The NO BULLetin

(It's "Rerun Day" here at the blog of the Pope Guy of the All John All The Time World Church; didn't have a topic for today and decided to give all my wonderful and terribly good-looking followers another crack at the essay I originally posted on 4/11, below. Enjoy.)

 

Okay, race fans, its...Dah..Dah..Dah..DAH..."Announcements" time again; that's right, all you loyal followers of yours truly, the Pope Guy, the All John All The Time World Church must occasionally make its followers, all several of them, aware of its activities, just like any other church; that's why we have announcements. (And you thought we had Announcements just so the Church could sell ad space, didn't you? Cynics.)

Anyway, in no particular order:

*Woman's Club To Host Candidate*

            The President of the Woman's Club of the AJATTWC, Sister May Flowers, would like to invite all the ladies in the Church to plan to come hear potential Presidential candidate Sarah Plain And Loud, give an address on "Child Rearing In A Democratic, Liberal, Slutty World" next Tuesday evening, 4/4/4/4, at 36:15ppm, or Star Date 7563.22, in the Church Meeting Hall. Ms. Plain And Loud will share stories of her experiences as a "mama grizzly" and talk about how the repulsive, sickening lack of morals and values of the sleazy, disgusting liberal Democrats in this country pose a threat to the well-being and proper, Christian upbringing of our children. She will further tell of her battles with her own kids over having proper attitudes, the proper manner of dress and actions and living a decent, moral and most importantly, chaste life, and how she failed so miserably with her own daughter, Bristol.

Refreshments will be served afterwards, and Sister May asked that all you ladies who plan to attend contact her about bringing a covered dish (preferably with something in it to eat).

FYI, Ms. Plain And Loud waived her usual $75,000 speaking fee for this appearance, but asks that donations be made to the AJATTWC-sponsored charity, the Home For The Chronically Bewildered, where her daughter, Bristol, was recently committed.

*A Warning*

            Brother Willy Ficksit, fellow AJATTWCian and owner of the Mr. Ficksit's Auto Repair and Spa, has asked that we pass on the following public service announcement:

            Please make sure you check your car for squirrels before you drive.

That's right, hockey-lovers, err, brothers and sisters, please make sure to check under the hood of your car periodically to ensure that squirrels haven't nested in your engine compartment. Brother Willy said that a fellow garage owner passed on a news report to him from Braintree MA that told of a woman who was having trouble with her car and took it in to her mechanic to be looked at. After a thorough examination, she was told that squirrels had built a nest in the engine compartment, and that, given the fact that the furry little devils had chewed through much of the engine's wiring, she was extraordinarily lucky that the engine, and the whole car, hadn't caught fire.

Brother Willy also said that anyone who would like a free squirrel inspection of their vehicle can bring the car into his shop any weekday before 5:00pm. (Mr. Ficksit's closes at 5:00pm when the spa opens.) FYI, the "squirrel inspection" is free, however, there will be a "hazardous material removal" fee of $150 for any vehicle that has nesting animals.

*Legal News*

            Brother O. Boy Dewey, partner at the law firm of Dewey, Cheatum and Howe, and chairman of the Church's Legal Department, has also asked that a public service announcement be made in The NO BULLetin, concerning uterusesuses, uhh, sorry, uteruses, and their incorporation.

            Brother Boy urges any of the ladies of the Church who are concerned with losing control over their reproductive rights to follow the suggestion of the ACLU in Florida and incorporate your uterus. (Your spleen can continue to be a sole proprietorship.) According to Brother Boy, the organization recently launched a website, www.IncorporateMyUterus.com, that will explain all the issues involved, including such topics as corporate taxation of your uterus, ensuring your uterine corporation has proper legal representation, how to avoid a hostile takeover of your corporation by a partnership led by your gall bladder, and many others. The website also explains how men can incorporate an "honorary uterus".

            Brother Boy also reports that the lawsuit involving the Church's "tax exempt" status, ~U.S. v That Lyin' Sack Of Camel Poop PJTT and the AJATTWC~, is still pending and should come to trial sometime in the next 300 hundred years. For the newer members of the Church, this lawsuit stems from the investigation by the U.S. Department Of Justice into remarks made by your Pope Person that were perceived as "political". Its blatant harassment, and is probably the result of an extreme case of envy on their part. (Serious sarcasm starts here.) I mean, why would the DOJ have a problem with an organization that doesn't pay ONE PENNY in taxes, that is dedicated to the spiritual and moral well being of their congregations, having political opinions and trying to sway their congregation to its way of thinking? Why is that a problem? (Okay, sarcasm all gone.)

            (Your Pope apologizes for the sarcastic editorial comments in the last paragraph (above); I've been told by the Bored of Elders that I may not editorialize in The NO BULLetin, and I forgot, and I'm sorry, and I won't do it again ever. I promise.)

*The AJATTWC's Second Annual Gerbil Golf Outing*

            Men's Club President Brother Bill Collector is pleased to announce that the Church's Second Annual Gerbil Golf Outing will take place on Saturday, 5.3/69, with the first tee time at 8:8:9. All of you gerbil golfers who would like to participate need to put their names (and handicap) on the sign-up sheet in the Church office. Since this is a fund-raising event, as well as a great time, $75 of the $100 "greens fee" for each player will be donated to the Home For The Chronically Bewildered, with the remaining $25 going directly to the Popemeister, to cover expenses and provide beer.

            And folks, please let's not have a repeat of last year's unfortunate incident involving hamsters. The guilty parties confessed, paid for the repairs of the Church kitchen and all was forgiven (except for several really unhappy hamsters). Let's have a great tournament and a fun day.

*Wedding Plans Revealed*

            Brother Hy Waders and his wife, Sister Vanilla, are thrilled to announce that their lovely daughter, Hyram Jr., is to be married on June Umpteenth, here in the Church, to her fiancé and welding instructor, Brother Bob Upendown, son of Brother Letsgo and his lovely wife, Bouncing. The happy couple will have as their best man Mr. Ben Dover, and the maid of honor will be Sister Karen Feeding, and are registered at Sam's Dungeon and Pizza Parlor, the Doll House and WalMart.

*Teen Club Movie Party*

            Sister Deb Utant, the President of the Teens For John, the teen club of the AJATTWC, wants all the teenagers in the Church to know that the TFJ is planning a "movie party" for next Friday evening, starting with seeing the movie "Teens Aflame", a infomovie by Sarah Plain And Loud examining the horror and sluttiness and disgustingness and sinfulness of teenage...uhh, naughty stuff. After the movie, everyone is invited to attend a post-movie discussion of the ultra-right wing conservative, um, excuse me, the issues brought up in the movie. The "discussion group" will "party" here in the Church Meeting Hall, where there will ample armed chaperones. Sister Deb asks that volunteers contact her to help with refreshments.

*Please Patronize Our Sponsors*

            The Bored Of Elders of the Church asks that you patronize the local merchants who so willingly support our activities.

-The Law Firm of Dewey, Cheatum and Howe, Attorneys At Law

            "No case, nor fee, is too small; we're in it for the dough."

            www.MyLawyerCanWhipYourLawyer.com

-Sam's S&M Dungeon and Pizza Parlor

"Tie Me Up and Feed Me Pizza"

227 North Bondage Ave.

-L.A. Beautiful-"It's Time For Your Dream Body"

                        Visit us at www.labeautiful.com

                        All Types Of Plastic Surgery including:

                        -breast augmentation

                        -breast lifts

                        -male breast ("moobs") reduction

                        -hammer toe, (and "screwdriver ear")

                        -facelift

                        -tummy tuck

                        -and many others

            Receive $1000 OFF any qualified procedure with this bulletin

            Free Limo Service with qualified procedures

(The above is an actual ad that appears periodically in the L.A. Times. Other than the "bulletin" part. You can check out the website if you don't believe me. Only in LA.)

Love and hymnals,

PJTT

copyright 2011 Krissongs, Inc.

The Facts, Ma'am, Just The Facts

(The following is a repost of my essay from 2/16/11, a day that I remember I was being particularly clever and witty; a rare moment indeed. I hope you like it a second time.)

I'd like to take a few moments today and point out some various and little known facts that may be of interest, or of some value, to you, the loyal followers of the All John All The Time World Church and me, your Pope Dude.

This information, in a few instances, is very esoteric, and possibly uninteresting to some of you, but you don't think for a moment that inapplicability is enough to stop me, do you? Mere irrelevance will never be a deterrent to my ongoing stream of silliness. Remember, your Popemeister has internal dictates to which he must respond.

Did you know-

-that the word for cetacean vomit is "ambergris'? That's right, party-goers, the formal word for whale puke is ambergris. I learned this interesting tidbit many years ago when, so help me, cross my heart, I stumbled onto a record album (do you remember albums? For those of you who don't, they were 12" round black discs made of vinyl with grooves in them that somehow, as if by magic, contained music. I've always thought they resemble anorexic Frisbees) by a rock band of that name: Ambergris. If memory serves, I'm fairly certain they actually explained on the album cover what the word meant, pretty much ensuring that nobody was likely to buy the album without being totally grossed out. Since I found the disc in a "remainder" bin, for the whopping price of $.99 (just like the store of the same name, you know, 99 Cents), you have to think there's merit to my argument. Or maybe the album, and the band, just sucked, which is probably more likely.

-that a computer keyboard does NOT have a "cents" sign, you know, like a dollar sign. I just learned that fact a few moments ago when I tried to type "99 (cent sign) Store" (see above) and had to type the word "cents" because I couldn't find the cent sign. I've got ^ and ~ and > and some others I hardly ever use, but no cent sign, at least, not on my keyboard. I swear, I never noticed that before.

-that as far back as the 1850s (EIGHTEEN, not nineteen) some scientist/inventor had the original, basic idea for the computer. Apparently, the only thing that stopped him from producing and marketing his idea besides some essentials like electricity, vacuum tubes, the silicon chip, plastic and a bunch of other high-tech sounding shit was his inability to come up with a really cute logo, like the little apple with the bite out of it that appears on the Macintosh machines. I forget where I read this, but it's probably a vicious lie, much like the libelous rumors that are currently being circulated about myself and several of the original Seven Dwarves. (There is absolutely no truth to that rumor whatsoever; maybe Snow White, she was pretty hot, but never the Dwarves. Well, maybe Sleazy.) (Okay, now some of you have got to be thinking, "Was Sleazy one of the...?")

-that the monetary unit in El Salvador is the "colon"? Yeah, and you always thought that the colon was the part of the large intestines that extends the cecum to the rectum. (Rectum hell, damn near killed him. That's the punch line to an old joke that I cannot remember the setup to.)  So, if the slang term here in America for dollars, among others, is "bucks", what's the slang expression in El Salvador for colons, "gall-bladders"?

-that my Dad, due to having suffered a fairly severe hernia, had to have his left testicle removed, back when he was in his mid-50s, and that I always referred to him after that as "One-Ball Bill", which was kinda' dumb, considering his name was Ezekial. I'm not sure how my mother reacted to this, or if she even noticed.

-that "colon" backwards is "noloc"? And that "mutorcs" backwards is "scrotum"? And that "scrotum" backwards is probably really painful.

-that you shouldn't use a seven-iron when hitting gerbils off your second floor balcony, that you should really either a) use a five-iron or b) move to the third floor balcony? And please, gerbil-golfers, always yell "Fore" before striking your gerbil, to warn any unsuspecting persons walking below.

-that the ebert is a...okay, you guys know that one, don't you?

-that "syrup" backwards is "purys"? And that "embargo" backwards is "ograbme"?

-that some lady in Massachusetts recently gave birth to a 13 pound baby? Yes, children, you read that correctly, THIRTEEN pounds. And the article I read about this indicated that the size of the child at birth came as a surprise to the woman. Now, being a typical male pig sleazebag, not to mention the Popester, I have no concept whatsoever about what a woman goes through when she's pregnant and when she gives birth, but I still have to believe that, if you're expecting a baby, and said baby has grown inside you for the normal nine-month gestation period common to humans, and that said baby weighs THIRTEEN (Holy Bathroom Scales, Batman) pounds when its born, that somewhere along the line, prior to it's birth, you must have had an inkling that your unborn child was going to be the size of a '57 Buick Roadmaster when it arrived. I mean, if she had been pulled over by the Highway Patrol a week before she delivered, the cops probably would have made her go through the truck scale. Geez, how could that have been a surprise? I bet they had to use a forklift to get her on up on the table to deliver the little monster.

-that since the Chicago Cubs last won the World Series, the following events have taken place: manned flight, manned space flight, two World Wars, the invention of the radio, television, computers, telephones, White Castle hamburgers, automobiles, vacuum tubes, vacuum cleaners, electricity and electric light bulbs, bikinis, thong bikinis (and a big ten-4 to the inventor of the thong; there must be a special place in Heaven for someone of your courage and vision) and a whole other plethora of shit that I can't think of right now. NINETEEN OH EIGHT, or ONE HUNDRED AND THREE YEARS ago as the crow flies. (If you look in a dictionary for the definition of "futile", there's a picture of Wrigley Field, which is the home of the Cubs, next to the word.

-that I was in my late 20s before I learned to spell the word "February" correctly; coincidentally or not, I was 22 before I reached pooberty. (I'm thinking there's a connection there somehow.)

-that Lindsay Lohan is NOT, contrary to popular belief, an alien from the planet Xanthous in the Hoolar Nebulae, but that she, and her goofy father, have to be two of the dumbest human beings ever to draw breath, and that a bill was introduced recently in the CA Legislature (commonly known in CA as the Home Of The Room Temperature IQ) calling for the immediate sterilization of Ms. Lohan, as a preventive measure to her becoming pregnant and propagating the world with any more stupid Lohans. (According to persons who follow the CA legislature closely, the bill is expected to pass.)

-that your Pope has written enough for one day, and that he is tired and is now going to go take a nap. (I just flew in from El Salvador in the RU Kidding, my rocket powered space ship, where I spent a ton of gall-bladders on a new seven-iron.)

Love and WikiPedia,

PJTT

copyright 2011 Krissongs, Inc.

The Facts, Ma'am, Just The Facts

I'd like to take a few moments today and point out some various and little known facts that may be of interest, or of some value, to you, the loyal followers of the All John All The Time World Church and me, your Pope Dude.

This information, in a few instances, is very esoteric, and possibly uninteresting to some of you, but you don't think for a moment that inapplicability is enough to stop me, do you? Mere irrelevance will never be a deterrent to my ongoing stream of silliness. Remember, your Popemeister has internal dictates to which he must respond.

Did you know-

-that the word for cetacean vomit is "ambergris'? That's right, party-goers, the formal word for whale puke is ambergris. I learned this interesting tidbit many years ago when, so help me, cross my heart, I stumbled onto a record album (do you remember albums? For those of you who don't, they were 12" round black discs made of vinyl with grooves in them that somehow, as if by magic, contained music. I've always thought they resemble anorexic Frisbees) by a rock band of that name: Ambergris. If memory serves, I'm fairly certain they actually explained on the album cover what the word meant, pretty much ensuring that nobody was likely to buy the album without being totally grossed out. Since I found the disc in a "remainder" bin, for the whopping price of $.99 (just like the store of the same name, you know, 99 Cents), you have to think there's merit to my argument. Or maybe the album, and the band, just sucked, which is probably more likely.

-that a computer keyboard does NOT have a "cents" sign, you know, like a dollar sign. I just learned that fact a few moments ago when I tried to type "99 (cent sign) Store" (see above) and had to type the word "cents" because I couldn't find the cent sign. I've got ^ and ~ and > and some others I hardly ever use, but no cent sign, at least, not on my keyboard. I swear, I never noticed that before.

-that as far back as the 1850s (EIGHTEEN, not nineteen) some scientist/inventor had the original, basic idea for the computer. Apparently, the only thing that stopped him from producing and marketing his idea besides some essentials like electricity, vacuum tubes, the silicon chip, plastic and a bunch of other high-tech sounding shit was his inability to come up with a really cute logo, like the little apple with the bite out of it that appears on the Macintosh machines. I forget where I read this, but it's probably a vicious lie, much like the libelous rumors that are currently being circulated about myself and several of the original Seven Dwarves. (There is absolutely no truth to that rumor whatsoever; maybe Snow White, she was pretty hot, but never the Dwarves. Well, maybe Sleazy.) (Okay, now some of you have got to be thinking, "Was Sleazy one of the...?")

-that the monetary unit in El Salvador is the "colon"? Yeah, and you always thought that the colon was the part of the large intestines that extends the cecum to the rectum. (Rectum hell, damn near killed him. That's the punch line to an old joke that I cannot remember the setup to.)  So, if the slang term here in America for dollars, among others, is "bucks", what's the slang expression in El Salvador for colons, "gall-bladders"?

-that my Dad, due to having suffered a fairly severe hernia, had to have his left testicle removed, back when he was in his mid-50s, and that I always referred to him after that as "One-Ball Bill", which was kinda' dumb, considering his name was Ezekial. I'm not sure how my mother reacted to this, or if she even noticed.

-that "colon" backwards is "noloc"? And that "mutorcs" backwards is "scrotum"? And that "scrotum" backwards is probably really painful.

-that you shouldn't use a seven-iron when hitting gerbils off your second floor balcony, that you should really either a) use a five-iron or b) move to the third floor balcony? And please, gerbil-golfers, always yell "Fore" before striking your gerbil, to warn any unsuspecting persons walking below.

-that the ebert is a...okay, you guys know that one, don't you?

-that "syrup" backwards is "purys"? And that "embargo" backwards is "ograbme"?

-that some lady in Massachusetts recently gave birth to a 13 pound baby? Yes, children, you read that correctly, THIRTEEN pounds. And the article I read about this indicated that the size of the child at birth came as a surprise to the woman. Now, being a typical male pig sleazebag, not to mention the Popester, I have no concept whatsoever about what a woman goes through when she's pregnant and when she gives birth, but I still have to believe that, if you're expecting a baby, and said baby has grown inside you for the normal nine-month gestation period common to humans, and that said baby weighs THIRTEEN (Holy Bathroom Scales, Batman) pounds when its born, that somewhere along the line, prior to it's birth, you must have had an inkling that your unborn child was going to be the size of a '57 Buick Roadmaster when it arrived. I mean, if she had been pulled over by the Highway Patrol a week before she delivered, the cops probably would have made her go through the truck scale. Geez, how could that have been a surprise? I bet they had to use a forklift to get her on up on the table to deliver the little monster.

-that since the Chicago Cubs last won the World Series, the following events have taken place: manned flight, manned space flight, two World Wars, the invention of the radio, television, computers, telephones, White Castle hamburgers, automobiles, vacuum tubes, vacuum cleaners, electricity and electric light bulbs, bikinis, thong bikinis (and a big ten-4 to the inventor of the thong; there must be a special place in Heaven for someone of your courage and vision) and a whole other plethora of shit that I can't think of right now. NINETEEN OH EIGHT, or ONE HUNDRED AND THREE YEARS ago as the crow flies. (If you look in a dictionary for the definition of "futile", there's a picture of Wrigley Field, which is the home of the Cubs, next to the word.

-that I was in my late 20s before I learned to spell the word "February" correctly; coincidentally or not, I was 22 before I reached pooberty. (I'm thinking there's a connection there somehow.)

-that Lindsay Lohan is NOT, contrary to popular belief, an alien from the planet Xanthous in the Hoolar Nebulae, but that she, and her goofy father, have to be two of the dumbest human beings ever to draw breath, and that a bill was introduced recently in the CA Legislature (commonly known in CA as the Home Of The Room Temperature IQ) calling for the immediate sterilization of Ms. Lohan, as a preventive measure to her becoming pregnant and propagating the world with any more stupid Lohans. (According to persons who follow the CA legislature closely, the bill is expected to pass.)

-that your Pope has written enough for one day, and that he is tired and is now going to go take a nap. (I just flew in from El Salvador in the RU Kidding, my rocket powered space ship, where I spent a ton of gall-bladders on a new seven-iron.)

Love and WikiPedia,

PJTT

copyright 2011 Krissongs, Inc.

The Writing Of Notes And The Hitting Of Gerbils

My good friend Ron called me the other evening, as he often does, to chat and catch up on each other's activities since the last time we spoke. "Pope, how're they hanging?" he asked to open the conversation, which of course is a moot question, given that we're both almost 137 and at that age, they hang not well, as he, I suspect, is as painfully aware of as I am. Ron was one of the original members of the All John All The Time World Church, of which, as you may already know, I am the Popemeister, and is one of its staunchest supporters. (I grant him my Papal forgiveness for the question because a) I love him like a brother and b) I occasionally ask him the same kind of inane questions myself.)

Ron recently moved to Decatur, Illinois, after a four-year tour of various other parts of America, forced by circumstances to wander about much like a lost gypsy in search of a campground site with bathroom facilities. Decatur, for you non-geography types, is located in the central part of the state known, on their license plates, as the Land Of Lincoln. (My Dad, often disgusted with the political shenanigans of both Chicago and Illinois politicians over the many years my family lived there, used to refer to the state as the "Land Of Gangsters".)

Decatur is known for two things mainly: for one, it is the home of the Decatur Staleys, the very first franchise in the National Football League; the Staleys later moved to Chicago and became my all-time favorite football team, the Monsters Of The Midway, the Chicago Bears. (Thank you, Papa Halas; I hope things are well for you in football heaven.) The other thing that Decatur is known for is not being the home of the Toledo Mud Hens, which of course, as their name clearly indicates, are from Lower Zimbabwe, home of the ebert. (Okay, those of you who have read any of my posts previously know the ebert joke, so I'll skip it here. Man, you guys are tough.)

At any rate, Ron and I have been friends for over 20 years now, and as I said, we periodically touch base to have one of our typical conversations, which mostly center around two central themes; sports and woman. Not in that order.

I was telling Ron about how I had been using a seven-iron to hit gerbils off my second-floor balcony, and he immediately broke in and said; "A seven-iron?!? Shit, I always use a five off the second floor." (Okay, I'm just teasing; I have never struck an innocent gerbil with ANY kind of golf club, although I smacked the crap out of a couple of hamsters with a pitching wedge recently; boy, those little suckers really fly.)

After we had settled the issue of what club to use on a second-floor gerbil shot, and further had made fun of out favorite subject of derision, the worst franchise in the history of modern sports, the joke of the MLB, the Chicago Cubs, the conversation moved on to our other favorite topic: how long it had been since either of us had a date with a female, preferably of the human persuasion, which is a euphemistic way of saying the last time either of us got laid. (I remember commenting to Ron, some time back, that what bothered me the most about my lack of feminine companionship was that it was actually not bothering me near as much as it used to. I think there's a message in that, but I'm not sure what it is.) Its not that either of us couldn't go out and find ladies of questionable taste (and virtue) to consort with; in my instance, I figure there ought to be a blind woman of grace and refinement that I could, somehow, convince to go out with me, even if I had to pay her. I mean, push gets to a hard place, I could always involve the Harley Dog, the official canine of the Pope of the AJATTWC, in some fashion in my quest to find a temporary mate. Harley is a chick-magnet; women love him. He's big and furry and uber-friendly and any time we're out for a walk and we encounter a female type, its common for them to stop and pet Harley, who doesn't know from strangers, and ooh and ahh over what a big, cuddly cutie he is. Of course, I always tell them to get their rotten, female hands off my dog, which may account for why I spend so much time alone. (Remember the scene in the movie "Beetlejuice" where Winona Ryder's character is in her teenage room, writing a poem that she begins with the line "I am alone" and then crosses it out and starts again with "I am UTTERLY alone". A wonderful depiction of teenage angst, the muse of the disaffected.) But I hate to stoop to such trickery, although I'm sure Harley would go for it, sleaze-bag that he is, preferring to wallow in my aloneness. ("I am UTTERLY alone.")

I've also never considered using one of those on-line dating/matching services, like eHarmony.com or GetLuckyTonight.com either; I know from people who have used them that they have you make a video of yourself, so potential partners can get a first-hand view of your doofusness, and I have no idea how to explain, on camera, about the third nipple I have growing in the middle of my forehead. (I remember the comedian Gallagher commenting on how he couldn't understand why men have nipples; "Why would you have faucets and no pipes?") No, I stay away from the dating services, figuring that it is better to have loved and lost than never to have had an STD, which for the longest time I thought was a '67 Ford Fairlane.

Now the point of this whole monologue, (yes, there really is a point to my ramblings, most of the time) is to explain how I occasionally come up with ideas for things to write about. The idea for this post struck me when I was sitting on the throne this morning (hey, I'm the Pope Guy, I have a throne, although most homes have one of these as well, proving that you don't have to be the leader of a major religion to have modern bathroom equipment), and I got to thinking about this and that, (my excretory functions do not require my concentration) and I remembered that I needed to call my daughter and explain (and probably apologize for) the post I wrote the other day that compared my -ex (her mother) to a picture of a Monitor lizard, and thinking about my -ex got me thinking about women in general and one thing led to another, as it often does in the dark recesses of what purportedly is my brain, and I walked out of the bathroom (after I had finished of course) and wrote myself a note in which pretty much all of  the above silliness came out of me, all in one, using the term loosely, creative stroke. (I wrote myself the note so I wouldn't forget my idea and what I wanted to write about. At my age, you write yourself notes to remember things, like pick up flea stuff for the Harley dog, or fix the hinge on the gate downstairs, both of which are sitting on my desk as I'm writing this, or not to forget to use the throne-room, if you get my drift.)

I remember reading somewhere that Babe Ruth used a 36", 42 ounce bat, which for those of you who don't follow baseball, is the equivalent of using a telephone pole as a bat. I mean, in modern terms, that's a huge piece of lumber. And you know what? I'll bet you a dollar to a turtle-soup sandwich that I could REALLY get some distance on a Chihuahua with one of those babies.

Love and driving ranges,

PJTT

copyright 2011 Krissongs, Inc.

Some Clarifications

You know, those of you have taken the time to read my previous blogs (see the archive list to the right, and thank you) might be a little confused about some of things that I, the Pope of the All John All The Time World Church, said in those missives, as well as just what it is I do as Pope John The Tall of the AJATTWC.

First off, a little clarification is probably needed about a) whether I live in Southern California or on a remote island in the Sargasso Sea, as I mentioned in my profile and b) whether and how much I beat my dog, Harley, as I also mentioned in my profile. (About the only thing I didn't mention in my profile was my hat size, which I don't know, and the size of my johnson, which, depressingly, I do.)

As to my where I live; I spend most of my time in the Southland, where I'm needed in my role as Pope of the AJATTWC and as a fundraiser for the church's favorite charity, the Home For The Chronically Bewildered. Then during the off-season winter months, Harley and I move back to our island paradise in the Sargasso. (Is that a great word, or what? Almost as good as "gerbil".) Our island is named Snacilbuper (pronounced SNACK-IL-BUPER), which is Republicans backwards; Harley and I are not Republicans, at least I'm not. I used to be until I realized that George Bush would go down as one of the worst presidents this country has ever had, and that he was the best the party had to offer, which scared the hell out of me, and I became a Librarian instead. Excuse me, that's Liberian. (Shit, never mind.) No, we're not Republicans (I don't really know what Harley's political affiliation is, but I know he's too smart to be a Republican.) No, the reason we named our island Snacilbuper was that it was just too funny to pass up.

Now allow me to be serious here for a moment; in light of the Michael Vick dog abuse scandal, the subject of harming a defenseless animal isn't funny, it's sickening. Mr. Vick paid his debt to society, so he's square with the house, for my money. That doesn't make what he did right or any less reprehensible. Just that it's over and its time to move on.

But please know one thing; I was making a joke when I wrote about beating Harley. Truth is, he's a 13-year old Golden Retriever who has been my boon companion for the last seven years (he spent the first six years of his life with my daughter), and I'd cut off my hands before I would harm him in any way.

And he's a good guy. Will Rogers, the humorist from back in the Twenties and Thirties, once said that he had never met a stranger, just friends he hadn't made yet. Harley has the same point of view about people; there's no such thing as a stranger to the Harley Dog, just people who haven't had an opportunity to pet him yet. He will walk right up to almost anyone, stick his big head in your crotch and dare you not to pet him. (Weighing in at 100 pounds and standing 27" tall at the shoulders, the threat has some substance.) A better-behaved, more affectionate being has not yet passed this way. As I frequently tell him, I love him to pieces.

For the record, I never beat my ex-wife either. She was a Shamdar maiden from the O'Ryan Cluster (populated mostly by creatures of Irish descent) of the Milky Way and the Shamdars are people of odd habits. She would frequently walk up to strangers, stick her big head in their crotch and dare them not to pet her. As far as I know, she's never bitten anybody, but you know, there's always a first time.

I wonder if the Shamdars are Republicans?

Love and politics,

PJTT

P.S. I am not a Libertarian either, by the way, nor a Democrat for that matter. I don't have to be; I'm the Pope.

copyright 2011 Krissongs, Inc.