If, at some course of the day, you get an urge to wander outside, away from the security of your chase lounge and the Oprah Show, you may want to check your computer for the current color- coding which will assure your safe passage for this dangerous mission. It seems, along with the many other inheritances that we have in the 21st century, that there are color advisories that are supposed to direct us in our decision making process as to how we approach all the day’s activities.
In olden times—maybe 8 years ago—taking a trip from your sofa to the great outdoors was a simple task. You simply unglued your butt, popped open the door, and hit the asphalt with nary a concern and, certainly, with complete color blindness. But today, at least if you’re going to believe all the efforts and warnings that our new security and safety protocols promise us, you’d better take the litmus test before you take the big leap and give the Boogey Man a chance to get you!
It was just a little while ago that telling the Boss that the reason you were late for work was because you hit “all the red lights on the way in.” Nowadays, that excuse won’t wash. We are all advised about the hazards that certain colors forewarn, right there on the T.V. set every morning nestled along side the weather forecast and the news. Checking out of a hotel on Devil’s Island would be easier than leaving the house before noon.
Just consider a quick non-scientific count of such warnings. Of course, the Big One is the Department of Homeland Security; the all Seeing Eye that knows who the bad guys are and what they are thinking, but just can’t seem to locate them. Then we have the ozone, our daily reminder that, just maybe, Mother Nature ain’t too crazy about fossil fuels and the vehicles that emit them. If you’re teetering on paranoia, you can consult with the FDA—no, not the Food and Drug Administration, but the Food Defense and Terrorism Administration; they will provide you with the appropriate warnings concerning the possibility that terrorists maybe trying to poison you pizza. War on the horizon, no problem; check with the military for the latest DefCom reality—1 thru 5. And hell, if you live in California, you can even ring up FloodCom, an advisory that proclaims the probability of floods in your neighborhood. And all of these are color- coded!
When we consider that in the 8 years the Homeland Security five- color advisory system has been in effect, and that in that time, only 2 colors have been used, yellow (elevated alert) and orange (high alert), we all might want to consider what all the fuss is about and what the hell are we supposed to do about it if something really is happening?
Theoretically, an individual who lives in California has the possibility of drawing a full, five-card flush during a “high alert.” A real “Agent Orange!"
If you really want to get scared, consider this. Many years ago—1967, to be exact—I was part of the infrastructure that was supposed to be protecting you from these menaces. Of course, at the time our enemies were the Russians (just try to keep your scorecard up to date). We were a security unit of interpreters who monitored the Russian Army as they invaded Czechoslovakia. There was just one problem—we found out about the invasion the same way you did—on the 6 o’clock news!
The next time that you face a 4-hour delay at the airport because some dude found an opened box of chocolates at an airport in Santa Fe, New Mexico, you can take great comfort that there are people like me on the lookout.
Billy P.
Saturday, September 13, 2008
Thursday, September 11, 2008
"What, Me Worry?"
Furness Junior High School could have been a prison. It was an old stone building that was surrounded, or should I say locked in, by a black, Iron Gate that had each spoke sharpened at the end in the shape of a spear; A Roman Legion rampart had to be the inspiration for the design. In fact, there where quite a few episodes of kids getting partially impaled in the attempts to climb over the top to make an unauthorized break off the grounds.
All the windows were also gated with steel mesh. If you sat near the window in the spring, the reflection of the sun that struck the window would leave an imprint that looked like a German waffle on your face.
I can only describe the interior as a dingy, marble gothic; water fountains that looked like miniature horse-troughs lined the hallway to supply water that had to be pumped directly from the Nile. I can recall an underclassmen once asking my why the water was yellow and I replied that the administration was kind enough to pump Tang through the system to keep us all happy. It was a believable explanation considering Tang had just been invented as a result of the Space Program. It’s just too bad that Tang wasn’t as yellow as the water—I might have drunk more of it.
Yeah, the only thing we were missing was a Principal who looked like George Raft to make our own Film Noir.
It was in this environment that the groundwork was laid which established my future psyche. The experience that made me the man that I am today—a man steeped in democratic tradition, a man who would fight for truth, justice, and the American Way.
Yuk, you kidding’ me? What, me worry?
1961 was my breakout year. I earned my jock strap just on the basis of a few things that changed with my body—you know, that puberty thing. It also was the one and only time that I participated in a grade school ritual of stupidity called Elections. The whole process of creating a student, elected body, at least in those times, was to impart the experience of the democratic process into our pubescent heads. And, indeed, this special course in brainwashing had its affect on many of us. After all, Vietnam was just around the corner. Many of my friends happily and proudly marched off to that endeavor vowing to make New Jersey safe for Democracy. I don’t hold those souls guilty for such emotions, just the adult fools who filled their heads with those blind, thoughtless motivations.
Student administration was nothing more than a shell of the American governmental experience. You could say or propose anything you wanted to—as long as it was pre-approved and reviewed by your teacher-sponsor. In modern language we refer to this person as a Censor, and, as we know, Censors do their best work in totalitarian states. But, realistically, there wasn’t anything to censor. Everyone was programmed to say all the right things—“this process is going to instill in us the spirit of the U.S. Constitution and Yada, Yada, Yada.” And all who ran for whatever office, Prez, Treasurer, etc., dutifully fell in line and played by the script; that is, until “yours truly” threw his hat in the ring and brought on change that rocked that tiny educational community on its butt—I decided to run for President of the school!
This was a decision that had a lot of people scratching their heads—students and teachers alike. I was a good student, but wasn’t part of the intellectual cadre—for the most part, they were the sons and daughters of the neighborhood’s professional people. I was a street kid. All of my friends were street kids. We played football with no equipment and occasionally would get into quarrels with kids from other neighborhoods; you know, fights.
My opponents for this race were formidable. First there was Jerome. Jerome was a geek before the word existed. I’m sure he went on to open a tech company of some description. Secondly, we had Brenda. She was one of a set of bookend twins. Together, she and Jerome represented the “Jewish Vote.” My biggest obstacle, however, was the fourth candidate, Renate Keifer. Renate was the Marlena Dietrich of the 8th grade. She was born in Germany, and spoke with a slight, German accent. If it is possible to be sultry when you’re 13, she was sultry.
I knew that if I were to win this contest I would have to take a different course—a course that would offer change and a new beginning to the tired, pedantic urgings of our teachers and administrators.
The day of our campaign speeches, which was an address to the assembled student body, went exactly as I had expected. My 3 political opponents towed the line and talked about democracy and all the wonderful things they had learned from our grade school political primer.
And then it was my turn. My teacher-sponsor did not have a copy or clue that the speech I had given her was a sham. I was going to go wide out! And I did. In the course of the 8 minutes allotted to make my case, I promised to refurbish the entire school—and get rid of those damn fountains, add a new gymnasium where we wouldn’t have to take our shoes off when we wanted to dance, and lastly, and most importantly, shorten the school day by 1 hour.
My opponents had an opportunity for questions and rebuttal, but all I had as a response was, “What, me worry.” Alfred E. Neumann had entered my body never to leave!
After this auspicious beginning things got into the muck, the way of a normal political election. Somehow the rumor got our that Jerome, who was Jewish, was really Japanese. The Second World War was still fresh in a lot of memories, so this was an easy sale; and, besides, he looked Japanese. The bookend twin, Brenda was said to be one-half of a Siamese set and her counter-part sister, was said to have the brain. Now Renate, she was difficult to overcome—but not impossible. It soon got around school that her parents had escaped the allies soon after the war. It wasn’t my fault that her Dad kind of resembled Martin Boorman. As a for Renate, she was caught kissing in the cloak in the same term as the election. It wasn’t long before the prostitution rumors started. Thirteen years old and already in the pits!
To put it in historic and political context, I ran away with the election in a landslide.
Although I wasn’t aware of it at the time, I guess I made a big impression on the National political scene. It seems like everyone has followed my lead over the years as to how to run an effective campaign. Just remember the Truth is relative—and I don’t like my Relatives!
Alfred E., where are you when you’re needed?
Billy P
All the windows were also gated with steel mesh. If you sat near the window in the spring, the reflection of the sun that struck the window would leave an imprint that looked like a German waffle on your face.
I can only describe the interior as a dingy, marble gothic; water fountains that looked like miniature horse-troughs lined the hallway to supply water that had to be pumped directly from the Nile. I can recall an underclassmen once asking my why the water was yellow and I replied that the administration was kind enough to pump Tang through the system to keep us all happy. It was a believable explanation considering Tang had just been invented as a result of the Space Program. It’s just too bad that Tang wasn’t as yellow as the water—I might have drunk more of it.
Yeah, the only thing we were missing was a Principal who looked like George Raft to make our own Film Noir.
It was in this environment that the groundwork was laid which established my future psyche. The experience that made me the man that I am today—a man steeped in democratic tradition, a man who would fight for truth, justice, and the American Way.
Yuk, you kidding’ me? What, me worry?
1961 was my breakout year. I earned my jock strap just on the basis of a few things that changed with my body—you know, that puberty thing. It also was the one and only time that I participated in a grade school ritual of stupidity called Elections. The whole process of creating a student, elected body, at least in those times, was to impart the experience of the democratic process into our pubescent heads. And, indeed, this special course in brainwashing had its affect on many of us. After all, Vietnam was just around the corner. Many of my friends happily and proudly marched off to that endeavor vowing to make New Jersey safe for Democracy. I don’t hold those souls guilty for such emotions, just the adult fools who filled their heads with those blind, thoughtless motivations.
Student administration was nothing more than a shell of the American governmental experience. You could say or propose anything you wanted to—as long as it was pre-approved and reviewed by your teacher-sponsor. In modern language we refer to this person as a Censor, and, as we know, Censors do their best work in totalitarian states. But, realistically, there wasn’t anything to censor. Everyone was programmed to say all the right things—“this process is going to instill in us the spirit of the U.S. Constitution and Yada, Yada, Yada.” And all who ran for whatever office, Prez, Treasurer, etc., dutifully fell in line and played by the script; that is, until “yours truly” threw his hat in the ring and brought on change that rocked that tiny educational community on its butt—I decided to run for President of the school!
This was a decision that had a lot of people scratching their heads—students and teachers alike. I was a good student, but wasn’t part of the intellectual cadre—for the most part, they were the sons and daughters of the neighborhood’s professional people. I was a street kid. All of my friends were street kids. We played football with no equipment and occasionally would get into quarrels with kids from other neighborhoods; you know, fights.
My opponents for this race were formidable. First there was Jerome. Jerome was a geek before the word existed. I’m sure he went on to open a tech company of some description. Secondly, we had Brenda. She was one of a set of bookend twins. Together, she and Jerome represented the “Jewish Vote.” My biggest obstacle, however, was the fourth candidate, Renate Keifer. Renate was the Marlena Dietrich of the 8th grade. She was born in Germany, and spoke with a slight, German accent. If it is possible to be sultry when you’re 13, she was sultry.
I knew that if I were to win this contest I would have to take a different course—a course that would offer change and a new beginning to the tired, pedantic urgings of our teachers and administrators.
The day of our campaign speeches, which was an address to the assembled student body, went exactly as I had expected. My 3 political opponents towed the line and talked about democracy and all the wonderful things they had learned from our grade school political primer.
And then it was my turn. My teacher-sponsor did not have a copy or clue that the speech I had given her was a sham. I was going to go wide out! And I did. In the course of the 8 minutes allotted to make my case, I promised to refurbish the entire school—and get rid of those damn fountains, add a new gymnasium where we wouldn’t have to take our shoes off when we wanted to dance, and lastly, and most importantly, shorten the school day by 1 hour.
My opponents had an opportunity for questions and rebuttal, but all I had as a response was, “What, me worry.” Alfred E. Neumann had entered my body never to leave!
After this auspicious beginning things got into the muck, the way of a normal political election. Somehow the rumor got our that Jerome, who was Jewish, was really Japanese. The Second World War was still fresh in a lot of memories, so this was an easy sale; and, besides, he looked Japanese. The bookend twin, Brenda was said to be one-half of a Siamese set and her counter-part sister, was said to have the brain. Now Renate, she was difficult to overcome—but not impossible. It soon got around school that her parents had escaped the allies soon after the war. It wasn’t my fault that her Dad kind of resembled Martin Boorman. As a for Renate, she was caught kissing in the cloak in the same term as the election. It wasn’t long before the prostitution rumors started. Thirteen years old and already in the pits!
To put it in historic and political context, I ran away with the election in a landslide.
Although I wasn’t aware of it at the time, I guess I made a big impression on the National political scene. It seems like everyone has followed my lead over the years as to how to run an effective campaign. Just remember the Truth is relative—and I don’t like my Relatives!
Alfred E., where are you when you’re needed?
Billy P
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
"39 Reasons I Don't Want To Be President!" Part 4
This is probably the first and last serial piece that I will write. After 4 installments I have become possessed and I'm beginning to believe that I can handle the job. Si se puede!
31) There has never been a President who has been married to another man. I’m thinking about doing that. It isn’t because I don’t love my wife—I do—or, that I’m homosexual—I’m not; I just want to watch the football games on the weekend without the guilt of a guy who has been caught peeking up some little girl’s dress.
32) There have been 4 Presidents named William in the White House. Two died in office, one was obese and should have died, and the last was married to Hillary Clinton. I’d rather be fat and dead than endure the last option so you can officially count me out.
33) I am in favor of eliminating the 3 time zones of this country and just have one regardless of where you live. I realize this would fly in the face of many practical reasons for establishing these zones in the first place. But I have a tendency to get constipated whenever I change time abruptly. I currently live in Birmingham—Central Time—right close to Atlanta—Eastern Time. After spending so many years in the eastern part of our country, I occasionally have to jump in my car and drive to Atlanta just to have a pleasant weekend making potty. As President, I cannot imagine what would happen with all those overseas trips.
34) The current fad word among candidates is “change.” I hate fads of any type (other than the sexual revolution of the 6o’s), and have to be reminded to change my socks.
35) Considering the reported box office receipts, I assume many people saw the movie, “Independence Day.” In this movie a seemingly omnipotent alien force invades the world. But, lo and behold, we are all saved thanks in part to an American President who happened to be able to fly jets. I rooted for the aliens in this picture!
36) I am a believer that too many hands spoil the pot. With this in mind, I would eliminate the Cabinet and replace it with my friend Turtle. Turtle never says much and has no opinions, whatsoever, about anything. He also got his name when we were kids because he swallowed a turtle rather than surrender it to the teacher. That’s the kind of guy we need in government and if that opinion doesn’t disqualify me, I give up!
37) I am currently unemployed and, often, have been eligible for unemployment coverage after losing a job. The President isn’t eligible for this coverage. A homeless, former President wouldn’t look to good on the nightly news.
38) Presidents are not only the heads of our country, but they are considered, like it or not, as the symbolic head of the American family. I do not have children and if I decided to procreate the race at this late date I’m afraid the resulting product would resemble something made of spare parts; you know, kids that would be so ugly that a leper colony would refuse their admittance.
39) And lastly, I am too good a man for the job. I don’t lie (except on this BLOG). I am a straight talker who will always look you in the eye and give you an honest answer. I have never stolen anything in my life nor advanced myself at the expense of others. I am generous, and never stingy. I would give you the shirt off my back, but you had better like Hawaiians because that’s all I wear. I love my wife, unequivocally. I love my extended family, sisters and mother. I even love my wife’s family, and no one does that! I am kind to animals and the elderly even though I’m allergic to both. And I am patriotic; not the idiot that hollers, “my country, right or wrong," but the patriot that cares enough about his nation and her people who can realize that we often are wrong, but carry with us an inestimable power to make things right—to make things better for ourselves and for our world!
Hell, who would elect a guy like that?
Billy P.
31) There has never been a President who has been married to another man. I’m thinking about doing that. It isn’t because I don’t love my wife—I do—or, that I’m homosexual—I’m not; I just want to watch the football games on the weekend without the guilt of a guy who has been caught peeking up some little girl’s dress.
32) There have been 4 Presidents named William in the White House. Two died in office, one was obese and should have died, and the last was married to Hillary Clinton. I’d rather be fat and dead than endure the last option so you can officially count me out.
33) I am in favor of eliminating the 3 time zones of this country and just have one regardless of where you live. I realize this would fly in the face of many practical reasons for establishing these zones in the first place. But I have a tendency to get constipated whenever I change time abruptly. I currently live in Birmingham—Central Time—right close to Atlanta—Eastern Time. After spending so many years in the eastern part of our country, I occasionally have to jump in my car and drive to Atlanta just to have a pleasant weekend making potty. As President, I cannot imagine what would happen with all those overseas trips.
34) The current fad word among candidates is “change.” I hate fads of any type (other than the sexual revolution of the 6o’s), and have to be reminded to change my socks.
35) Considering the reported box office receipts, I assume many people saw the movie, “Independence Day.” In this movie a seemingly omnipotent alien force invades the world. But, lo and behold, we are all saved thanks in part to an American President who happened to be able to fly jets. I rooted for the aliens in this picture!
36) I am a believer that too many hands spoil the pot. With this in mind, I would eliminate the Cabinet and replace it with my friend Turtle. Turtle never says much and has no opinions, whatsoever, about anything. He also got his name when we were kids because he swallowed a turtle rather than surrender it to the teacher. That’s the kind of guy we need in government and if that opinion doesn’t disqualify me, I give up!
37) I am currently unemployed and, often, have been eligible for unemployment coverage after losing a job. The President isn’t eligible for this coverage. A homeless, former President wouldn’t look to good on the nightly news.
38) Presidents are not only the heads of our country, but they are considered, like it or not, as the symbolic head of the American family. I do not have children and if I decided to procreate the race at this late date I’m afraid the resulting product would resemble something made of spare parts; you know, kids that would be so ugly that a leper colony would refuse their admittance.
39) And lastly, I am too good a man for the job. I don’t lie (except on this BLOG). I am a straight talker who will always look you in the eye and give you an honest answer. I have never stolen anything in my life nor advanced myself at the expense of others. I am generous, and never stingy. I would give you the shirt off my back, but you had better like Hawaiians because that’s all I wear. I love my wife, unequivocally. I love my extended family, sisters and mother. I even love my wife’s family, and no one does that! I am kind to animals and the elderly even though I’m allergic to both. And I am patriotic; not the idiot that hollers, “my country, right or wrong," but the patriot that cares enough about his nation and her people who can realize that we often are wrong, but carry with us an inestimable power to make things right—to make things better for ourselves and for our world!
Hell, who would elect a guy like that?
Billy P.
"39 Resons I Don't Want To Be President!" Part 3
This is the third installment of this series and, I know, you can’t wait—so…
21) Most of my friends can’t get passed security at the local library. So I think there might be a potential problem with the Oval Office, as far as visiting me. No friends, no Prez! That’s the way it is.
22) Presidents in waiting don’t have to submit to a polygraph, which is good for them, but bad for me. Just ask me a question, any question and I’ll prove it. I would foresee a very short term in office, so why bother?
23) The First Man always has a very impressive educational lineage—Harvard, Yale, or the like. Whatever I know, I learned on the streets and as proof I offer this BLOG. Who would be stupid enough to write for hours and not make a damn cent out of it?
24) I don’t know anything about the economy, national health care or other social issues. I have no opinions regarding alternate sources of energy or how to rest the Arab world’s petroleum production from them. Until recently I thought pro-choice meant that you didn’t have to wear a condom if you didn’t want to-- and I don’t; and foreign policy is—well, hell—foreign to me. You know, I hate to say this at this time, but I think I would be perfect for the job.
25) All Presidents are ambitious men. The only ambition that I have is not to be President.
26) Presidents, much like priests, are not supposed to have impure thoughts. I have them all the time and like to discuss them with anyone who will listen including young women.
27) If you’re President or, at least, if you are the present one, the word is pronounced “nu-clar," as in nuclear weapons. I pronounce it “noo-clee-er.” I figure if I have to launch it, I’d ought to be able to pronounce it (even if I didn’t go to Yale).
28)It has been a trend with recent Presidents, to be seen riding horseback. I must confess that I once ate a horse whose carcass had found its way onto a Philly Cheese steak. There goes the Western vote!
29) All successful Chief Executives have friends in high places. All of my friends dwell in low places and have no intention of changing their residence.
30)Presidents have to be good and energetic campaigners. They sometimes hang out on the back of trains, and always can be seen kissing babies. Trains smell like diesel fuel and babies smell like puke. Campaigning stinks, too!
Last installment tomorrow.
Billy P.
21) Most of my friends can’t get passed security at the local library. So I think there might be a potential problem with the Oval Office, as far as visiting me. No friends, no Prez! That’s the way it is.
22) Presidents in waiting don’t have to submit to a polygraph, which is good for them, but bad for me. Just ask me a question, any question and I’ll prove it. I would foresee a very short term in office, so why bother?
23) The First Man always has a very impressive educational lineage—Harvard, Yale, or the like. Whatever I know, I learned on the streets and as proof I offer this BLOG. Who would be stupid enough to write for hours and not make a damn cent out of it?
24) I don’t know anything about the economy, national health care or other social issues. I have no opinions regarding alternate sources of energy or how to rest the Arab world’s petroleum production from them. Until recently I thought pro-choice meant that you didn’t have to wear a condom if you didn’t want to-- and I don’t; and foreign policy is—well, hell—foreign to me. You know, I hate to say this at this time, but I think I would be perfect for the job.
25) All Presidents are ambitious men. The only ambition that I have is not to be President.
26) Presidents, much like priests, are not supposed to have impure thoughts. I have them all the time and like to discuss them with anyone who will listen including young women.
27) If you’re President or, at least, if you are the present one, the word is pronounced “nu-clar," as in nuclear weapons. I pronounce it “noo-clee-er.” I figure if I have to launch it, I’d ought to be able to pronounce it (even if I didn’t go to Yale).
28)It has been a trend with recent Presidents, to be seen riding horseback. I must confess that I once ate a horse whose carcass had found its way onto a Philly Cheese steak. There goes the Western vote!
29) All successful Chief Executives have friends in high places. All of my friends dwell in low places and have no intention of changing their residence.
30)Presidents have to be good and energetic campaigners. They sometimes hang out on the back of trains, and always can be seen kissing babies. Trains smell like diesel fuel and babies smell like puke. Campaigning stinks, too!
Last installment tomorrow.
Billy P.
Monday, September 8, 2008
"39 Reasons I Don't Want To Be President!" Part Two
This is a continuation of my epic tom that began yesterday’s date. If I don’t publish it all soon, I’ll have 2,000 reasons I don’t want to be President!
11) The President has to be the Commander-In-Chief of all the armed forces. The last time I was asked (should I say ordered?) to command men was during my service tenure as charge-of-quarters. For all of you who have never fought the great fight, charge-of-quarters is a duty assigned in the military—kind of an acting boss of your unit. The responsibilities are usually petty, but are taken seriously by the powers to be. While serving at an all-service facility (all the branches of the military) I was given this dubious honor. My responsibility was to send a detachment of men for KP duty (Kitchen Police). As a punishment for my previous sins, I pulled this tour on Christmas Eve, my favorite holiday. So, to make a long story short, when the Mess Sergeant, who was in the Air Force, called the Army—me-- for the detachment of men, I simply declined to offer any. I went on to say that it was Christmas and the Army didn’t want to take away from the spirit of the holiday by thinking about “military stuff.” For that reason, and with respect of the holiday concept of “peace on earth,” I declined the invitation. That little action cost me a stripe. What the hell, the guys didn’t have to clean pots and all had a very, Merry Christmas!
12) You get to throw out the first ball of the baseball season, but you don’t get paid for it. Hell, there are ballplayers from almost all teams who are getting paid millions and they don’t even touch a baseball. You be president, I want to be on the disabled list.
13) You don’t get paid enough and when things go wrong you have to blame it on the Chinese. Other executives, like the chairman of Wal*Mart, make about $25 million annually and can’t fault our yellow skin brothers for nothing! They wouldn’t be making that much bread if they were critical. And besides, I like Chinese food.
14) You get paid too much money. If I had more money, my wife would have more clothes. If she has more clothes, I would need more closet space. If I have more closet space, I would have to pay more monthly rent for a larger apartment. This is called trickle-down economics. Remember Reagan? And by the way, does anything “trickle up”?
15) The President of the United States cannot fart in public. As a matter of fact, I’m not sure he is permitted to fart at all. This would require a dramatic change in my diet, and, quite frankly, I don’t think I can handle it.
16) A President and his First Lady always have to act like they are in a celestial, love-filled blissful state. I suppose I should change this one to “ why my wife doesn’t want me to become President.” She usually wants to kill me, and I don’t think she would be willing to surrender that option.
17) Most Presidents have dogs and like to ingratiate themselves with the American public using “Fido” as an illustration of their sincerity and “soft-sidedness.” I like dogs, but they make me sneeze and activate my asthma. When this happens, I drink beer and get drunk. When I get drunk I…well, I’ll just refer you to #15 and add that I still can’t handle it.
18) If you’re President, any place in the world will accept your family credit card. I don’t think I could survive knowing my wife had that power over me.
19 I take bad pictures. Washington had a protruding nose, Lincoln, a protruding forehead, Clinton a protruding…hum, and I have a protruding stomach. No photo-op here unless it’s with a traveling band of Sumo wrestlers.
20) I like to curse—good curses, no gosh darns or mid-western vindictive here. The only President in recent times who was a cussing king was Nixon. And we all know what happened to him. I almost got thrown out of high school, and then got thrown out of college. I don’t think my Mom could handle me being thrown out of the White House. The neighbors would talk!
More to come…
Billy P.
11) The President has to be the Commander-In-Chief of all the armed forces. The last time I was asked (should I say ordered?) to command men was during my service tenure as charge-of-quarters. For all of you who have never fought the great fight, charge-of-quarters is a duty assigned in the military—kind of an acting boss of your unit. The responsibilities are usually petty, but are taken seriously by the powers to be. While serving at an all-service facility (all the branches of the military) I was given this dubious honor. My responsibility was to send a detachment of men for KP duty (Kitchen Police). As a punishment for my previous sins, I pulled this tour on Christmas Eve, my favorite holiday. So, to make a long story short, when the Mess Sergeant, who was in the Air Force, called the Army—me-- for the detachment of men, I simply declined to offer any. I went on to say that it was Christmas and the Army didn’t want to take away from the spirit of the holiday by thinking about “military stuff.” For that reason, and with respect of the holiday concept of “peace on earth,” I declined the invitation. That little action cost me a stripe. What the hell, the guys didn’t have to clean pots and all had a very, Merry Christmas!
12) You get to throw out the first ball of the baseball season, but you don’t get paid for it. Hell, there are ballplayers from almost all teams who are getting paid millions and they don’t even touch a baseball. You be president, I want to be on the disabled list.
13) You don’t get paid enough and when things go wrong you have to blame it on the Chinese. Other executives, like the chairman of Wal*Mart, make about $25 million annually and can’t fault our yellow skin brothers for nothing! They wouldn’t be making that much bread if they were critical. And besides, I like Chinese food.
14) You get paid too much money. If I had more money, my wife would have more clothes. If she has more clothes, I would need more closet space. If I have more closet space, I would have to pay more monthly rent for a larger apartment. This is called trickle-down economics. Remember Reagan? And by the way, does anything “trickle up”?
15) The President of the United States cannot fart in public. As a matter of fact, I’m not sure he is permitted to fart at all. This would require a dramatic change in my diet, and, quite frankly, I don’t think I can handle it.
16) A President and his First Lady always have to act like they are in a celestial, love-filled blissful state. I suppose I should change this one to “ why my wife doesn’t want me to become President.” She usually wants to kill me, and I don’t think she would be willing to surrender that option.
17) Most Presidents have dogs and like to ingratiate themselves with the American public using “Fido” as an illustration of their sincerity and “soft-sidedness.” I like dogs, but they make me sneeze and activate my asthma. When this happens, I drink beer and get drunk. When I get drunk I…well, I’ll just refer you to #15 and add that I still can’t handle it.
18) If you’re President, any place in the world will accept your family credit card. I don’t think I could survive knowing my wife had that power over me.
19 I take bad pictures. Washington had a protruding nose, Lincoln, a protruding forehead, Clinton a protruding…hum, and I have a protruding stomach. No photo-op here unless it’s with a traveling band of Sumo wrestlers.
20) I like to curse—good curses, no gosh darns or mid-western vindictive here. The only President in recent times who was a cussing king was Nixon. And we all know what happened to him. I almost got thrown out of high school, and then got thrown out of college. I don’t think my Mom could handle me being thrown out of the White House. The neighbors would talk!
More to come…
Billy P.
"39 Reasons I Don't Want To Be President!" Part Two
This is a continuation of my epic tom that began yesterday’s date. If I don’t publish it all soon, I’ll have 2,000 reasons I don’t want to be President!
11) The President has to be the Commander-In-Chief of all the armed forces. The last time I was asked (should I say ordered?) to command men was during my service tenure as charge-of-quarters. For all of you who have never fought the great fight, charge-of-quarters is a duty assigned in the military—kind of an acting boss of your unit. The responsibilities are usually petty, but are taken seriously by the powers- to- be. While serving at an all-service facility (all the branches of the military) I was given this dubious honor. My responsibility was to send a detachment of men for KP duty (Kitchen Police). As a punishment for my previous sins, I pulled this tour on Christmas Eve, my favorite holiday. So, to make a long story short, when the Mess Sergeant, who was in the Air Force, called the Army—me-- for the detachment of men, I simply declined to offer any. I went on to say that it was Christmas and the Army didn’t want to take away from the spirit of the holiday by thinking about “military stuff.” For that reason, and with respect of the holiday concept of “peace on earth,” I declined the invitation. That little action cost me a stripe. What the hell, the guys didn’t have to clean pots and all had a very, Merry Christmas!
12) You get to throw out the first ball of the baseball season, but you don’t get paid for it. Hell, there are ballplayers from almost all teams who are getting paid millions and they don’t even touch a baseball. You be president, I want to be on the disabled list.
13) You don’t get paid enough and when things go wrong you have to blame it on the Chinese. Other executives, like the chairman of Wal*Mart, make about $25 million annually and can’t fault our yellow skin brothers for nothing! They wouldn’t be making that much bread if they were critical. And besides, I like Chinese food.
14) You get paid too much money. If I had more money, my wife would have more clothes. If she has more clothes, I would need more closet space. If I have more closet space, I would have to pay more monthly rent for a larger apartment. This is called trickle-down economics. Remember Reagan? And by the way, does anything “trickle up”?
15) The President of the United States cannot fart in public. As a matter of fact, I’m not sure he is permitted to fart at all. This would require a dramatic change in my diet, and, quite frankly, I don’t think I can handle it.
16) A President and his First Lady always have to act like they are in a celestial, love-filled blissful state. I suppose I should change this one to “ why my wife doesn’t want me to become President.” She usually wants to kill me, and I don’t think she would be willing to surrender that option.
17) Most Presidents have dogs and like to ingratiate themselves with the American public using “Fido” as an illustration of their sincerity and “soft-sidedness.” I like dogs, but they make me sneeze and activate my asthma. When this happens, I drink beer and get drunk. When I get drunk I…well, I’ll just refer you to #15 and add that I still can’t handle it.
18 If you’re President, anyplace in the world will accept your family credit card. I don’t think I could survive knowing my wife had that power over me.
19) I take bad pictures. Washington had a protruding nose, Lincoln, a protruding forehead, Clinton a protruding…hum, and I have a protruding stomach. No photo-op here unless it’s with a traveling band of Sumo wrestlers.
20)I like to curse—good curses, no gosh darns or mid-western vindictive here. The only President in recent times who was a cussing king was Nixon-- and we all know what happened to him. I almost got thrown out of high school, and then got thrown out of college. I don’t think my Mom could handle me being thrown out of the White House. The neighbors would talk!
More to come…
Billy P.
11) The President has to be the Commander-In-Chief of all the armed forces. The last time I was asked (should I say ordered?) to command men was during my service tenure as charge-of-quarters. For all of you who have never fought the great fight, charge-of-quarters is a duty assigned in the military—kind of an acting boss of your unit. The responsibilities are usually petty, but are taken seriously by the powers- to- be. While serving at an all-service facility (all the branches of the military) I was given this dubious honor. My responsibility was to send a detachment of men for KP duty (Kitchen Police). As a punishment for my previous sins, I pulled this tour on Christmas Eve, my favorite holiday. So, to make a long story short, when the Mess Sergeant, who was in the Air Force, called the Army—me-- for the detachment of men, I simply declined to offer any. I went on to say that it was Christmas and the Army didn’t want to take away from the spirit of the holiday by thinking about “military stuff.” For that reason, and with respect of the holiday concept of “peace on earth,” I declined the invitation. That little action cost me a stripe. What the hell, the guys didn’t have to clean pots and all had a very, Merry Christmas!
12) You get to throw out the first ball of the baseball season, but you don’t get paid for it. Hell, there are ballplayers from almost all teams who are getting paid millions and they don’t even touch a baseball. You be president, I want to be on the disabled list.
13) You don’t get paid enough and when things go wrong you have to blame it on the Chinese. Other executives, like the chairman of Wal*Mart, make about $25 million annually and can’t fault our yellow skin brothers for nothing! They wouldn’t be making that much bread if they were critical. And besides, I like Chinese food.
14) You get paid too much money. If I had more money, my wife would have more clothes. If she has more clothes, I would need more closet space. If I have more closet space, I would have to pay more monthly rent for a larger apartment. This is called trickle-down economics. Remember Reagan? And by the way, does anything “trickle up”?
15) The President of the United States cannot fart in public. As a matter of fact, I’m not sure he is permitted to fart at all. This would require a dramatic change in my diet, and, quite frankly, I don’t think I can handle it.
16) A President and his First Lady always have to act like they are in a celestial, love-filled blissful state. I suppose I should change this one to “ why my wife doesn’t want me to become President.” She usually wants to kill me, and I don’t think she would be willing to surrender that option.
17) Most Presidents have dogs and like to ingratiate themselves with the American public using “Fido” as an illustration of their sincerity and “soft-sidedness.” I like dogs, but they make me sneeze and activate my asthma. When this happens, I drink beer and get drunk. When I get drunk I…well, I’ll just refer you to #15 and add that I still can’t handle it.
18 If you’re President, anyplace in the world will accept your family credit card. I don’t think I could survive knowing my wife had that power over me.
19) I take bad pictures. Washington had a protruding nose, Lincoln, a protruding forehead, Clinton a protruding…hum, and I have a protruding stomach. No photo-op here unless it’s with a traveling band of Sumo wrestlers.
20)I like to curse—good curses, no gosh darns or mid-western vindictive here. The only President in recent times who was a cussing king was Nixon-- and we all know what happened to him. I almost got thrown out of high school, and then got thrown out of college. I don’t think my Mom could handle me being thrown out of the White House. The neighbors would talk!
More to come…
Billy P.
Sunday, September 7, 2008
"39 Reasons I Don't Want To Be President!"
In honor of the historic up and coming elections, I thought I would put to pen my reasons for declining any interest in the office of the Presidency. Just remember something other than the “Alamo”: if nominated, I will not accept; if elected, I will not serve; and if served, I will leave the country under an assumed name.
1. You have to wear a suit, gray, black, or blue. I only look good in pink, and I don’t even own a suit.
2. I sport a beard. The last 2 Presidents who have had chin whiskers were Benjamin Harrison and James Garfield. They shot Garfield and Harrison’s grandfather, also a President, died after 30 days in office. I’m thinking bad karma here.
3. You have to attend church on Sundays and I don’t know of a practicing sect of Left Handed Tantrists-- the only true faith-- this side of New Delhi.
4. If you are President you are supposed to tell the truth at all times. Of course, you don’t and are, usually, rewarded for this oversight. I always tell the truth which is the reason that I keep a pillow and blanket on my sofa in the living room.
5. There are too many pieces of silverware at State dinners and that can be confusing. I only use an oversized serving fork to consume my vittles.
6. Current fad dictates that a candidate must be elderly, a female—preferably pregnant—or a black man with a funny name. I have to wait for fat, bald-headed, and stupid to be considered a presidential quality before I toss my hat in the ring.
7. Presidents never speak or know any foreign language. I can work in 2 languages other than English. A foreign affair in the White House is having sex with someone other than your wife. Language ability is a disqualifier, and I am faithful to my wife.
8. And speaking of foreign affairs, consider a recent, sexual history of Presidents “did he, or didn’t he?” FDR did, and he couldn’t get out of a wheel chair. Think about the possibilities. Truman didn’t, too busy walking. Eisenhower did, at least as a General. Kennedy did it so much they should have forgotten about the Library and just opened a whorehouse in his honor. LBJ did, but he had Lady Bird—who wouldn’t? Nixon definitely didn’t, unless it was with Kissinger—there goes that language thing again! Ford fell down a lot, but so did his wife. Jimmy Carter did, but it was with his heart not his hard-on. Reagan never would cheat on his lovely wife—he just made movies with monkeys. Senior Bush didn’t, Americans would have killed him if he had been unfaithful to a wife who looks like she graced all the Norman Rockwell covers. Now Clinton—nothing need be said—long live the King! And lastly, Junior! I hate to say it, but the guy was a cheerleader in college. You take a guess!
9. While we are talking about S-E-X, you don’t always find Marilyn Monroe under the White House Christmas Tree, sometimes we have Hanukah and find Monica!
10. The President has to participate in the world’s largest Easter Egg Hunt during that holiday season. I can’t do that. I hate hard-boiled eggs, think Easter was created by the Hallmark Card Company conspiracy, and didn’t like kids when I was a kid! Other than that, I’m good to go.
Part Two Coming Soon!
Billy P.
A special thanks to Judas for being the weirdo that he is!
1. You have to wear a suit, gray, black, or blue. I only look good in pink, and I don’t even own a suit.
2. I sport a beard. The last 2 Presidents who have had chin whiskers were Benjamin Harrison and James Garfield. They shot Garfield and Harrison’s grandfather, also a President, died after 30 days in office. I’m thinking bad karma here.
3. You have to attend church on Sundays and I don’t know of a practicing sect of Left Handed Tantrists-- the only true faith-- this side of New Delhi.
4. If you are President you are supposed to tell the truth at all times. Of course, you don’t and are, usually, rewarded for this oversight. I always tell the truth which is the reason that I keep a pillow and blanket on my sofa in the living room.
5. There are too many pieces of silverware at State dinners and that can be confusing. I only use an oversized serving fork to consume my vittles.
6. Current fad dictates that a candidate must be elderly, a female—preferably pregnant—or a black man with a funny name. I have to wait for fat, bald-headed, and stupid to be considered a presidential quality before I toss my hat in the ring.
7. Presidents never speak or know any foreign language. I can work in 2 languages other than English. A foreign affair in the White House is having sex with someone other than your wife. Language ability is a disqualifier, and I am faithful to my wife.
8. And speaking of foreign affairs, consider a recent, sexual history of Presidents “did he, or didn’t he?” FDR did, and he couldn’t get out of a wheel chair. Think about the possibilities. Truman didn’t, too busy walking. Eisenhower did, at least as a General. Kennedy did it so much they should have forgotten about the Library and just opened a whorehouse in his honor. LBJ did, but he had Lady Bird—who wouldn’t? Nixon definitely didn’t, unless it was with Kissinger—there goes that language thing again! Ford fell down a lot, but so did his wife. Jimmy Carter did, but it was with his heart not his hard-on. Reagan never would cheat on his lovely wife—he just made movies with monkeys. Senior Bush didn’t, Americans would have killed him if he had been unfaithful to a wife who looks like she graced all the Norman Rockwell covers. Now Clinton—nothing need be said—long live the King! And lastly, Junior! I hate to say it, but the guy was a cheerleader in college. You take a guess!
9. While we are talking about S-E-X, you don’t always find Marilyn Monroe under the White House Christmas Tree, sometimes we have Hanukah and find Monica!
10. The President has to participate in the world’s largest Easter Egg Hunt during that holiday season. I can’t do that. I hate hard-boiled eggs, think Easter was created by the Hallmark Card Company conspiracy, and didn’t like kids when I was a kid! Other than that, I’m good to go.
Part Two Coming Soon!
Billy P.
A special thanks to Judas for being the weirdo that he is!
Saturday, September 6, 2008
"Oh, Say I Cant't Sing!"
Well, Labor Day has passed and we can smell the crisp air of autumn just around the corner. With these hallmarks reached, it’s a matter of time for 2 of my personal, annual activities to occur: the kick-off of football season and the death threats that I usually receive while laughing at pre-game presentations of our National Anthem!
I might as well get to it—give you all an opportunity to knock my lights out or, at least, call me an “un-patriotic SOB.”
This happens to me just about every year. I’ll be sitting in a bar enjoying a brew, ready to enjoy a game, and someone gets up to give their musical (if I can call it that) version of our beloved Anthem. It usually takes me a couple of lines before I start moaning, and by the time the singer gets to the end—you know the high “C” part, “o’er the land of the free”…! That’s were I definitely lose it. That’s, also, about the time someone at the bar decides that I’ve read too much Karl Marx and decides to rearrange the enameled grinders which Mother Nature has provided me.
Truth be known, I am one helluva patriotic guy; know more about American History than most people you have as acquaintances. I even know all the Presidents and can discuss their administrations in detail. I know the difference between a Democracy and a Republic, and our soon-to-be Ex-President can’t even say that, given the number of times that I have heard him use the words interchangeably!
The fact is the Anthem is one lousy song.
A guy who was called a poet wrote it, but, actually, he was an attorney. C’mon, only Oliver Wendell Holmes could pull that off!
Most people have a reverence for our country’s first song as if it were penned by Jesus’ Disciples. But let’s keep to the facts. The tune (and that’s really what is was—19th century prose put to the tune of an old English ditty) ain’t gonna make the top 10 list on American Bandstand. Besides, you can’t dance to it! I mean, Puff Daddy couldn’t make this thing “Go.”
I'll bet anyone 500 million dollars that more people from the “Doomers” generation can remember the words to the Mickey Mouse Club Theme than to our own national song. And has anyone ever tried the second stanza?
On the shore, dimly seen thro’ the mist of the deep,
Where the foe’s haughty host in dread silence reposes,
What is that which the breeze, o’er the towering steep.
As it fitfully blows, half conceals, half discloses?
Now it catches the gleam of the morning’s first beam,
In full glory reflected, now shines on the stream
‘Tis the star-spangled banner. Oh! Long may it wave
O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave!
Let me put it this way, type that into your WORD and see what grammar check does! You just won the jackpot of weird-ass grammar.
Now keep in mind, you’re supposed to be singing this—not reciting!
And how many times have you heard someone screw up the words, and that’s to the first stanza which we are all supposed to know?
My favorite screw-up was Robert Goulet. He was a well-known singer of the 70’s. He was contracted to sing the Anthem at one of the championship fights and really messed up—I mean, not even close! Afterward, a reporter indignantly interviewed Goulet and almost shouts at him: “How can you forget the words to the National Anthem?”
Goulet quietly replied, “ I’m Canadian.”
And he was!
And if anyone wants to hit me with the tradition thing, forget it!
It wasn’t until 1931 that this tune was selected as our National Anthem. As you may have guessed, they didn’t ask me to vote.
We have many good American songs to pick from, if you want to start a movement.
“America The Beautiful” is always a front- runner. Or, what about Woody Guthrie’s, “ This Land is You Land.” Not a bad idea, and I just thought of that one.
A national song contest might be a good idea. Then the winner would really be an American Idol!
Either that, or we farm the entire production out to Coke or Mc Donald’s. They write great jingles.
Billy P.
I might as well get to it—give you all an opportunity to knock my lights out or, at least, call me an “un-patriotic SOB.”
This happens to me just about every year. I’ll be sitting in a bar enjoying a brew, ready to enjoy a game, and someone gets up to give their musical (if I can call it that) version of our beloved Anthem. It usually takes me a couple of lines before I start moaning, and by the time the singer gets to the end—you know the high “C” part, “o’er the land of the free”…! That’s were I definitely lose it. That’s, also, about the time someone at the bar decides that I’ve read too much Karl Marx and decides to rearrange the enameled grinders which Mother Nature has provided me.
Truth be known, I am one helluva patriotic guy; know more about American History than most people you have as acquaintances. I even know all the Presidents and can discuss their administrations in detail. I know the difference between a Democracy and a Republic, and our soon-to-be Ex-President can’t even say that, given the number of times that I have heard him use the words interchangeably!
The fact is the Anthem is one lousy song.
A guy who was called a poet wrote it, but, actually, he was an attorney. C’mon, only Oliver Wendell Holmes could pull that off!
Most people have a reverence for our country’s first song as if it were penned by Jesus’ Disciples. But let’s keep to the facts. The tune (and that’s really what is was—19th century prose put to the tune of an old English ditty) ain’t gonna make the top 10 list on American Bandstand. Besides, you can’t dance to it! I mean, Puff Daddy couldn’t make this thing “Go.”
I'll bet anyone 500 million dollars that more people from the “Doomers” generation can remember the words to the Mickey Mouse Club Theme than to our own national song. And has anyone ever tried the second stanza?
On the shore, dimly seen thro’ the mist of the deep,
Where the foe’s haughty host in dread silence reposes,
What is that which the breeze, o’er the towering steep.
As it fitfully blows, half conceals, half discloses?
Now it catches the gleam of the morning’s first beam,
In full glory reflected, now shines on the stream
‘Tis the star-spangled banner. Oh! Long may it wave
O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave!
Let me put it this way, type that into your WORD and see what grammar check does! You just won the jackpot of weird-ass grammar.
Now keep in mind, you’re supposed to be singing this—not reciting!
And how many times have you heard someone screw up the words, and that’s to the first stanza which we are all supposed to know?
My favorite screw-up was Robert Goulet. He was a well-known singer of the 70’s. He was contracted to sing the Anthem at one of the championship fights and really messed up—I mean, not even close! Afterward, a reporter indignantly interviewed Goulet and almost shouts at him: “How can you forget the words to the National Anthem?”
Goulet quietly replied, “ I’m Canadian.”
And he was!
And if anyone wants to hit me with the tradition thing, forget it!
It wasn’t until 1931 that this tune was selected as our National Anthem. As you may have guessed, they didn’t ask me to vote.
We have many good American songs to pick from, if you want to start a movement.
“America The Beautiful” is always a front- runner. Or, what about Woody Guthrie’s, “ This Land is You Land.” Not a bad idea, and I just thought of that one.
A national song contest might be a good idea. Then the winner would really be an American Idol!
Either that, or we farm the entire production out to Coke or Mc Donald’s. They write great jingles.
Billy P.
Friday, September 5, 2008
"A Conversation With God, Another Person I Know!"
I am continually amazed that with all the historical footnotes that clearly indicate the dangers of mixing religion with politics, that the human race never seems to lose it’s zeal for taking another stab at this unworkable marriage. I mean, anyone can expect fanatical religious leaders of any faith to fight for center stage in all political undertakings. Consider, if you will, the current dangers that have been presented to the world with the marriage of the conservative fundamentalists of Islam and the politics of Iran. What surprises me, however, is how common place this kind of thinking has become in the U.S., a nation that established its credentials and has prospered, in large part, because of a brilliant document that established a separation of Church and State. I mean if we have a creed, other than our Republicanism and Democratic principles, that little bit of the Constitution should be it, right! Our system says very simply that freedom of religion may be your God-given right, but it is worth even more because it is guaranteed by that document. Really simple, don’t you think?
And lo and behold, just as I thought we were cooling the heels of those persons who worry more about pro-choice, pro-life issues than the 2 wars we are currently fighting, we seem to slip back in time; Tammy and Jim can’t be far away and where is Jimmy Swaggart when you really need him!
With all this in mind, I decided to call my buddy, God. Now if you’re expecting deep admissions of my prayerful or meditative abilities to communicate with the Almighty, get a new life; I call him on my cell-phone. He gave me his number—very unlisted—many years ago. I think he knew I would be a hard sell and so he made it a little bit easier for me to communicate with him. I skip all the brokers and incantations and just dial direct!
I dialed his number and, after a few thousand rings, he answered.
“Hello, this is God and I am answering this call because, truly, your call is always very important to me.”
“God?” Billy P. here.”
“Hello, Dude. I already told you that I wouldn’t take your neighbors away, so what is it now? "
“Naw, they moved. But I’ve got big problems now. It’s the Republicans!”
“I thought you liked Republicans—Reagan, Lincoln, and the like. And didn’t they just do a cool thing and nominate a women for your highest office?”
“Yeah, I do like Republicans, sometimes; and they did nominate a women for Vice-President—our second highest office, by the way.”
“Sorry, politics isn’t my strong-suit. How’s that going, by-the-way?”
“Well, I’m not sure. I’ve been reading some about this women and what she has said, so I thought I would give you a call because she quotes you a lot.”
“Yeah, many people have a tendency to know exactly what I’m thinking even when I’m not thinking it!”
“That’s just it. She told a group of ministry students that the war in Iraq is a “task from God.”
“Well, you know that you wasted your dime. Remember the last time we talked about war? I told you that I was so upset about World War 11 and the calls I received from all sides that I almost let you extinguish yourselves.”
“Yeah, I figured that, but I wanted to get it from the horse’s mouth—no insult intended.”
“None taken. I have the ability to forgive.”
“So I’m going to guess that you haven’t taken any calls about getting your Will to build a natural gas pipeline in Alaska?”
“Look, I got a world-wide hunger problem, genocide in Darfur, religious intolerance almost everywhere, wars popping up all over your silly globe—does it seem like I would have the time to worry about a pipeline in nowhere-ville, USA? And, besides, I don’t even own a hard hat!”
“Well, then, I won’t keep you longer. One more question.”
“No, Billy!”
“No, I can’t ask one more question?”
“No! No, I can’t re-grow hair on your bald head!”
“Okay, who do I see about that?”
“That’s Mother Nature’s department.”
“Got a number?”
“Goodbye, Billy.”
“Goodbye, God. Have a nice day.”
Billy P.
And lo and behold, just as I thought we were cooling the heels of those persons who worry more about pro-choice, pro-life issues than the 2 wars we are currently fighting, we seem to slip back in time; Tammy and Jim can’t be far away and where is Jimmy Swaggart when you really need him!
With all this in mind, I decided to call my buddy, God. Now if you’re expecting deep admissions of my prayerful or meditative abilities to communicate with the Almighty, get a new life; I call him on my cell-phone. He gave me his number—very unlisted—many years ago. I think he knew I would be a hard sell and so he made it a little bit easier for me to communicate with him. I skip all the brokers and incantations and just dial direct!
I dialed his number and, after a few thousand rings, he answered.
“Hello, this is God and I am answering this call because, truly, your call is always very important to me.”
“God?” Billy P. here.”
“Hello, Dude. I already told you that I wouldn’t take your neighbors away, so what is it now? "
“Naw, they moved. But I’ve got big problems now. It’s the Republicans!”
“I thought you liked Republicans—Reagan, Lincoln, and the like. And didn’t they just do a cool thing and nominate a women for your highest office?”
“Yeah, I do like Republicans, sometimes; and they did nominate a women for Vice-President—our second highest office, by the way.”
“Sorry, politics isn’t my strong-suit. How’s that going, by-the-way?”
“Well, I’m not sure. I’ve been reading some about this women and what she has said, so I thought I would give you a call because she quotes you a lot.”
“Yeah, many people have a tendency to know exactly what I’m thinking even when I’m not thinking it!”
“That’s just it. She told a group of ministry students that the war in Iraq is a “task from God.”
“Well, you know that you wasted your dime. Remember the last time we talked about war? I told you that I was so upset about World War 11 and the calls I received from all sides that I almost let you extinguish yourselves.”
“Yeah, I figured that, but I wanted to get it from the horse’s mouth—no insult intended.”
“None taken. I have the ability to forgive.”
“So I’m going to guess that you haven’t taken any calls about getting your Will to build a natural gas pipeline in Alaska?”
“Look, I got a world-wide hunger problem, genocide in Darfur, religious intolerance almost everywhere, wars popping up all over your silly globe—does it seem like I would have the time to worry about a pipeline in nowhere-ville, USA? And, besides, I don’t even own a hard hat!”
“Well, then, I won’t keep you longer. One more question.”
“No, Billy!”
“No, I can’t ask one more question?”
“No! No, I can’t re-grow hair on your bald head!”
“Okay, who do I see about that?”
“That’s Mother Nature’s department.”
“Got a number?”
“Goodbye, Billy.”
“Goodbye, God. Have a nice day.”
Billy P.
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