Yo Hablo El Spanishola Y Something

Since the All John All The Time World Church is just that, a world church, as the Pope of this venerable institution, I've decided to start making my "posts" available in languages other than English, such as Chinese, Dutch and Quartle, the language spoken on the planet Hercyon III. The message of the soothing balm of Johnism should never be constrained due to a language barrier, or a criminal indictment for that matter.

So in an effort to give my faithful followers here in the States (Innocence and Confusion) an idea how my deathless prose comes across in say, Spanish or Dutch, and, with all false modesty aside, to showcase my rather impressive linguistic skills, here's today's message, going out to all my brothers and sisters in AJATTWC, as well as to all of you seekers of the light who, as yet, haven't had the joyous experience of being exposed to Johnism.

"El abrelatas de arriba eléctrico de la puerta del garage fue inventado por C.G. Johnson en 1926 en la ciudad de Hartford, Indiana. Los abrelatas eléctricos de la puerta del garage no llegaron a ser populares hasta que Era Meter Company de Chicago ofreciera uno después de la Segunda Guerra Mundial donde la puerta de arriba del garage se podría abrir vía un cojín dominante situado en un poste en el extremo de la calzada o de un interruptor dentro del garage. [1] El contrario a la creencia popular, el abrelatas eléctrico no proporciona la energía de elevación real de abrir y de cerrar una puerta pesada del garage. En lugar, la mayor parte de la energía de elevación real viene a partir de los muelles equilibradores que están bajo tensión para levantar la puerta del garage vía los cables de acero del contrapeso. El abrelatas eléctrico controla solamente hasta dónde la puerta se abre y se cierra, tan bien como la fuerza la puerta del garage ejerce. En la mayoría de los casos, el abrelatas de la puerta del garage también actúa como cerradura. El abrelatas eléctrico típico de la puerta del garage consiste en una unidad de energía que contenga el motor eléctrico. Los agregados de la unidad de energía a una pista. Una carretilla conectó con un brazo que los agregados a la tapa de la puerta del garage resbalan hacia adelante y hacia atrás en la pista, así la abertura y el closing la puerta del garage. La carretilla es tirada a lo largo de la pista por una cadena, una correa, o un tornillo que las vueltas cuando se funciona el motor. Un mecanismo de suelta rápida se ata a la carretilla para permitir que la puerta del garage sea desconectada del abrelatas para la operación manual durante un apagón o en caso de urgencia. Interruptores de límite en el control de unidad de energía la distancia que la puerta del garage se abre y que se cierra una vez que el motor recibe una señal del botón teledirigido o de la pared de funcionar la puerta. [2] La asamblea entera cuelga sobre la puerta del garage. La unidad de energía cuelga del techo y está situada hacia la parte posterior del garage. El extremo de la pista en el extremo contrario de los agregados de la unidad de energía a un soporte del jefe que se ata a la pared del jefe sobre la puerta del garage. La cabeza de la energía es apoyada generalmente por el hierro de ángulo perforado."

Or possibly you would like to see this in Dutch:

"De elektrische luchtopener van de garagedeur werd uitgevonden door C.G. Johnson in 1926 in de Stad van Hartford, Indiana. De elektrische openers van de Deur van de Garage niet werden populair tot Era Meter Company van Chicago na Wereldoorlog II aanbood waar de luchtgaragedeur via een zeer belangrijk stootkussen die op een post aan het eind van de oprijlaan wordt gevestigd of een schakelaar binnen de garage zou kunnen worden geopend. [1] Het tegendeel aan populair geloof, de elektrische opener verstrekt niet de daadwerkelijke het opheffen bevoegdheid om een zware garagedeur te openen en te sluiten. In plaats daarvan, komt het grootste deel van de daadwerkelijke het opheffen macht uit de counterbalance lentes die onder spanning zijn om de garagedeur via staalcounterbalance kabels op te heffen. De elektrische opener controleert slechts hoe ver de deur opent en sluit, evenals de kracht de garagedeur uitoefent. In de meeste gevallen, doet de opener van de garagedeur ook dienst als slot. De typische elektrische opener van de garagedeur bestaat uit een machtseenheid die de elektrische motor bevat. De machtseenheid maakt aan een spoor vast. Een karretje dat met een wapen wordt verbonden dat aan de bovenkant van de garagedeur vastmaakt glijdt afwisselend op het spoor, waarbij en de garagedeur wordt geopend wordt gesloten. Het karretje wordt getrokken langs het spoor door een ketting, een riem, of een schroef die draaien wanneer de motor in werking wordt gesteld. Een quick-release mechanisme is in bijlage aan het karretje om de garagedeur toe te laten om van de opener voor handverrichting tijdens een stroomuitval worden losgemaakt of in geval van nood. De grens schakelt de controle van de machtseenheid de in afstand de garagedeur opent en sluit zodra de motor een signaal van de afstandsbediening of muurdrukknop ontvangt om de deur in werking te stellen. [2] De volledige assemblage hangt boven de garagedeur. De machtseenheid hangt van het plafond en naar het achtergedeelte van de garage gevestigd. Het eind van het spoor op het tegenovergestelde eind van de machtseenheid maakt aan een kopbalsteun vast die aan de kopbalmuur boven de garagedeur in bijlage is. Het machtshoofd wordt gewoonlijk gesteund door geslagen hoekstaal.

I gives me such a thrill to know that I'm able to reach so many more of you by being able to offer my thoughts and teachings in the other languages of our world, so as to connect with as many of you "seekers of truth" as possible. I'm proud of time and effort I've spent in learning other tongues (although my ex-girlfriend, Dee Dee Spanxalot, didn't agree with that point of view, and let's see if you can make that esoteric leap of comprehension) and I hope that all of my brothers and sisters in the faith that speak in the languages of other nations will be as thrilled with receiving the message of Johnism in their native tongue as I am in delivering it to, shit, the Popephone is ringing...

"PJTT...hey, dude, how's the LamaBall coming?...try using a lighter bat...36 ounces, man, that's a big piece of lumber, try 32...yeah, I'm working on it right now...yeah...yeah...no, most of them won't know what it says, so what, its the image that's important...I know its the history of garage-door openers, and YOU know its the history of garage-door openers, but unless you speak Spanish or Dutch, and where the hell do they speak DUTCH these days, in Lower DopeyLand, for chrissake, nobody else will know...hey, its the IMAGE that counts, remember? I'll look like Pope Magnanimous...too bad, its almost done and I'm running it...tell the Bored I'm still the Pope, okay, its my blog and I'll post what I please...no...no...a FREE one year pass to the Playboy Mansion?...okay...okay...yeah, I'll fix it...yeah, YES, okay...I'll call you later...yeah."

Shit.

That was my consigliore, the Right Reverend Monsignor Michael Jordan (no, not the one who has all the Nike shoes); he says that the Bored of Elders of the AJATTWC says I can't post this without an explanation. (Shit.) Okay, the message that appears above isn't exactly the "soothing balm of Johnism", all right, its, well, its something else. (Shit.) Okay, it's the history of garage-door openers from an article on WikiPedia. (Large sigh of embarrassment here.)

There, I fixed it; I just hope you're all happy now.

I'm going to my room to sulk.

Love and Berlitz,

PJTT

copyright 2011 Krissongs, Inc.

...The Program Will Also Include Several Of Chopin's Etudes...

(I first posted the essay below back on 3/6, but its one of my favorites, so I decide to "repost" it again today. Besides, I didn't have a new post ready, so it was either a rerun or making all my loyal followers go an entire day without the benefit of the soothing balm of Johnism. Enjoy.)

Today's post will be brief, and for that I hope all you loyal followers of the Pope will forgive me; I've been called to the planet Hercyon III on an emergency mission and Harley and I (as most of you know, the Harley Dog is the "official" canine of Pope John The Tall (me) of the All John All The Time World Church) are heading out on the Royal Unionship Kidding, or the RU Kidding for short, which is my atomic powered rocket ship, just as soon as we finish breakfast (waffles for me, dog food for Harley).

We were called to Hercyon III by the Procurator of Memses, Blistex, who is the Guiba for the planet, who sent me an urgent message yesterday, telling me that he had a "situation of a spiritual nature" with one of his hrtibbthlks, which means "astronaut" in Quartle, the language they speak on Hercyon, and that he felt my presence could be of a beneficial nature. Since Hercyon III is fairly close to Earth, only .36 parsecs, we can get there in the Kidding in under a day, or about the time it takes to drive down the 405 Freeway from the Valley to the West Side, which for those of you who don't live in sunny and in the low 70's Southern California, is about 12 miles.

(...later in the day...)

We arrived on Hercyon III and were immediately taken to see the Procurator, who explained that his hrtibbthlks had been through an unsettling experience when he landed on Hercyon III's second moon recently; his ship had strayed slightly off course and crash-landed, safely I am happy to report, on a beach some miles from the moon's landing pad. Blistex then had the hrtibbthlks brought in so I could speak with him.

The hrtibbthlks' name was Zygote, and he was carrying a tiny, but exquisite grand piano and a small man, about a foot tall, as he entered the room. He put the piano and the wee, tiny man down on a table, and the little guy proceeded to sit at the piano and began playing Beethoven's Sonata #14, which as you all are aware is also known as the "Moonlight Sonata", and playing beautifully. We listened in amazement, and while the recital continued, I drew the hrtibbthlks aside and asked him to tell me his story.

"As I was sitting on the beach waiting for the rescue craft to come," he told me, "I noticed an object sticking out of the sand a few meters from where I was, so, out of curiosity, I walked over to check it out. It appeared to be a lamp of some sort, and as I picked it up I noticed some writing on the side. As I was wiping the sand off so I could read what it said, this mist began spewing out of the end of the lamp, and the next thing I knew, the mist had solidified and there stood this, I don't know what it was, but it looked like a really ancient being of some sort." He stopped and shook his head.

"I must have been standing there with my mouth hanging open, and then this apparition began speaking."

"Don't be afraid," it said, "I am of the Djini, and have been trapped in that lamp for many centuries, placed there by an evil sorcerer as punishment for being a Cubs fan. I am most grateful for your having freed me, and I will grant you two wishes as reward for your kindness. What desires may I fulfill for you?" (Cheap Djini: its usually three wishes.)

"So I thought for a moment," the hrtibbthlks continued, "and then told him that I would like good health for my family all throughout their lives."

The Djini looked at the hrtibbthlks and said, "I'm sorry, my son, but I am ancient in my years and do not hear so well; please, tell me again what you just said, as I did not understand you."

"So I repeated my wish, and the Djini clapped his hands and said it was done."

"And what is your second wish?" the Djini asked.

"I stood there and thought for a long time, and the Ancient One said in this anxious voice, 'Hurry, for my time in this shape grows short and I must return to whence I came."

"I could see the Djini was starting to fade, so I blurted out, 'I want a 12 inch penis.' The Djini, who was now becoming transparent as he faded into a mist that enveloped us both, placed his hand behind his ear and said, in a rapidly fading voice, 'I'm sorry, my time on this plane is no more, your second wish is...' and he was gone."

"What happened then?" I asked the hrtibbthlks.

And he pointed to the little man at the grand piano and said, "And when the mist cleared, there he was..."

(12 inch pianist, okay? Geez.)

Love and Mozart,

PJTT

copyright 2011 Krissongs, Inc.

Shopping In The Pope's Department Store

As those of you who follow the daily posts on my blog, "...from the desk of Pope John The Tall..." know, I check in with my staff and department heads here at the All John All The Time World Church periodically, to determine the pulse of the world, so to speak, and also to check up on these guys to make sure they're punchin' the old time clock. Hey, the AJATTWC is a charitable, "not for profit" organization, (as opposed to some companies out there, who are "can't make a profit" companies), so we're careful with the benjamins; we throw nickels around like manhole covers. (I started to make a really crude joke there about "manhole covers", but for once, my very slight sense of decorum kicked in...and I didn't. Aren't you guys proud of me?)

(You want to hear it anyway? No, no, never mind.)

So after returning from whatever godless, forsaken shithole the Bored of Elders of the AJATTWC sent us to most recently, the us being myself and the Harley Dog, my sidekick and back-up navigator onboard my atomic powered rocket ship, the Royal Unionship Kidding, I got a hold of my head of department people, and here's some of the reports I received:

-From the Oh, So Now He's A Marketing Maven As Well As The Pope Department:

            I was watching the Dodgers/Marlins game the other evening, and I noticed on the huge advertising sign they have behind home plate at Sun Lite Stadium, where the Marlins play, an ad for the company Waste Management (who, totally apropos to nothing, were once the darlings of Wall Street), hawking one of their new products, an enormous bag-thing that you can have WM deliver to your home so you can throw out all kinds of unusual debris, like old sinks, and rusted pipes that have been removed from walls, construction debris, old mother-in-laws, etc.

            The ad was divided in half; on the right half was WM's name and a corporate message. On the left side, was the following message...

            Part Bag.

            Part Dumpster.

...and that was it. I thought it would be much more interesting this way...

            Part Bag,

            Part Dumpster,

            All Woman.

And now you can understand why they won't let me have sharp objects.

-From the Webster's Dictionary People Don't Need Any Help Department:

            New word whose use I'm promoting: "ralphitate". You guess the meaning.

-From the A New Career In Retirement Department:

            One of my staff members suggested that, after I retire from my Pope gig, I could launch a whole new career as "Mr. Phone Love", which would be kind of a reversal of those 1-900 sex-line places you see advertised all over late night TV. In my version, senior citizens (preferably women) would sign up for my service, and then, unscheduled and unannounced, I would call them up and breathe in their respective ears and whisper disgusting, filthy things I would like to do to them, if they weren't 857 years old and wrinkled like a cotton shirt that was left in the bottom of the dryer after the final cycle. You know, a little cheap thrill for Granny once in awhile, just to keep the juices flowing, so to speak. (Do you think the "manhole cover" joke would have been any worse than this? Geez.)

From the Maybe He Came In To Get Warm Department (In FL?):

            According to MSN.com, a Palmetto FL woman recently discovered an unwanted visitor in her bathroom; a seven foot long alligator, who apparently has a bladder problem.

            Alexis Dunbar, the lady whose bathroom the alligator decided to visit, believes the animal used a doggie door on her back porch to get inside the house (Ms. Dunbar, according to the report, has no dog, but two cats who use the door, both of whom escaped the nocturnal bathroom visitor with no apparent injuries). Dunbar, who lives in Palmetto, which is south of St. Petersburg, told WFLA-TV reporters that she also believes the 'gator hung out at her house for several hours after getting inside; some of her things had been "rearranged" so to speak. Her visitor was subsequently removed by local wildlife authorities, after her boyfriend propped a chair against the bathroom door, trapping the guest inside.

There was a quote in the report from one of the wildlife guys who "rescued" the alligator, to wit: "Spring is mating season for alligators and wildlife officials urge people to be extremely cautious, especially around water." (I assume that means "water" occurring in nature, like swamps and lakes; I suspect the people in FL would like to think their pools, drinking fountains and lawn-sprinklers are safe.)

            You know, not knowing that you have an seven foot long alligator in your bathroom has to make getting up to pee in the middle of the night a much more interesting experience.

From the Is It Loyalty Or Stupidity? Department:

            Last week, on April 22nd, the Dodgers played the worst franchise in baseball, the Chicago Cubs, at their home field in Chicago, Wrigley Field, which is almost as bad a joke as the team that plays there.

            At game time, 1:15pm local, it was raining vigorously, so the game was delayed. (The temperature on the north side of Chicago was also in the mid 40's at this point.) After a 45-minute delay, with the temperature still dropping and the rain abated, the game got under way. There were several other rain stoppages, and the game proceeded haltingly through the sixth inning, with the Dodgers ahead 8-2. That's when I turned it on, and here's how the game ended after nine:

            -it was by then in the low 40's, with wind gusts off Lake Michigan, which is only a few miles east of the stadium (knowing Chicago weather, as I do intimately, the wind chill at that point had to be in the mid 30's);

            -it was still drizzling rain periodically;

            -the Cubs were losing...ready...12-2; yes, you read that correctly: TWELVE TO TWO;

            -it is by now well after 7:00pm, with all the rain delays;

-AND THE STANDS WERE STILL ABOUT HALF FULL OF CUBS FANS.

Einstein is credited with the theory that doing something in the same manner repeatedly and expecting different results each time is the definition of insanity; I submit that a new definition is needed, and fans of the Cubs are happily providing it for us.

Insanity, thy name is Chicago.

-From the And I Can Prove It Department:

            I was looking at my didn't-shower-today-and-haven't-shaved-in-two-days face in the mirror last night, and it suddenly occurred to me, hey, I can prove, unequivocally, that Intelligent Design does not exist. Simply, the intelligence of any entity that can create that face, an ostrich and Rosie O'Donnell has to be highly suspect.

From the What's Next, Blue Light Specials At Neiman-Marcus Department:

            According to an ad I saw in the LA (pronounced LAH, you know, like "Doe, a deer, a female deer, ray, a drop of golden sun", etc.) Times yesterday, 99 Cents Only Stores now have a...bridal registry.

From the Classic Literature Department:

            While I was watching that same Dodgers/Marlins game from FL the other night, the Marlins, who had gotten behind in the score during the later innings, brought in a relief pitcher named Mujica, and I thought to myself, hey, if he's an only child, and has no sons, wouldn't that make him..."The Last Of The Mujica's"?

From the What? Department:

            Remember all those great pirate movies from back in the 1700's (???), where the characters would use phrases like, "hoist the jib mast" and "batten down the barnacles", and my all-time favorite, "shiver me timbers, matey".

            Okay, I give up, how exactly does one "shiver" his "timbers"?

Well, I can see from the sundial on my wall that it's time for my medicine, so I think I'll close for now. Harley and I have to prepare to go to, hell, wherever the Bored sends us next week to preach the soothing balm of Johnism. I hope its some place nice like South Florida, home of the North American alligator, or Lower Zimbabwe, home of the African ebert, a small, furry mammal with an enormous sex-organ. (Harley wanted to get an ebert to keep as a pet, but I said no. I hate to admit it, but I was envious. Hey, some guys are hung like stud horses; I'm hung like a stud chipmunk.)

(Wanna' hear the "manhole cover" joke now?)

Love and Bloomingdale's (departments that is),

PJTT

copyright 2011 Krissongs, Inc.

As Ron White Says, You Can't Fix Stupid

I have it on good authority that Miley Cyrus recently joined a terrorist group.

Her first assignment was to blow up a car.

She burned her mouth on the tailpipe.

Love and celebrities,

PJTT

copyright 2011 Krissongs, Inc.

Once More, With Feeling (Gay Marriage, The Rudest City In America and The Kardashians)

(Okay, its recycle time again; I originally posted the essay below back in my salad days (1/28), and since I didn't have another "post" ready for this morning, well, I hope you enjoy my deathless prose in redeau.)

 

I totally do not get this whole hoohaw over gay marriage.

As Pope of the All John All The Time World Church, I believe that it is one of my duties to keep abreast (I'd like to keep more than one) of the issues that face the world and our members every day, so that I can address these topics and be a beacon of light and logic to those that look to their Pope guy for guidance.

Hard to say all that with a straight face.

But of all the issues that the world deals with daily, whether it be the economy, the plight of the poor, healthcare, gun control, terrorism or the latest reality show starring the Kardashians, (just exactly how many Kardashians are there anyway? Every time I look, its like there's another one, doing this photo shoot or that red-carpet appearance, shit, they're like rabbits), the one that perplexes me the most is gay marriage. Why in the world wouldn't you want somebody's marriage to be gay? Wouldn't a happy, carefree union, one that is joyous and spontaneous, wouldn't that be something to strive for? Why would anyone not want...hang on, the Popephone is ringing...JTT...dude...its what?...between two men or women?...whoa, that's not what I was told...Bill, down in the altar and throne department...you're kidding...first of all, tell that asshole that's not funny, then fire him...now, today, yes...okay, call me back when its done...that jerk.

(Frankly, I think gays should be allowed to marry; why shouldn't they just as miserable as the heteros?)

And with no segue whatsoever, in a recent poll in Travel & Leisure, a magazine for Republican boomers with too much money and time on their hands, Los Angeles, the City Of The Angels (the heavenly kind, not the baseball team that plays in Los Angeles of Anaheim), according to the people who were polled, is the Rudest City In America. Not the most scenic, or having the best restaurants, or the most hideous architecture, no, the rudest. In America. The whole country.

Now I live in L.A.; I lived in Chicago and its suburbs almost my entire life, and moved west to Los Angeles when I was 50, having grown tired of standing ass-deep in snow while I spent 10 minutes cleaning off the windshield of my car so I could drive two blocks to the grocery store for a gallon of milk and the latest edition of Big Breast Annual. Notwithstanding the weather, I loved Chicago; great restaurants, incredible museums, including the world class Art Institute, an amazing shoreline along Lake Michigan, the best blues clubs, yeah, Chicago is way cool in my mind. (Chicago is also the home of the world's worst sports franchise, the Chicago Cubs, who, as of this writing in early 2011, have not won a championship in over 100 YEARS. 1908. Sad.)

But I don't agree with the poll that named L.A. as the Rudest City In America. Most stupid, maybe, certainly the most narcissistic but rudest? I don't know, that seems kinda' harsh, you know? I don't think L.A. is any more or less "rude" than any other big city; hell, we're downright civilized compared to some cities. (So I don't have to hear the howls of protest, I'll not mention them by name. NYC.)

So I decided that I would use my bully pulpit as Pope of the AJATTWC, and in defense of it's honor, it's reputation, rally all the residents of Los Angeles to rise up in defiance of Leisure & Travel magazine and have the Kardashians removed from all media in the country. L.A. controls the entertainment industry, and we have the power. That's right, America, all you thoughtless poops who dissed my adopted home, we'll take away the one thing that I know you people cannot subsist without, that's right, the Kardashian family, however many of them there are.

Rudest, huh? Well, you've picked the wrong Marine to screw with, America. From now on, just see how dull your reality shows are without Kim, Khloe, Kourtney, Konnie, Kenny, Kermit, shit, the list just goes on and on and...

Love and TMZ,

PJTT

copyright 2011 Krissongs, Inc.

...And The Oscar Goes To...

Ring...ring...rin

"PJ...hey, Mike, sup?...yeah, I'm working on it right now...okay, its just a different type of writing from what I usually do...yeah, ha-ha, you're a regular laugh riot, you know that?...okay, gotta' run, gotta' get today's post up on the blog...yeah...hey, let's think about scheduling a "Guy's Night Out" pretty soon, maybe to Hooters, whatta' ya' say?...okay...cool."

That was my consigliore, the Right Reverend Monsignor Michael Jordan (no, not the one who played at North Carolina); he was asking me how the writing on my new screenplay is going.

I was reading an article in the L.A. Times the other day, and the author mentioned a website called www.xtranormal.com; this is a site where you can create your own movie, animated of course, using your own characters and screenplay.

I checked it out, and it looks very interesting, and I figured, hey, I'm smart enough to be the Pope of the All John All The Time World Church, I should be bright enough to figure out how to do this; makes sense, right?

So I decided that I would create a short movie about myself and the Harley Dog (see picture <---, oops, sorry, --->), (FYI, Harley is the "official" canine of the AJATTWC, the back-up navigator onboard my atomic powered rocket ship, the Royal Unionship Kidding, or RU Kidding for short, as well as my roommate and best buddy), showing us doing our AJATTWC gig, maybe handling a spiritual emergency of some sort, you know, just introduce the "masses" to myself and the Church. Strictly informational.

You've seen these things; the opening scene shows some executive in a shirt and tie, sitting behind his big, important executive desk, reading over some incredibly important executive papers and frowning over what he's reading. As the camera pans in, the big important executive looks up, smiles, and then says, "Hi, I'm Gert Poopensnooter; I'm the president of Poopensnooter Industries. We're known in industry circles as the biggest bunch of cheating, wait, that's not was what was in the script, who made up these new cue cards?" You know, strictly informational.

I started writing a screenplay for my new movie; I don't even have a working title yet, probably because it isn't working yet, because I don't know dick about writing a screenplay. I don't know boobs or nay-nays about writing a screenplay, either, for that matter.

And that's where I need you folks, the loyal and dedicated followers of your Pope Guy and the AJATTWC, to help me with my screenplay, if you will. I need ideas.

I've got the first few pages written, roughly (ever driven your car down a back country road after it had rained the night before; yeah, rough), but at least it's a place to start.

So please do me and Harley a favor: read over what I've written so far, (see below), and then, if you have any and you don't mind sharing them, send me an email or write a comment in the "Comments" section (clever name, what?) with any ideas you might have about how I can continue and then finish my movie.

You know, I don't care what the Episcopalians say, I think you guys are all right.

Okay, here we go:

ACT I, SCENE I

Office scene, with the Pope, Harley Dog

Open with P sitting at desk, facing camera, working; H rushes in from door behind Pope, and exclaims,

H: "Pope John, the peasants are revolting!"

The Pope, without even looking up from the paper he's reading, replies, "Aw, come on, Harley, they aren't that bad."

H: (agitated, obviously upset) "No, you don't understand, the citizens are rising up against government tyranny, high taxes, crummy working conditions and a shortage of Lindsay Lohan films. There's protests and marches going on all over the country, and the uprising is spreading as fast as the Charlie Sheen's latest stupid comment over the 'Net. Pope, you have to do something!"

SCENE II

Street scene, with Protestor #1, Protestor #2

Scene opens to "mob action" on a street somewhere, lots of people milling around, shouting and waving signs of protest. Someone throws a "Molotov cocktail" with a burning wick against the foundation of a building, but it dies and the fire doesn't spread.

Protestor #1, to Protestor #2, who threw the "cocktail": "Hey, what did you just throw against that building?"

P #2: "It was one of those "Mazeltov" cocktails, you know, like a home-made bomb. You fill the bottle with matzo, stick a fuse in and light it, and then toss it."

P #1: "That's a "Molotov" cocktail, not "Mazeltov", you douche-bag, and you fill the bottle with gasoline, not matzo!"

P #2: "Shit, no wonder it didn't burn."

SCENE III

Scene dissolves back to office with P and H.

H: "Pope John, the people are in desperate need of a leader to step forth and, well, you know, lead; the government is in chaos..."

P: (interrupting) "No its not, its in Washington."

Harley shakes his furry head in disbelief.

H: "How did you ever become Pope of the All John All The Time World Church? Did you cheat on the IQ part of your job application?"

P: "Yeah." Shakes HIS head in disbelief. "Doesn't everyone?"

H: (Still shaking his head in disbelief) "You're the Pope, for shit sakes, you're supposed to be above that kind of stuff."

P: "Yeah, but if I hadn't gotten the gig, you and I wouldn't have the all the perks, the Kidding, the Dee Dee, all the women..."

H: (interrupting) "What women?"

P: "Okay, forget the women. Hey, we get to go all over the galaxy and visit all kinds of strange new worlds, hob-nob with planetary big-wigs, we always get comps on the rooms and food, come on, this is a great gig, except for those stupid "missionary" trips the Bored is always sending us on. Anyway, what do you want me to do about the riots? Its not my fault the peasants are revolting."

H: "Come on, Pope, they're not that bad."

SCENE IV

Scene dissolves back to same "mob action", same two protestors, still talking to each other while other rioters run all around them. The scene is general chaos, which is where the government is located.

P #1: "Hey, did you hear that Lindsay Lohan has been hired to play the wife of mobster John Gotti, Jr. in the new biopic about Gotti's father, John, Sr., who was the head of the Gambino Mafia family before he was convicted of FIVE murders in 1991?"

P #2: "No shit, sounds like a great role for her. When's it coming out?"

P #1: "Sometime next year. Just as soon as LiLo gets out of jail and they can start shooting." (P #1 raises his eyebrows.) "Great example of type-casting, huh?"

Scene dissolves back to Pope's office, with Harley and the Pope,

That's it, that's as far as I got; any ideas?

I'm thinking that, if this turns out, I may be looking at an entirely new career, screenwriter, or director, or maybe the guy that guards the entrance gate at the studio, but this, this could be big, bigger than Stallone with "Rocky" or Spielberg with "Jaws". Imagine: "'Harley and Me', a short film about the everyday workings of the AJATTWC, and a brilliant examination of the interplay between a Pope and his dog. Now playing at theatres someplace."

But no "Thelma and Louise" endings, okay? I'm not putting HD in the front seat of the Popemobile and gunning it over the edge of the Grand Canyon. I don't need that much drama in my life; hey, I was married once, I know all about drama.

And of course I'll give whoever comes up with a great suggestion a "writer's credit" in the thingie they always show at the end of every movie with the names of all the people who stared and directed and wrote and made costumes and went to get sandwiches and were somehow essential to the making of that particular movie.

A real tiny credit, right at the end. (Hey, it's Hollywood, okay?)

Love and Oscars,

PJTT

copyright 2011 Krissongs, Inc.

Enjoy Your Holiday (And Be Good)

To all my loyal followers and friends: have a pleasant and spiritual Passover/Easter.

The Pope is taking the weekend off. And so is the Harley Dog, although its hard to imagine how Harley could do any less than he already does, but whatever. (I'm not paying him much either, for that matter.)

We're back on Monday.

Love and holidays,

PJTT

The Eight Dwarves

Happy Thursday, assuming its Thursday wherever you're reading this. If it isn't, happy Thursday anyway.

Normally your Pope (that would be me) doesn't "blog" about politics, at least not overtly. Yeah, okay, I take some pokes at politicos from time to time; let's face it, as goofy and ridiculous as most of our elected and wanting-to-be-elected representatives are, they're pretty easy targets. Honestly, that's just one of several reasons to not make politicians the subject of any of my essays: its just too easy. And as the leader of the All John All The Time World Church, maintaining my decorum is of vital importance to my "image", so I stay away from the mudpits of politics. Most of the time. (You guys didn't know I had an image to maintain, did you?)

But I thought this might be a time to provide a little leadership for my flock of faithful followers; hey, if the Roman Catholics, the Methodists, the Episcopalians and all the other religious "sects" can get away with paying no taxes and yet still continue to advocate for their particular candidates/issues, so can I. (The 1st Amendment of our Constitution talks about the "separation of church and state" and I think the Supreme Court has gone a long way out-of-bounds to keep the two entities distinct; the 1st also spells out the right to free speech, in no uncertain terms. That's all well and good, but for my money, if you're tax-exempt, you have no right to comment on the workings of a government that you do not support financially.)

So I was reading an op-ed piece in the L.A. Times this morning, by a guy named Doyle McManus, who I don't know a lot about, other than he writes a column for the Times several days a week, with which I often agree, but he briefly touched on each of the current "hopefuls" for the Republican Party Presidential nomination in 2012, and discussed their chances to becoming the Party nominee.

Here's the list of the potential contenders for the nod from their Party, in no particular order; FYI, the comments below are mine, not Mr. McManus':

Mitt Romney

Newt Gingrich

Tim Pawlenty

Haley Barbour

Sarah Palin

Mike Huckabee

Donald Trump

Michelle Bachmann

(I'd call them the Seven Mental Dwarves, which is obviously the diametric opposite of "mental giants", but there's eight of them; I could eliminate Donald Trump's name immediately, because he has about as much chance at securing the nomination as Harley does, and that would leave seven, but...oh well, let's go with eight and see what happens. Oh, and FYI, for those of you who haven't met him, the "Harley" in the last sentence is my sidekick, roommate and the back-up navigator onboard my atomic powered rocket ship, the Royal Unionship Kidding, the Harley Dog. Harley typically shuns politics as well.)

Okay, let's take them in order, though to tell the truth, I don't think it will make any difference what sequence in which I talk about them, because this is the most undistinguished looking bunch of Presidential hopefuls I have ever seen. This group makes that bunch of Einsteins from back in 2000 look like "statesmen", for goodness sake.

Mitt Romney-

            I cannot vote for a person who a) is named after a baseball glove and b) is a member of a religion that was founded by a guy who claimed to find "golden" tablets from heaven that were left on earth in upper NY state with instructions to form a religion; by the way, the guy's name was Joseph Smith and the "angel" that led him to the golden tablets was named Moroni. (I assume the angel was Italian.) This is the guy you want meeting with other world leaders, people like Putin of Russia, Sarkozy of France, Sheen of Hollywood, (???) and Ahmadinejad of Iran? Sorry, but Mitt strikes me as a lightweight totally out of his class. And there's going to be a lot of Tea-Partiers out there who won't want him as their "guy" because of the health-care plan he pushed through the Massachusetts legislature when he was governor of that state a few years ago; it's too much like "Obamacare" for those folks, and Mitt can't explain how it came to be in his state. No, not Mitt, not ever.

Newt Gingrich-

            Is "Newt" short for "Newton" or what? And is this the guy all the witches go see when they need an "eye of newt" for their various spells and potions? Does Newt have more than two eyes? Is there one in the back of his head? (As a kid I was convinced my mother had eyes in the back of her head; they made a nice offset to the third boob she had growing on her chin.) Newt has a number of ex-wives, and in fact, no one is quite sure how many, and he was accused of having a "dalliance" while he was married with one of his staff members (I'm assuming a female type), back during the days of the Bill Clinton mess, and was roundly criticized for criticizing BC for his inability to keep his johnson in his pants, when it was obvious that Newt couldn't behave himself any better than that douche-bag Clinton. Serious case of the pot calling the kettle green. (???) What staunch, upstanding Christian right-wing conservative is going to vote for Newt? He probably has a little better chance at being nominated than "the Donald", but not much. Mostly I think he exists to provide a noisy background for the other "candidates".

Tim Pawlenty-

            Governor of Minnesota? Isn't that the same state that elected Jesse "The Body" Ventura as their governor a few years ago? Is this the same guy that doesn't want the national debt ceiling raised AND has a problem with where President Obama was born, after the State Of Hawaii has provided NUMEROUS samples of Obama's birth certificate, showing him to be a natural-born citizen, and yet this is the signature issue that Pawlenty wants us to know him by in these early stages of the campaign? Come on, Tim, how about we talk about meaningful deficit reduction, a comprehensive health care law, some kind of effective national policy on immigration, jobs and Wall Street or any of the other gazillion important problems for which this country needs answers. We've got plenty of serious issues to address without manufacturing one as stupid as "the President was born in Lower Zimbabwe and doesn't qualify to be President because he isn't native-born". Geez.

Haley Barbour-

            Former successful Washington lobbyist, former head of the Republican National Committee, current governor of Mississippi, suspected racist and general blowhard. You know, if Barbour becomes the GOP standard-bearer, then all the Democrats in the country should rejoice. For an election that is taking place in the midst of a national trend against "politics as usual" (see the landslide for the Republicans in the 2008 Congressional elections), he has all the wrong credentials (see above). I'm no expert (on politics; I am expert at gerbil golf) but this guy, beyond the obvious baggage of his "position" on race, is a non-starter. Okay, he has the Klan vote, but what else? No, this Dwarve is fooling himself with his aspirations.

            Thank God.

Sarah Palin-

            On the several occasions I have mentioned Ms. Palin in one of my posts, I have referred to her as Sarah Plain And Loud, a takeoff on the Glenn Close made-for-TV movie from a few years ago that was called "Sarah, Plain And Tall". Actually, I'm rather hoping that the Snacilpuber Ytrap  (that's Republican Party backwards) nominate her; between Sarah, her husband, Mr. Sarah, her unwed teenage mother, spokesperson for "teen abstinence" and social gadfly daughter, Bristol and her occasionally spotted-in-the-background ex-boyfriend and father to her son, Tripp, Levi Johnston, plus the revolving cast of characters from her home state of Alaska, yeah, I figure SPAL is good for a ongoing laugh riot if she is nominated.

            And I can't imagine why anyone would have a problem with Sarah as Presidential material just because her elected experience begins and ends with the mayorship of a small Alaskan town and her abbreviated term as Governor of Alsaka, which she cut short by her own volition. She has no foreign policy, other than saying that she can see Russia from her backdoor; she has no domestic policy, other than being a "mama grizzly", which I assume means she is furry, weighs in excess of eight hundred pounds and has breath that would knock a vulture off a meat wagon. And although I can't provide proof for this assertion, I'm pretty sure she has the IQ of soap. Yeah, Sarah, you'll get my vote.

Mike Huckabee-

            What makes you think he's any better now than he was in 2008 when he ran the first time and couldn't get nominated? If you want Christian fundamentalism as the guiding light that directs the actions of your next President, Mike is your man. Hey, it shouldn't be a problem that his only claim to fame is having been Governor of the worst state in the Union for a couple of years? (That's Arkansas, by the way, although it didn't hurt Scum-Bag Bill any back in 1992.) Once again, no foreign policy, no intelligent domestic policy, other than "more Bibles in our schools" and minimal background for the position he desires. Great candidate, folks.

Michelle Bachmann-

            Lots of mouth in such a small package. Another "Tea Party" hopeful. Slightly better chance than "the Donald" for securing the nomination, but not much. She's actually more strident than SPAL, if that's possible.

Donald Trump-

            Please tell me you're kidding. Please. I don't care how much money this guy has made, and believe me, despite the opinions of most of the people in this country, the ability to make a lot of money doesn't necessarily translate to high intelligence, political competence or astuteness, Donald Trump has about as much business being President as my dog. And I'd trust Harley a lot further; I'm pretty sure he's not a crook. Donald? Not as sure.

Since I didn't advocate for any of the above "candidates", but merely discussed their various "qualifications", I feel that I didn't abuse the church/state separation thing. I might have screwed with the boundaries of good taste, but that's nothing out of the ordinary; hell, I do that every time I write a post.

I hope the open and frank examination of the aspiring Republican Party presidential nominees has and will help you in making your choices for our next leader. I just hope, fervently, that the next President of the United States is as good at his job as I am at mine. (And as good-looking.)

You know, it just occurred to me...President Pope John The Tall. You have to admit, it has a nice ring. And if I got the gig, I wouldn't have to buy a new Popemobile either; they already have several of those huge limos in which they drag the President around, so I wouldn't need one.

Oh, and ready for this...Vice President Harley Dog.

Hey, we elected that total sleaze-bag Spiro Agnew VP back in '68, how would Harley be any worse than that? At least Harley isn't taking kickbacks from construction firms in Maryland. Although that new diamond-studded collar he just got recently makes you wonder.

Never mind, I'm too honest.

Love and ballots,

PJTT

copyright 2011 Krissongs, Inc.

Pooping In Style, or Lost In A Home Show In Dayton OH

My last post on Thursday, 4/14, told the story of an institution in Iceland called the Phallological Museum; the exhibits in this museum are various mammal phalluses, including those of a sperm whale, a Canadian sea lion and most recently, the "pickled penis" of a elderly Icelandic gentleman who willed his "willie" to the institute upon his death (pretty tough to will your johnson to someone or something before you pass on; and wouldn't The Pickled Penis be a great name for a British-style pub someplace, like maybe in, say, Britain?).

So its going to be hard (pardon the unintentional pun and, hey, speaking of puns, aren't you guys proud of me for not making a bad joke about phalluses and "sperm" whales in the last paragraph?) to come up with a topper for that report, but your Pope (that would be me) and the outstanding staff here at the All John All The Time World Church are going to give it their best shot, just like Pat Benatar wanted you to hit her with, back in the '80's. (And given the opportunity, I would have gladly obliged; Patty was WAY hot.)

According to my consigliore, the Right Reverend Monsignor Michael Jordan (no, not the one that did those goofy Hanes commercials with that douche-bag Charlie Sheen), the Bored of Elders of the AJATTWC has decided that they would like Harley and I to attend the crowning of Ttrrleek 4rHt as the new Gorberk (kind of like our bishop, but with several more arms and legs) of the region of Zithermusic on the planet Lowawatha. (I guess our trade imbalance with the Lowawathians is a concern for the government, so they asked the Bored to send us there to "schmooze the shit outta' them", in a quasi-diplomatic way, of course. Lowawatha is also known as the LamaBall Capitol Of The Universe.)

So I told the AJATTWC ground crew guys to get my atomic powered rocket ship, the Royal Unionship Kidding, or RU Kidding for short, (I'm thinking of having a sister ship to the Kidding built: the Royal Unionship Peanutsintheshell, or RU Nuts for short; more on that later), ready for the hop tomorrow to Lowawatha. (Lowawatha is in the Luffertoots Nebulae of the 4th Colocynth Quadrant, which is approximately 13.56 parsecs from Earth, or about two days of travel; I'm bringing several new books, and one of my guitars, and I've got a new comic book for Harley. When I showed it to him, he acted like he was insulted; he figures since he's the back-up navigator, he's entitled to access to the Captain's Library, which he can't have, because that's where I keep the back issues of Canine Health, and those anatomically correct drawings of the female dog's "private areas" drive him nuts.) (Oh, by the way, "Harley" is the Harley Dog, the "official" canine of the Pope Guy, back-up navigator onboard the RU Kidding and my roommate.)

So its a good night's sleep for your Pope and his band of merry men, and off tomorrow to Lowawatha; more later from there.

(...late the next day...)

...ring...ring...rin

"PJ...Mike, what the hell happened?...wadda' mean, 'they're still looking into it'? That sounds like a government enquiry, for chrissake...I don't give a shit, I want this explained today, now, DO YOU HEAR ME?...I'm not upset, I'm REAL pissed, there's a difference...how can those guys screw up this bad? They were supposed the program the Kidding for the region of Zithermusic on the planet Lowawatha, and I wind up in Dayton OH? HOW THE (very bad word here) DID I WIND UP IN DAYTON OH, WOULD YOU PLEASE ASK THOSE HAPPY ASSHOLES IN THE BACK?!? Shit...okay, okay, I'm calm now, I'm okay...no, I can't leave until the inquiry by the FAA is complete, probably tomorrow...well I didn't exactly file a flight plan for (another very bad word here) DAYTON OH, NOW DID I?!?...never mind, just make sure somebody has some answers when I get back tomorrow, and send my condolences to Ttrrleek and explain what happened...whatta' mean, 'what should I tell him', tell him the truth, damn it, I, wait a minute, we'll look like major crankshafts if you tell him what REALLY happened, yeah, you're right, make something up, just make sure you tell me about it later...yeah, gotta' go...let's have lunch at the Beaver's Den on Thursday...cool."

Don't ask me, because I don't know.

We lifted off this morning, nice as you please, the HyperAromaDrive (that's the special, super, mega amazing drive thingie, in conjunction with the floridated kanooten valve, that enables the Kidding to reach speeds exceeding the Speed of Aroma) was purring away, and we were open for business, baby.

But a few minutes into the flight, I knew something was wrong when the auto-pilot started the landing sequence; it was WAY too soon to be in Zithermusic, Lowawatha.

And you know why it seemed too soon to be in Zithermusic, Lowawatha? Because it was, WAY too soon. We landed in Dayton OH, oh my stars and buckets. (Roughly translated, that means "oh shit".) What the hell is in Dayton OH, besides the Harley Dog and I and a bunch of Daytonionians?

So we found a hotel that would accept a furry roommate (I used to have to do the same thing with one of my ex-girlfriends), we checked in and I thought, well, let's just see what the hell is in Dayton OH?

Guess what? Not much.

But it does get better, surprisingly.

There was a home improvement show going on in the convention center on site, so I decided to take a stroll over, lacking anything else better to do. (Harley stayed in our room, doing the crossword puzzle from the Dayton Daily News.)

As I perused the what seemed to be endless aisles of new sinks, cabinets, paneling, paint, siding, lawn products, garage-door openers, bathtubs and every conceivable home improvement product known to the universe, suddenly, I saw it...

...right in front of me, on a dazzling display of lights and color, there it was...

...the Numi Commode by Kohler. (...and a mighty choir breaks into the "Hallelujah Chorus" from Handel's "Messiah"...) (you know, the one that goes, "Hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah, hallayeluuhjah", and so on and on and on. Handel wrote much better music then he did lyrics.)

The Numi Commode by Kohler; simply, the Rolls-Royce, the Lear Jet, the Los Angeles Lakers (???) of that bathroom fixture, using the term any way you like, the humble toilet.

This sucker will make you want to poop several times a day, just for the experience; I mean, this is, truly, a throne.

According to the company website, the Numi will "bring you the finest in personal comfort and cleansing", with, are you ready?

...motion-activated lid and seat

...advanced bidet functionality (with adjustable spray patterns)

...integrated air-dryer as well as a deodorizer

...heated seat and foot warmer

...and best of all, built-in speakers and an MP3 jack (although the way things smell when I'm in there, the last thing I want to do is sit on the commode and listen to the latest recording of Rihanna or Coldplay. I don't read in there for the same reason; I'm a big believer in do what needs to be done and get out).

Its even environmentally sound: according to the magazine Consumer Reports, "this WaterSense-certified toilet uses dual-flush technology, which allows you to select a partial flush for liquid waste and a full flush for solid waste."

Throw in a pair of tickets to a Dodgers/Giants game and you're all there.

All this for the low, low price of...$6390.00. (My first brand new car didn't cost $6390.00; yeah, okay, it was a Ford Model T, but that's not the point.) I don't care, I have to have one of these babies; I am SO talking to the Bored when I get back.

(...late the next day...)

The Bored of Elders of the AJATTWC denied my request to have a Numi Commode by Kohler installed in the Papal shi, err, excuse me, bathroom.

I am very upset.

I'm sure I can get a Papal discount; you know, one of those "Kohler: Official Toilet Provider To Pope John The Tall" kind of an advertising thing. Or maybe they have a "Seniors" discount.

Shit. (Another unintentional pun.)

I just want to know one thing, okay?

"Swashbuckling"? How does one buckle a swash?

I'm dying to know that.

Love and "put the seat down, you jerk",

PJTT

copyright 2011 Krissongs, Inc.

Taking A Stand On The Issues (Second Edition)

(Okay, your Pope, John the Tall, is currently suffering from a severe case of "writer's block" and hasn't a clue what to write about for today's post; however, since I didn't want to leave all my loyal followers without a day where they had none of the soothing words of Johnism to bolster their pathetic lives, I decided to rerun an essay I wrote back in late January. I hope this helps.)

 

As Pope of the All John All The Time World Church, I feel that it is my duty, as I believe it is the duty of all our moral leaders, to take a stand on an issue and actively advocate for that belief. I believe it is incumbent on us all, but particularly heads of major religions such as the All John All The Time World Church, to speak out about injustice, about inequality and about how Frank McCourt, the owner of the L.A. Dodgers, should just sell the team and disappear back into the rat hole from which he crawled several years ago, just before purchasing and becoming the co-owner of the franchise, along with his wife, Jamie, who, subsequently, was apparently caught by Frank while engaged in various adult activities with her chauffer. (Not THE chauffer, HER chauffer.)

Needless to say, Frank took exception to this type of activity between his spouse and an employee, and sued Jamie for divorce, claiming mental cruelty (that one will be hard to prove, given the general lack of "mental" going inside Frank's head), alienation of feelings and severe mopery. (I have heard "mopery" described as someone exposing himself to a parking meter, but I'm not sure that's accurate. I couldn't find the word in Webster's New World Dictionary Of The American Language. Not to be confused with the English language, I assume. George Bernard Shaw, the Irish playwright, once described the United States and Britain as two great countries separated by a common language.) Yeah Frank, sell the team so you can payoff Jamie and then slink back to Boston where you came from. They would love to have you back, but then, what would you expect from people that are Red Sox/Patriots fans.

As your Pope, I have agonized over an issue for some time now, and I feel that, in accordance with all those fancy things I said in the opening paragraph, I must now come out and speak my peace on...alien induction.

That's right, boys and girls, alien induction. Please do not accuse me of xenophobia or racism; I have absolutely no problem with beings from other planets. Be they the Green Turtle Men of the planet Zatox, my home planet (see my profile to the right <--, oops, sorry,-->), or the Testicles people (for those of you who are not familiar with our other world friends, that name is pronounced "TES-TA-CLEES") from inside the Nebula of Scrotum, nor any other traveler from the Outer Limits or the Twilight Zone. I have encountered many of these fine alien beings during my missions onboard the RU Kidding, my atomic-powered rocket ship, and have hoisted many a fine mug of Rxdytzsdo beer (that's Budweiser in Cerulean; this Rxdy's for you) with my fellow space adventurers. I hold no ill will for any of our brothers, sisters and host surrogate tenderloins from out there beyond our solar system.

But I see no reason why they should be inducted into our military services. Alien induction is not the American way. America should populate its armed forces with strong, red-blooded young men and women of native birth, not green-blooded Fliptans or the three-handed Marplegloogers of the planet Huptwothreefour (the only creatures I know of who can play cards and with themselves at the same time). I believe that alien induction is a threat to...wait a moment, there's an incoming call on my Popephone...JTT...yeah, I'm working on it now...its what?...ABduction...shit...yeah, thanks...

Never mind.

Love and green cards,

PJTT

A Lazy Sunday Morning (And I'm Not Doing The Pope Today)

Its around 9:00am on Sunday, 4/17, and its my favorite kind of weekend day; its sunny, the temperature here in the infamous San Fernando Valley is in the low 70's and there's a nice breeze "blowing warm, out of the South, over my shoulder" (thank you, David Crosby). I've been baking since early this morning (hey, just because I'm the Pope Dude of the All John All The Time World Church doesn't mean I have a huge staff of folks to look after my every need, say like Oprah Winfrey, who I suspect has a person on her staff whose sole duty is to wipe Oprah's nose when it runs), so, yeah, I was baking blueberry muffins (from a mix, I'm no Emeril Lagasse).

Well, I'm done baking and the Lakers/Hornets game doesn't start until 12:30pm, so I've got some time to use to come up with a post for today, but you know what?

It's just too nice a day to sit at my desk and play Pope; I'm gonna' go wash the Popemobile. And I suspect Harley will continue to guard the front balcony, as he has been doing for the last several hours. Besides, I just heard from my consigliore that the Bored of Elders of the AJATTWC has plans to send HD and I off into the stratosphere someplace on on some kind of urgent Church business next week, so the days off may be few and far between for a while.

And hey, even God rested on the seventh day.

You guys enjoy the rest of your weekend.

Love and leisure,

PJTT

copyright 2011 Krissongs, Inc.

Living Alone, Talking To Yourself And Whale Weinies

Your Pope was going through some old papers the other day, and stumbled onto several "songs" that I had been working on, many years ago, back in the day when the muse was stronger in my life and I still believed I had undiscovered talent. (Nowadays, the muse is absent, or at least out sick, and I still believe I have undiscovered talent.) Reading through some of my unfinished masterpieces, I came to realize something: you're really pissed and stretching like crazy when you're writing a song about an ex-girlfriend and you're rhyming scheme is "piglet/cigarette"; I'm glad at some point I decided to pursue more enlightened endeavors.

Like being Pope of the All John All The Time World Church. That's right, music lovers, being the Pope Dude has been, so far, an enlightening experience, more so than, say, rolling tortillas, although I've never rolled a tortilla, so I really don't know that for certain. (I bet they don't roll near as well as gerbils on skateboards, or a cheese blintz.)

Yeah, so far, the whole thing has been a real learning experience; my staff has unearthed and forwarded to me stories and reports and articles on the damnedest subjects, like the four naked people that the cops found in the cab of a pick-up truck they had stopped for being "suspicious", (the truck, not the people; its hard to act suspicious when you're buck naked) or the roommates that got into a fight over Thin Mint Girl Scout cookies, or the bigamist in Grand Rapids MI who had a wife in RI AND a wife in MI, yeah, you could say we've found a few loose nuts out there that could use tightening down.

But that's not why I took the Pope gig; I took it so I could have the opportunity to preach the Gospel of Johnsim to the masses (that's you guys), an opportunity that I wouldn't have otherwise. Wait, I hear the Popephone ringing...

"PJTT...hey, Mike, 'sup?...no, I didn't hear about that...really...no shit...under the seat?...its almost a great idea, ya' know...hey, are we still on for Hooters tomorrow night?...great...yeah...okay, yeah, thanks."

That was the Right Reverend Monsignor Michael Jordan (no, not the one that owns the Charlotte Bobcats); he was telling me about an article he saw in yesterday's Times about a guy who got arrested down near San Diego in a wheelchair, posing as a disabled person. No, he didn't get arrested for impersonating a disabled person, with intent to commit mopery, he got arrested because the police found FIVE POUNDS of marijuana under the seat of his wheelchair that he was trying to smuggle into the United States at the border crossing at San Ysidro. Drug-smelling dogs tripped him up. (Just like in the movie "Up In Smoke"; remember the scene with the station-wagon full of nuns crossing the border back into the U.S. from Mexico?) (Why does the phrase "a station-wagon full of nuns" strike me as funny?)

"Hey, Pope Guy, is there a point coming up in the immediate future?"

Sorry, I got off-track.

I've noticed a number of things in my life recently that remind me that, like it or not, I'm single and live by myself, not including the Harley Dog. (For those of you who are new to my blog, Harley Dog is the "official" canine of the AJATTWC, and my roommate.) Its not like I had forgotten, or Dagon forbid that I want to be married again. (Dagon was the Amorite fertility god back in the time around 2000 B.C.; some of the more obscure sects of the AJATTWC still worship him today.) It's just that, occasionally, I suddenly remember that there are a number of differences between living by yourself and living with others. People, I mean, not orangutans.

Okay, an example: the other day I'm in the kitchen, getting myself a glass of soda. Items needed, a glass, ice cubes and soda. I already had a glass out, so I opened the freezer, took out the ice-cube tray (hey, this "pope" gig doesn't pay enough to be able to afford a 'fridge with an automatic ice thingie), and dropped a few cubes in my glass, only to realize that now, I had one ice-cube too many, meaning that either a) I could put the extra ice-cube in my glass, but then there would be too many, and that would mean less soda, or b) I would have to put the tray back in the freezer with just one cube in it or f) I could deep-six the extra cube and fill the tray with water, which would be the right way.

Now if you're living in a household with multiple folks, the answer to this dilemma is simple: put the tray back with the one, lonely ice-cube in it and let the next guy handle it. (This is called the "Pull Up The Ladder" theory of communal living; you use the ladder then pull it up behind you so the next guy can't.)

But the whole "living alone" thing comes crashing down on you in the above scenario; to wit, if you're the only person on the premises, there's no one else to fill the tray later. If you put that one, lonely little ice-cube, sitting forlornly in its cup in the ice-cube tray, back in the freezer, the next guy to reach for the tray will be...you again. Boy, there's a lose/lose rotation for you.

Shit.

Being an adult (Harley refuses to be, so I get the nod by default in this household), I tossed the lone ice-cube in the sink and filled the tray with water. (Large sigh of resignation here.) I hate being an adult; the responsibility is stifling.

The other thing I hate about living alone, and I know this is common, at least, I know two other people who admit to doing this besides me, but I talk to myself all the time. Out loud. (So far, it's been one-sided conversations only.) All the time.

And you know what the worst thing is? Sometimes, I get tired of the sound of my own voice. That's when you know you've been living alone too long.

So imagine my surprise when my staff found this article on the 'Net and forwarded it to me:

"Bizarre Iceland Museum Gets Donated Human Phallus".

(As you can obviously see, I have nothing but disdain for the common segue.)

According to a report by Raphael Satter for the Associated Press, Pall Arason, an elderly Icelandic resident, always strived for attention while he was living; in death, he got what he wanted: the 95-year-old Icelander's pickled penis will be the main attraction in one of his country's most bizarre museums.

"Sigurdur Hjartarson, who runs the Phallological Museum in the tiny Icelandic fishing town of Husavik, said Arason's organ will help round out the unusual institution's extensive collection of phalluses from whales, seals, bears and other mammals."

Interestingly, a number of other potential donors have pledged their "johnsons" to the museum, but Arason's is the first human penis to actually take up residence at the facility.

"'I have just been waiting for this guy for 15 years,' Hjartarson told The Associated Press in a brief telephone interview."

I'm sure Mr. Arason would be pleased with the attention and dedication he was shown by Mr. Hjartarson. (Obviously, these Icelandic folks never heard of the names Smith and Johnson.) (Another bad, although unintentional, pun.)

Well, won't you rest easier knowing that the Phallological (who comes up with these terms, anyway?) Museum now has a human exhibit to "round out" their display. (No mention was made in the article as to where in the hierarchy of size of various animal peni' the human member of Mr. Arason falls; I believe we're safe in assuming that, in the animal world, size doesn't matter, as long, pardon the pun again, as it works.)

"Highlights of the museum's collection include a 67-inch sperm whale penis preserved in formaldehyde, lampshades made from bull testicles and what the museum described as an 'unusually big' penis bone from a Canadian walrus."

And all I can think is I'm that really glad I'm not Mrs. Sperm Whale (speaking of bad puns, if there's a worse pun for this subject than "sperm whale", please someone tell me); SIXTY-SEVEN INCHES. Boy, (yeah, no doubt about this guy's gender), that's enough to make the stallions from Sunnybrook Farm drop their heads and turn back to the barn in shame. SIXTY-SEVEN INCHES long lying down is 5' 7" standing up, or slightly under the height of the average male human being. And I bet those bulls weren't too happy about the lampshade thing either.

I love living alone with HD; he thinks my silliness is great, but you can bet there's no woman in the world that would put up with gerbil golf off the balcony, dog farts and stories on the Internet about old guys that donate their schlongs to a museum.

Although Billy Ray Cyrus is married, so how hard can it be to find a woman with the IQ of a boysenberry plant who will tolerate a guy and his "eccentricities"? (Hey, at least I haven't willed my penis to a museum in Iceland. Yet.)

Okay, gotta' run; I need to fill some ice-cube trays and finish writing a song about my ex- that I started the other day; its called "You Broke My Heart So I Busted Your Jaw". Its all about unrequited love and why men are jerks because they never put the seat back down, although why anyone would sit down on a toilet without looking first is beyond me.

Probably something to do with living alone and talking to yourself.

Love and hermits,

PJTT

copyright 2011 Krissongs, Inc.

Go Lakers!

I am an unabashed sports fan, and long time L.A. Laker fan; I was a Lakers fan even back in the days when I was a died-in-the-wool Chicago Bulls fan, you know, back in the 90's, in the Michael Jordan (yes, THAT Michael Jordan, not the Pope's consigliore) and Scotty Pippen days, and I'm a Chicago native, so believe, I was a Bulls fan, and I still am.

But when it comes to the NBA, its all Go Lakers. I'm pulling for the Bulls, but if by some miracle, the Lakers and the Bulls would end up in the Finals, guess what?

Go Lakers.

Go Lakers.

Go Lakers.

Love and three-point shots,

PJTT

copyright 2011 Krissongs, Inc.

The NO BULLetin

Okay, race fans, its...Dah..Dah..Dah..DAH..."Announcements" time again; that's right, all you loyal followers of yours truly, the Pope Guy, the All John All The Time World Church must occasionally make its followers, all several of them, aware of its activities, just like any other church; that's why we have announcements. (And you thought we had Announcements just so the Church could sell ad space, didn't you? Cynics.)

Anyway, in no particular order:

*Woman's Club To Host Candidate*

            The President of the Woman's Club of the AJATTWC, Sister May Flowers, would like to invite all the ladies in the Church to plan to come hear potential Presidential candidate Sarah Plain And Loud, give an address on "Child Rearing In A Democratic, Liberal, Slutty World" next Tuesday evening, 4/4/4/4, at 36:15ppm, or Star Date 7563.22, in the Church Meeting Hall. Ms. Plain And Loud will share stories of her experiences as a "mama grizzly" and talk about how the repulsive, sickening lack of morals and values of the sleazy, disgusting liberal Democrats in this country pose a threat to the well-being and proper, Christian upbringing of our children. She will further tell of her battles with her own kids over having proper attitudes, the proper manner of dress and actions and living a decent, moral and most importantly, chaste life, and how she failed so miserably with her own daughter, Bristol.

Refreshments will be served afterwards, and Sister May asked that all you ladies who plan to attend contact her about bringing a covered dish (preferably with something in it to eat).

FYI, Ms. Plain And Loud waived her usual $75,000 speaking fee for this appearance, but asks that donations be made to the AJATTWC-sponsored charity, the Home For The Chronically Bewildered, where her daughter, Bristol, was recently committed.

*A Warning*

            Brother Willy Ficksit, fellow AJATTWCian and owner of the Mr. Ficksit's Auto Repair and Spa, has asked that we pass on the following public service announcement:

            Please make sure you check your car for squirrels before you drive.

That's right, hockey-lovers, err, brothers and sisters, please make sure to check under the hood of your car periodically to ensure that squirrels haven't nested in your engine compartment. Brother Willy said that a fellow garage owner passed on a news report to him from Braintree MA that told of a woman who was having trouble with her car and took it in to her mechanic to be looked at. After a thorough examination, she was told that squirrels had built a nest in the engine compartment, and that, given the fact that the furry little devils had chewed through much of the engine's wiring, she was extraordinarily lucky that the engine, and the whole car, hadn't caught fire.

Brother Willy also said that anyone who would like a free squirrel inspection of their vehicle can bring the car into his shop any weekday before 5:00pm. (Mr. Ficksit's closes at 5:00pm when the spa opens.) FYI, the "squirrel inspection" is free, however, there will be a "hazardous material removal" fee of $150 for any vehicle that has nesting animals.

*Legal News*

            Brother O. Boy Dewey, partner at the law firm of Dewey, Cheatum and Howe, and chairman of the Church's Legal Department, has also asked that a public service announcement be made in The NO BULLetin, concerning uterusesuses, uhh, sorry, uteruses, and their incorporation.

            Brother Boy urges any of the ladies of the Church who are concerned with losing control over their reproductive rights to follow the suggestion of the ACLU in Florida and incorporate your uterus. (Your spleen can continue to be a sole proprietorship.) According to Brother Boy, the organization recently launched a website, www.IncorporateMyUterus.com, that will explain all the issues involved, including such topics as corporate taxation of your uterus, ensuring your uterine corporation has proper legal representation, how to avoid a hostile takeover of your corporation by a partnership led by your gall bladder, and many others. The website also explains how men can incorporate an "honorary uterus".

            Brother Boy also reports that the lawsuit involving the Church's "tax exempt" status, ~U.S. v That Lyin' Sack Of Camel Poop PJTT and the AJATTWC~, is still pending and should come to trial sometime in the next 300 hundred years. For the newer members of the Church, this lawsuit stems from the investigation by the U.S. Department Of Justice into remarks made by your Pope Person that were perceived as "political". Its blatant harassment, and is probably the result of an extreme case of envy on their part. (Serious sarcasm starts here.) I mean, why would the DOJ have a problem with an organization that doesn't pay ONE PENNY in taxes, that is dedicated to the spiritual and moral well being of their congregations, having political opinions and trying to sway their congregation to its way of thinking? Why is that a problem? (Okay, sarcasm all gone.)

            (Your Pope apologizes for the sarcastic editorial comments in the last paragraph (above); I've been told by the Bored of Elders that I may not editorialize in The NO BULLetin, and I forgot, and I'm sorry, and I won't do it again ever. I promise.)

*The AJATTWC's Second Annual Gerbil Golf Outing*

            Men's Club President Brother Bill Collector is pleased to announce that the Church's Second Annual Gerbil Golf Outing will take place on Saturday, 5.3/69, with the first tee time at 8:8:9. All of you gerbil golfers who would like to participate need to put their names (and handicap) on the sign-up sheet in the Church office. Since this is a fund-raising event, as well as a great time, $75 of the $100 "greens fee" for each player will be donated to the Home For The Chronically Bewildered, with the remaining $25 going directly to the Popemeister, to cover expenses and provide beer.

            And folks, please let's not have a repeat of last year's unfortunate incident involving hamsters. The guilty parties confessed, paid for the repairs of the Church kitchen and all was forgiven (except for several really unhappy hamsters). Let's have a great tournament and a fun day.

*Wedding Plans Revealed*

            Brother Hy Waders and his wife, Sister Vanilla, are thrilled to announce that their lovely daughter, Hyram Jr., is to be married on June Umpteenth, here in the Church, to her fiancé and welding instructor, Brother Bob Upendown, son of Brother Letsgo and his lovely wife, Bouncing. The happy couple will have as their best man Mr. Ben Dover, and the maid of honor will be Sister Karen Feeding, and are registered at Sam's Dungeon and Pizza Parlor, the Doll House and WalMart.

*Teen Club Movie Party*

            Sister Deb Utant, the President of the Teens For John, the teen club of the AJATTWC, wants all the teenagers in the Church to know that the TFJ is planning a "movie party" for next Friday evening, starting with seeing the movie "Teens Aflame", a infomovie by Sarah Plain And Loud examining the horror and sluttiness and disgustingness and sinfulness of teenage...uhh, naughty stuff. After the movie, everyone is invited to attend a post-movie discussion of the ultra-right wing conservative, um, excuse me, the issues brought up in the movie. The "discussion group" will "party" here in the Church Meeting Hall, where there will ample armed chaperones. Sister Deb asks that volunteers contact her to help with refreshments.

*Please Patronize Our Sponsors*

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

-The Law Firm of Dewey, Cheatum and Howe, Attorneys At Law

            "No case, nor fee, is too small; we're in it for the dough."

            www.MyLawyerCanWhipYourLawyer.com

-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 hymnals,

PJTT

copyright 2011 Krissongs, Inc.