The ground crew here at the All John All The Time World Church completed the overhaul this morning of the Royal Unionship Kidding, or the RU Kidding for short, which is the "official" atomic powered rocket ship of your Popester, right after we got back from Hercyon III, so we took her on a "shake-down" cruise over the Sargasso Sea this morning to test out the new HyperAromaDrive that they installed, to make sure everything was in proper working order. Harley Dog and I, Harley being the "official" canine of the Pope Guy and my back-up navigator, have a big trip planned later this week to the Caecilian Halcyon in the Rings of Anopheles, to visit the planet Hyperion to see about some property the Church in interested in obtaining. (Harley doesn't want to go; he'd rather stay in town and keep track of the most recent stupidity by that douche-bag Charlie Sheen. And Lindsay Lohan's trial is set for this week also, assuming she doesn't cop a plea, and Harley says he doesn't want to miss that circus either. I accused him of having no taste and he got mad at me, but he got even a little while ago; he came over here by my desk, ripped a good one and then went and lay down across the room. No Girl Scout cookies for you this week, Godzilla breath.)
(The judge at LiLo's preliminary hearing told her that if she copped a plea in front of his court that she was going to jail. However, if she doesn't agree to a plea bargain and goes to trial for felony theft, they have videos of her wearing the alleged stolen merchandise, so she's probably going to jail. Either way, she goes to jail, and that sounds like a win/win situation for the rest of us.)
Harley and I have never been to the Rings of Anopheles, or to the planet Hyperion, or at least I haven't; I'm assuming HD hasn't either, but he doesn't tell me everything, so he may have visited the planet previously. Hyperion is less than a parsnip, err, parsec in distance from Earth, so, with the new HyperAromaDrive that the boys installed in the Kidding last week, we should be able to get there in about 4.68 quarks, or about a day and a half in Earth time.
The only thing Hyperion is known for is being located on the main trade route through the Rings, that and some outstanding vineyards where they raise Anophelesian grapes, which are fermented into a really tasty Pinot Noir by a bunch of friars at the Abbey of Our Lady Of Perpetual Motion. (Those are monks that make the wine, not chickens.) My consigliore, the Right Reverend Monsignor Michael Jordan (no, not the one who went to North Carolina) asked me to bring back a couple of cases for him, but he kicked my butt in hamster table tennis the other day, and I'm still mad at him for that, so I'm not going to do it. Screw him, I'm the Pope Guy, let him get his own Anophelesian Pinot Noir. Jerk. (He cheats; he uses an over-sized paddle, and I keep telling him it's against the Hamster Table Tennis Association rules, but he claims I'm wrong, and that I'm just being a sore loser. I ordered a copy of the HTTA Official Rule Book, but it hasn't arrived yet, so I haven't been able to prove him wrong.)
The Bored of Elders (when I first wrote that, I spelled "elders" with an "a" by mistake; that would have made them a Bored of trees) of the Church want me to check out this property that they're interested in, as a site for a new cathedral; they feel that the AJATTWC should have an outpost in the Rings for the Hyperionians. Me, I'm not so sure; I think we should leave the folks on Hyperion to their own devices (and some of their devices are pretty strange, if you ask me; that phallic-looking thing attached to what looks like a reciprocating saw that they use for...well, never mind that now) and build the outpost cathedral in another area of the Rings.
I have nothing against Hyperionians especially; okay, sure, they have the second head and the vertical stripe of purple that runs up the back of the females, and yeah, they have that strange language which uses the word "like" repeatedly (wait a minute, that's "Valley Speak" from here on Earth, excuse me), where their alphabet contains no vowels, so all their words come out looking like "kjhtwsmnd" and "pwsqkzbnt", which wouldn't confuse most American politicians, considering how they talk out of both sides of their mouths most of the time anyway, but it confuses the hell out of me.
No, my problem with Hyperionians is their really warped sense of humor. You see, they're the ones behind all these UFO "incidents" that Earth people keep reporting but never can authenticate; yeah, they think it's funny as all get out to engineer some kind of "event" where some poor slob from Earth will report sightings of a "chewy mint shaped solid craft" and aerial objects resembling a "ring," a "jellyfish" and a "silver voile spin top" (???) to some official agency somewhere. (Those are quotes from various UFO sightings made to the British Ministry of Defense over the years, which were released online in a number of files recently by Her Majesty's Government.)
Some of the reports from the BMD go all the way back to the '50s, although most of them are from the period from 1997 to 2005, and include such accounts as the one from a man who "said he believed he had been 'abducted' by aliens in October 1998 after seeing an unidentified craft hover over his London home and finding that he had gained an hour of time in the process." Another one "reveals how the Royal Air Force was inundated with calls one morning in 1967 after residents of southern England awoke to find six small beeping UFOs lying in a perfect line from the Isle of Sheppey to the Bristol Channel." (The Hyperionians love picking on the Brits; they're so "stiff upper lip" and straight-laced and all. And those Isle of Sheppeyians, are they all "cheerio, pip, pip" or what?)
Another time a bomb disposal unit was dispatched to the Village of Aldermaston (why do all the towns and villages in England sound like "Aldermaston" and "Throckington Home" and "Thinslicedham" and "Worcestershiresauce" and so forth?), where they "blew up one of the UFOs" that a resident found in the woods outside town, after "both the army and the defense ministry's intelligence unit were mobilized for what was considered a real 'alien invasion'".
Hey, I'm all in favor a great practical joke, but the "Hypers", as they call themselves, take it to extremes. Next thing you know, they'll be putting paper bags full of poop on people's front porches, lighting them on fire and then ringing the doorbell, and then running like hardonts (that's a Hyperion gazelle) down the street and stopping behind a parked car to watch the poor slob who lives in the house come out and stamp out the flames. (I've never done that myself, but I've heard people tell stories about how some kids back in Illinois in the early '60s did that to a guy named Adams who lived in their neighborhood and was the kind of douche-bag that sat by his window and watched the kids play and when a ball came up into his perfectly mown and tended yard, he'd come out and take the ball and wouldn't give it back to the kids. I personally would never have done such a thing, nor would I have "soaped" that asshole's windows real good one Halloween with candles. Ever try to get candle wax off of glass? Bring something to scrape with.) ("Old Man Adams", as we called him, was personally responsible for me setting the world record in the 100 yard dash "under 12 years of age" division the following Halloween, when my buddy Dave Heaney and I went back for Round Two of the Great Window Soaping; as we crept around the back of Adams' garage, sneaking along, bent over at the waist, with me in the lead, I came around the corner and saw this pair of shoes standing there, which were attached to "OMA", waiting for us. I let out a scream and tore off, Dave right behind me, and we didn't stop running for about six blocks.)
I think I'm going to dissuade the Bored on the idea of building a cathedral on Hyperion; I woke up the other night and saw this "tortilla chip-shaped" object with blue blinking lights moving across the sky of the San Fernando Valley at great speed; I was going to report it to the LAPD, but I figured it was just the "Hypers", having some fun.
At least no one rang my doorbell.
Love and alien whoopee cushions,
PJTT
copyright 2011 Krissongs, Inc.
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