Would You Like A Fortune, Cookie?

Hail, hail rock n' roll.

(Always wanted to start one of my posts with that.)

Your Pope (that would be me, John The Tall of the All John All The Time World Church and Massage Parlor; the history of my meteoric rise to Papal stardom appears above), recently moved from the sunny climes of Southern California, specifically the San Fernando Valley area of LA (pronounced "LAH"), back to my roots here on the frigid plains of Northern Illinois ("Illinois" in the Hulahoop Indian tongue means "flat as a table and up to your butt in icicles"); a number of my more sane friends questioned the timing of this move, coming as it did in November, which, while still relatively warm in SoCal, is considered winter, i.e, effing cold, in table/butt-icicle land.

"Why are you moving back there in winter?" asked my erstwhile ex-neighbor Susie, better known (to me) as TL, which is short for TennLamb, her email handle, TennLamb being a contraction of Tennessee Lamb, as in "If you'll be my Dixie chicken, I'll be your Tennessee lamb," from the great Lowell George/Little Feat song "Dixie Chicken".

The answer to her question was, hell, I don't know; like the guy that jumped naked into a cactus patch, it just seemed like a good idea at the time. (Actually, I wanted to be home with my family for the holidays; I've come back to visit every year for the last several, so, I figured, why make it a round-trip?)

Honestly, the cold and snow really didn't concern me when I was considering the move; I lived here for many years previously, still had my long underwear, hats, scarves and gloves and knew how to drive in winter ("steer into the slide"), so I knew the gig. Besides, as I told Susie, and everyone else who questioned my sanity, now that I'm mostly retired, having no day-job to get up in the mornings and go to, hell, what did I care what Ma Nature was inflicting upon the world outside; I don't have to go out in it if I don't choose to.

Not calculated into this plan was a certain amount of time for my body/physiology to adjust from daily 70-80 degree Valley weather to, are you kidding me, the wind chill is WHAT?

I hadn't been here three weeks when I got the flu; sickest I think I have ever been in my, using the term guardedly, adult life. Spent a week in bed miserable, figuring that I would have to get better to die.

Got back on my feet and, within a week, promptly caught a cold; lacking bad luck, I wouldn't have any at all.

It was during my second stint in bed sick (this time for 5 days), that I learned of a phenomena of which I had previously been blissfully ignorant.

The company that makes those Halls "triple soothing action, mentho-lyptus" cough drops puts pithy little sayings on the wrappers.

Word.

And I quote:

            "Don't waste a precious minute."

            "Get through it."

            "Put your game face on." (Which begs the question, "On whom?")

            "Take charge and mean it."

I love this one:

            "A pep talk in every drop." (That one was trade marked.)

Now I don't mean to sound like a curmudgeon here, but after spending half of the first six weeks subsequent to my triumphant return to the Land Of Lincoln in bed, hoping to die, my appreciation for these gems of wisdom was limited.

I have never really liked or appreciated the little slips of paper with the brief Oriental philosophies contained in fortune cookies either; frankly, although I like the cookie part, I've always thought most of the sayings were trite or, in a lot of cases, rather stupid. No slam to Confucius, but I mean, is there a point to these?

My all-time favorite fortune cookie messages:

            "You just ate cat."

            "Never tease an armed midget with a high-five."

And of course, at the end of a dinner with friends in a Chinese restaurant, some too-clever-for-words-genius will invariably comment to his/her (usually her) fellow diners, "Oh, read your fortune and add the words 'in bed' at the end", which, in my mind, typically only makes the message sound even more inane.

"You will inherit a potato farm and make a killing in tubers." Yeah, Einstein, add "in bed" to that.

I'm going to lobby someone to try my cough drop/fortune cookie sayings as alternatives to what they're using currently.

To wit:

            "The last thing I want to do is hurt you, but it's still on my list."

            "If I agreed with you, we'd both be wrong."

            "I didn't say it was your fault, I said I was blaming you."

            "Since light travels faster than sound, some people appear bright until they speak."

            "You do not need a parachute to skydive; you only need one to skydive twice."

            "Going to church doesn't make you a Christian any more than standing in a garage makes you a car."

            "You only live once, if you're lucky."

Besides being infinitely more clever than the ones on the cough-drop wrappers and in the fortune cookies these companies are boring us with currently, mine are a lot funnier.

(FYI, for those of you unaware of this, my sayings actually have a name...they're called "paraprosdokians", which in the Hulahoop Indian tongue means "potato farm".

Okay, I lied about that; here's what the word really means, per WikiPedia:

"A paraprosdokian is a figure of speech in which the latter part of a sentence or phrase is surprising or unexpected in a way that causes the reader or listener to reframe or reinterpret the first part. It is frequently used for humorous or dramatic effect, sometimes producing an anticlimax. For this reason, it is extremely popular among comedians and satirists. Some paraprosdokians not only change the meaning of an early phrase, but they also play on the double meaning of a particular word, creating a form of syllepsis."

Is it possible to have an "anticlimax"? I mean, you either do or you don't, right?

So on top of being in bed, sick and miserable with my cold, I had to endure Kraft Foods' (the maker of Halls Cough Drops) idea of uplifting messages on the wrappers of their product. (Yeah, I know, I didn't have to read them, but once I knew they were there, oh well.) Somehow, this must rise to the level of "cruel and unusual punishment".

"That wasn't moo goo gai pan, it was sweet and sour raccoon testicles."

Love and chop suey,

PJTT

copyright 2014 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.

Browsing Through The Pope's 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) and 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.