R Kives

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

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

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

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

Hail Dorothy!

Love and second takes,

PJTT

copyright 2011 Krissongs, Inc.

It Wasn't My Fault

Okay, now I'm not trying to impugn anyone here, but there's an explanation for why Your Pope didn't post anything to his blog yesterday, and since that deprived all of you of my daily message, which of course was chock full of the soothing balm of Johnism, I feel an obligation to explain.

The reason I didn't write a post yesterday? I couldn't.

The weinie-heads at Blogger.com had the website shut down all day and I couldn't get logged on. (Yeah, and see if any of those guys get into Heaven..."I'll get you, my pretty, and your little dog too...". (Thank you, L. Frank Baum, once again.) Harley gets all worked up during "The Wizard Of Oz"; he thinks Toto was the victim of poor management and could have gone MUCH further in Hollywood with a good agent. He also wants me to carry him around like Dorothy carried her dog. I reminded him he that weighs 100.4 pounds, at least according to the digital scale in his vet's office the last time we were there, and that, as a lap dog, he'd make a fine nuclear physicist. I let him sit on my lap one time, a few years ago; imagine being sat on by a pregnant water buffalo. No, Harley Dog, the only thing you have in common with Toto is an attractive human.)

See, even the Pope Dude has situations where he doesn't have all the control he would like to have, and much like the feeling you have when you can't get the lid off the new mayonnaise jar, it was frustrating.

So I stomped my feet and cried really loud and jumped up and down and threw a tantrum and guess what?

I still couldn't get access to the site, so no post for yesterday.

Shit.

I have some errands to run later, after I read my morning paper, as well as a shitload of rosaries I have to bless, and some appointments with other "brother Wizards" that I have to keep, so I'm just not going to have time to write a post until later, or maybe even tomorrow. Yeah, okay, I heard the gasp of shock go up from the crowd, I know you're upset and disappointed, but have faith, my children, it's only one day.

Hey, hang on, the Popephone's ringing...

"PJTT...hey, Mike, what's going on?...good, that's great...yeah, I'm working on it right now...why?...okay, but tell the committee I said no sainthood unless they can explain those paycheck stubs she had from that "Hannah's House Of Harlots" place in Vegas...I don't want another "situation" like the one we had last year when we had to explain those compromising pics of me and all those little people from after the "Wizard Of Oz" reunion dinner we got invited to...yeah...yeah, I'm explaining it right now, what a bunch of cry-babies, geez, one day without a post and they're coming unglued, for chrissake...yeah, okay, I gotta' go, I gotta' finish this...yeah...hey, lunch at the Beaver's Den later?...cool."

That was my consigliore, the Right Reverend Monsignor Michael Jordan, (no, not the one who didn't make his freshman basketball team); he expressed to me upset how he was with the utter and complete failure of the Blogger.com people to do their jobs competently, and how bad he felt, as do I, about not being able to post an essay yesterday.

Okay, if I get going and get all my errands done, MAYBE I can write something later; I'm not making any promises, but I'll try.

Hey, there's a Dodgers game on this afternoon, okay? How about priorities, huh? I'm only one man, admittedly an amazingly good-looking one, but only a man; I can't do everything.

Somebody has to staple the Sunday bulletins later today too, and ol' Harley Dog doesn't have opposable thumbs, so he's no help, and that means that I have to do it. So no post today either, now that I think about it. The hell with all of it, I'm just not doing one today.

Just like those Blogger. com people, I'm taking another day off.

With pay.

Love and workloads,

PJTT