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Hi, everybody. How are you? Well prepare to be DEVASTATED, because I am officially announcing my blog-tirement. Or my blogination. (What do you call it when you retire or resign from blogging? Getting a life?) Anyhoo, I'm quitting blogging for awhile. WHATEVER WILL THE INTERNET DO? Well, from what I understand, there are a few other websites of note, and they are practically desperate for people to read them. I used to be desperate, but thanks to this blog, and a series of wacky adventures, I think I'm feeling comfortable enough now to do other things for awhile. More on that in a moment, but I'm sure you have a number of questions, including, "WAS IT SOMETHING I SAID?" My answer to that would be, "Baby… it's not you… it's ME." To tell the truth, I have a number of metaphorical entrees on my plate that need to be eaten, and frankly, I'm starving for time. (OOH! My writing has really improved!) These entrees are as follows:
1) TRUDY THE BANK TELLER. No dirty bird, I'm not going to "eat" her. (PMF.) But ever since I kissed her on the mouth (check previous blog posts for that sexxxxy scenario… PMF), I kind of feel like I've been sitting on my patoot (PMF), relationship-wise. It's time to buy her steak dinners at Outback, feed her cotton candy and Chick-o-sticks, and go all John Cusack in Say Anything on her patoot. (PMF again.)
2) HIGH SCHOOL FOOTBALL. While high school doesn't start for a month, I need to buy pencils, pencil cases and Pee-Chee folders—because I don't want to be made fun of. Plus, high school football practice begins in earnest in a couple of weeks… and if I'm going to be like my teammate Jeremy (that is, walking around without a shirt on) my abs are going to have to be ripped. And abs don't rip themselves.
3) MY ENEMIES. Whenever I blog, I'm basically giving ammo to all my enemies, like Rev. Sparkle, Terry the grocery store checker (see blog post #1… haven't heard from him in awhile, huh?), and especially DAMIEN, whose annoyances have practically become a full time job themselves. Now I can read Damien's blog and screw around with him for awhile. (PMF!)
And last, but definitely not least, 4) KAREN. THAT'S MY LAMB. Nobody in the world means more to me than Karen, and while it's been important for me to look after myself, it's time for Karen to have a good daddy. Not that I gave birth to her, or impregnated a sheep or anything. That would be gross.
So anyway, I guess that's it for now. It's been really great sharing all my stories with you, especially since most of the stories in the bible about me are so fakey. At least in this blog you were able to see what I was really all about. I'm a nice guy, I'm a jerk, I'm super smart and I'm a dope. Just like everybody else. But just remember, I'll always always always like you and think of you. And even though I don't control the weather, and can't afford an iPhone, it's still okay to pray if it makes you feel better. Sometimes just admitting you're scared, and getting it off your chest improves things a lot.
Oh, and while the bible can be super duper annoying and WRONG most of the time, they did get one thing I said basically right: Try to make a lot of friends and be nice to each other. Time goes by a lot better that way.
Ciao for now,
Your always pal,
Jesus "H is for Hank" Christ
HELLO. Where's it at, fruit bat? Today I am feeling VINDICATED, because not only has the new Harry Potter book been released, but I also totally "faced" Rev. Sparkle (he's the pastor of the Victory Baptist Church who thinks I mugged him when I was really only asking for $500 so I could get an iPhone). Do you know what "faced" means? Getting "faced" is when you really burn somebody, and yell, "FACE!" But if you super burn somebody, then you can yell, "FACIAL!" And if you super-duper-duper burn somebody, you can yell, "BIORÈ!" (Which are like, those nose cleaning strips.) Thought you'd like to know!
Anyway, to recap: I was standing in line outside the bookstore for like almost a week waiting for the new Harry Potter book to hit the shelves, and was having a really nice time with all my new Potterphile friends, when all of a sudden that buzz-kill Rev. Sparkle walked up and started accusing everybody of being Satanists and delving in "witchery" just because Harry Potter has a wizard or two. So I hit him with a "FACE!" and then a "FACIAL!" and Rev. Sparkle got so mad, he promised to return later with a bunch of his meaty Christian friends to do something… I don't know what. Maybe bore us to death?
Anywuggle, this got everybody in line REALLY NERVOUS, and they were afraid something bad was going to happen, and they wouldn't get their Harry Potter books. (Now, to you, this may not mean much—but to these people, missing out on the final Harry Potter book is like President Bush not getting to bomb Iraq. It's a big deal.) And I felt like everyone was looking to me to save the day, because I was the one who gave Rev. Sparkle a facial. (Hmmm… that sounds PMF-y for some reason.) But here's the thing: I DIDN'T WANT TO GET OUT OF LINE. I'd been there all week, and I certainly didn't want to lose my place. On the other hand, take one look at these Potter people, and you'll know they aren't exactly… oh, how shall I put this? Equipped to deal with conflict. Therefore… I devised a plan.
It was just about an hour before the Harry Potter books went on sale, and right on cue, here comes Rev. Sparkle with a throng of crazy Christian supporters, waving signs, clogging the sidewalks and spilling out into the streets. This was not good, because the cops could come along, and make EVERYBODY go home—which I'm sure was Rev. Sparkle's intention.
"HARRY POTTER IS THE STICKY BYPRODUCT OF THE DEVIL," screamed Sparkle and his minions. "REPENT NOW, OR FACE WHAT WILL SURELY BE AN ETERNITY OF BATHING IN A LAKE OF FIRE, AND DRYING WITH SCRATCHY TOWELS PROVIDED BY SATAN'S UNRELIABLE STAFF!" (I'm telling you, this Rev. Sparkle guy is weird.)
That's when the trumpets started to blare.
It was an incredibly loud blast of noise that may have been enough to drive the Christians to their knees, but we'll never know for sure—because when I came floating down from the sky, they were on their knees faster than a Catholic school choir boy. (PMF.)
(Note: It really is easy to fool Christians with a loud sound system, some dramatic lighting, and a rope and pulley system attached to a flag pole. As a group, they're a bit gullible.)
I was no longer in my wizard outfit, but decked out in my shiniest, whitest Jesus robes, with a neon halo attached to my head. And thanks to my microphone, and the reverb on the sound system turned up to 8, my voice was booming.
"THE END IS NIGH!" I yelled at the crowd. "IT IS THE RAPTURE, AND I SHALL NOW TAKE ALL GOOD CHRISTIANS UP TO HEAVEN TO MEET GOD, MY HOLY FATHER. ARE THOU PREPARED TO MEET THY MAKER?"
"Yes!!" cried the Christians.
"GOOD! FIRST OF ALL TAKE OFF ALL YOUR CLOTHES!"
"What?" they asked.
"THERE IS NO NEED FOR CLOTHES IN HEAVEN! REMOVE THEM!"
Reluctantly, they did as I asked.
"I AM PLEASED WITH YOUR NAKEDNESS!" (No, I wasn't.) NOW, RUN DOWN TO THE RIVER, AND JUMP IN. YOU MUST BE CLEAN TO ENTER THE KINGDOM OF HEAVEN! AND THEN, WHEN YOU'RE DONE THERE, RUN HOME, MAKE A BUNCH OF SANDWICHES OUT OF THE REFRIGERATOR, AND GIVE THEM TO THE HOMELESS SHELTER. YOU DON'T NEED SANDWICHES IN HEAVEN! FOLLOWING THAT, DO 27 JUMPING JACKS IN THE MIDDLE OF THE STREET, AND SAY, "TAKE ME GOD, TAKE ME! I AM READY TO FLY TO HEAVEN." AND IF YOU'VE BEEN A GOOD CHRISTIAN, WE'LL THINK ABOUT IT. NOW… GO!!"
And off they ran—even Rev. Sparkle—down to the river. Hope they got that sewer overflow problem fixed.
Anyway, the Harry Potter crowd loved my performance, and even carried me around on their shoulders for awhile. That was fun. But I think the part I liked best is when the bookstore owner gave me the very first copy of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. That was super nice. But you know what? To tell the truth, I'm not the biggest Harry Potter fan, so I gave it to the person who was in the very back of the line, and then I left. I had done what I came to do: Make some new friends, and make a couple people happy. Besides, if I didn't leave right then, I wouldn't get a picture of a naked Rev. Sparkle handing out sandwiches at the homeless shelter! (Now I can BLACKMAIL him for an iPhone! Hee… hee… hee…)
Oh yeah… BIORÈ!
Hello, how are you? Me, I'm kind of busy. Because I'm preparing for WAR. Regular readers of this blog already know that I've been living on the street since Wednesday afternoon, hanging out with a bunch of other Harry Potter fans in front of the bookstore waiting for the final book in the series—which is going on sale tonight at midnight! SO EXCITING. Now, I'll admit I didn't give two poots (PMF) about Harry Potter originally, but since I've been out here with some of the Potterphiles, I've become quite a fan myself! (Although it's been brought to my attention that my wizard outfit looks NOTHING like Dumbledore, and Karen's [that's my lamb] robot character doesn't even appear in the Potter books—but they like us anyway! But seriously… why doesn't Harry Potter have a robot character? They fly around on broomsticks, for the love of Pete. How hard would it be to add a robot?)
Aaaaannnyyyywaaayyyy, I'm really learning a lot of the Potter lingo since I've been out here, like, "muggle," "quidditch," "sorting hat," and "horcruxes." (PMF.) Plus I've been sharing some of my own lingo with the Potter fans as well, such as, "Chick-o-stick," "ninja," "high five!" and "poop duck." (PMF.) Oh… I haven't explained "poop duck" have I? That's when you fart and blame it on a duck. (PMF! …but it's still funny.)
But after that? Things started getting bad. Just when we were having a lot of fun, guess who walks up with a TV camera crew? REVEREND SPARKLE from the Victory Baptist Church! (Read some of my previous posts if you want to learn more about him, but in a nutshell, he's a tool.)
"There they are!" he yelled while pointing at the line. "There are the worshippers of SATAN!"
"Who's that guy," my new friend Morgana (she's a goth) asked.
"Reverend Sparkle," I said. "He's a tool."
"These Harry Potter books are manuscripts directly from the pen of the prince of lies," Rev. Sparkle yelled at the cameras, "and these poor souls are lost in its Satanic grasp! These books celebrate witchcraft and sorcery—and they are intended for CHILDREN, no less! If you give one whit for your child's immortal soul, you will BURN EVERY LAST COPY OF HARRY POTTER!"
"Ohhhhhhhhhhhh… Cramitupyourbutticus," I said. (PMF. Like I've mentioned before, this guy really brings out the worst in me.)
"WHO SAID THAT," Rev. Sparkle cried, whirling around.
"Umm… Jesus Christ," I said. "Remember me?"
"Ohhh… I remember YOU alright! And I'm not the least bit surprised you're here, since you TRIED TO MUG ME!"
(In actuality, I didn't try to mug him—but I did try to get him to give me $500 for an iPhone. Long story.)
"Tell you what, Reverend," I said. "I'm Jesus Christ, so SUPPOSEDLY what I say goes, right? And I say these Harry Potter books are perfectly okay, and you're acting like a tool. So why don't you just run back to your little fairy tale church, and steal some more money from little old ladies?"
That's when everyone on the street cheered. Really loud. And that didn't make the Reverend happy.
"NO ONE talks to me like that," he blustered. "I am a child of Christ, and YOU are a charlatan, a miscreant, a BLASPHEMER…"
"Yeaaaahhhh, and you've been eating ONIONS."
"That's the last time you cross me, Satanist," he said a little too quietly. "I'm going away for the moment. But I'll be back—and before midnight tonight. And when I return, I won't be alone. NO ONE will be getting these filthy books, and I'm going to make it a my personal goal to GET YOU."
"And I'm going to make it MY personal goal to get YOU… a basket of flowers."
"MMMFFF!" he squealed and stormed off.
"YAY, JESUS!" everyone cried. But I'm not very happy. I know Rev. Sparkle is serious about returning and doing something to mess up everybody's fun—and as long as I'm stuck here in line, I can't do anything to stop him. Yet… I can't get out of line! I've been waiting here three days for a book I originally didn't care about, but now care about quite a lot! But what we have here is a war—and these people are looking for me to lead them.
Lucky for them… I have a plan.
Greetings muggles! How are you? Fine, I trust! Me, I'm having a BLAST living out on the street in front of the bookstore, waiting for the new Harry Potter book to come out! BTW, I'd like to apologize for yesterday's technical difficulties, and for Jeremy (he's my shirtless football playing friend) posting that kind of (ahem) sexy (PMF!) picture on my blog. I just wanted him to let you know I was okay, not get you hot. So… sorry. He also apologized for putting up that picture, saying, "I was feeling kind of bloated when that photo was taken—I'll look for a skinnier one." Yeah, Jeremy. WHATEVER.
Anyhoozy, back to ME: I have been sitting here in line since Wednesday afternoon, and haven't slept a wink! Happily, I have sparkling conversation from my new street friends to keep me awake, and a little help from this AWESOME drink called "Red Bull." Ever heard of it? I've had seventeen of them since yesterday, and though my heart is making a kind of funny bumpity-BUMP-bummmmmmp -BUMPITY- bump-bump- bummmmmp sound, I feel wicked alert.
Otherwise, not much has happened, except four things of note:
1) My wizard costume kind of smells bad when it gets wet.
2) People driving by in cars tend to tease a wet wizard.
3) Maybe I should've brought a raincoat, or maybe some food other than Lamb Chow (that's for Karen). (Oh. That's my lamb.)
And 4) It's generally not a good idea to reveal how a very popular book is going to end, before it comes out.
See, I didn't get to read your comments yesterday warning not to reveal the ending, or I would've known that. For those just joining us, I'm not a big Harry Potter fan, so in order to "fit in" with the people outside the bookstore I read up on on the "spoilers" from the new book. When I announced that I knew which major character would die, everyone kind of flipped out; putting their fingers in their ears, singing really loudly, putting some kind of weird curse on me that sounded like "SHUTUPICUS!", and one lady dressed as a British schoolgirl got so upset, she ran into traffic and almost got hit by a car.
These guys take this Harry Potter stuff seriously!
Anyway, they got really mad, and accused me of being a "muggle-phobe" or something like that, and then started insulting my wizard costume, claiming, "You don't look anything like Dumbell Door, and your lamb doesn't look anything like Blobby."
"Well, first of all," I said, "Karen is dressed as a robot, so why should he be blobby?"
"It's DOBBY!" they screamed entirely too loud. "He's a house elf!"
"No, she's not," I countered. "She's a robot!"
"THERE ARE NO ROBOTS IN HARRY POTTER!" they continued to yell.
"FINE," I yelled back. "Why don't you call the young adult fiction police, and lock me up? Look, I don't know anything about Harry Potter, okay? Standing in line with you guys just looked like fun, and I wanted to meet some new friends!"
Well, that outburst calmed things down a bit, and a girl dressed as a ghost who apparently lives in a toilet, or something (?) came over and let me borrow "Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone" so I could get caught up.
So anyway, that's what I've been doing. Reading a poop-ton of Harry Potter. (PMF.) And guess what? I'm enjoying it so much, I'm already half-way through "Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban" (that Sirius Black guy sounds scary!).
And even though I know how the entire series supposedly ends, the books are still really exciting—and who knows? Maybe those internet spoiler people are wrong. Or better yet? Maybe I'll come up with some kind of dis-remembering spell so I won't remember how it all ends!
"DISREMEMBERICUS!"
Hmmf. Well that didn't work.
Ummmm… hey. What's up, yo. Ummmmmmm… oh, yeah. Jesus isn't around right now. This is his friend Jeremy? From the high school football team? The one who doesn't wear a shirt? Yeah, that's me. Anyway, Jesus isn't around right now because he's waiting in line for some kind of baby book about a magician or something… I don't know. And he's trying to figure out how to get wifi while he waits in line. So he wanted me to write you this quick note so you wouldn't worry or nothing. He said he'd figure it out by tomorrow, and he'll talk to you then. Want to see a picture of me without my shirt on? Cool. Here you go.
WHOOOOOO! HIGH SCHOOL FOOTBALL! WHOOOOOO!
See ya.
Hey! How are you? I'm having FUN! You know why? Because starting tomorrow, I'm going to sleep on the street for at least 72 hours! Now, that may not initially sound all that fun to many of you, but believe me—its WAY fun when you're dressed as a magical wizard!
As you may or may not have heard, the final Harry Potter book is coming out this Friday at midnight. And that means tons of Potter fans will be camping out all week long so they can be first in line for the new book! Now, personally, I'm not all that interested in Harry Potter. (Is it okay for me to say that?) It's not that I think he's dumb or that it's a baby book or anything. I'm just not really into young adult fantasy fiction. As you know, I love military techno thrillers! YEAH! BANG! BANG! POW! POW! POW! Exciting.
Anywhosis, even though I'm not a big Harry Potter fan and I've only read like maybe half of one of the books—I can't remember which one… I think it had a spider in it?—I'm going to dress up like a magical wizard and camp out with all the Harry Potter freaks. Why? Because I like to make friends!
So here's my plan: A) I will dress up like a magical wizard. Harry Potter has magical wizards in it, right? B) Karen (that's my lamb) will dress up as a magical robot. Harry Potter has magical robots, right? And C) since the entire plot of the new Harry Potter book was leaked on the internet today, I'm going to learn all about it, and share it with all my new friends so I'll have something to talk with them about. They'll be super impressed with my knowledge!
Well, gotta make my cone hat, and color my beard white. See ya tomorrow! (Also, I'm glueing pieces of an old transistor radio onto Karen's back. So cute!)
How are you feeling? Swell I hope. My feelings are rollercoaster-y. As you may have surmised from my last post, I was on the verge of cancelling my kissing date with Trudy (she's that bank teller I like?) because Damien (my mortal enemy and Trudy's ex) warned me that he implanted some nano robots in her mouth that would knock my teeth out and give me AIDS. Oh. And they would make all future hot dogs taste like pee. Anyweird, I decided NOT to cancel the date because "Jesus Christ always keeps his promises." (While catchy, that tagline can be difficult to live by at times. Why didn't I come up with a tagline like, "You have a friend in the diamond business"?) However, while I wasn't going to cancel the date, that did NOT mean I was going to kiss Trudy on the mouth and risk a life of illness, and dislike of hot dogs. And gumming those hot dogs. Instead of riding our bikes back to her house, where we would eat Nutty Buddies on her stoop, I would feign some sort of emergency, and dash away into the night.
As always, my plan neglected to go as planned.
First of all, apparently I wore too much Axe Body Spray, and the managers kicked Trudy and I out of the theater. Secondly, Trudy's bike tire had a flat, and I had to give her a ride home on my handlebars. Thirdly, it was hot, so Trudy and I broke into a motel pool for a late night swim. Fourthly, she was all wet and pretty, and looking into my eyes, and I started feeling all woozy in my head, and our lips got closer and closer until I suddenly came to my senses and screamed, "NANO ROBOTS!" And fifthly, I swam away as fast as I could.
"Oh, for the love of… what NOW?" Trudy exclaimed.
"Fact or fiction: You have nano robots in your mouth."
"Ummm… I believe that would be fiction," she said. "What in the world are you talking about?"
"Someone informed me that you and I shouldn't kiss because you have nano robots in your mouth that would disintegrate my teeth, make hot dogs taste like urine… and… and… that's kind of ridiculous, isn't it?"
"Yeah," Trudy said. "It kind of is. And that 'someone' you're talking about is Damien, isn't it?"
"Yup."
"Is that also why you stink of Axe Body Spray?"
"Yup."
"Swim back over here," she said.
I did.
"Look," she said. "I don't know what's going to happen with you and me. Maybe we'll date, maybe we'll stay friends, but I'm only going to say this once. Damien was a mistake—and maybe I dated him because I thought you never would like me. But things are different now. I'm fine with the way things are between you and me. Okay? That means if we need to take things slow, then we…"
That's when I kissed her. On the mouth.
It was nice, and confusing, and exciting, and I don't know what's going to happen with me and Trudy—but I'll always remember the two of us in that pool. Her looking so pretty and me kissing her. On the mouth.
And not a single nano robot got in.
(I know, because I ate a hot dog when I got home.)
HELLO. Are you good? Me, I'm CONCERNED. So this afternoon I was getting ready for my big date with Trudy (she's a bank teller!) tonight in which I plan to kiss her hard… on the mouth! I gargled for 37 minutes with Listerene, ate 29 tins of Altoids, and was on my third stick of Old Spice deodorant when there was a knock on my door.
DAMIEN.
Regular readers of this blog know that Damien is my arch-nemesis and dated Trudy for a while, until she watched me play on the high school football team and got appropriately bamboozled. Anyway, he came to my door:
"Damien! What are YOU doing here?" I asked.
"Well, first of all I should ask if any of those shirtless high school football players are around. I really didn't appreciate being thrown into that dumpster."
"Well…" I said, "I didn't appreciate you going far out of your way to screw up my life—so why don't you cry me a river, build a bridge, and get over it?"
Snap.
"Look, hippie," he said, getting all red in the face. "I'll get to the point. I don't want you kissing Trudy on your date tonight."
WHAAAAA???
"How did you know I was planning on kissing Trudy?"
"I read it on your stupid blog, you idiot."
"Oh…. Well, so what?" I said. "Trudy doesn't like you anymore, in case you didn't get the memo. She likes ME."
"Well, I see that as a temporary arrangement. Sooner or later she'll realize that she wants a man—not a 2000-year-old hobo with holes in his hands."
"They're in my wrists, jerk. PMF."
"Whatever. If you know what's good for you, tonight you'll keep your big stupid lips to yourself."
"Or what?"
"Or you're really, really, really going to regret it," he said with a surprising amount of menace in his voice.
"Or… WHAT?" I responded.
"Okay. Fine. I wasn't going to tell you this, and if you say anything about it to Trudy, I'll deny it. Biological nano bots."
What?
"Biological nano robots," he said. "Teeny tiny cybernetic devices which I planted in Trudy's mouth, and that can only be activated by me. If you kiss Trudy, I will bring my creatures to life, and order them to infiltrate your mouth, where they will cause an insurmountable amount of damage."
"What kind of damage?"
"First… they make all your teeth fall out. Then they'll screw around with your taste buds, making any hot dog you eat taste like pee-pee. Oh, yeah. Then they'll give you AIDS."
"Goodbye, Damien," I said, and slammed the door in his face.
I'll admit he almost had me. But c'mon! What kind of mini-robot can make a hot dog taste like pee? I mean… really.
On the other hand… he does have an uncle who is nano robotic biologist at Harvard. And Damien does have ties to the government, and certain black ops military units. And he knows I'm scared of AIDS. Oh, wow… WHAT AM I GOING TO DO? I was totally going to kiss Trudy on the mouth, but there's no way I'm going to give up hot dogs to do it! And I need my teeth! And I don't need AIDS! My perfect plan is falling apart!! Maybe I can just stick my finger in her mouth again. No… the nano bots will enter through my fingernail! And what if she tries to kiss me? I'll have to shove my Nutty Buddy into her mouth to defend myself!
That's it. I'M CANCELLING THE DATE. I like Trudy and everything, but living the rest of my life with AIDS, no teeth and the perpetual taste of urine in my mouth is just not worth it!
DARN YOU, DAMIEN! IF YOU'RE READING THIS… WELL… I'M GOING TO INVENT A NANO ROBOT THAT'LL MAKE YOUR ICE CREAM TASTE LIKE POOPY!
(PMF!)
SO THERE!!!
(sob.)
Hey! How are you? Fine, I hope. Me, I think I may want to consider thinking about possibly kissing Trudy. She's a bank teller, btw, and as friends we have had a long, sometimes tumultuous, but mostly fun relationship. However, now I am making the consideration of taking the "next step." Which is kissing her. ON THE MOUTH.
EEEEEE!!! I know. It's very exciting. After the whole Damien debacle (please see the thousands of previous posts on the subject of that jerk), Trudy and I decided to "take things slow" and see "where things went." Well, I've been thinking about it, and the "things" are definitely my lips, and the "went" is gonna be "onto her lips." Or at least I think I want to. I'M SCARED. I've kissed girls before and stuff, but I haven't kissed girls in a long time, and I'm pretty nervous about it. I'm pretty afraid that I don't quite remember how. However, I have been practicing a bit with help from a pair of fake lips I cleverly carved from a banana. I think I'm kissing too hard, though, because all I got was face full of banana.
Anywhoops, I'm considering kissing Trudy tomorrow night at the denoument of our movie date. Denoument means "end" by the way. Did you know that? It's a good word to use when you want to fool people into thinking you're smart. But back to Trudy. This is how I plan to kiss her: After tomorrow night's movie show, we will ride our bikes back to her house. We will park the bikes and each eat a Nutty Buddy on her stoop. Then I will say, "Oh, Trudy, apparently you have some Nutty Buddy byproduct on your lip. Here, let me retrieve it for you." Then as I brush the imaginary byproduct away, I will pause… and stare deeply into her eyes for exactly nine seconds. And then she will say, "Oh, Jesus!" at which point I will sweep her downward into one of those big dips you see in the old-timey movies, and then dive bomb my lips into hers. Naturally, I'll have to keep a very tight grip on her spine, because she will most likely swoon. After kissing her hard on the mouth for exactly 23 seconds, I'll sweep her back into an upright position, jump on my bike and say "See ya later, toots!" before speeding off into the night.
WELL? WHAT DO YOU THINK? Que romantique, eh? If there was any doubt in her mind that my lips are two molten pillows of fire, and that I'm 89 times the man Damien is, it will be dispelled when I swing the sledgehammer of my mouth into hers! Now if you'll excuse me, I must start getting ready for my date. That case of Altoids isn't going to eat itself.
Okay, NEW PLAN. Oh… hello! How's it going? Good. Anyway, NEW PLAN. Today I decided that instead of never going back to the Victory Baptist Church again, I would go back to the Victory Baptist Church again. AND NO, IT'S WASN'T TO STEAL MONEY FOR A NEW iPHONE. I am so over that invention. The reason why I went back is because I'm still pretty miffed over not being physically kicked out of the church once, but TWICE. (Check out the last few blog posts for details. I'm too tired to recount those particular adventures.)
The way I saw it? If I could get through just one of Rev. Sparkle's (he's the reverend) sermons, then I WIN. (Don't ask me what I win. That's not the point.) Anywow, I came up with a devilishly clever plan to infiltrate the church. I would go… IN DISGUISE. So Karen (that's my lamb) and I went to the local costume shop, where I found us the most perfect disguises: An English Bobby (that's a policeman) and an organ grinder's monkey. (I was the Bobby.)
It was a perfect plan—or so I thought.
When we arrived at the church, people were filing in for the Wednesday evening sermon, so Karen and I attempted to blend in with the crowd. That's when that same mean Deacon who threw me out the two previous times saw me.
"Oh, for the love of… what are YOU doing back here?" he asked.
"Cor' blimey, guvnah!" I said in the British accent I'd been working on all afternoon. "Have you gone all wet in the knickers? I don't know you from the Queen!"
"You're that guy who dresses up like Jesus."
"No, I'm not, guvnah! I'm that guy that dresses up like a Bobby!"
"And what's your lamb wearing?" he asked.
"Have you gone snackers? Any bloomin' idiot can tell that's a lam…a MONKEY!"
"All right. That's it. You're out of here," he said as he grabbed me roughly by the arm.
"Now see here, my good man," I said haughtily. "Can't a bloke and his monkey visit the religious institution of his choice and bid your Lord Christ a fine how's-yer-mum?"
"Sure… a real English Bobby could—but you're a weird, crazy person who dresses up like Jesus if he were a Bobby. SO GET THE HELL OUT OF OUR CHURCH."
"PMF, guvnah! PMF!"
That's when he picked me up, and aimed me toward the street.
"WAIT! WAIT!" I yelled in my real voice.
The deacon put me down.
"OKAY. FINE," I said. "I'm not a visiting English Bobby with his monkey. I'm Jesus Christ, and this is my lamb Karen, and I don't understand why I'm not welcome in your church."
"Well, for one, you tried to mug our pastor, and for two, you scared the vacation bible school kids with a fake hook."
"Yah, yah, yah, besides that."
"Because," he said, closing the door behind him. "You're obviously a homo."
WTF? (PMF!) What is wrong with these church people? Besides the OBVIOUS fact I'm not a gay person, they really shouldn't be throwing people around who look like Christ (whether they also look homosexual or not). That's IT! I knew there was a reason I hated going to church, and now my suspicions have been proven correct. They are all a bunch of homo-Jesus-Bobby-phobes!
Hello, and stop judging me. Lately I've noticed some comments on this blog wherein the commenter is totally judging my actions. Now, admittedly, I don't know much about this blogging business—but isn't it my job to write honestly about how I feel, and the things I do, and YOUR JOB to nod approvingly? NOD. NOD. Good, I'm glad we're in agreement. That's why I'm going to say some things right now, and I don't want any lip. This is all I want to hear:
NOD, NOD, NOD.
1) I'm dumping the whole iPhone idea. I know, I know. I've been moaning and groaning about the iPhone thing for two weeks, and have even threatened to rob a local church in order to get the money. But I changed my mind after reading a news report today that said Apple will be producing cheaper iPhones—WITHOUT THE PHONE ATTACHMENT. Now, PMF, but what the EFF?? An iPhone without the phone? That's like a Chick-o-Stick without the stick! (Or the "chick" for that matter.)
2) I'm thinking about wearing Axe Body Spray. So things are going better between me and Trudy (the bank teller, right?), but I think it's mainly because I'm no longer taking anything for granted. Now I know she's no longer dating Damien (that big dumb jerk who was mean to me for like, forever) however, there must have been a reason she was dating him in the first place. That's why I'm going to try wearing some Axe Body Spray, because that's what Damien wears. Hey, the girls on the commercials really seem to like it!
3) I no longer like Will Smith. Yes, I've written a lengthy post about how much I enjoyed the raps of Will Smith, and anything else that's done "Big Willy Style." However, I recently heard another of his rap songs, and hoo-boy did it stink. It's called "Just the Two of Us," and it's a really weird song about him and his new baby. First of all, DON'T RAP ABOUT A BABY. It's not right. Secondly, I don't understand what's going on—he talks about taking care of the baby all by himself, and never mentions the mother? Did she die in childbirth? If so, he doesn't mention it! Maybe he just left her there in the stirrups or something. Anyway, it's bogus, and he should write another great song, like "Gettin' Jiggy Wit It."
4) People shouldn't let roosters run free. So I was riding my bike (with Karen, that's my lamb) to check out the new rollerskating supply store in town, when out of nowhere suddenly these two roosters started chasing me! And we weren't near a farm or anything! They were just outside somebody's house! WHAT'S UP WITH THAT? Having roosters running loose is like having pit bulls with knives tied to their noses. Those things are VICIOUS! And from what I hear, they like to sneak up behind you, stab you in the back with their sharp beaks, and drain out all your spinal column fluid. Look. Roosters do not belong in an urban environment. And I'm sure the neighbors don't appreciate the crowing at 5 am in the morning. (By the way, do you know why roosters crow? Because they're gargling some poor victim's spinal fluid!)
Here's the part where you NOD, NOD, NOD.
Hello! How are you? I am EXHAUSTED! Another exciting day for ol' "J.C." (See, I was watching Magnum, P.I. and I really like the character "T.C." so I've decided I want people to call ME by my initials, too. Also, I think I'll learn how to fly a helicopter.) So I woke up this morning with a real "hankerin'" for a Chick-o-Stick, right? But as I was riding my bike to the 7-11, I heard this busload of kids approaching, and they were all singing out of the windows, "COME TO VACATION BIBLE SCHOOL, COME TO VACATION BIBLE SCHOOL!"
So I yelled back, "NO THANKS!"
And they yelled back, "WHY NOT?"
And I yelled, "BECAUSE I DON'T LIKE THE BIIIIIIIBLE!"
Obviously tired of yelling, one of the kids said, "Ehh, there's not so much bible. Mostly it's just arts and crafts and games and cookies and Kool-Aid."
"WHY DIDN'T YOU SAY SO?" I yelled. "I'M IN!"
"YAAAAAAYYYYYYYYY!!!"
So I hopped on the bus, and guess where it took us? To the Victory Baptist Church! (See Friday's post for the ridiculous story of that.) I was about to take off, but I figured two things: 1) I might find some money lying around I could use to buy an iPhone, and 2) I love cookies and Kool-Aid. I was following the kids into the classroom, when the teacher approached me.
"Oh, my goodness! You're dressed up like Jesus," she giggled.
"Ummm… yeah."
"Did Reverend Sparkle send you?"
"Mmmm… noooo… I'm here because of the kids, actually," I said.
"Oh, that's why I'm here, too," she said. "It's so important to introduce them to Christ at an early age."
"Well… HERE I AM!"
"Indeed you are! And you're a dead ringer, I might add. Would you tell the children a Jesus story?"
"Ummm… sure. It's the only kind I know."
"You are funny. OKAY CHILDREN!" she announced. "We have a very special guest for you today, who will be sharing with us a Jesus story. So gather 'round."
After the kids settled down, I said, "Oh-kay. So what kind of story would you like to hear?"
One little boy piped up, "How about the one where you fed the multitudes with one loaf of bread and a fish?"
"Actually, it wasn't a multitude. It was around 8 people. And it was a potluck, so in reality there was plenty of food. Too much, actually. We threw a lot of it away."
The teacher said in a rather stern voice, "Well… JESUS. Why don't you relate the story of how you calmed the great storm and saved the disciples. OKAY?"
"Ugh. I hate that story," I said. "Totally bogus. It was barely raining, and those guys in the boat were so drunk, they started to panic. So I yelled, 'PEACE! BE STILL!' so they would stop rocking the stupid boat. They did, and eventually passed out I think. I don't really remember. OH! Have you ever heard the one about 'the hook killer of lover's lane'? It didn't happen to me, but it totally happened to some friends of some friends of mine…"
At this point, I noticed the teacher running out of the room, but I just thought she had to go to the can, or something. So I kept telling the story, and eventually I got to the part where I was showing the kids my fake clothes hanger "hook" sticking out of my sleeve, and saying, "And the hook looked just… like… THIS!!!"
Everybody was screaming and yelling, and that's about when the same deacon who threw me out on Friday ran in and he threw me out again! (Does this guy ever sleep?)
This getting "thrown out of church" business is starting to get BORING. And twice in one week? And I didn't even get a dad-darned sugar cookie! (PMF!) What's wrong with my stories, anyway? Maybe I should've told them the one about Trudy (the bank teller) sticking her finger in my mouth.
How are you? Me? Creeped out. That's because I actually went to a CHURCH today. EWW!! Those places are so gross. Seriously, they're worse than hospitals. They play terrible music, you have to be all "reverential" and crap (PMF), and you can't even say the word "crap" (PMF). And as it turns out, they don't allow lambs! I took Karen (that's my pet lamb, btw) with me to the Victory Baptist Church that's close to my house, and they actually whispered to me that Karen would have to wait outside! Last time I heard, Christians were supposed to go ape-poop over lambs (PMF). UNBELIEVABLE.
Sorry about my PMF-ing all over the place. There's something about churches that brings it out of me.
Anywhoop, the "Victory Baptist Church." What a dumb name. What am I supposed to say, "Yay! Baptists win!"? And it's all fancy inside, with stain glass windows that picture me in a variety of nonsensical situations—AND right in the center of the back wall, there's a huge cross with me hanging off of it! THANKS FOR THE REMINDER, JERKS. Yeah, that day was a great "victory" for me, all right. (I'm being sarcastic.)
But I digress. As mentioned yesterday, I became intent on purchasing an iPhone after seeing my "friend" Jerry the vegan butcher waving his around. Unfortunately, I have no moolah. That's where the Victory Baptist Church comes in. I figure if they've been making money off my name for years, it was time for my tribute.
Unsurprisingly, the pastor was obese.
"I'm the Rev. Richard Sparkle. How may I help you, young man?"
"Hi, I'm Jesus Christ, and I'd like my money, please."
This took him aback, I think.
"Ummm…" he laughed, "… what?"
"You've heard of me, right?" I asked.
"Well, of course I've heard of our lord and savior. He died for my sins, and…"
"Cool. Then $500 ought to do it."
"Do what?"
"Pay for my iPhone."
"Wait… what??"
"Ohhh-kay," I said, as if I were talking to a THREE YEAR OLD. "Let's slow this way down. I am Jesus Christ. I want an iPhone. It costs $500. I died for your sins. You owe me. Is your 'eternal soul' worth at least $500? Then give me $500. Please tell me you understand."
He started looking pretty scared. "Are you mugging me?"
"NO, YOU…" I stopped myself. "Okay… look. How much does this church make per year?"
"Well… much of our money goes to charitable organizations and…"
"YAH, YAH, YAH," I said. "How much? A LOT. Right? And the way you get all that money is by dropping my name. Am I right?"
"That's a very simplistic…"
"YAH, YAH, YAH," I said. "Look, this is a free country. And you can continue to say whatever you want about me, but from now on, I want my cut. I'm not a greedy Christ, but I'm going to take what I'm owed. Jesus wants an iPhone. SO GIVE ME MY $500."
That was about when four burly deacons came running in and tossed me out on my patoot. PMF.
"Don't ever come in here blaspheming our Lord's name again!" Rev. Sparkle screeched as I dusted myself off.
"You don't want an iPhone anyway," said one of the deacons. "Their service plan stinks."
HOW DOES HE KNOW WHAT I WANT? What a bunch of hypocrites. And no, I can't call a lawyer because they're just exercising their rights to religion and "free speech." STUPID CONSTITUTION! I'm really at the end of my rope here. I MUST GET AN iPHONE. But how? Tell you what: Let's take the weekend and think about it, but at this point, I'm seriously considering going back to Victory Baptist Church on Sunday and making off with the collection plate!
That'll be me running down the street yelling, "VICTORY IS MINE!"
Hey, what's going on? For me, two things: 1) Can't hear so good, and 2) Jerry the vegan butcher has an iPhone. Turns out my fireworks display from last night was a bit too successful, and all I can hear right now is RING, RING, RING, RING. I can't even understand what Karen (that's my lamb) is saying. I see her mouth move, and it looks like she's saying something like "Ahhh! Ahhh!" But I don't know what she's talking about.
Speaking of Karen, remember a couple of weeks ago when Karen got herself into quite a spot when she stumbled onto a rooster fight and a botched drug deal? No? Well, she did. (You know, it really hurts my feelings when you don't regularly read my blog. Anyway.) Luckily, Karen escaped by dashing into a vegan butcher shop. Actually, the shop isn't vegan, just the butcher. His name is Jerry, and he was nice enough to bring her home. And I made a new friend! Sometimes I'll drop him off a tofurky sandwich, just to show my gratitude.
Anywow, today I dropped by his shop, just to say hi, and he yelled (because he's the type of person who always yells):
"JESUS, MY GOOD FRIEND! HOW ARE YOU TODAY?"
"What?"
"I SAID, 'JESUS, MY GOOD FRIEND!! HOW ARE YOU TODAY??'"
"Not so hot, Jerry," I said. "My ears are ringing from all the fireworks I shot off last night."
"THAT'S GREAT, JESUS. LOOK. I GOT ME AN iPHONE!!"
He pulled it out from behind the counter. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.
"How did you get an iPhone, Jerry? I heard they were all sold out."
"MY BROTHER! HAROLD! HE WORKS IN THE TECHNICAL INDUSTRY! HE GETS ME ALL THE GADGETRY FOR FREE!"
Now, up until this point, I wasn't sure I even wanted an iPhone. But now was different. Jerry the vegan butcher had one, and I'm Jesus Christ. And I didn't.
"LOOK AT WHAT IT DOES. IT PLAYS MY KENNY LOGGINS. LOOK AT WHAT IT DOES. IT SURFS MY INTERNET. LOOK AT WHAT IT DOES. IT PLAYS THE POPEYE CARTOONS."
"That's great, Jerry, does it make phone calls?" I asked rolling my eyes.
"HMMM. GOOD QUESTION. I TRY THAT NEXT. BUT THIS iPOD IS PRETTY TIGHT, NO?"
"Yeah, Jerry, it's wicked tight. GOTTA GO!"
And I stormed out. Maybe I slammed the door. I don't know. I couldn't hear.
This iPhone situation is complete horse hockey. (PMF!) I don't ask for much in this world. I don't go around to churches asking for my cut of their weekly tithes. (Though I should.) I'm nice to people and I barely ever mention the fact that I was strung up on a cross and had two huges spikes hammered through my wrists. And I've still got the scars! They're gross! And yet, for everything I do and have done in the world, Jerry the stupid vegan butcher gets an iPhone, and I can't. HE DOESN'T EVEN KNOW HOW TO USE IT. And what's a butcher doing being a "vegan" anyway? Jiminy Crickets, this world is fudged up!
OOPS. Good thing I couldn't hear myself say that. In fact, I can't hear anything but the constant RING, RING, RING of the iPhone I don't have!
Well, that's it.
I'm sick and tired of this stupid world kicking me around. I'M GETTING ME A DAD-DARNED iPHONE (PMF!) IF IT'S THE LAST THING I DO!
Tomorrow, I think I'll pay a little visit to the local Baptist church. Me thinks SOMEBODY owes Papa Jesus a little moo-lah-lah! (That means money.)
Hey! My head finally stopped hurting! YAY! And just in time for the 4th of July. Oh… how are you? Fine, I hope. Anywhoop, I won't be writing tomorrow, because I'm taking Grandma Christ to the rodeo. It's something we like to do every year. We watch the parade (which is good, except there are always too many tractors. What is it with country folk, anyway?), and we go to the fair (where we eat elephant ears, and tamales, and ride the bumper cars), and then we go watch the cowboys rope cows. Yeeeee-HAW! It's always fun, and a good excuse to wear my cowboy hat, my big belt buckle and my bolo tie with the dead scorpion in the middle.
THEN, tomorrow night I'm going to sedate Karen (that's my lamb) and shoot off fireworks with Trudy (she's a bank teller). Ordinarily, I don't approve of sedating animals—however, Karen is a psychological wreck on July 4th because all the loud fireworks wig her out. Two years ago, I came home from a night of fireworks, and Karen was hiding in the stove. NOT GOOD. This way, she'll sleep through the entire thing.
Anyway, as it turns out I am quite an expert at recreational fireworks, thanks to my friends at the Indian Reservation who have taken time to train me about the best lowgrade explosives. Here are my top five picks:
1) RAIN OF FIRE: This multiple repeater shoots one hundred incredibly loud balls of fire into the air, and then they explode, raining molten debri down upon the entire neighborhood. Might want to move the kids inside for this one.
2) BLACK CAT MAGNUM VELOCITY MISSILE: Light this one, and for the love of Dad, GET AWAY. With a loud kaboom, flames burn everything in a thirty yard radius as this missile catapults into the air, and turns the entire sky white with its explosion. (It's not nuclear or anything… I think.)
3) BULLET BOMB MORTAR: Picture a six-foot tall tube loaded up with 40 explosive shells the size of grapefruits. Seriously, if you light this one off, that's all you really need. It'll still be exploding in three days.
4) WAKE THE NEIGHBORS: This is what's known as a "Super Cake" and creates a beautiful kaleidoscope of colors in the sky. The downside is anyone not wearing earplugs within a one-mile radius will most certainly suffer permanent hearing damage. AWESOME!
5) SHOCK AND AWE: These beauties really live up to their name. Do you happen to have an asbestos suit? I like to wear one for this particular firework, because they have a "trick quick burning fuse" that causes a teriffic explosion within 1.2 seconds of lighting. (Sometimes sooner.) That's the "shock" part. Then, roughly 200 white-hot scrambling missiles fly no higher than five feet off the ground attacking anything that moves like a swarm of burning bumble bees. But that's not the "awe" part. The "awe" part comes after the stinging missiles explode, shoot shards of glass into your eyes, burns your clothes off, and emits a concussive BOOM that can fairly easily collapse a small structure, or shatter the windows out of an entire apartment building. So pretty, though.
Anyway, those are my favorites. But! If you're going to be around anyone shooting off fireworks, be sure to be careful. Some people aren't as conscientious with explosives as I am.
Happy 4th of July, everybody!
UGH. How are you? I DON'T FEEL GOOD. My headache feels extra achey, and my joints feel like someone is jabbing them with pins (which I suppose is an improvement from spikes in the wrists). And what's even worse? NO ONE CARES. I've called up all my friends—even the vegan butcher—and just because I yell, "I DON'T FEEL GOOD" right when they pick up the phone, they don't want to be very helpful. All I ever hear is, "Have you taken any aspirin," or "Are you drinking a lot of water," or "Are you keeping bundled up?" or "Have you gone to the doctor?" Of COURSE, I haven't done any of these things! I'm Jesus Christ! If Jesus Christ is achey all over, what in the world is a doctor or aspirin going to do??
(Trudy—my very good friend the bank teller—brought me some chicken soup on her lunchbreak. That was super-duper sweet. Even though it tasted like poop. PMF—BUT I DON'T FEEL GOOD.)
Another thing that really annoys me about NOT FEELING GOOD (which I don't) is that people are always giving me that knowing look, like "Well… it could be worse." What they mean is that I could have a bunch of Roman soldiers beating the crap out of me, and nailing me to a cross. Well, yes… I suppose that would be worse. However, just because I still have spike scars on my wrists, and I went through a significant trauma on the cross, that still doesn't negate the fact that right now I DON'T FEEL GOOD.
Can't I NOT FEEL GOOD and have a previous traumatic incident? Is that OKAY with you people? I DON'T FEEL GOOD. Jiminy Crickets! Why is that so difficult to understand?
AND ANOTHER THING. What's up with the 7-11 NOT selling Ginger Ale? My stomach DOESN'T FEEL GOOD either. And yet, 7-11 doesn't stock any Ginger Ale because they quote, "don't sell enough of it"?? Tell that to my roiling tummy—WHICH DOESN'T FEEL GOOD.
Ginger Ale is delicious, AND it's a homopathic remedy. A lot of people think homopathic remedies are just for the gay people, but they help everybody. Especially the gays.
UGHHHHHHHH… I DON'T FEEL GOOD.
Alright. I'm going to lay down with Karen (that's my lamb) and see if cuddling her will make me feel better. Of course, I'll have to find her first. She slinked out of the house earlier, because whenever she entered the room, I would inform her…
I DON'T FEEL GOOD!
Kaaaaa-ren! I DON'T FEEEEEEEL GOOOOOOOOOD!
Hey. Have you bought one of those new iPhones yet? Yeah… me neither. So anyway… how are you? Me? Well, I'm excited to tell you what happened at today's BIG GAME. But first… a nutshell. Me! High School Football Team! Trudy! Bank Teller! Like Her! Impress her! Damien. Mean. Jealous. Threatens. Jesus. Scared.
Yep, that's about it in a nutshell.
So I have to admit I was pretty nervous about the game, because… well… what if I effed it up for everybody? (PMF!) I really don't know much about football to be perfectly honest, and other than the scrimmage game on Wednesday, I've never played the sport. But… I guess that's why Dad invented PEP RALLIES!
And boy, oh boy! Was that ever exciting and fun! It was held this afternoon at the local high school auditorium, and the cheerleaders cheered, the marching band played, and the coach and players gave motivational speeches. Even I was asked to say a few words, so I stepped up to the microphone and said…
"Ummmmmmmm… this thing on? OW! Is that feedback? Annoying. Anyway… ahem. FELLOW HIGH SCHOOL STUDENTS. How are you? Fine I hope. Me? I'm excited and nervous and scared about tonight's big game. Because I don't want to let any of you down. And I also hope to impress a girl I like named Trudy."
"She's a bank teller," added the coach.
"Yes, she is. Anyway, I hope you guys will still like me, even if I mess up. Because I really like you."
"Don't forget to tell them you're a FRAUD!!" yelled a voice from the back.
DAMIEN.
"Who said that?!" barked the coach.
"It is I, Damien. I work at the bank, too."
"Oh, yes? Well, get out of here, Damien. Unaccompanied adults are not allowed on school grounds."
"Then I guess you'd better get rid of JESUS, then, because he's the adultiest of all!!"
A gasp echoed throughout the school auditorium.
"That's right," Damien sneered. "Jesus is way too old to play on a high school football team. It's against every regulation in the book, so kick him off the team NOW, or I'll alert the authorities!"
I thought for sure my dreams were dashed to dust… luckily I had a plan.
"Hey Damien," I said. "How old do you think I am, anyway?"
"Don't play dumb, Jesus! You know as well as I do that you're 2006 years old!!"
And the entire auditorium erupted in laughter.
"What? Stop laughing," Damien cried. "I'm telling you that hippie football player is 2006 years old!!"
"Oooh, everybody," I said, "Can someone help me find my walker? It's hard to move around when you're 2006 YEARS OLD."
Even more laughter.
"Hey kids," I yelled, "Cut your hair! Get a job! When's Matlock on? I'M 2006 YEARS OLD!!"
That was all anybody needed to hear. Damien was "escorted" out by my shirtless football teammates with a loud "WHOOOOOOOO!!!" And to tell you the truth? I'm not sure what they did with him. And… is it bad that I don't care?
The game was the funnest thing ever. The stands were full of cheering fans. Including Trudy who yelled louder than anybody. Even Karen (that's my lamb) got in on the action, 'cause the cheerleaders made her a little cheerleading outfit, with little-bitty pom-poms tied to her legs and everything.
And even better? I didn't mess up once. I caught most of the balls I was supposed to catch, I made a couple of touchdowns, and I didn't tackle anybody on my own team. And we won the game! Plus, I got to take a shower with the rest of the guys! I've never showered with that many naked people in my life. It was weirdly fun. (I didn't like getting snapped on the patoot with a towel, though.) (PMF.)
After the game, Trudy met me outside the gym.
"Hey, Mr. Football Hero," she said.
"Preeeeetty impressive, huh?" I asked.
"You better believe it. You were great, Jesus. Really great."
"Thanks," I said. "Can I walk you home?"
"Sure."
We walked quietly for awhile.
"Soooooooo… where's Damien?" I asked.
"I dunno. Out somewhere I guess. I dunno. To tell you the truth, I don't think it's going to work out with him."
"You don't?"
"I don't think so. He's kind of weird… and angry… and to tell you the truth, since you and I stopped hanging out, I don't seem to have any fun anymore."
"Me neither. But that was my fault, Trudy. I treated you like you were Crapzilla. PMF."
She smiled.
"Forget it. Wanna chase cars and bark like a dog?"
"OMIDAD, I love chasing cars and barking like a dog!"
And so we did. We chased cars and barked like a dog, until we laughed so hard we almost p-worded in our pants.
Then I walked her to her door.
"Wanna hang out tomorrow?" I asked.
"Abso-tootley," she said.
"I really am sorry, Trudy. For being so dumb."
And I stuck my finger in her mouth.
If you don't know what I'm talking about, read this post from a long time ago. It'll all make sense. OH CRAP! (PMF!) I just remembered! I left Karen with the cheerleaders! By now, they'll have her wearing lipstick and drinking wine coolers! Gotta run! There's nothing worse than a drunk lamb painted up to look like Mary Magdalene!
Have a fun weekend!
Hi! What'sa happenin', hot stuff? I took that from Sixteen Candles. I'm watching a lot of high school movies, since I'm going to be attending high school. And… I'M THRILLED about it! This "joining the local high school football team" thingy (see yesterday's post) is the best thing to happen to me since Karen (that's my lamb) gamboled into my life. And even better? I'm thinking it's a sure bet to make Trudy (my bank teller heartthrob) like me… and when I say "like me," I mean "LIKE me, LIKE me." As Jeremy (my new shirtless football playing teammate) likes to say, "Chicks like football players. And I mean LIKE, LIKE."
So anyway! Today was my lunch meeting (I'm not ostentatious enough to call it a date) with Trudy at the mall food court, and you should've seen her jaw DROP when I was waiting for her in my full football costume—sorry, "uniform"—and pads!
"What… in the world…" she said. "I LOVE it. Are you going to a costume party or something? It's totally real!"
"Nope," I said smiling. "Trudy, meet the newest member of the local high school football team."
"GET… OUT!! Really??" she squealed. (I love making her squeal.) "That is the most awesome thing ever! I'm so happy for you! I don't know how you did it, but you have really outdone your…"
"Well… well… if it isn't Jesus Lombardi!" (That's right… DAMIEN.) "Another day, another stupid costume, huh, Jesus?"
"It's a UNIFORM, Damien," I corrected.
"Damien… I told you not to follow me today," Trudy said.
"Last time I checked, it's a free country! Even if you want to dress like an IDIOT."
"I'm not just dressed this way, Damien. I'm the newest member of the local high school football team."
(It should be noted at this point, that I really despise Damien's laugh. It's a grating, high pitched laugh that digs into the marrow of your bones.)
"Stop it! You're killing me!" he screamed with laughter. "YOU?! FOOTBALL?"
"YEAH. HIM. FOOTBALL."
Damien turned around to see all my fellow teammates standing behind him.
"Jesus is our new receiver. WHOOOOOO!!!" Jeremy said. "You got a problem with that?"
"It's… ahem… it's a free country," Damien whispered.
"Yeah. Yeah, it is," Jeremy said menacingly, before turning to me. "Hey Jesus, you inviting your friends to tomorrow's big game?"
"Sure," I said. "If they can come."
"You're kidding me, right?" Trudy squealed again. "OF COURSE! I wouldn't miss it for the world!!"
"Neither would I," Damien said, trying desperately to stare daggers through the holes in my wrists.
Oh, boy. That was really a great moment. And Damien just sat there and stewed for the rest of the lunch, while I recounted the entire story to Trudy about how I made the team. (It also didn't hurt when a couple of the more attractive cheerleaders dropped by to say hello.)
I LOVE FOOTBALL… SOOOOOOO… MUCH!!
My one and only concern is something Damien said to me, right before he left:
"Good luck at tomorrow's big game, Jesus. It would be really bad if everything suddenly went HORRIBLY WRONG."
What do you think he meant by that? Eh. Probably nothing.
Drop back by tomorrow to hear the results of the big game. I hope I win. WHOOOOOO!!!
Hey, hey! I would ask how you're doing, but I'm too busy being TOO EXCITED. Guess what? I'm on the HIGH SCHOOL FOOTBALL TEAM! Yay, me! I know! I can hardly believe it myself… but it's true! Want to hear how it happened? YAY! I'm glad you're interested!
Okay, so remember yesterday when I borrowed a video camera from my new shirtless friend Jeremy who's on the local high school football team? (I was using the camera to spy on Trudy—she's a bank teller—but I made the mistake of attaching the camera to Karen—she's my lamb—who was very nearly injured in a rooster fight and botched drug deal. Whoops.) Anyway, I was returning the camera to Jeremy, and I noticed he looked very upset. When I asked him what was wrong, he said one of his teammates hurt his knee and was going to be out for the rest of the season. Even worse, they had a very important scrimmage game today with their cross-town rivals, and no longer had a person who could run down the field and catch the ball. (I can't remember what the exact position is called.) Anyway, to make a long story short, I said, "I'll do it!"
Now admittedly I don't know much about the sport of football. But I am a former second baseman, I'm in very good shape and am gifted athletically.
"WHOOOO!!!" Jeremy cried. "That's freaking AWESOME, dude! But I'm not sure if the coach will go for it."
"Well, he doesn't have to know… I'll be disguised in the football costume."
"Uniform, Jesus," Jeremy corrected. "It's a uniform. But anyway… WHOOOO!!! That's a freaking AWESOME idea, dude! Let's do it!!"
So Jeremy snuck me into the dressing room where all the lockers are, gave me a football cos… uniform, and after tucking in my beard, said, "No one will ever know the difference!"
And he was right! All my new football friends I met at the car wash this past weekend were totally excited I was filling in for their fallen teammate. And whenever the coach looked at me suspiciously, one of my teammates would dump Gatorade on his head. But here's the best part! While I made a couple of mistakes on the field—such as accidentally tackling one of my own teammates—I was still pretty freaking AWESOME. In fact, during the last minute of the game, we were losing to the other team by five points—and the quarterback (His name is Tommy by the way… his hobby is studying classical poetry. He's nice!) said to me, "Jesus? Let your feet be winged birds that traverse this hallowed ground, and extend thyself fully to embrace the victory that is rightfully our own."
"Umm… what?"
"Go long, Jesus. GO LONG."
So I did! When Tommy told me to run, I ran as fast as I could down the field, and then to everyone's surprise, Tommy threw the ball to me! I stretched my arms farther than I ever thought was possible… reached out for the ball… and… I CAUGHT IT!
I ACTUALLY CAUGHT THE FREAKING AWESOME BALL, DUDE!
Then the other team fell on me, and it really hurt.
But apparently, I had scored a "touchdown!" And I won the game!
YAY!!!!!!!
My friends picked me up on their shoulders, and carried me around the field, screaming, "WHOOOO!!! AWESOME!! DUDE!! WHOOOO!!!" That is until the coach took off my helmet.
"Who's the hippie?" he asked the team.
Well, after Jeremy explained what happened, I thought the coach was going to be really mad. But he wasn't! In fact, he asked me to join the team, and take that other guy's place for the rest of the season!
"Mmm… don't I have to be in high school to play football?" I asked.
"Sure!" the coach said. "But don't worry about it, hippie. I'll just enroll you under some dead kid's name. I do it all the time. WELCOME TO THE TEAM!"
Needless to say, I'm quite excited. Not only did I get invited to join a great football team, I also get to go to high school! WOW! This is just like a movie! And I feel just like John Cusack, or Molly Ringwald or somebody!!
Oh, and by the way? Guess who's having lunch at the mall food court with a certain someone named "Trudy" tomorrow? AND GUESS WHO'LL BE WEARING THEIR FOOTBALL COSTUME?
(I mean, "uniform.")
WHOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!
What's up, buttercup? I was feeling especially sneaky today, so I sent out Karen (that's my lamb) to be my SPY! See, after my run-in with the high school football players this past weekend (see previous post) I decided that I need to be extra creative when it comes to wooing Trudy. (She's a bank teller. She likes Damien. I don't like him. She doesn't like me. That's not true. She likes me, but not in the way I like her. However, Damien doesn't like me in a very similar way to the way I don't like him.)
Anyway, I didn't want to be spotted lurking around after Trudy, because stalking is super gross. On the other hand, if I don't learn more about the stuff Trudy likes, how am I supposed to successfully pitch woo? That's where Karen the SUPERSPY comes in.
So I borrowed a mini-video cam from Jeremy—he's my new shirtless friend, and one of the high school football players I was telling you about—and I attached it to Karen's back. Then I took Karen to the bank (that's where Trudy works) around lunchtime, and told her to follow Trudy no matter where she goes. Then I went home and waited for Karen to return.
I'm really not sure where my plan went wrong.
I mean, that was a good plan, right? I don't know… I just don't know anymore. Anyway, Karen returned about three hours later, and I just watched the videotape. It seemed like everything was going great until Trudy actually left the bank. That's around when the camera showed Karen getting distracted by a kid carrying one of those Orange sherbet push-up ice creams, and Karen went gamboling after her. The kid seemed to really like Karen, so she took her back to this really shady looking apartment building. But the kid's parents thought Karen was some kind of weird white rat, or something, and told her to "Get the h-e-double hockey sticks out of here!" (Pardon their French.)
Karen apparently got frightened, and looking for an exit, accidentally ran down to the basement of the complex, where there were some people asking their pet roosters to fight each other.
Well, as we all know, Karen LOVES roosters, so she gamboled right into the ring! But as it turned out, the roosters were super mean, and started chasing her around the basement which got all the rooster owners mad, because I think they were betting on the outcome of the fight or something. So Karen was running around like crazy, and amid all the hullabaloo, she jumped onto some boxes, and scooted out the basement window, where she thought she was safe, right? But she wasn't safe because she scooted right into the middle of some kind of drug deal or something—I couldn't tell for sure, but one of the guys had a big bag of white powder, and everyone was pointing guns at each other. That sounds like a drug deal, right?
So Karen is in the middle of all these guys with guns, and somebody yells, "AIIIIEEE! White rat!" And the guns start going off. The camera was pretty shaky at this point (for obvious reasons) but there were a lot of screams and general chaos, and I'm pretty sure I heard people falling down. But happily, Karen escaped and ran into a nearby building to hide. However, the building she ran into was a butcher shop. Thinking back, I suppose it's a good thing the shop owner was vegan, because he was nice enough to read Karen's identification tag, and bring her home to me. Thanks vegan butcher!
Anyway, I have to say, while I certainly appreciated Karen's effort, she really didn't get the original job done, did she? That's why you're going out again tomorrow, young lady! And next time, you're going to follow Trudy. That means no more rooster or drug dealer fights! But that's for tomorrow.
For right now, I'm going to give Karen a big toasty bowl of Lamb Chow, a nice warm bubble bath to wash the rooster feathers off her, and read to her from her favorite book, "Goodnight Moon," as I rock her to sleep.
Sleep tight, my little superspy. You've had a busy day.
