhere blindly to their Code: God, Themselves, Motherhood And Apple Pie ala mode with ice cream, as my mother used to say.

            Fryem goes on to become a leader of the Moral Right, until the tragic end, when he is committed involuntarily to the Home For The Chronically Bewildered by his own children, because they can't stand listening to his bullshit any longer.

            The moral here is simple: most of the people in this country (including myself) don't particularly like EITHER extreme, Liberal or Conservative, and that if the dumbshits in Washington don't learn to start working together for OUR benefit, and not their own, this country could easily go right to hell in a hand-basket.

*'Salem's Westboro Lot (by Stephen King)*

            A story of evil incarnate, visited upon a congregation of God-fearing Baptists, whose church is located in a small town in Westboro Kansas. The evil begins when a stupidpire, cleverly disguised as a minister, comes to town to become the pastor of the little church, and begins to infect the congregation with the disease of "repulsive, stupid hatred of all others that are different from us", or stupidshitism.

            The entire congregation is slowly turned into "stupidshits", and they begin to attempt, along with their pastor, the evil stupidpire, to infect others across the country and turn all of us into stupidshits just like them. The horror is finally halted when the good citizens of this country, finally recognizing what the stupidpire is up to, round up all the stupidshits and ship them off to an island in the Sargasso Sea, where they are able spew their hate and disgusting ideas out against each other, to their heart's content.

            And the moral of this story? With the exception of the Nazis in WWII Germany, hatred as a "growth market" has a limited appeal. While the Supreme Court was correct in its ruling that these repulsive monsters have a right to voice their opinions, eventually they'll go away, and the decent people of this great country will prevail; in other words, if we ignore them, they'll self-destruct. But they are a real bunch of "stupidshits" nonetheless.

*Jurassic Park (by Michael Crichton)*

            The author tells the story of two men who have been in the public eye for so long that they eventually become "fossils" of another age when they still had relevance, and weren't the embarrassment they become to themselves and to us all.

            The main characters are Hef Hughner and the Mickster of Jagger, and the story is a short one; they have their years of fame and glory, rising to the top of their professions, and then, when they should have the good taste and sense to slide comfortably into their respective old ages, they hang on and on and on and on, much like the Energizer Bunny, who would give them both a run for their money in an IQ contest, and become laughable parodies of themselves.

            And what lesson can we learn from this sad tale of too much, too long? Quit when you reach the top, boys, because the only direction from there is down.

It is my sincere hope, as your Pope Dude and spiritual guiding light, that you can take away from the various re-workings of these classic tales a sense of good taste and decorum, and that these "parables" will in some small way make your journey on the road towards enlightenment an easier one.

You're buying into that, right?

Love and book reviews,

PJTT

copyright 2011 Krissongs, Inc.