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.
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