Looking At Tiny Things

Scanning electron microscope.

What a meaty phrase.

Scanning electron microscope.

As your Pope, I have absolutely no reason to know what a "scanning electron microscope" is, or for that matter, does. (Actually, I do know what one is, and I have a sketchy idea of what they do, but beyond that, foursquare and where's the beef, what they do might as well be magic to me.) No one at the All John All The Time World Church uses one, so I have little experience with these machines. I'm sure "scanning electron microscopes" do wonderful things, especially if you're into looking at real tiny things like bacteria, viruses, quarks and Lindsey Lohan's brain, assuming its existence.

Since I know so little about the "scanning electron microscope", I decided to look up the definition of one on Wikipedia, and here's what they had to say:

A scanning electron microscope (SEM) is a type of electron microscope that images a sample by scanning it with a high-energy beam of electrons in a raster scan pattern. The electrons interact with the atoms that make up the sample producing signals that contain information about the sample's surface topography, composition, and other properties such as electrical conductivity.
The types of signals produced by an SEM include secondary electrons, back-scattered electrons (BSE), characteristic X-rays, light (cathodoluminescence), specimen current and transmitted electrons. Secondary electron detectors are common in all SEMs, but it is rare that a single machine would have detectors for all possible signals. The signals result from interactions of the electron beam with atoms at or near the surface of the sample. In the most common or standard detection mode, secondary electron imaging or SEI, the SEM can produce very high-resolution images of a sample surface, revealing details less than 1 nm in size. Due to the very narrow electron beam, SEM micrographs have a large depth of field yielding a characteristic three-dimensional appearance useful for understanding the surface structure of a sample. This is exemplified by the micrograph of pollen shown to the right. A wide range of magnifications is possible, from about 10 times (about equivalent to that of a powerful hand-lens) to more than 500,000 times, about 250 times the magnification limit of the best light microscopes. Back-scattered electrons (BSE) are beam electrons that are reflected from the sample by elastic scattering. BSE are often used in analytical SEM along with the spectra made from the characteristic X-rays. Because the intensity of the BSE signal is strongly related to the atomic number (Z) of the specimen, BSE images can provide information about the distribution of different elements in the sample. For the same reason, BSE imaging can image colloidal gold immuno-labels of 5 or 10 nm diameter, which would otherwise be difficult or impossible to detect in secondary electron images in biological specimens. Characteristic X-rays are emitted when the electron beam removes an inner shell electron from the sample, causing a higher energy electron to fill the shell and release energy. These characteristic X-rays are used to identify the composition and measure the abundance of elements in the sample.

Now don't you feel edified?

Now all of the above (see above) is of no particular import, other than if you're writing a paper on the "scanning electron microscope", then I'm sure the information would be of great value. But I'm not writing a paper on the "SEM" (hah, you thought I was going to write it out again, didn't you?), so I really don't care.

Its sunny and going to be in the mid-80s later today here in the bucolic and slightly confused San Fernando Valley, and I'm thinking that what I really care about is getting out this afternoon and getting the PopeMobile washed and waxed. Harley says he'll help, but mostly he just lays in the shade and watches me work.

And as my "assistant", he gets paid for this; Harley would fit right in up in Washington.

And speaking of east of CA, which, if you haven't looked at a map of the ol' US of A recently, pretty much covers the entire country, did you guys know that the Cleveland Indians have an outfielder playing for them named Shin-Soo Choo?

Shin-Soo Choo.

Okay, here's the bet: $10 says you can't drink three beers in thirty minutes, and then say "Shin-Soo Choo" quickly six times in a row. (Shit, I doubt I could say it once.)

Now you're probably wondering, if you've made it this far, what exactly is the significance of, and the connection between, a "scanning electron microscope" and the unusual name of the Indian's starting left fielder, yes?

Ready?

Both phrases were in my "idea" folder for posts that I haven't written yet, and I didn't have a topic for today's essay, so I just thought that I would let you guys know about these things, in an effort to expand your knowledge of the world about you. After all, one of my duties as your Pope Guy is to enlighten you and to help guide you through the moral labyrinth of today's fast-paced, high-tech "slutty" world.

("Scanning electron microscopes" are not really very slutty, but hey, you never know, and where would all the goofs in the Tea Party Wing of the GOP be without "constant vigilance"? And I can't speak for how "slutty" Shin-Soo Choo is, so we'll just give him the benefit of the doubt in this case.)

I'm thinking about getting Harley a "scanning electron microscope" for his birthday; he wouldn't have the slightest idea what to do with it, but hey, that didn't stop that horse's ass Arnold ("The Sperminator") Schwarzenhooven from running for Governor of California a few years ago.

I regularly thank God in my emails to him for creating politicians; you can only pick on the dumbshits in Hollywood just so long, and then its time for a change.

Tomorrow: Sarah Plain And Loud explains how she thinks her "Mama Grizzly" approach to governing is best and how, if elected President, she's sure it will improve the efficiency of all the "scanning electron microscopes" in the country.

And she also explains why she thought Albert Bell was still playing left field for the Indians.

Love and I have no idea sometimes,

PJTT

copyright 2011 Krissongs, Inc.

If This Were Macy's, These Would Be Departments

我看見了孟菲斯明亮的光和代將旅館，並且在街燈之下，我遇見了一名南部的佳麗。 她把我带到河，並且那裡她降了她的咒語，和南部的月光，她那么很好唱了歌曲。 如果您將是我的Dixie雞，我將是您的田納西羊羔，並且我們可以一起走在Dixie土地擊倒，下來在Dixie土地。 很好我們做了所有熱點，並且我的金錢流動了像酒，那低落下來南部的威士忌酒然后開始使我的頭腦模糊。 並且我不记得教堂钟或我在房子白色尖桩篱栅和木板走道放下在鎮邊緣的金錢。 但是男孩我记得我們一起度过和方式她會叫我的名字她的疊句和夜的張力。 如果您將是我的Dixie雞，我將是您的田納西羊羔，並且我們可以一起走在Dixie土地擊倒，下來在Dixie土地。 很好它是一年，自從您走開了，那位吉他演奏员可能肯定使用。 她總是喜歡唱歌，她總是得心應手的與歌曲。 然后在代將旅館的大廳的一夜，我偶然發生遇見說的侍酒者他很好认识她。 並且，因為他遞了我一份飲料，他開始哼唱著歌曲，並且那裡所有男孩在酒吧開始唱歌。 如果您將是我的Dixie雞，我將是您的田納西羊羔，並且我們可以一起走在Dixie土地擊倒，下來在Dixie土地。

As a public service to all you loyal followers of the Pope Guy of the All John All The Time World Church (me), I thought I would provide you with an English to Traditional Chinese translation of the lyrics to the song "Dixie Chicken" by Lowell George of Little Feat. ("...if you'll be my Dixie chicken, I'll be your Tennessee lamb...". Great song. And they got it all translated except the word "Dixie" (see above). By the way, this one's for you, Susie.)

I recently spent a great deal of time (14 minutes) producing and directing a short animated video called "The Pope John Cheer" (http://newvideos.xtranormal.com/web_final_hi/a1adfd3c-78a3-11e0-a6c5-003048d6740d_61.mp4) and as is often the case when I become preoccupied with a project of that magnitude, some of the other details get overlooked.

So now that the film is "in the can" (that's Hollywoodese for "in the shitt", ahh, sorry, "completed and ready for distribution"), I finally had a moment to meet with my various department heads and get their reports on the status of "stuff" in the world, to wit:

*From the FAQ: How Do I Access Galactic Birth Records? Department*

            President Barrack Obama apparently decided that enough is enough and sent his personal lawyer to Hawaii recently to arrange to have the "long form" of his birth certificate released to the media to quell growing speculation, not surprisingly, predominately from Republicans and other far-right goofballs, that he had not been born on American soil and was therefore Constitutionally unqualified to hold the office of POTUS. In the meantime, while these "birther" geniuses are out in the yard, baying at the moon, Mr. Obama is dealing with other equally minor issues like, oh, I don't know, maybe the mission to capture/kill Osama Bin Laden, or the deficit battle in Congress or making sure that all the Southern states that suffered the recent spate of tornado-caused damage have Federal assistance, Quadaffi, the MidEast, Iran, or maybe one of those other pesky, unimportant details by which the President is so often inconvenienced. 

            And you know what? If the "birthers" could find a way to access galactic and intergalactic birth records, they'd claim Obama was born on the planet Xanthous, the son of Febrlkl Juttedh and Kkenthr Sprtoth, in less time than it takes to "Beam me up, Scotty", believe me.

            Birth Day Of Child: Star Date 5693.851.

*From the You Guys Do Not Think Of Things The Way I Do Department*

            I was watching a recent Dodgers/Braves game, broadcast from Turner Field in Atlanta, and several times during the game I noticed a particular ad on the "electronic billboard" behind home plate. (You've seen these "billboards" if you've seen a baseball game on TV; they're right behind the batter as he stands in the batter's box, and the ad "message" changes frequently, to different sponsors. Unless you close your eyes and merely listen to the broadcast (I think that's called radio), you cannot avoid seeing these ads.)

            The advertisement that caught my attention among so many others was for a sports-ticket agency called StubHub; perhaps you've heard of them. (Perhaps you don't give a shit.) The point here is that, as I sat there, trying to watch the interaction of the pitcher/batter/catcher/umpire, my gaze kept returning to the "StubHub" sign behind the action, and after several glances back and forth between the billboard and the game, I came to realize that "StubHub" backwards is BuhButs, and I thought that was pretty funny.

            Not near as funny as the way the Dodgers were playing that day, but still humorous.

*From the Maybe It Was Self-Defense Department*

            Although the Associated Press report from Charleston WV (that's VW backwards) didn't say as much, self-defense would seem to be the only slightly plausible explanation for the actions of Charleston resident Mark L. Thompson, who was charged by the local sheriff's department recently with felony cruelty to an animal. Mr. Thompson was found:

            a) in the bedroom of his home;

            b) dressed in a bra and panties (there was no mention in the report if the underwear was his or someone else's);

            c) standing over the bloody, lifeless body of his neighbor's pygmy goat;

            d) whose name was Bailey (so help me, that's the name of the goat, not the neighbor);

e) that had died from a stab wound (also goat, not neighbor);

            f) holding a bloody knife in his hand;

            g) with a PORNOGRAPHIC MAGAZINE LYING OPEN ON THE FLOOR NEXT TO THE DEAD GOAT;

h) with a shit-eatin' grin on his face. (Okay, I made that one up.)

According to the police report, the neighbor who owned the goat, Lisa Powers, was alerted to what was happening by another neighbor, and approached and entered Thompson's house with two friends, looking for the goat. (The article didn't mention just exactly how the alerting neighbor knew what Shepard Boy was doing inside the house, inside his bedroom, and for the sake of whatever little decorum I'm still maintaining, I won't speculate.) They didn't immediately find either Thompson or the goat, but heard sounds coming from behind a closed bedroom door. They knocked on the door and, quote, "...from inside Thompson's closed bedroom, 'he told them, 'Don't come in, I'm naked,' Powers told police. 'But they opened the door and he was standing there with his pants down. He had on women's clothing and the goat was dead and there was blood everywhere. It was just a scene.'"

The report went on to add this comment from the arresting officer, who wrote:  "Thompson indicated he had been high and 'wasn't in his right mind' at the time of the incident."

If it wasn't self-defense, it had to be a religious ceremony.

*From the Hey, It's A Recession Thing, Okay? Department*

            I commented in one of my posts recently, and I don't remember which one and I'm too lazy to look it up, so take my word for it, okay?, that I had noticed in one of their ads in the L.A. Times that The 99 Cent Store now has a bridal registry, which I found to be mildly ironic and pretty funny.

            Quote The 99 Cent Store ad in today's Times: "Ask us about our Layaway Plan!" in that breathless, airhead-sounding way of cheesy advertising everywhere.

            Layaway? It's a 99 Cent Store, everything is 99 cents, right? Layaway?

            Being so broke that you have to put items on layaway at The 99 Cent Store would seem to be the embodiment of the phrase "if it took a nickel to shit I'd have to throw up".

            Whew.

*From the Do We REALLY Need A Word For That? Department*

            I was looking up a word in my Webster's New World Dictionary Of The American Language (not to confuse the "American language" with English, and yes, I do use an old-fashioned, PRINTED BOOK THING kind of dictionary, unlike people in today's high-tech environment, who, to determine the definition or usage of a particular word, snap open their iPhone or ThinkPad or BlackBerry, scroll through 8,453 apps to find the "Dictionary" icon, touch the icon and then wait for the Internet to upload, type in "flabbenshortzer" in the Search box, wait for the answer, and then realize that they don't have a pen to write down the answer on the piece of paper that they also don't have, but that's okay, they can save the link...geez) and I came upon a word (not the one I was looking up) that started me to thinking as to whether or not we actually need all these words we have.

            Anyway, the word I stumbled onto was on page 508 of the WNWDOTAL; the word?

            ~Excrementitious. (eks' kre men tish' aes), adj., of, or having the nature of, excrement; excremental.~

            Shit, I believe that we just have too many words, and I think we ought to flush some of them down the crapper, you know, just take a whole load of extra, unnecessary words and dump them.

            On page 834, I saw, ahh, never mind.

*From the And These People Are Our Allies? Department*

            According to an article in the Sunday, May 15th, edition of the Los Angeles Times, which was authored by Molly Hennessey-Fiske, reporting from Kabul, Afghanistan, Afghani mental health professionals are struggling to bring new approaches to the treatment of mentally ill patients in that war-torn country, and Hennessey-Fiske chronicles in the article some of the difficulties authorities have encountered while attempting to upgrade the country's treatment facilities.

            That's all just peachy, but what caught my eye was this paragraph; ready?

            "Experts estimate that 60% of the Afghan populace suffers from mild to severe mental illness."

            Replay, anyone?

            "Experts estimate that 60% of the Afghan populace suffers from mild to severe mental illness."

            60% of the population of Afghanistan can be characterized as having a "mild to severe" case of goofy-toots? Oh good, and they're our allies.

            Of course, they probably look at us and think, oh yeah, we're crazy, but you silly assholes elected George W. Bush President. TWICE. And we're crazy?

            Sure.

*From the Heroes Are Made, Not Drawn Department*

            I am ashamed to admit this, but after living in LA (pronounced LAH) for over ten years now, I just learned the other day that LA is the proud owner of a really, totally awesome statue of two of my favoritest childhood heroes...

            ...Rocky the Flying Squirrel and Bullwinkle J. Moose.

            And I didn't know, and I'm really ashamed, and embarrassed that I didn't know.

            The statue is actually owned by the daughter of the original owner, and the story of that, and how the statue came to be made and displayed at the Hollywood location where it has stood since 1961 and lots of really interesting stuff about the guys who created R & B is a REALLY long one that I won't repeat here because it's almost lunch time and I'm hungry. So here's the link to the article:

            http://articles.latimes.com/2011/may/15/local/la-me-then-20110515

            Go look, read, enjoy already. (I sound like a Jewish mother, and I'm not even Jewish, or a mother.)

So there you have it, fans of the Pope and his band of merry men, all the news that was fit to print, and some that wasn't. I'll let you decide the difference.

While you work on that, I'm going to work on getting the image of Shepard Boy in his best Victoria's Secret undies, performing some kind of weird sexual voodoo shit on that poor little goat in the Bedroom with the Knife. (I used to love playing "Clue" when I was a kid; now I'm an adult, using the term loosely, and I don't have one.)

Hey, that reminds me, have you guys seen the new Britney Spears vid yet? (One of the assistant directors on the video "shoot" asked Her Britness if she saw the henway. Brit says, henway, what's a henway? and the AD says, oh, about 4 pounds.)

Love and 1st Floor, Men's and Ladies, 2nd Floor, Furniture, 3rd Floor...(departments, get it? okay, it was a little esoteric),

PJTT

copyright 2011 Krissongs, Inc.

Ark Of The Convenient, Wait, Wrong Ark

A number of my faithful followers have asked that I upload a picture of myself, so that all my adoring public will have an image of my Papal wonderfulness to gaze on as often they desire. You know, as an inspiration of sorts ("Momma, don't let your babies grow up to Pope Guys."). Just trying to be the best Pope I can be.

No, actually, I'm happy to report that that is NOT a picture of your Popemeister, but of an unidentified passenger on, according to the report from Harriet Baskus on MSN.com, a US Airways flight from Ft. Lauderdale FL to Phoenix AZ, some time recently. There was no explanation in the article for the gentleman's attire, but we can assume that he was headed for Phoenix to audition for the role of "Smurfette" in the new Steven Spielberg production of the movie, "The Smurfs: At The Border"; its scheduled to star Robert DeNiro as Papa Smurf, Ashton Kutcher as the noble but conflicted Bobby Smurf, and there's a character that is known as "Asshole" in the script, and I hear Arnold ("The Sperminator") Schwartzenhooven is a lock for the part.

And frankly, I think white thigh-highs would have been much more appropriate than black with that outfit. (It just occurred to me that the last two posts I've uploaded have had pictures of a male in female's clothing at the top of the article. That's a rather disturbing trend, don't you think? And yes, as I'm writing this I'm wearing a very tasteful bra and panty set from VS, with matching Prada heels and bag. As is Harley, without the Prada bag.)

"...and let the wild rumpus begin..." (Thank you, Maurice Sendak.)

As I'm sure you're all aware by now, if you follow the exploits of the Pope and his sidekick, the Harley Dog,  the Bored Of Elders of the All John All The Time World Church sends us all over the Galaxy to spread the "soothing balm of Johnism" to troubled spots that our crack(ed) staff here at the AJATTWC headquarters identify and isolate for them.

The Bored also gets all kinds of invites for us as well: commencement addresses to give, new heads of state to be crowned, new cathedrals to be dedicated, new bishops to be ordained and new shopping malls to be opened, yes, its safe to say that the Bored gets their mileage, pardon the pun, out of the Harley Dog and I. (See picture to, let's see, my watch is on my left wrist, so that would be, yes, there to the right; mine is above, as noted previously. Not.)

They also periodically send us to look into "situations" that might require the involvement of the Pope and the vast resources ($14.56) of the AJATTWC as well, incidents such as the Great Girl Scout Cookie Fiasco we investigated earlier this year, so when one of our highly qualified but poorly paid staffers, (Dee Dee Spanxalot, my ex-girlfriend; the Bored thought it made me look magnanimous if I hired an ex-; I told her that if the Bored finds out about the busload of midgets, the sousaphone and the six tubes of axle grease, she's gone, I don't care how magnaminos, ah, magmanimus, shit, how good we look for hiring her.)

So when I got the call from my consigliore, the Right Reverend Monsignor Michael Jordan, (no, not the one who used to do Gatorade commercials), telling me that he had an interesting assignment for us, I was pumped.

"NOW where are we going, for chrissake, we just got back from Port Collection Of Trees WAH a couple of days ago," I said, happily and with much enthusiasm. (See my post from 6/23 for THAT story; as a "heads-up", it's the other story that had the picture of a cross-dressing pervert boy at the top. I promise, this is not a trend, at least I hope it isn't.)

"The Bored wants you and the HD to look into a "situation" of which they just became aware over in Europe. Some guy has built a replica of "Noah's Ark" and they want to know what's up."

"Noah's Ark? Like as in the Bible Noah's Ark?" I asked brightly.

"Yeah, I sent you an email with the link to the video. This guy is some kind of contractor over in Holland, and he built this full-scale replica of the Ark; says he had a dream once that Holland was half-flooded and that's what gave him the inspiration to build it."

"Holland is half-flooded ALL the time, how could you tell if it got worse?"

"I don't know that, PJ; all I know is that the Bored wants you guys wheels-up tomorrow morning, on your way to Europe to see the guy who built this monstrosity and find out his intentions," Mike replied.

"His intentions? Whatta' they think he's gonna' do, kidnap two of each of all the animals in the world, load them on and then wait for the next big rain? Geez. Hey, I've got an idea."

"What's that?" Mike said, suspiciously.

"Well, they just finished refitting the Dee Dee, how about if we take her instead of the Kidding for a change? Are we on a tight time-frame here?"

"No, not that I know of. How long will it take to get to Holland by boat?"

"Less time than it would take to walk. I don't know, Mike, but tell the Bored we're on our way, and just don't mention how we're going, all right?"

"Hey, you're the Pope, whatever you say."

I'm the Pope, gotta' love me.

The Dee Dee that I referred to above (see back there a few sentences) is the SS Dee Dee, the "official" yacht of the Pope Dude, and she's an awesome vessel. And NO, she's not named for my ex-girlfriend; the name is supposed to be a play on words, you know, like the old 3-1/2" computer discs or "same shit, different day". Anyway, she's a 245 foot beauty with twin Pratt-Whitney engines, capable of 5982 knots (that's 38 mph to you non-nautical types, or piR squared plus postage and handling), and sleeps 115 guests, has a swimming pool, beauty salon, casino, massage parlor, tennis courts, the Statue of Liberty, two Irish pubs and its own zip-code. Yeah, I think we'll take her this time.

So we're off to the land of the little Dutch boy, wooden shoes, levees and dikes. (Whoa, I just realized what I said; they have Jewish priests and lesbians there in HollandLand besides this Ark thing? What the hell is that all about?)

Damn, there's the Popephone again...

"PJTT...yeah, Mike, what's up?...oh, LeVITES, I thought it was, well, never mind that now...they do what?...hold back water?...so they're not lesbians?...shit...okay, I'll fix it...(large sigh of capitulation here)...is there anything else I've written that you'd like to correct?...fine, thank you." (Slams phone down.)

I hate it when he does that. (Oh, and by the way, for you Jewish history-challenged types, originally all the "priests" of the Jewish religion came from the Tribe of Levi. After I wrote it, I realized the refernece was a little TOO esoteric, even for me.)

(I understand they call those wooden shoe things the Dutch wear "clogs"; kinda' makes sense from a place that's half under water all the time, to say nothing of being 21 feet BELOW sea-level in some places. And then there's all those Jewish priests and lesbos running all over, geez, what a country.)

So Harley and I headed down to San Pedro (that's Lower Zimbaweanian for "Place Of Boats"), arrived on the dock, boarded the Dee Dee and headed south. Our course will take us east through the Panama Canal, across the Gulf of Mexico and over the Northern Atlantic to Holland; I'm figuring a crossing of two-three months, depending on the prevailing winds. Wait, I'm sorry, that's how long it took Pizarro and Cortez and all those Spaniels to get over here from Europe; it's a lot faster these days.

(Wait a minute, something's wrong with that last sentence..."Spaniels"? That's not right. I'd better fix this before I get another call from the snooty Jordan guy again.)

Spaniards. Excuse me. (Hey, RRMMJ: eat shit, dictionary boy.)

Well, I wanted to tell you the story of how Harley and I crossed the great ocean, braved jungle conditions and savage hoards to find this guy, Johan Huibers, who built the new Ark, and then give you an complete rundown of the story and how he came to be inspired to build his giant ship, but I have to close now and attend to other matters that require my Papal attention.

I just learned that the Bored received a report this morning of an ongoing police investigation taking place in Radnor PA; it seems employees of a Bed, Bath And Beyond store there found a 35-pound bag of vomit in their parking lot one morning when they arrived to open the store for business. Even more interesting, this is the SECOND bag of vomit they've found in the parking lot in the last two weeks. And I just want to know how they determined there was 35 pounds of vomit in the bag; did they weigh it?

Oh yeah, that's a call I can hardly wait to get.

Anyway, here's the link to the story of Johan Huibers and "Johan's Ark":

http://today.msnbc.msn.com/id/43492787/ns/today-today_people/t/meet-man-whos-re-creating-noahs-ark?GT1=43001

Oh, and I finally found out what a "cubit" is; actually, I already knew that it was a measurement of length that was used in Noah's time, I just never knew how long a "cubit" is, you know, like a "foot" is twelve inches, or an appendage at the end of your leg. (God had to tell Noah what a "cubit" was also, per Bill Cosby; apparently, he didn't know either.) According to the article, a cubit "in ancient times was the length of a man’s arm from elbow to fingertips, or roughly 18 inches".

I never knew that; I always thought a "cubit" was a small, two-headed furry rodent, wait, that's an "ebert", sorry, I always get them confused.

And I'll tell you what: building that Ark was impressive, but a guy who can produce 35 pounds of vomit, shit, that's spectacular.

Love and registration, err, regurgitation,

PJTT

copyright 2011 Krissongs, Inc.

R Kives

Okay, by show of hands, how many of you wouldn't mind "surfing" through the archives of your Pope Guy's Greatest Hits over the next few days while I attend to other All John All The Time World Church matters, such as poverty, disease eradication, the spiritual health of my flock and what to do with all those 8-track tapes I still have down in the garage?

Let's see, one, two, four, eight, nine, okay, there's a few of you.

So tell you what, oh ye loyal followers of Pope John The Tall, (every time I write that I get this quick mental image of a cartoon show that I used to watch when I was a kid; it was the Garfield Goose And Friends show, and it was hosted by a fat, jolly guy named Frasier Thomas, who, when he would introduce Garfield (all the characters were hand puppets) at the beginning of the show, would say, "Garfield Goose, (slight pause here), King Of The United States", in a very solemn, breathy kind of voice, with the capital letters obvious in his tone), for the next couple of days, please muddle along as best you can without the "soothing balm of Johnism", except in reruns, and peruse the archives of my previous essays, (go right -->, and then go due south on this page), which have all the tenets of Johnism that you'll need to see you through these next few difficult days.

And remember, there'll be a quiz on this material next week.

Hail Dorothy!

Love and second takes,

PJTT

copyright 2011 Krissongs, Inc.

High Heel, Silver, Away

Now, first off, I have to tell you that I like the heels. I'm not crazy about the dress (when was that look fashionable, back in the '70s?), but I really like the heels.

Just not on Sam.

I was sitting at my desk in my office at the World Headquarters of the All John All The Time World Church, which is conveniently located in the bucolic and always sunny and warm San Fernando Valley here in LA (pronounced LAH), working on next month's announcements for the AJATTWC NO BULLetin, when the phone rang. Since it does this periodically during the day, I wasn't surprised by it.

"PJTT...hey, Mike...yeah, last week...hey, did you see where Selig said no go to the Fox TV deal for the Dodgers?...Frank McShitwad, on the first flight outta' of LA, thank you and please pass the artichokes...he's the only owner in the MLB that's worse than the ownership group for the Cubs, and that's a pretty low standard, I gotta' tell you. So what's up?...again?...yeah, actually, it has been awhile. Where they sending us?...what's in Port Orchard WAH?...the kid did what?...oh, yeah, this boy needs help, big time...when do we leave?... then I better hustle. Call you from WAH."

The call was from my consigliore, the Right Reverend Monsignor Michael Jordan (no, not the one who starred in "Space Jam"); he tells me that the Bored Of Elders of the AJATTWC is sending the Harley Dog and I off on one of our "missionary trips", where we go to some god-forsaken outback, like Thuringia, Germany, or Grand Rapids MI, or even, gasp of horror, Lower Zimbabwe (home of the ebert) or even the planet HumidorPrime (home of the Whopper).

Now whenever my sidekick, roommate and best buddy, Mr. Harley Dog (see picture that way --->) and I are sent on one of these missions to spread the message of the "soothing balm of Johnism", we generally take my atomic powered rocket ship, the Royal Unionship Kidding (RU Kidding for short, picture of which is also that way --->), because the Kidding is equipped with HyperAromaDrive, which allows the ship to approach and slightly exceed the Speed Of Aroma. It's a great ship, with a shitload of amenities, including space to sleep 8 adults, or the starting defensive line for the Chicago Bears, an onboard brewery, a gym, a video game room, two pizza parlors, a WalMart, a drive-through synagogue, (hey, we're tolerant) and a hydroponic "lawn" down in the cargo hold so Harley can "go outside". (Going outside, literally, in a spaceship is generally considered a no-no, unless you're one of those crazy but incredibly brave astronaut guys that zoom all around outside the International Space Station in those jet-pack thingies. Keep up the good work, guys, you've got bigger ones than I'll ever have.)

We have a spacesuit for Harley, specially made no less, in case he ever has to actually "go outside" the ship; he hates it, though, because he has to have his tail tucked inside. With Harley's luck, if he doesn't keep the old tail inside, he'll get radiation burns on his butt. (That's has to be unpleasant.) ("No, numb-nuts, your ex-wife was unpleasant, radiation burns on your butt would hurt like a bitch. And there's your ex-wife again, twice in the same sentence.")

So the guys in back are getting the Kidding all prepared for the trip, (including stocking the 'fridge and making sure my gerbil golf clubs are onboard) and we're off later this morning. This will be a very short "jump", since we're only going to, where the hell are we going again? Oh, yeah, Port Orchard WA. (What the hell kind of name is "Port Orchard", anyway? I don't get the connection; I mean, a port is for ships and boats and fisherman and whales and sea urchins and sea teenagers and the Queen Mary and crab shacks and I don't know what all and an orchard is a collection of trees. Huh??) Anyway, since WA is "relatively" close to LA (pronounced "I'll have my people call your people"), other than with hand grenades or horseshoes, the trip will be short, and we should arrive in Port Collection Of Trees well before lunch (and hopefully in time for a quick round of gerbil golf before we have to get to work).

Now there's an interesting explanation for why the young man above, a ninth-grader in Port Collection Of Trees named Sam Saurs, is dressed the way he is. It seems he commented to his mother one day that he didn't think walking in high heels was that big a deal. (Speaking from experience, I can tell you that, well, never mind that now.) Mom, being one of those types of people (female) that wear high heels with some frequency, apparently took umbrage to this rather cavalier attitude from her offspring towards the difficult act of balancing on thin sticks that are considered to be "fashionable", only because they are "fashionable", and challenged him, according to the article on MNS.com, to "try it".

There's more to the story, but I need to pause here and consider something.

Okay, kid says, hey, high heels, no big deal, Mom, you're a wuss. Mom says, okay, hot rod, you try it. Kid says, (because kids are fundamentally brain damaged), sure.

Now, I don't know about you, but I'm okay with the story to here; smart mouth kid, Mom dares him, he says, okay, Mom, I'll show you, neener-neener-neener, yeah, been there, done that, know the lineup.

But then the kid goes and adds the dress.

And then wears the whole ensemble to school.

I don't know, maybe its just me, but I just have this feeling that if you "come out" as a cross-dresser at the ripe old age of 15, you're going to have a long and difficult life.

Or maybe not, because the world is becoming a more tolerant place, hard as that is to believe and good as it is to see. (I saw an ad for a website in support of Sam Saurs right after I found the article.)

Now Sam may be a "crosser", he may be gay, he may just be a kid with a VERY odd sense of humor and a really strong sense of who he is, or he may just be certifiable. I don't know about that. I do know that old Sam, like those astronauts, does have WAY bigger ones than I'll ever have.

Young man, I admire you for your courage and your sense of the absurd.

Sam got his chops busted by the school authorities and was suspended for the remainder of the school year, later reduced to three days.

His punishment also included not being allowed to attend the ninth-grade dance, which is a real shame, because I understand he was going to wear his basic little black dress, or as its known in fashion circles, the LBD, with some very hot Calvin Klein platforms and an oh so tasteful string of pearls to set the whole thing off.

There was another article on the 'Net the other day, and I didn't save it unfortunately, but basically it reported the story of a security guard at a minor-league baseball stadium being punished by the team for verbally chastising two women fans who had kissed each other while sitting in the stands watching a ballgame. The women, lesbians and partners, told the guard something about their rights and to, basically, piss off. He apparently responded that they may have the legal right to act that way, but in that stadium, they recognized the Bible. (There was no attempt by the author of the article to explain what the guard had said, nor to defend it; I'm assuming the author was smart enough to realize that neither was possible.)

Wouldn't you love to hear what Bible Bill would have to say about Sam Saurs and his most recent collection, now being shown in fine stores everywhere?

Is this a great country or what?

Love and size three,

PJTT

copyright 2011 Krissongs, Inc.

God Of Wind

Nudh nuh nugh nuh nuh. Hudnd nugh nuh nugh.

Shit.

Hey, it's hard to talk when your tongue's hard. (God, that was crude.)

(To which God replied, "Yes, Pope, that was extremely crude, you douche-bag.")

Sorry. That, that is an amazing-looking automobile, but we'll get to that in a moment.

Now that I can talk again, hi-ho and do the hustle, I am hereby announcing that the Harley Dog and myself, your favorite Pope Guy, are going on strike. That's right, music lovers, we're striking as a protest against the cruel and despicable manner that has characterized the way the Bored Of Elders of the All John All The Time World Church has treated your Popeamundo and HD. Especially me.

(For you newcomers to the soothing balm of Johnism, "the Harley Dog" that I referred to above is Harley, the "official" canine of the AJATTWC, as well as my backup navigator when we're onboard my "official" atomic powered rocket ship, the Royal Unionship Kidding (RU Kidding for short), sidekick and roommate. That's a lotta' hats for one dog, but he's an exceptional dog. He's not as cute as he thinks he is, either. There's a picture of him to the right...no, doofuses, your other right.)

I am steadfast in my resolve, I am firm in my beliefs and I am a registered Republican. (One of those previous statements was a blatant, disgusting, slanderous lie; hey, did you know that "Republican" backwards is Snacilpuber (pronounced Old Boring Guy Party.) No, I mean it, this is insufferable, it is intolerable, it's like the stench that the Lakers left over the entire city of Los Angeles with their performance in the second round of the playoffs against the Dallas Mavericks this year, it's...not good.

If you go ALL the way back to 1/26 of this year, and check out the essay that I posted that day, I was talking about how much I really needed a "Popemobile", you know, a slick, pimped-out ride that I could call my own. (Do the "hip" people still say "pimped" or did I just embarrass myself?) Okay, I admit, I have expensive tastes, but, hey, I'm the Pope Dude, I should be entitled, all right?

Anyway, that's where it started. Yes, I have, at various times, asked for a Porsche, a Ferrari, a Jaguar and a Schwinn World bicycle, and I understand those are very expensive vehicles, but the position of Pope is one of image, and I thought that these various autos/bicycle represented my image favorably.

The Bored Of Elders, however, did not see it that way.

After the Bored turned down as "too extravagant" all of the above "suggestions", I decided that I would make one last attempt to obtain for myself, and by so doing, enhance the image of Your Pope, a really hot ride.

So, being a typical person of our Internet age, I jumped on Google and went looking.

(A brief pause to build a moment of solemnity...)

That is a Pagani Huayra (pronounced "Oh. My. God.").

Nugh, nuh nuh, hegh uh...sorry.

The powerplant is a Mercedes Benz V12 TwinTurbo 6.0 liter designed by AMG for MB engine that develops 700 HP (SEVEN HUNDRED HORSEPOWER) that pushes the Huayra to a top end of somewhere around the Speed Of Aroma (230 MPH).

Thank you, and good night.

I stumbled onto a short video of this beast; it appears to be of a couple of tech guys rolling out a prototype vehicle. You have to check this out; this is an amazing car. From the rear it looks like a spaceship.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SqWKWJ7jiCw

"Huayra" is the name of the ancient Andean God Of Holy Horsepower, Batman, They Want $1.4 Mil For That Son-Of-A-Bitch. Excuse me, God Of Wind, like as in how hard I broke same when I saw the price tag on that buggy. Those Pagani folks, they aren't bashful, I'll give them that.

What a beautiful example of the automotive art; granted that the perception of automobile building as an art requires one to get past thinking only of the functionality of the automobile, and admire certain autos as strictly objects d'art, rather than as examples of a useful, but mundane and everyday, conveyance. But once past, it is hard to imagine a more incredible exemplar of the art than this.

In other words, that is one maternal fornicator of a car, bro.

So I told the Bored, hey, I'll give up the Clippers season's tickets (oh yeah, that was hard, like giving up ringside seats to a live medical school presentation of the short piece, "The Proper Way To Perform A Colonoscopy"), and the Walmart discount card, and the $3.75 meal per diem AND the annual subscription to "DDD Beauties" (and go away and stop bothering them about a car), if they could see their way clear to allow me to purchase a...

...(a flourish of saxo, err, trumpets here please...)

...Pagani Huayra.

Just one.

And they said no. Again.

Assholes.

So Harley and I are on strike, and we aren't returning until our demands (see "***Demands***" below) are met. Or at least waved hello at.

***Demands***

            #1- a Pagani Huayra.

            #2- a lifetime subscription to "DDD Beauties"

            #3- and Harley wants a new chew toy, preferably one that squeaks

That's it.

So step up, B Of E, or me and the hound, we're outta' here, hasta la vista, bubala, which ain't Spanish for "Baby, You Can Drive My Car", one of my all time favorite Beatle tunes, okay? We're geography, dudes.

Hang on, the Popephone is ringing; it's probably the Bored calling, begging us to return.

"PJTT...hey, Mike, any news?...oh, they did?...no, I'm not surprised, I expected them to come crawling soon...they said what?......HOW long?...shit...shit...okay, we can go looking tomorrow...hey, what about the subscription...tell them I said that's cold...yeah...yeah...okay, gotta' go."

Shit.

That was my consigliore, the Right Reverend Monsignor Michael Jordan (no, not the one who always stuck his tongue out when he drove to the hoop); he tells me he checked with the Pagani people: they only make 20 Huayras a year, and they're booked up through the next millennium. And he checked with the B Of E, and they said that, in light of my exemplary performance as Pope and my extensive contributions to the field of the humanities, or as the feminists would say, the hupersonities, they will allocate funds to allow me to buy a brand new...

...Ford Focus.

Stripped down version only, though, no CD player or GPS.

My, how the fallen have mightied.

At least they approved my subscription to "DDD Beauties"; their comment to Mike, to pass along to me, was that they understood how a man of my, delicately put, limited opportunities with the opposite sex might need some form of "alternative release", and they didn't want to seem "insensitive" by denying my request.

Assholes.

(Large sigh of resignation here.)

Love and Pintos,

PJTT

copyright 2011 Krissongs, Inc.

A New Policy (Auto Or Home?)

In our last exciting episode, your Pope Guy promised you the post that he should have written yesterday, but for reasons beyond my control, I wasn't able to finish.

So I got up REAL early this morning, on a Sunday no less, and buttoned her up.

Just for you guys.

So here's the Saturday, 6/18, post, being delivered to your door at no extra charge, on Sunday, 6/19.

Oh, and Happy Father's Day to all you Dads and almost Dads; I'm a Dad, and I can tell you its a great gig.

(New post begins here.)

You know you have the right computer golf game when a warning comes on the screen while the game is loading that says: "Make sure you time your shots to avoid the scorpions."

****WARNING****

 THERE SHOULD BE A SEQUE AT THIS JUNCTURE AND IT HAS BEEN OMITTED.

PROCEED AT YOUR OWN RISK!

Those of you who are regular and faithful followers of your Pope Guy know that there have been number of occasions in the recent past where both myself and Harley have come under intense scrutiny and even sometimes criticism for some of our actions, myself in particular, from the governing body of the All John All The Time World Church, the AJATTWC Bored Of Elders. (I once wrote that phrase and misspelled "Elders" with an "a" at the beginning, making them the Bored Of Trees.)

We were chastised severely for trying to recreate the "over the subway grating" scene with Marilyn Monroe in "The Seven Year Itch", you know the one, where she's out strolling with Tom Ewell and she stops walking over the grating just as the air whooses up from below and up goes that great, white dress she was wearing, amen, chunky peanut butter. So Harley, who by the way is my sidekick, roommate and backup navigator when we're onboard my atomic powered rocket ship, the Royal Unionship Kidding, which we call the "RU Kidding" for short, Harley and I decide that we could get the same effect with an air hose that the guys back in the hangar fixed up for us, to use on the various models of the religious "habits" that we're considering for the nuns of the new AJATTWC-sponsored Sisters Of The Society Of Our Lady Of The Holy Fundament, the day they modeled them for us at our headquarters.

We got our butts in a sling over the Girl Scout cookie fiasco earlier this year, I'm still catching shit for the post I wrote back in March about God's wife, and they didn't like the position I took on same-sex marriage, where I opined that gays ought to be allowed to marry just so they could be as miserable as heteros.

They weren't real pleased with my idea to market an AJATTWC-sponsored medicine to treat erectile dysfunction that I wanted to call *Rip-A-Dick*, either.

So I've decided to adopt a new "covering" mode of action whenever I, or myself in collusion with Harley, get my chops busted by the Bored Of Old Guys over some dumb thing I've said or done, or something which they claim is embarrassing to the AJATTWC.

Okay, follow along with me for a moment here, if you would.

Back in the early Nineties, from '91 through '94, there was a show on television called "Dinosaurs"; it was a Muppets-like show, originally conceived by Jim Henson, the creator of the Muppets, with all the characters being human-like caricatures of dinosaurs. Earl Sinclair was the father, a working class stiff, and there was a Mom and an older brother and a kid sister, all dinosaurs and, best of all, one adorable little guy they called Baby Sinclair.

And whenever Baby did something obnoxious or just something he shouldn't, he had a standard reply when he got reamed for his screw-up...ready?

I love this. "I'm the baby, gotta' love me."

You know, when you think about it in the abstract, he's right. He's the baby, and you have to love him. It's beautiful in it's simplicity.

So I thought, hey, why not? It worked for the little dinosaur kid on TV, maybe I can pull off the same schtick with the Bored.

Hey, I'm the Pope, gotta' love me.

Rating it as a method for diffusing and even out right rejecting criticism and punishment, give it a 1 to 10. Whatta' say, about an 8, maybe?

See, Harley doesn't need this artificial "cuteness" thing; he's already adorable, and he gets away with murder because of it. I'm old and crotchety-looking, so I don't get away with shit.

So from now on, when the Pope Dude steps on the old johnson with the gerbil golf shoes on, I've got it covered.

I'm the Pope, gotta' love me.

Take that, Strudel Boy in Rome. You can use the same approach if you want, although in your instance, I'm pretty sure it won't work, based on your background, but just remember, I thought of it first.

****WARNING****

 THERE SHOULD BE A SEQUE AT THIS JUNCTURE AND IT HAS ALSO BEEN OMITTED.

PROCEED AT YOUR OWN RISK AGAIN!

I was watching a Dodgers/Marlins game a few weeks ago, when the Marlins third baseman, a young man named Moro, came to the plate to bat, and Vin Scully, the venerable play-by-play announcer for the Dodgers, mentioned that Moro and his wife are the proud parents of quintuplets. I considered that for a moment, and then I thought to myself, I wonder if the hospital where the kids were born gave them a "volume discount"?

Just asking.

Okay, so back to the "I'm the Pope, gotta' love me" thing. You guys think this has a chance of working with the Bored, or for that matter, with anybody who possesses an IQ over that of a doorknob?

The "I'm the Pope, gotta' love me" thing received an "8" for "diffusing/rejecting", now let's rate it's actual chances of working. On the old 1-10 scale, whatta' think, will my new policy be successful?

Lets see, a two, a three, a zero, (asshole), another two, a one, well, the scores aren't looking too good, are they?

Maybe I should rethink the whole "I'm the Pope, gotta' love me" approach.

Naw, it's a great idea.

Just like Sarah Plain And Loud running for President as the Republican nominee in 2012; if you think Barrack Obama can't whip her butt with all the baggage and nonsense she brings to the party, I've got some land in Florida I'd like to talk to you about.

Just because its swampland doesn't mean it can't be reclaimed, and I'm pretty sure that's what Sarah is thinking as well.

I can be reclaimed, she thinks, because hey, I'm the Mama Grizzly, you gotta' love me.

Hey, Sarah, to quote another phrase that also began its popularity back in the '90s...

...not.

Love and loving me, for whatever reason,

PJTT

copyright 2011 Krissongs, Inc.

Never On Sunday, (Except Its Saturday, At Least It Is Here In LAH)

Okay, I can explain.

Every Sunday I run the "Never On Sunday" post, with an update on whatever game I'm going to watch that day, and I take the day off.

Hey, I'm entitled.

I started very early this morning (Saturday, 6/18) to write my essay for today, but I got bogged down and then I had to leave to run some errands (no staff members from All John All The Time World Church are working on Saturday, so your Pope has to rough and do his own grocery shopping; I'll bet Strudel Boy over there in Rome doesn't have to haul it down to the local Krogeritello for a box of pasta and some yogurt. Geez.) and then when I got back I got busy with some other stuff and one thing led to another, as it always does, and now I have to leave again and I STILL don't have today's message of the soothing balm of Johnism ready.

So tell you what; I'm going to run my "Never On Sunday" post today, and then I'll finish today's post later and run it tomorrow.

Hows that sound?...well, tough, I'm doing it anyway.

Okay, "Never On Sunday (Saturday)" begins below.

Phew, that was a lotta' work.

No one is sure what motivated the Creator to suddenly get up one morning and decide, hey, I think I'll start creating the universe today, it's Monday, for once I'm all caught up, and darn it, I'd like to have my own universe, and since I'm the Creator, hey, I'm all over this one.

According to reports from various unreliable sources, such as all those Old Testament prophet guys, TC worked His butt off for the next six days, and after all that work, making planets, and animals, and mountains, and rivers, and platypuseses, and trees, and stars, and moons, and quasars, and quarks, and Miley, and just a whole lot of other stuff, after all that, TC decided that he needed a day off.

"I need a day off," He said to Himself.

(He hadn't gotten around to breathing life into the angels yet, that being the last thing on His list to do, so He was still talking to Himself at that point.)

Speculation amongst other spiritual Big Dudes, like myself, the Pope of the All John All The Time World Church, is that TC was lonely, and wanted some companionship. Me, personally, I would have told Him to create canines, find a likely-looking Golden Retriever to adopt and go from there. They're great companions, (ask the Harley Dog) and not NEAR as much work as women. He could have done the same thing for humans as well, if he would have known then what He knows now. (And FYI, men, unlike women, are NOT a lot of work; why would you work on something that can't be fixed? Man, thy name is hopeless.)

But NOOOooo, TC has to do the whole Adam and Eve thing, and now look where we are. Geez. (Oh, and by the way, "the Harley Dog" I referred to above is the "official" canine of the AJATTWC, my sidekick, roommate and best buddy, Harley.)

Anyway, the Creator decides He's had enough for one week, and thought that if he had forgotten to create something He needed for His universe, He could take care of it next week.

So on the "Sunday" of His "Creation Week", TC took the day off.

"You know, since I'm not working today, I think I'll hang out, do some burgers on the grill and watch the Dodgers embarrass themselves against the Astros." He went over to His workbench, breathed life into the angels He had stored there (hey, He didn't want to watch the game by Himself), and asked the first batch of new angels, "How's that sound? Hey, do you guys like this new "inter-league" play thing they're doing these days?", to which, of course, the newly-minted Seraphim and Cherubim had no answer, because they had just been created, and didn't know from baseball or inter-league play. Or burgers, for that matter.

So the Creator rested on what came to be called the Sabbath, watched the Dodgers annihilate the Astros, surprisingly, and got back to his job of the creation and ruling of His new universe on Monday.

And since the Creator took one day off each week, with pay, your Pope Dude is going to do the same thing.

I'm off today and I'm back tomorrow. (Actually, I'm not off any more today than I usually am, I'm just not working today.) Oh, and the Bored of Elders of the AJATTWC have agreed to pay me for today as well. (Hot damn, another $3.69.)

Try to muddle along as well as you can, oh ye faithful followers of the Pope, without the soothing balm of Johnism, for just this one day. Come on, you can do it.

Hey, how many of you are off on Sundays, huh? Yeah.

Love and triple time,

PJTT

copyright 2011 Krissongs, Inc.

I Wish I Had The Answers

Today's post will be two things, a) short and b) serious.

No Pope, no silliness.

I was reading an article in Time Magazine the other, by one of their regualar columnists, Rana Foroohar; the article was entitled "Don't Hold Your Breath", and was an examination of the so-called economic "recovery" that America is currently experiencing.

In the course of the article, Ms. Foroohar quotes from a study that she does not name, that, "Half of Americans say they couldn't come up with $2,000 in 30 days without selling some of their possessions."

Half of Americans say they couldn't come up with $2,000 in 30 days without selling some of their possessions. Even though Ms. Foroohar doesn't name the source of her information, I have heard other quotes from this nameless study, and frankly, I believe what I hear.

Now I realize that $2,000 isn't a paltry sum for most people; it sure isn't for me. But, my goodness, its not the national deficit either.

I would like all of you to think about that statement above once more, and ask yourself: could I raise $2000 in 30 days without selling some of my possessions? If you can't, then that's a problem, not only for you, but for your country. If what Time Magazine says is true, half of the citizens of our great land are within spitting distance of insolvency, because, to me, that's what it means when a person, or a family, cannot raise cash to satisfy short-term emergencies. And when those emergencies cannot met without some kind of outside aid, that's when the real trouble begins. We all know about payday loan houses, defaults, credit cards with 30% interest rates, "underwater" home mortgages, all the things that go hand in hand with not being able to raise $2,000 in 30 days without selling your TV or your good silver.

Please, I'm not attempting to blame anyone here; see the title? Yeah, I wish I had the answers. There's a really nice house, right next door to me, sitting empty. The owners, good people, both school teachers, got laid off their jobs last fall, within a week of each other. Goodbye, house, and goodbye to a lifetime full of dreams about and sacrifice towards achieving the "American dream".

Their fault? Hell, I don't know, maybe they were lousy money managers. But I have a feeling that wasn't the case here.

I have no solutions to offer, no profound thoughts or magic wands to wave at the problem, and that's the hardest. I suspect that the majority of the people in America are just like me; I'm tired of all the horror, and there's just so much that it seems impossible to know where to begin to fix things, or even if they can be fixed, and even worse yet, whether or not they should even BE fixed.

That quote by Rana Fohoohar really struck me hard. Half the folks in this country, the greatest country in the history of this sorry planet, can't come up with what amounts less than a month's income, in cash, in an emergency.

That, my friends, is bullshit. And make no mistake here, I am no bleeding-heart liberal advocating the just division of the country's wealth, but I'll tell you this much: when less than 1% of the populace controls over 80% of the wealth of a country, things are out of whack, big time.

2012 is an election year; please, all you faithful followers of the Pope and the All John All The Time World Church, please do two things for me, for yourself and for your country: first, vote. Second, before you vote, do a little research about the candidates and vote smart. I believe we oftentimes forget that our representatives, whether at the local, county, state or federal level, all work for us; we put them there, we can remove them. (Although guys, how about no more fiasco's like removing Gray Davis, the Governor of California, duly elected in the fall of 2002 by the citizens of this great state, and then replacing him less than a year later with the Arnold the Sperminator, okay? Let's not make another smooth move like that one real soon, whatta' ya' say?)

My point is that our elected officials reflect their constituents (think Anthony Weiner or Bill Clinton). Vote smartly, please.

Thank you for allowing me to vent some of my frustrations. If I caused some of you to reconsider some of these same things and maybe make better choices in your lives, then today's essay is an enormous success. And thank you for that as well.

Now, if I can just get the Harley Dog to quit stinking up my office with what my ex- used to call "a smelly", life will be good.

(You didn't really think I could go a WHOLE post and not mention farts, poop, sluts, gerbil golf or Miley, did you?)

Love and my best thoughts for all of you,

PJTT

copyright 2011 Krissongs, Inc.

Keep Cheering For The Pope

In an effort to utilize all the different types of media available to us these days to bring you the soothing balm of Johnism, I thought that, rather than a written message extolling its virtues, I would use the medium of the Internet video to deliver my hominy for today. Your Pope believes that its important...shit, the Popephone is ringing...

"PJTT...Mike, I'm right in the middle of writing today's post, what's up?...it's what?..."homily", I thought it was "hominy"?...so what's hominy?...you've got the what?...oh, GRITS, I thought you said you were sick...what the hell are grits?...from corn?...have you ever seen a grit?...yeah, me neither...okay, I'll change it...yeah...okay, hey, are we still on for Hooters Friday night?...cool...okay, call me later."

Shit.

That was my consigliore, the Right Reverend Monsignor Michael Jordan (no, not the one who used to do Gatorade commercials); he tells me that the word I wanted to use up there in the first paragraph was, ahh, homily, not hominy. I guess hominy is, umm, food.

(Remember the first diner scene in the movie "My Cousin Vinny" when Joe Pesci's eponymous character told Lisa, his girlfriend (played remarkably by Marisa Tomei, who won an Oscar for her performance) that he didn't think he had ever even SEEN a grit before. Thank you, Joe. Oh, and speaking of corn, my good friend Ron was recently diagnosed with diverticulitis; when we were discussing it, we both admitted that neither of us had any idea what diverticulitis was, and assumed it was something you got from scuba diving, which made no sense, because my friend Ron has never, ever "scubaed", at least not in a body of water larger than his bathtub. Anyway, I asked him what treatment modality his doctor was going to use to combat this horrid killer, and he said none. "He told me to stay away from corn and nuts, and other than that, there really isn't much else to be done." I told him that I was glad he wasn't a vegetarian squirrel.)

Anyway, as usual, I digress. (If digression were an art form, I'd be Picasso. I should probably see the Papal Physician; I understand they have medicine for digression these days, like Zoloft and Prozac, it's such a problem.)

So for today's uplifting message, damn, there's goes the Popephone again...

 

"...PJTT...Mike, I'm running behind, what's up?...I'm sorry?...oh, DEPRESSION, I thought they were saying, well, anyway, I'll have to fix that, won't I?...thank you."

 

Asshole; I hate when he does that.

 

Just never mind.

 

So for today's uplifting message of the soothing balm of Johnism, I'm going to direct all of you to the website below, and ask that you view the short video there called "The Pope John Cheer", which will give you all the wholesomeness and decency you'll need to sustain you on your daily sojourn through the heathen world around us.

http://www.xtranormal.com/watch/11995168/the-pope-john-cheer

Go in peace, my children, and may the Farce be with you.

Love and grits,

PJTT

copyright 2011 Krissongs, Inc.

The Monthlies (Announcements, That Is)

As with almost any non-homogenous group of people, it becomes necessary periodically to broadcast, publish or otherwise announce the various and sundry events that are to take place within the social circles of said non-homogenous group, as well as keeping the group informed of any and all activities that effect the core reason for their organization.

In other words, its time for the All John All The Time World Church to publish it's monthly announcements. Ladies and gentleman (that should cover most of you), I give you this month's edition of:

The AJATTWC NO BULLetin.

*Special Thanks/"Johner Of The Month"*

            Your Pope Guy (that would be me) receives emails, texts, letters and even an occasional smoke signal, asking for advice, making comments on Church activities, making death threats, soliciting money, (hey, we're a church, that's OUR job), or just saying how much they appreciate our efforts here at the AJATTWC and to keep up the good work.

            But I wanted to take time to thank one faithful follower in particular who has sent several inspiring comments to your Pope Dude, expressing how much he likes the message of the soothing balm of Johnism, and how much he would really like to have a child with either myself or the Harley Dog, preferably Harley since he's considerably better looking.

            So, starting this month, and continuing until I get sick of doing it, each month I will name a "Johner Of The Month", as a special recognition to some faithful follower of mine who has gone the extra mile, given 110%, won one for the Gipper, the guy (or gal) who has given his/her all (especially in the collection basket) to promote the soothing balm of Johnism.

            This month's award of the AJATTWC'S "Johner Of The Month" goes to...drumroll please...Mr. Jeff Guy of Somewhere, America. There he is, way back there in the back, stand up, Jeff, and let the folks see you.

            Now I have no idea who Jeff Guy is, but he reads the Pope regularly, and has sent me several messages telling me that a) he likes the Pope and b) that he thinks the Pope is pretty funny, which mostly tells you all you need to know about Jeff's taste in humor columnists. (Calling myself a "humor columnist" is like calling the Chicago Cubs a baseball team; it overstates the matter by a factor of gazillions.)

Jeff recently was gracious enough to comment on a post I wrote, involving the AJATTWC's search for a new Head Nun, as well as the various "habits" we are considering for our newly created religious community, the Sisters Of The Society Of Our Lady Of The Holy Fundament. Here's what Jeff had to say:

"Laughed my ass off at that Miley Cyrus/whore of Babylon thing. Love the pics. I'll take the church of Playboy & Hooters any day."

My kind of guy.

So here's to you, Jeff Guy, wherever you are in America: you are the June 2011 "Johner Of The Month". This award and a five-dollar bill will get you a Mocha Frappachino Baked Alaska Camshaft Tall Latte at any participating Starbucks.

Oh, Jeff, by the way, your wife called; she said to tell you that you're not funny.

*Men's/Women's Clubs Combined Baseball Outing*

            

            Sister Clair Voyant was able to snap the above pic at our recent Men's/Women's Clubs Combined Baseball Outing, which took place, for those of you who had the good sense to stay home that day, on Whitsuntide last week, and as you can obviously see from the photo, everyone had a good time and that Sister Merrily Werollalong, who's shown making the catch of a foul-ball in the stands, hasn't quite lost all the weight she gained from when she had little Merritt Lee. And isn't that adorable; little Merritt even had his own little batting helmet. Nice catch, Merrily; you go gurl!

            (Do the Cubs know about this lady? She has to be an improvement over that sack of ball peen hammers Alfonso Soriano; hell, Merritt would even be a big upgrade.)

*Nutrition/Fund-Raising News*

            Our Women's Club President, Sister Bea Wildered, has asked that we let everyone in the Church know about our new fund-raising activity, which will be selling a new product that was recently introduced by Mark One Foods, the Candwich (see picture below).

            

            Inside the can are “shelf-stable bread” and sandwich fixings including a squeezable packet of peanut butter and another of jelly -- plus a small piece of taffy for dessert. Ooh, sounds yummy, don't you think?

            We're hoping to move several million cases of the Candwich to raise funds for the building of the new AJATTWC's Jimi Hendrix Memorial Gymnasium and Recording Studio. Please let Sister Bea know how many cases she can put you down for, and let's get out there in the neighborhood and move those PB&Js!

*Lecture Scheduled*

            The eminent medical scholar and amateur sword-swallower, Dr. Charles Horse, will present a lecture in the Church Meeting Hall next Tuesday evening entitled "Anorgasmia: The Meg Ryan 'When Harry Met Sally' Approach". Our Church President, Brother Hugh Moungus, wanted everyone to know that he has personally seen Dr. Horse's presentation previously, and that he urges all Church members, especially all our special Sisters in the soothing balm of Johnism, to attend. "Both the men and the women of the AJATTWC can learn a lot about Anorgasmia, and how to deal with it, from Charley's, excuse me, I mean, from Dr. Horse's lecture," Hugh said. Please mark this one on your colander, folks.

*Tour Announced*

            Although all the details have yet to be worked out, the Bored Of Elders of the AJATTWC has decided to send our beloved Pope, John The Tall (and rakishly handsome), on a nationwide tour in the late summer this year, tentatively titled The Party With The Pope Dude tour, to spread the message of the soothing balm of Johnism. Accompanying the Pope on his proposed 500 city, 750 night tour will be his companion and back-up navigator when they're onboard the Pope's atomic powered rocket ship, the Royal Unionship Kidding, the Harley Dog, and the Pope's consigliore and right-hand man, the Right Reverend Monsignor Michael Jordan (no, not the one that did the McDonald's ads with Larry Bird). We'll have more details in next month's NO BULLetin. Go Pope. Oh yes, and for those of you who haven't already done so, you can check out the Pope's latest video message, The Pope John Cheer, at:

http://newvideos.xtranormal.com/web_final_hi/a1adfd3c-78a3-11e0-a6c5-003048d6740d_61.mp4

*Prayer Requests*

            Dr. Bill O'Lading, the Director of the Church's in-house think tank, the Center For The Serious Consideration Of Weighty Matters, has asked that all members of the Church please remember our economy in their prayers. Dr. O'Lading also asked that special prayers be offered to ensure we don't elect another douche-bag like George W. Bush in next year's election.

*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.