Okay, by a show of hands, how many of you are in favor of the Pope not making a smart remark about Christina Aguilera getting arrested recently in West Hollywood for "public intoxication", and how if I were her, and I had screwed up the National Anthem at the Super Bowl as badly as she did, that I would go out and get hammered too? (One, two, three, five, okay, there's a few of you.)
As directed by their Pope Guy, the staff here at the All John All The Time World Church keeps an eye out for areas they feel could use a "missionary" visit from the Pope, to hopefully spread the word of "Johnism" to those unfortunate individuals who seem to so desperately to need it. They review Internet articles, newspaper articles, field phone and email inquiries for help and generally attempt to stay abreast of trouble spots and populations that need assistance. (Given the state of the world these days, they can pretty much put a map of the globe on the wall and throw darts at it.)
Depending on where in world the Harley Dog and I have to go to conduct our "missions", Harley being the "official" canine of the Pope of the AJATTWC, will determine whether we use the Royal Unionship Kidding, or the RU Kidding for short, my atomic powered rocket ship, or the SS Dee Dee, the "official" yacht of the Pope Dude, to get there. Since the headquarters of the AJATTWC is in the sun-drenched, bucolic San Fernando Valley, which as most of you are probably already aware is part of the city of LA (pronounced LAH), sometimes we can walk. (The San Fernando Valley, besides being the home of "Valley speak", is also the world headquarters of the porn industry as well; Harley and I, being old and not attractive in our birthday suits, do not participate in the porn industry activities, other than as observers. What I mean to say here is that we observe the various activities of the industry, not porn itself, but we certainly would if one of our faithful followers sent us a URL link. Strictly in a clinical way, of course.)
The staff has found evidence of a need for Johnism in the lovely Southern town of Savannah GA recently (more on that in a moment). The wonderful book by author John Berendt, "Midnight In The Garden Of Good And Evil", was set in Savannah, as was the movie, which was pretty good as well, and your Pope has been wanting to go there ever since he read it. Although its sad that Harley and I have to go there to address the crippling lack of Johnism in the town, I'm still looking forward to the trip. (At my age, I look forward to a trip to Walmart for a new supply of ExLax too.)
After some debate and consideration, we decided to take the SS Dee Dee to Savannah, mostly because the Kidding was in for repairs. (My ground crew was installing a revised version of the HyperAromaDrive, which is the power supply that allows the Kidding to achieve speeds in excess of the Speed of Aroma.) We plotted a course for the Dee Dee that would take south from San Pedro, where we keep her moored, down along the Left Coast, taking a hard left turn south of Mexico, east through the Panama Canal (any time I hear something about the Canal I think of the song "Panama" by Van Halen..."reach down...between my legs and...ease the seat back..."; thank you, David Lee Roth, one of the sleaziest human beings to ever walk the planet, but for all of that still one of my favorite singers of all time), through the Gulf of Mexico to the Atlantic, another hard left just past Florida and north to Savannah. Piece of cake, preferably devil's food with chocolate icing.
Now there's a few things you should know about the Dee Dee; first, she's named after my ex-girlfriend Dee Dee Spanxalot, an extraordinary woman with unusual ideas about the use of a trumpet, an electric cattle-prod and a 55-gallon drum of mushroom gravy to achieve the height of carnal pleasure. (Fun girl.) Secondly, she's (the yacht, not my ex-girlfriend) a 245 foot, twin-engined craft capable of 5982 knots (that's 38 mph to you non-nautical types, or piR2 to the power of 10 plus tax and license), sleeps 115 guests, (or a shitload of midgets), has a swimming pool, beauty salon, casino, massage parlor, pizza parlor, several tennis courts, a movie studio, two pubs, two Starbucks stores, the Statue of Liberty and its own zip-code. Great vessel.
Now I'm sure you're wondering why my staff picked Savannah? Pray tell, oh most exalted Popemeister, you're probably exclaiming right now, yes? Okay, I'll tell you (you were pretty sure I would, right?)
It seems that, once again, as has happened several times in recent weeks (see my posts from 2/27/11 and 3/1/11), those insidious Girl Scouts have made the news with stories of their nefarious (is that a great word or what? Its almost as good as "gerbils") attempts to enslave all of America with a serious cookie jones. This time it happened in Savannah, the home of their cult, right in front of the mansion their founder, Juliette Gordon (Swing) Low Sweet Chariot. That's right, sports fans, those horrible little girls in their forest green uniforms and berets are at it again.
According to a report from the Associated Press, the GS Army had, as they had done for many years in the past apparently, set up a stand on the sidewalk in front of the mansion home of their founder, to sell, and further our addiction to, their Samoas and Thin Mint cookies. Unfortunately, the area involved, at the "busy intersection of Bull Street and Oglethorpe Avenue" is within the city limits of Savannah, and therefore subject to city ordinance, which forbids "peddling" on a city sidewalk. (When I first wrote that sentence, I goofed and spelled "peddling" with an "i", making the word "piddling", which I suspect is against several Savannah city ordinances as well.) So a complaint was lodged (the AP report didn't say who lodged said complaint) and the Scouts were forced to cease and desist. Randolph Scott, the city's zoning administrator, (and not the actor, I assume, who died back in 1987), called for a survey, hoping to find a "private space" between the house and the sidewalk that was not covered by the ordinance, to no avail. Then Scott suggested that the Scouts sell "from a small courtyard on the side of the house", but local fire marshalls said that would block an exit route, and since the Low Mansion is a National Historic Landmark that has daily tours, that was a no-no as well.
City Alderman Van Johnson (another dead actor) has suggested that the City Council consider an annual zoning variance, to allow the Girls In Green to peddle their cookies in front of the home of their Founder. "Juliette Low brings thousands of tourists from around the country. Juliette Low is known for Girl Scouts, and Girl Scouts are known for cookies," Johnson said. "Let's be reasonable. Let them sell their cookies." (Oh Evil Pharoah, let my people go. You douche-bag.)
The executive director of the Low house, Fran Harold, said tourists loved buying cookies from the girls at the home. "It's kind of sad for the girls, too," she said. "There's nothing cuter than some little Brownie Girl Scout selling cookies on the sidewalk in front of the Juliette Low house." The AP report went on to say that the "little Brownie Girl Scouts" would typically sell upwards of 250 boxes in a three-hour period, although it didn't specify what three-hour period to which they were referring.
Contrary to Ms. Harold's concept of what constitutes "cute", we here at AJATTWC believe that these horrid little girls in their horrid little green uniforms are contributing to the further enslavement of Americans to the illicit joys of baked goods, and Harley and I, at the urging of my staff, are going to Savannah to support and encourage all Savannahianians to resist the temptation to assist the Girl Scouts, in whatever fashion, be it by zoning variances or some other type of legal legerdemain (another really cool word), in their efforts to this end.
It is our feeling that by introducing the citizens of Gjha-Gjha-Georgia to the tenets of Johnism, that we can make them realize that the buying of cookies from Girl Scouts is just the first step down the road that leads to further addiction, to fudge brownies (how's that for a hell of an unintentional pun?), to Little Debbie cake rolls and to the final insult to our bodies, Ben and Jerry's Chunky Monkey ice cream. With chocolate sauce. And whipped cream.
We're going to stop off at a Baskin-Robbins on our way there; can we bring you anything?
Love and apple fritters,
PJTT
copyright 2011 Krissongs, Inc.
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