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.)

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.

Never On Sunday

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.

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 DBacks." 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?", 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 burgers, for that matter.

So the Creator rested on what came to be called the Sabbath, watched the Dodgers annihilate the DBacks, 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.

What Does Steven Spielberg Have That I Don't, Besides Talent, Money And Kate Capshaw

It was back on 2/22, the day before my birthday, which is apropos of nothing, that I made the comment in my post from that day (please see "Second Star To The Right And Straight On To...Cleveland) that the way the Los Angeles Lakers were playing at the time, that they would make it to, but not out of, the second round of the playoffs.

Yesterday afternoon, the Dallas Mavericks eliminated the Lakers four games to NONE in their second round matchup of this year's NBA Playoffs.

Assholes.

And back on 4/25, I posted an essay that contained a partial "screenplay" of an animated video I had decided to make about the Pope (that would be me) and the Harley Dog (that would be Harley, the "official" canine of the All John All The Time World Church and my sidekick and roommate), and have it showcase one day in the lives of the Pope Guy and Harley as they battle the forces of evil and sluttiness all over the world. I asked all of you loyal followers of the Pope to give me your suggestions as to how I could "punch up" the script, and after looking them all over (all two of them), I decided to dump what I was working on and take a whole different approach.

Which I did.

But I did finish the screenplay, and you can check it out below.

I also finished the video about the Pope, and it's called "The Pope John Cheer", and you can check it out at:
<http://www.xtranormal.com/watch/11995168/the-pope-john-cheer>.

WARNING:
          The video "The Pope John Cheer" contains two instances of flatulence. From a female character. For which she apologizes both times. (The second one is a really good one, too.)

Like so many of your Pope's efforts, this one is pretty funny (pardon me if I do say so myself) and is being considered for an Oscar in the category of Best Animated Short By A Pope, which I think I have a good shot at winning, considering the competition. (Yeah, the only Pope competition I have is from Strudel Boy over there in Rome, you know, the genius who recently published a book that said, among other things, that the Jews didn't kill Jesus, the Romans did, and that he thought the Jews ought to be left off the hook for that crime after all these years. You just now figured that out now? What Bible have you been reading, huh? Geez, I knew the Jews were innocent of that charge when I was a kid back in grade school at Our Lady Of Perpetual Motion, even though the good nuns were still trying to pin the deed on descendants of David, the King.)

But I digress, which if you're a regular reader of the Pope's, you know it's something I do frequently. And with no apologies.

So check out the unused screenplay that appears below; it's still a good glimpse into the inner workings of the AJATTWC, what few there are, and shows in vivid detail, how decisions of momentous proportions are made at the highest levels of leadership in our country.

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the Pope, Harley and the Pope's consigliore, Mike.

OPENING SCENE

A voice-over announcer begins speaking, over a patriotic background of a waving American flag, with a choir, off-camera, softly singing "America The Beautiful".

A: "A rising tide of hysteria and ambergris is sweeping over our nation today, as citizens pour from their homes to protest economic conditions, quality healthcare issues, unemployment and a raft of other social ills, including a serious dearth of Lindsay Lohan films. The people are up in arms, and leaders are needed to steer the course of our mighty nation away from the rocks and shoals of tyranny and chaos and back onto the road that leads to peace and security."

            "But where will these leaders come from? Politicians in Washington are grid-locked, as always, on how to approach the problems that face our country, with partisanship and political party "loyalties" preventing any meaningful dialogue that addresses the issues that the people are protesting. Congress and the President can't seem to be found, and our nation needs a man to step up and be a symbol, a guiding light, to the citizens all over our great land."

            "Is there such a man? Is there a leader out there to give us the benefit of his strength and courage? Is there a man who can turn the tide of history and lead us back to the good times of years gone by? Where is that man?"

ACT I, SCENE I

Office scene, with the Pope, Harley Dog

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

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

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

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

SCENE II

Street scene, with Protestor #1, Protestor #2

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

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

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

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

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

SCENE III

Scene dissolves back to Pope's office with P and H.

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

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

Harley shakes his furry head in disbelief.

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

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

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

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

H: (interrupting) "What women?"

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

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

SCENE IV

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

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

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

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

SCENE V

Scene dissolves back to Pope's office, with Harley and the Pope, and new character, Right Reverend Monsignor Michael Jordan (no, not the one that played baseball for the Birmingham Barons), who is the Pope's consigliore. M is standing to the side of P's desk.

P: "Mike, what can we do about the riots? Should I release some kind of statement, make an appearance, play some gerbil golf, what's our approach here?"

M: "Well, Your Loftiness, there are several ways to approach this situation. A round of gerbil golf probably isn't a good idea right now, okay, so let's get that out of the way right out of the gate."

P: "Shit."

M: "Well put, Your Immenseness, very descriptive. Okay, what's our reaction to the situation in the streets? I think we low-key it, and let events run their course..."

P: (interrupting) "I thought we weren't playing gerbil golf?

M: "No, Your Thickness, "run their course" is just a saying; it means we let things develop naturally, without any interference from us. The saying has nothing to do with golf courses." (The consigliore turns away from the Pope towards Harley briefly, and raises his eyebrows at Harley, shaking his head slightly.) "But we will have to have you make some kind of general statement, deploring the violence..."

P: (interrupting again) "Hey, what's wrong with violins? I LIKE violins."

M: "No, Your Grace, v-i-o-l-e-n-c-e, violence, not violins, you deplore the violence in the streets."

P: "Oh."

SCENE VI

Back in the streets again with all the rioters, and the two Protestors, #1 and #2. The situation is still chaotic, and there are more people now running about, breaking windows, terrifying citizens and making them afraid to leave their homes, defying authority, stampeding people and raping cattle. (Thank you, Mel Brooks.)

P #1: "Hey, how about those Dodgers? A new manager, now we got Davey Lopes coaching at first, MLB takes over the team and throws Frank McShitwad out, hey, what a way to start the season, huh?"

P #2: "Yeah, and they beat the Cubs two out of three at Wrigley last week, even better. They might have a decent season yet."

P #1: "Hey, aren't we due at the effigy burning in 10 minutes?"

P #2: "Shit, yeah, we gotta' go, dude."

The two protestors hustle off, stage left. (You know, "Exit, stage left.")

SCENE VII

In the office of RRMMJ, with M talking on the phone.

M: "...yes, sir, that's going to be the Pope's position on the "disturbances"...no, sir, he won't be playing gerbil golf until the crisis is over and things return to normal...yes, sir, I realize "normal" for Pope John is something different from other people's "normal", but I'm sure you get my drift...yes, sir, he will ask the protestors to return to their homes immediately before martial law is invoked by you...yes, sir...yes, sir...no, we won't let him make any other statements...a muzzle and a whip...yes, sir, I'll tell him...thank you, sir, the best of luck to you as well."

P walks in just as M is hanging up the phone.

P: "Mike, what's the latest?"

M: "Well, sir, I just got off the phone with the President; I advised him of your statement and what you plan to say to the protestors. He was concerned, sir, that you might, how can I say this, ahh, step on your johnson with the folks on the streets if you aren't careful, you know, maybe say the wrong thing, make matters worse somehow..." M's voice peters out at the end of the sentence.

P: (not really listening, looking nervous and uncomfortable) "Do we have enough Girl Scout cookies on hand, in case things get really ugly out there and we can't place an order for more? I don't want to run out of Thanks-A-Lots."

M: "Yes, sir, there's several cases in the storeroom, and more on order."

As the two men are talking, Harley walks in the office, stands in one place for a moment, and then walks out, never saying a word. Suddenly, both men get pained looks on their faces and, placing their hands over their noses, walk simultaneously to the open window.

M: (gasping and keeping his nose covered with his hand) "Geez, what do you feed him, roadkill? Nothing that isn't already dead should smell that bad."

P: (also gasping and dry-heaving) "Dry dog food, I swear that's all he gets, its like breathing the air here in the Valley gives him gas. Man, that's awful."

ACT II, SCENE I

In the Pope's office again, with P behind desk, staring at cameras across from him at the far side of the room. He is addressing the cameras, and has some papers on the desk in front of him. P appears in his "Pope" clothes, a surplice and the tall "Pope" hat.

P: "...and so, in conclusion, my fellow Americans, let me just say that until and unless all protestors stop their illegal acts and vacate the streets, law and order cannot be restored and the Girl Scouts will continue to have great difficulty in making their deliveries, which is a situation that none of us want. Please, I implore you, cease your activities and go back to your homes so your government can begin to get things back to where they belong, and we can start to undress the issues that you have raised."

(A quick cut to M's face as he grimaces at hearing P say "undress".)

P: (continuing his speech) "Thank you for taking the time to listen to what I had to say here this evening, and so you know, my staff is currently working on scheduling a tour for myself and the Harley Dog, where we'll travel to as many cities as humanly and caninely possible, bringing the soothing balm of Johnism to you all. Watch for announcements as to where and when we'll be appearing."

            "Please, if you love your country and great cookies, please, all of you, return to your homes and let's give peace a chance." (In the background, a choir in robes files into the Pope's office, humming quietly, and lines up in rows adjacent to the P's desk, and with a signal from their director, who filed in with them and took a place in front of the group, they begin singing "All We Are Saying Is Give Peace A Chance".)

P: (over the singing) "Thank you, my fellow Armenians, and may Dagon bless. And Go Dodgers!"

(Another quick cut to the face of M, grimacing again at the Pope's words.)

Director: (off camera) "Cut, that's a wrap."

(Cut back to P, who is removing a tiny microphone from where it was clipped on his vestments.)

P: "Well, whatta' ya' think, that went pretty good, didn't it?"

M: "Yes, Your Unbelievableness, it went fine."

Just then, the Harley Dog walks in the Pope's office, stops in the middle of the floor, stands for a moment, and then leaves again, without saying a word.

And suddenly both men grab their noses and head out of the office in a rush, as the scene fades to black.

The End.

So whatta' think, it's Oscar material, right? (Yeah, Oscar the Grouch.) Anyway, Harley really liked it a lot; he was particularly pleased with the "flatulence" scenes. (Have you noticed a flatulence trend here?)

And of course, the Hollywood bug has bitten him: he demands to have some input into who plays him in the video; he wants James Franco, but that's a no-go for yours truly, because I thought Franco dissed Anne Hathaway at this year's Oscars, and since I also think that AH is a MAJOR cutie/hottie, no Franco.

I'm thinking of Zelda Rubenstein to play the Pope, you know, the tiny little actress who played in "Poltergeist", which, by the way, is the German word for "Roman-hater".

Love and Academy Awards,

PJTT

copyright 2011 Krissongs, Inc.

Never On Sunday

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 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.

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 Lakers embarass themselves against Mavericks." 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?", to which, of course, the newly-minted Seraphim and Cherubim had no answer, because they had just been created, and didn't know from basketball. Or burgers, for that matter.

So the Creator rested on what came to be called the Sabbath, watched the Lakers annihilate the Mavs, 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.

It's The Little Old Lady From Pasa, Err, Loudon NH

Now I don't want any of you to look at the picture above until...I said DON'T look, you gooses...well, it's just too late now, isn't it?

Since all of you already looked, even though I asked you all not to, as punishment, I'm not going to tell you about the picture until later in this post. You couldn't behave, so now you'll just have to wait.

***AND NOW, THE 2011 WINNER OF THE O. HENRY SHORT STORY AWARD***

"Once upon a time, there was a Pope Guy named John The Tall, and he was the Popeamundo for the All John All The Time World Church. He's the one writing this essay.

The end."

Okay, it's a real short story, much like the list of appearances in the World Series by the Chicago Cubs. Or like the length of time the Lakers spent in the playoffs this year.

But the real story here today is getting old, well, the story isn't getting old, it's ABOUT getting old, a subject with which I am well acquainted. Too well, in fact, for my money, although, considering the alternative, I guess I can take getting old.

As I suspect was the case with most of you, I was a) very young and b) very naked when I was born, or so I'm told, since my recollection of the whole experience is vague. Given that we only actively use about 10% of our brain capacity, with the Washington and Hollywood crowds working on closer to -62% of theirs, I've often wondered if somewhere, back in the deep, hidden recesses of our brains, that there aren't memories, maybe even vivid memories, of every moment in our lives, our birth, our first meal, our first step, the first time we puked after being overserved by some inconsiderate bartender, everything we've ever done as a person, stored away in some kind of organic hard-drive that we've just never learned to access properly.

Anyway, I'm getting old; I hit ** on my last birthday, back in February, and all of a sudden, it seems like I'm in the fast lane to Forest Lawn. (For you non-Southern California types, Forest Lawn is a HUGE local cemetery, with all sorts of tacky advertising and celebrity "residents" and has been the subject of all kinds of SoCal insider jokes for years.) I have never in my life been more aware of my own mortality then I have been recently. I wouldn't say that it's gotten to the point of fixation, but it's become a common theme in my nightly assessment of my life and my activities. (After I reread that last sentence, I realized that it sounded a lot more introspective than I intended. Or that I'm capable of, for that matter.)

I come from a long line of old people, on both sides. Shit, if my family were trees, we'd have a boatload of those internal rings scientists use to determine a tree's age on us, believe me. Three out of four of my grandparents made it into their 90's (other than my paternal granddad, who took the last, long step in his mid-60's; according to the death report, he died of a heart attack, but I knew my grandmother well, and I'm pretty sure the real story is that Grandpa bailed out to get away from her), I have a number of aunts and uncles who are in or have made it into their late-80's or early 90's, my dad was almost 89 when he passed away and the best one of all is my mother, who is still alive and ornery as ever (and still living by herself) at the ripe old age of 96.

I've become preoccupied with my age, and isn't it interesting that so many of us become preoccupied with our age when our preoccupation with sex starts to wane, although mine hasn't, even if I have slowed down some. Yeah, I don't think about sex NEAR as much as I used to, no more than 3 or 4 hundred times a day, compared to THOUSANDS of times a day when I was younger and could still do more than just think about it. (The proverbial "they" claim that sex is just like riding a bike; once you learn how to do it, you should have a complete understanding of nuclear physics, ah, sorry, you never forget how, and I'm praying that's true, because I'd hate like hell to FINALLY get lucky, and then, at the most critical moment, forget what goes where. A good friend of mine once told me he thought it was pretty much "insert Tab A into Slot B" and proceed accordingly. Hell, even I can't screw that up too bad, and I could screw up a two-house paper route.)

So what does all this have to do with the AJATTWC and your good Pope John?

Not a damn thing, but I needed something to lead into my main story, which is coming up next, so ease up, okay? Geez.

So, ever wonder what you'd like to do to celebrate your 100th birthday? No, I haven't either, but Rachel Gilbert, who recently celebrated her centennial, was given a hell of a gift by her family on hers: a chance to hit 100 again, this time on the racetrack at Loudon NH behind the wheel of a NASCAR vehicle. Interestingly, according to the report from NewsCore, Gilbert gave up her driver's license back in 1995, so had to be driven to the track by her family, who arranged the entire event with track officials. Not that she has much business driving around at 100 anyway, either age or MPH.

After whizzing around the course for several laps, Ms. Gilbert pulled into the infield and did several doughnuts, and then brought'er into the pits, then after shuttin' her down and wriggling out of the driver's side window, she received a birthday card, a NASCAR jacket autographed by her favorite driver, Carl Edwards, and a magnum of champagne roughly the size of Cleveland, which she proceeded to chug down until she passed out and was then carried from the pit area, laughing maniacally and muttering that she could drive rings around Jeff Gordon any day.

You gotta' love this old broad, and I say that in the most respectful way possible.

I once outraged my beautiful daughter, Hiram, (which, by the way, is quite common; I outage her on a fairly regular basis), by telling her that I wanted die at 90, in bed naked with a 21-year old blond with enormous hands. On the downstroke.

Okay, at 90, the sex probably won't be great, but it might be enough to make all those years of struggle to get that far worthwhile; hey, Rachel Gilbert got to hit the century mark in a hot car on her 100th, so why not, right? Stranger things have happened.

And don't tell me they haven't, okay, because I know better. Want me to prove it?

The citizens of this country elected George W. Bush to be President of our country.

Twice.

In both instances, Bush did well with the "over 60" demographic, which would lead one to believe that, in a lot of instances, getting older might make you a little crazy (see above) but it doesn't necessarily make you any smarter.

Or in my case any better looking.

Love and Geritol,

PJTT

copyright 2011 Krissongs, Inc.

A Six Day Work Week, With Benefits

No one is sure what motivated the Creator to suddenly get up one day 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 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 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.

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 first game of the Lakers/Mavericks series." 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?", to which, of course, the newly-minted Seraphim and Cherubim had no answer, because they had just been created, and didn't know from basketball. Or burgers, for that matter.

So the Creator rested on what came to be called the Sabbath, watched the Lakers annihilate the Mavs, and got back to his job of creation 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 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 Sunday, huh? Yeah.

Love and triple time,

PJTT

copyright 2011 Krissongs, Inc.

Go Lakers!

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

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

Go Lakers.

Go Lakers.

Go Lakers.

Love and three-point shots,

PJTT

copyright 2011 Krissongs, Inc.

Second Star To The Right, And Straight On To...Cleveland

I decided this morning to accept an invitation I received recently from Noloc Moraine, the Tetrarch of Pyrites on the planet Xanthous, to attend a conference of religious and spiritual leaders of our galaxy that the Xanthousian High Council is holding next week on their planet, as a representative of the All John All The Time World Church. Attending conferences and meetings of this nature is one of the collateral duties of being the Pope Guy and leader of the Church, plus it gives me the opportunity to exchange ideas with and discuss and examine the positions of other galactic moral thinkers and also get away for a few days of well-deserved rest. (As you may or may not be aware, Xanthous has a lot of great resorts, with some superior gerbil golf courses, a number of superb restaurants (where several of them feature, as their specialty of the house, a baked Krillion ebert in thrane sauce, the Krillion ebert being a distant cousin of the Lower Zimbabwean ebert from our planet) and a shitload of white sand, nude-only beaches where native Xanthousians, as well as visitors from other worlds, congregate to lie around, sunbath and generally unwind. (Female Xanthousians bear a remarkable resemblance to Earth women, other than having three breasts, with which I personally have never had a problem; I am a firm believer in the merits of occasional excess.)

In order to make the journey to Xanthous, I instructed my ground crew do a full maintenance review and overhaul of my atomic powered space ship, the Royal Unionship Kidding, or RU Kidding for short, to ensure it's airworthiness for a trip of this magnitude. (Xanthous, for you non-aeronautical types, is 2.69 gazillion parsecs from Earth, which is, as you might imagine, more than a few blocks. The "Kidding" is capable of speeds well in excess of the Speed of Aroma, but the journey to Xanthous will still require several days of travel. For comparison, the speed of light is a visual measurement, the speed of sound is an aural measurement and, accordingly, the Speed of Aroma is an olfactory measurement, and is considerably greater than that of light.)

Its sound like I really know what I'm talking about, doesn't it?

I also decided to have the official canine of the Pope Guy, affectionately known as the Harley Dog, accompany me on my trip, as my companion and backup navigator. (Smart dog, huh?) We've had to make several special accommodations for Harley, to allow him to be able to travel abroad the ship, such as a hydroponic "lawn" in the cargo hold of the Kidding, because "going outside" in a space ship is a big no-no, for obvious reasons. (Do you remember the scene from the movie "Apollo 13" where the character played by Bill Paxton, astronaut Fred Haise, did a "waste dump" and, as they showed the "golden shower" (all of you perverts out there, stop it right now) exiting the side of the spacecraft, his comment was "...the Constellation Urine, what a beautiful sight..." He pronounced "urine" as "UHRHINE", as though the word rhymed with the name of the river in Germany.) We also had to come up with a special spacesuit for Harley, and he looks adorable in it; the only problem is that he can't wag his tail because we had to keep it inside the suit for fear of radiation burns, because you don't want radiation burns on your butt, believe me. Or anywhere else for that matter.

We're leaving this afternoon around 3:30, which is Star Date 6532.158 on Xanthous; we're leaving a little earlier than I had initially intended because of a change in our flight plan. We were originally set to take route 529DL5 from Southern California, which would have taken us north/northeast over the Rockies, the plains and then, curving slightly further northward, over the Great Lakes region, including flying directly over the city of Cleveland, before entering a subspace planetary orbit, prior to the jump-off into HyperAromaDrive. But as of this morning, I decided to take the Polar route, 623HB8, to avoid Ohio. ("Second star to the right, and straight on 'til morning...")

The reason I decided to take the Polar route and not overfly Cleveland was to avoid the incredible stench that's arising over the city from the Lakers/Cavaliers NBA game that took place there last night, in which the TWO TIME DEFENDING WORLD CHAMPIONS (the Lakers, who also have the highest payroll in the NBA this year) lost 105-99 to the WORST TEAM IN THE NBA CURRENTLY (the Cavaliers). That's right, sports-fans, the mighty Lakers, whose lineup includes arguably the best player in the game today, Kobe Bryant, were out-hustled, out-rebounded, out-shot and generally stunk the place up so bad as to be ludicrous. Its a good thing Phil Jackson, their Hall Of Fame coach and winner of 11 NBA Championship rings, is a peaceful man and doesn't own a gun; if he did, I'm sure he would have been SORELY tempted to shoot those assholes afterwards. Prior to last night's game, the Cav's record was 9-46; yes, you read that correctly, they had amassed a whopping nine wins against forty-six defeats. Worse yet, the Cavaliers just ended, by beating the other L.A. NBA franchise, the Clippers, last Friday, a 26 game losing streak, which set not only an NBA record for futility, but a modern professional sports record as well; no team in ANY other professional sport has ever lost that many games in a row.

This loss was unconscionable; there was no way a team as talented as the Lakers should ever lose to the Cavaliers; it was the equivalent of them losing to a mildly talented college team. (Shit, they played the Cavs five weeks ago and beat them by FIFTY-FIVE POINTS.) This, this was...I have no words (and you'd better believe its a rare occasion that I'm speechless).

I have been a huge Lakers fan for many years, and it hurts me to do this, but I will make a fearless prediction here, and an offer to make a bet with anyone who's interested: One Hundred Dollars ($100) says the Lakers don't get past the second round of the playoffs this year. A C-note.

Einstein's Theory of Relativity (E=mc2) was based on the premise that, if you could accelerate matter (m) at the speed of light (c), squared (2), that said acceleration would produce energy (E); that's the basis of fission, which is what makes the atomic bomb work as it does.

But basketball isn't rocket science, and you don't have to be an Einstein to play the game. So I'm going to offer Dr. Jerry Buss, the owner of the Lakers franchise, the use of the RU Kidding, at his discretion, and then make this suggestion to him: take the entire team, all 15 of them, stuff their big, ugly carcasses into the ship's cargo hold and we'll send them off into the farthest reaches of the Caecilian Nebulae, where they can stink up that corner of the solar system all they want with their lazy play and lackadaisical habits.

At least I won't have to watch it then. Geez.

Love and space stations,

PJTT

copyright 2011 Krissongs, Inc.

Hey, Does The Pope Wear A Tall Hat?

As much as I enjoy my work as the Pope of the All John All The Time World Church, there are drawbacks to being the spiritual leader of so many, as well as a prominent world figure and renown sports fan. I think the one thing that bothers me most is the occasional insult directed towards me, as Pope, by inconsiderate, thoughtless assh...sorry, by people who disagree with my teachings and my opinions on the issues that effect my flock. (Good thing my "flock" isn't sheep; sheep and shepherds are the common building blocks of Old Testament abominations. Like in the Book of Secretions, Chapter 9, Cubs 3.) I realize that, as a public figure and as a man of the cloth (gabardine), I should offer up these slings and arrows of outrageous fortune (that's Shakespeare, Book of Hamlet, Act 3, Scene 1, and the Dodgers/Giants no score, just getting under way here at Dodger Stadium) to whatever higher power exists in the universe, and suffer little children to come unto me. (???) And mostly I'm able to do this, to bear with the personal insults to further my vision of a world at peace, a world free of hatred and malice towards each other, a world without end, amen.

And while the assaults on my lofty and exalted position as Pope I can dismiss, as long as they're made in the heat of a good, clean debate of the issues, whenever an attack on my Popeship becomes personal, it seriously pisses me off, ah, upsets me greatly, sorry.

A few years ago, a trend was abound in our country, and continues today to some varying degree, to use a phrase of frank obviousness, as an ironic rejoinder to a statement of equal or even greater obviousness. To wit, "Gee, does a cat have nine lives?" or "Yeah, no shit, and do the Cubs suck?", etc. But the one remark of this genre that has always rankled me, that I felt was demeaning and insulting to my Popeness was the one that goes, "Yeah, does the Pope shit in the woods?" I'm sorry, but I just feel that a remark like that lacks respect for my ever so lofty office and person.

Why can't we have civility in our discourse, why...hang on, there goes the Popephone again...JTT...Mike, how ya' doin', buddy?...a bear?...and what?...the Pope wears a tall hat...shit...well, I got that one wrong, didn't I?...tell Miller in research he really blew this one...no, don't fire him, but dock him a week's pay, all right?...thanks... According to my consigliore, Monsignor Michael Jordan (no, that's ANOTHER Michael Jordan), I apparently misunderstood what was being said. As far as I know, bears do shit in the woods. (For my money, any animal as big as a bear, with all those really huge bear teeth, hey, he can shit anywhere he likes. And FYI, this consigliore thing isn't like in "The Godfather", okay? Its not a mafia thing, I'm not Italian, I don't run an olive oil import business and I've never made an offer that couldn't be refused, just ask all the women I've tried to get in...well, never mind that now.)

Well, now that I know my Popeosity isn't being ranked as I believed it was, it's on to other more critical issues. Why is it so hard to find a really good pizza place here in the Valley that delivers?

(I was reading about the President of China the other day, a man named Hu Jintoa, and I thought to myself, if he gets a single, then Hu's on first, right? I don't know; he's on third.) (Okay, excellent baseball joke, stolen gleefully from the movie "Hot Shots"; would do you do with an elephant that has three balls? Walk him and pitch to the rhino.)

I'm thinking of dropping a better camshaft in the engine of the Popemobile, and maybe some headers too; you know, looking to gain a higher power.

Love and quotations,

PJTT

copyright 2011 Krissongs, Inc.