It amazes me how often my ex-wife gets her picture somewhere on the 'Net.
Okay, that's not really a photo of my ex-, that's an enlargement (gee, no shit, Mr. Obvious Man) of the compound eyes of a dragonfly, with beads of water on them, magnified about a 100 gazillion times, give or take a few gazillion.
(If I ever rolled over to something that looked like that, I'd SERIOUSLY consider never drinking again. Or starting. Apparently however, since to the best of my knowledge, dragonflies are not on any Endangered Species list anywhere, other 'flies must find this look alluring, or at least acceptable. Hey, look at Lady GaGa and tell me dragonflies have no taste.)
But that isn't the subject of today's essay from your favorite Pope Dude and all around decent person, to say nothing of devastatingly handsome, John The Tall of the All John All The Time World Church. (Boy, don't think that's not a helluva a mouthful, something I have never been accused of having.)
No, today we're going to be discussing a letter-writing campaign that I'm going to initiate, and I'll be asking all of you to help me with your participation.
First off, take a look at the license plate above (see above) and tell me what you think is wrong with this picture. (My Mom once showed my Dad a school photo of me and asked him the same question.)
Now for those of you with smutty minds, much like my own, what you're probably seeing there is a "contraction" for the phrase "I Love To F U", which for us smutty-minded individuals is another way of saying "I'm An Asparagus". Or maybe your mind is even smuttier than that and you see "I Love To Do The Horizontal Bop" only with a MUCH earthier word for "Horizontal Bop", if you get my drift.
Now, if you're NOT the proud possessor of a really dirty mind, and how sad for you, like Whitney Calk, a PETA employee who lives in the great state of Tennessee, what you see here is a statement of gastronomical preference: "I Love Tofu". And that's the message she was trying to get across to other drivers when she applied to the Tennessee Department of Revenue, Taxpayer and Vehicle Services Division for a vanity plate with this lettering.
The TDORTAVSD said no; they apparently have the same dirty, repulsive mind that I have. Nope, they said, someone may "misread" the plate and attach the "wrong" meaning to the message.
(Quick poll: by show of hands, how many of you out there like to F U? (One, three, ten, seventy-eight, a hundred, hey, you with both hands and a leg in the air, one vote only per person, forty-nine thousand, twenty-three million, sixty bajillion, EVERYBODY, okay, that's fine, you can lower your hands now.)
This reminds me of the Janet Jackson "wardrobe malfunction" from the Super Bowl half-time show a few years ago; a quick glimpse of a woman's nipple, and the entire country goes in the shitter. How ridiculous; anybody can go online these days and find nudity, perversion, porn of all types and you-name-it. Hell, you can see worse in the advertising on your favorite TV shows; think Victoria's Secret, as an example.
Same thing; and that's a little like what Mark Twain said about the weather: "Everybody talks about the weather, but nobody does anything about it."
In this country, everybody thinks about sex, but no one wants to admit it.
So here's the letter-writing campaign I said I wanted to initiate; I want all of you red-blooded, F U loving Americans out there to write, email, send telegrams to or in some manner contact the TDORTAVSD and let them know that we think Whitney Calk, even though she is one of those repulsive PETA nutcases, and a lover of tofu as well, should have her ILVTOFU license plate. (One good thing: Whitney, as a member of PETA, is probably not a Tea Bag Republican. Hey, you get your silver linings where you can.)
Let's give the old TDORTAVSD a small piece of our collective minds (some of you be REAL careful with how much you give out, since you're probably not starting with a lot in the first place) and help Whitney get her vanity plate. She probably doesn't deserve it, but I'm feeling magnanimous today. (I had a similar problem a few years ago with the CA DMV; I was working for a sausage-maker at the time and wanted "ILVWEENIES" on my vanity plate. The DMV said no go; assholes.)
And speaking of getting to school in record time (we were?), take a look at the link below (see above): that's a jet-powered, flames-shooting out the back, 320 MPH...school bus. (Click on the headline and go down to the paragraph about the video and click the "click here" phrase to see the video.)
When I was a kid in grade school, back right after the Civil War, I attended a small, rather poor Roman Catholic school named St. Jude's. (FYI, St. Jude is the patron saint of hopeless causes; hello, Chicago Cubs, this is PJTT, I have a patron saint for you goofs.) Since a number of the other kids who also attended St. J's were "outlying" (in the parish but too far to walk to school) we had to have a school bus. Problem was, the church could swing the money for the bus, but there were no funds for a driver. Since those big sons-of-bitches aren't equipped with an auto-pilot, a driver on a school bus is a very important accessory.
So my mother volunteered to drive the school bus. Every day, out and back. My petite, cold-blooded, "I Hate Kids" Mother, says, sure, I'll drive a 66-passenger, bright yellow school bus, twice a day, for free, to ferry all the wonderful children back and forth to their lessons. No problema.
I rode my Mother's school bus; I was an "outlyer". (My mother used to tell people I was also the only kid on the bus she could smack.)
Now as many of my loyal followers out there may already know, I have a "difficult" relationship with my mother. (We haven't spoken in going on four years.) So I'm checking out the vid of the jet bus, and all the time I'm having my own "mental video" of me when I'm about 12, and I somehow manage to get the jet bus to the garage where the church kept "our" bus, break in, switch the vehicles, and of course, never tell my mother...
...and then I'm there, WAY back away, when she fires that big mother up.
Yeehaw, Franny, ride that bronco, you go, cowgirl.
Mom applied to the State of Illinois DMV back in the 60's for a vanity plate; yep, she wanted to celebrate her degree from her alma mater, Illinois Harvard Teachers University.
IHATEU.
She still has the plate, just not on her car.
Love and flashing red lights,
PJTT
copyright 2011 Krissongs, Inc.
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