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.

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 committed to my beliefs and I am deeply wounded. 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 a 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.

...and God said, "Let Us Have A Contest"...

I figure it this way; if the Roman Catholics can have bingo, the All John All The Time World Church can have contests. Yes?

Now I tried to have a raffle for the Church back in February; in fact, on the 12th I announced a Win A Hot Ride From The Popester contest, but I had to quickly change that to Win A Toaster From The Popester (which is a lot funnier) when it became apparent that the two factories that would have to donate the proposed prizes, a Ferrari 599XX and a Porsche 918 RSR, were unable to do so because both vehicles are prototypes and not available to the public yet. So we went with a multi-slice toaster from Best Buy as an alternative. (Hey, I did my best.)

So based on the overwhelming response we received to the "WATFTP" contest (all four of you), I've decided to sponsor another contest, and this one is a doozey.

Ready?

"Win A Weekend With The Pope Guy".

That's right, gridiron fans, the AJATTWC is officially announcing today, 3/27/11, that starting tomorrow, 3/28/11, we will begin accepting entries for the WAWWTPG contest, and here's all you have to do to enter and potentially win a dream weekend with the Popearama.

Ladies, write an essay, in 100 words or less, about why, and how, you would like to spend a weekend with your favorite Pope person, keeping in mind that you have to pay for it.

Gentleman, write an essay, in 100 words or less, on why guys are such sleazy, sports-addicted, addle-brained, stare-at-the-front-of-a-woman's-shirt dirtbags. (Please note: none of your essays will be entered into the contest competition, for the obvious reason; I'm not spending a weekend with another guy, unless its Bill Gates, and then only so I can bop him on the head and steal a shitload of his money. But I wanted to be fair and democratic, just like our President, and give everyone a chance to enter, even if I don't use the entries from the males of our species. That's assuming we're all from the same species, which could be debated.)

Now let me expand a little on the "you have to pay for it" part of the contest; being Pope of the AJATTWC doesn't mean a $250K annual salary, plus stock options, a 401k and benefits. In fact, if there is any benefit to being the Pope, its strictly name recognition, which might get you a better table in a restaurant, but other than that, not so much. What I'm trying to say is that, well, I'm broke, so if you're going to spend a weekend with your favorite Pope Dude, bring your Visa, because if it took a nickel to poop, I'd have to throw-up. I'm so broke I can't even afford to pay attention.

Not that I'm looking for sympathy or anything like that; hey, there's lots of folks out there these days who are every bit as broke as I am, and maybe a lot worse. And me and Bill Clinton can feel their pain. (Actually, every time I see Bill Clinton's stupid face in the media, he looks too juiced or stoned to feel much of anything. Are he and Hillary still together?) But I can empathize with how bad things have gotten for a lot of working people in this country over the last few years, myself included. Yeah, a lot of this "recession" mess was our own fault, but a lot of it wasn't, and that's what makes it so hard to swallow for most of us. I'm a huge believer in the free-market, free-enterprise system, but when 1% of the populace controls over 80% of the wealth in a country, some things need to re-examined. But that's another subject all together.

So, ladies, if you would like the pleasure of the your Pope Guy's company for an entire weekend, including whatever candle-lit dinners, afternoons spent in charming little bazaars in Marrekesh, gondola rides through the canals of Venice or an evening at the Palais Garnier, (the home of the Paris Opera) after a day of roaming around the Lourve, for which you want to pick up the tab, then lay it all out in 100 words or less and the Harley Dog and I will go over them (I'll read them to HD) and decide the winner in a few weeks. (Bribes will be cheerfully accepted.)

And don't be bashful: tell the Pope your most intimate fantasies about His Popeness and his tall hat in your entry. Don't be afraid to bare your soul (or your body for that matter) to achieve that pinochle of romance, two nights and three days with PJTT, the Popemeister.

Be still, my beating heart.

You can send your entries to: popejohnthetall@hotmail.com

Pictures of entrants are encouraged, and photos of questionable taste or content are vigorously encouraged. (All pictures of "dogs" will be given to Harley for disposition.) Please be specific with your "weekend plans" for yourself and the Pope Dude, including details of places, events, shooting of porn videos, transportation, media coverage and any other specifics that you feel will enhance your opportunity to win the BIG prize. In the event of a tie, both entrants will be awarded a separate weekend to spend with His Popeness, unless the entrants are amicable to a "threesome", which in French is known as a "pied-a-terre". (No, its not.) (I've never done a "three-way", unless you count both of my hands. Mostly I've been content with a cornet, a Die Hard battery, two eberts and a 55 gallon drum of Vaseline. Not in that order.)

Okay, girls, time to get the old word processor fired up and start cranking out those contest entries. There is no limit to the amount of times you can enter, so, like in the City of Chicago municipal elections, vote early and vote often. (Here's a "contest tip" for those of you who are REALLY serious about winning: a bra size of over 38DD is an immediate 10 point bonus for your entry; you also must have a current pic to "support" your claim, pardon the pun.)

I like this one; it's WAY better than giving away a car or a toaster.

Love and the lotto,

PJTT

copyright 2011 Krissongs, Inc.

Win A Toaster From The Popester

Okay, if the Catholics can have Bingo, why can't the All John All The Time World Church have a contest? Seems fair, don't you think? So here goes.

You probably noticed the pictures at the beginning of my post today (pretty hard not to); yes, children, that is, on the top, a Ferrari 599XX and below, a Porsche 918 RSR. Fine looking examples of the automotive art, wouldn't you agree? (Huge amount of sarcasm begins here.) Much like the Yugo from back in the late 80's, or my all time favorite, the stunning looking T-Bird that Ford Motor came out with in early 2001, which were also both beautiful cars, I'm sure you'd agree. (Sarcasm ends here.)  My daughter refers to that model year of the T-Bird as the "backward car" because, well, it appears to be going backwards. (Smart young lady, my daughter; but then, she does have a Pope for a father, and how many people can say that? Think about it for a minute.) Motor Trend made this travesty their Car Of The Year in 2002, and I've always wondered how much, and to whom, Ford paid to be declared the winner of the award. It's hard to say who should have been more embarrassed by that fiasco, Motor Trend or Ford. Hey, Ford, weren't the Pinto and the Edsel bad enough? Geez.

Anyway, now that the sarcasm has subsided, take a look at those two gorgeous rides and tell me that I, excuse me, that some lucky contest winner (the contest will be called Win A Hot Ride From The Popester) out there wouldn't look great tooling down the street in one of those babies. You don't even have to be moving to look good in cars like that. (With certain notable exceptions, that is; even a Porsche or a Ferrari isn't going to enhance what a capricious Mother Nature did to Rosie O'Donnell, once again proving, much like the platypus proves, (or a couple of my ex-girlfriends) that Ma Nature has a very twisted sense of humor. Or really bad eyesight.)

The contest will work like this: the AJATTWC will hold a raffle, and tickets will be sold to the public (that's you guys) for an opportunity to win either vehicle (your choice; I get the one left over). The tickets will be $100.00 each, or three for $300.00. (???) The contest will begin on Arbor Day, which for you non-horticultural types (Arbor Day is about trees, you doofuses) is June 14th, and by the way a national holiday in Lower Zimbabwe, which is, of course...wait for it... the home of the ebert, which all you followers of the PopeGuy should know by now, is a small furry mammal with two heads and an enormous sex-organ. (I understand that Hammond makes organs as well, which surprised me, because I always thought that Hammond was a town in Indiana, and I've been to Indiana, and as far as I could tell, Indianaianians have no need of sex organs of any type whatsoever). (Full disclosure: I have relatives ALL over Indiana, from up north near Warsaw, which for the longest time I believed was a city in Poland, not Indiana, all the way to the southern end of the state in and around the sprawling metropolis of North Vernon, a thriving community of about 6000, if you count cows, sheep and an occasional ebert. And yes, there is a Vernon, to which North Vernon is, well, north.) The contest will end on the Day After Arbor Day, which is also a national holiday, just not in Lower Zimbabwe. Or anywhere else for that matter; I just made that up to see if you were paying attention.

So for one day, children, you can buy chances, at a C-note a pop, to win either a Ferrari 599XX or a Porsche 918 RSR in the Win A Hot Ride From The Popester contest, with all the proceeds going to me, ahh, to the in-house charity of the AJATTWC, The Home For The Chronically Bewildered. (I'm going to try and convince both Ferrari and Porsche to donate one each of the cars, as a token of their deep affection for me; I figure the Germans and the Italians were allies in WWII, so they ought to be able to collaborate with each other and help me out, right? FYI, for you non-History Channel types, its a little known fact that the Axis Allies, which referred to Germany, Italy and Japan, were also allied with the Lower Zimbabweans, which is probably why they lost the war; that and having a homicidal maniac, a fat, egotistical moron and a corrupt, mostly clueless emperor as their leaders.)

Once the official day to buy chances has ended, all the tickets will be placed in a sealed drum (the drum will be sealed AFTER the chances have been placed inside; I'm not that dumb) and taken to my official headquarters in LA (pronounced LAH), where the seal will be broken and the winning ticket will be pulled from the drum by my ex-girlfriend, Dee Dee Spanxalot, who will be blindfolded at the time. (Later Dee Dee will be also be handcuffed and then tied to a bed of wilted arugula, at which time I will do disgusting things to her with a fork and a very light vinaigrette.) The winner will then be announced at the NBA Finals, which this year will be held, as they have been for the past several years, here in LA (pronounced MUTORCS, which is scrotum backwards). (Don't get your hopes up, Miami, Boston and San Antonio, the Lakers will be there at the end, again.)

Hang on, the Popephone is ringing...JTT here...hey, Mike, 'sup...whatta' ya mean they aren't producing them yet...either of them?...shit...you think we could get the Toyota people to pop for a Corolla...hey, I was just teasing about their Emperor being corrupt and clueless, can't they take a joke?...buncha' babies...okay, see what you can do...yeah...yeah, lemme' know...okay, call me later.

According to my consigliore and point guard on our church basketball team, the Cardinals (the Church kind, not the St. Louis or Arizona kind), Monsignor Michael Jordan (not THAT Michael Jordan, he was a shooting guard), Ferrari and Porsche haven't started producing either the 599XX or the 918 RSR yet. So I guess that shoots (pardon the unintentional pun) that idea in the butt. (You ever wonder what kind of a gun a shooting guard uses? Me either.)

The contest will be called Win A Hot Toaster From the Popester (I didn't realize that rhymed until I reread it); I'm pretty sure I can get the Best Buy folks to pop for one of those deluxe, four slice babies.

You know, the ones with the V12, 560 horsepower, quad camshaft engine that have been clocked doing zero to eight slices of whole wheat in under a minute.

I wonder how I would look driving a Corolla?

Love and official contest rules,

PJTT

copyright 2011 Krissongs, Inc.