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Jonathots Daily Blog
(3980)
“Stay back, lady!” Pal leaped to his feet, alarmed.
Karin shouted, “I’m a reporter! “
“We are young men,” said Pal.
“Dangerous young men,” added Iz. They stood shoulder to shoulder, gazing at the intruding female.
Karin halted her progress and softened her voice. “So I heard.”
“What do you want?” demanded Pal.
Karin slowly inched her way forward. “I want to report your story. I want to find out why you two boys are in the desert together. If you don’t mind, I want you to tell me why you’re dangerous. And I also want to give you some water and food,” she said, motioning to the supplies she had laid to the side.
Pal and Iz gave each other a quick glance. Water and food—always good. Iz spoke up. “Just leave the water and food and go.”
Karin shook her head. “No deal. I didn’t come out here to be your delivery service. I told you—I’m a reporter. I want to know what’s going on.”
“Nothing,” spat Iz.
“So why are you dangerous, then?” Karin moved a few steps closer.
Pal backed away. “Because we want to be left alone,” he replied.
Karin reached out with open hands and said, “Okay. Give me my story and I’ll leave you alone.”
“Here’s your story,” said Iz. “Two boys…”
Pal interrupted. “We’re not boys, Iz.”
“Right,” said Iz, slapping his forehead with his palm. “Make that ‘Two Macho Men, Left Alone and At Peace in Desert by Reporter’.”
“I don’t know,” said Karin. “I can tell you—it’s not really a page turner. How about this instead? ‘Two Muscular Manly Men Tell Their Intriguing Story to Attractive Reporter and All At Once, the World Understands’?”
Pal shook his head. “The world will not understand.”
Iz jabbed his friend in the arm. “And listen, lady. You’re not that attractive.”
Karin feigned an offended gasp. “Now I see why they say you’re dangerous. Your tongue just killed my ego at fifteen paces.” She paused to see if the boys would laugh. When they didn’t, she eyed them with deep contemplation, then continued. “Just let me ask you five questions.”
“One question,” said Pal.
“Four,” countered Karin.
“Two!” shouted Iz.
Pal displayed a toothy grin. “I guess that means three.”
“All right. Three questions,” Karin agreed.
“And no funny business,” said Pal, crossing his arms.
Karin chuckled. “Listen, fellas. I live in the Middle East. What’s funny?” She carefully eased her way into the thrown-together encampment and sat down beneath a palm, staring at the two young gentlemen in front of her. She crinkled her nose. Although she was a good four feet away, they reeked of sweat and grain. She motioned for them to be seated.
Pal refused. “So what is your first question?”
Karin said, “I’ll make it easy. I’ll give you all three questions at once. Why are you here, what are you trying to do, and I guess my friend down there in the jeep? He wants to know where in the hell his grenade is.”
Pal jerked his head and shot a look at the vehicle. “Is that him?” he asked Iz.
Iz squinted to see. “I can’t tell. At this distance, Army men all look the same.”
Karin eased her way to her knees and interrupted. “Well, are you going to answer my questions?”
Iz could not take his eyes off the soldier. “What does he want?” he asked Karin.
“He wants his grenade back,” she replied quickly. “He really doesn’t want to be blamed for killing and mutilating people because he was careless with his weapons. You can certainly understand that.”
Pal shook his head. “We’re not trying to kill and mutilate anyone,” he said.
Karin sensed a moment of vulnerability, so she went on the attack. “Well, listen, dude,” she said. “That’s what grenades do. Maybe you should have thought of that before you stole it and came out here, flashing it at people.”
Iz continued to stare at the soldier, with his back to Karin, and inserted, “We just want to be left alone.”
Karin spoke back harshly. “If you’re not careful, you’re gonna be just left dead.”
Pal eased his way a bit closer to her. “Listen, lady. No one will die. We don’t even know how the grenade works.”
“Shut up, Pal!” screamed Iz.
Karin laughed. “Oh—and that’s good?” she asked. “That you don’t know how a grenade works?”
Her question quieted Iz and Pal. Iz made his way over and sat down by the reporter. Pal stepped closer but remained standing. It was all so crazy—not what they had envisioned. They were horrified by their plight.
Karin gave the moment a chance to simmer, then asked, much quieter. “Why are you here?”
Fighting back tears, Iz tried to explain. “We had become friends, but we really were not allowed to be friends. Our families are separated, our countries are at war and our people hate each other.”
Moved by Iz’s admission, Pal came over and sat down. “If we try to be friends, excuses will be made why it is a bad thing. So we’ve come out here in the desert, where we can be friends without interfering with the war that the grown-ups like to have.”
Iz leaned forward and emphatically concluded. “They can have their war. We just want to be together and be left alone.”
Karin was reasoning in her mind the whole time the boys were speaking. She knew she needed to do something, or the situation could easily go awry. She spoke gently but firmly. “It’s not that way, boys. There are lots of Arabs and Jews that get along together. For God’s sakes—they work in the same companies and factories. I’m sure there are lots of Jewish and Arab boys that are friends.”
“Do you know any?” Pal asked sincerely.
“Now that is a trick question,” said Karin. “Just because I can’t offer a name doesn’t mean they don’t exist.”
Iz leaned forward. “But aren’t you a reporter? Aren’t you supposed to have answers?”
“Okay,” said Karin, drawing a very deep breath and releasing it slowly. “Let’s say you guys are right. Let’s say your families won’t allow you to be friends. Here’s my question. Is it really better to live out here—pardon me—starve out here, to be with each other, than to be with your families, safe and sound, knowing they love you, in your own communities?”
Iz sadly shook his head. “You just don’t get it, lady. What you’re saying to us is to give up our love and friendship just so our families will think we’re all right and will include us in the home. Why can’t we be included…together? Why don’t they make an exception because they love us?”
Iz’s speech touched Karin. “Hell if I know,” she responded. “That’s just not the way it works right now. And you’re not going to change it playing in the desert, dehydrating yourselves and smelling like a three-day-dead goat.”
Pal was surprised. “Do we smell that bad?” he asked.
“No,” replied Karin. “It would take four baths for you to smell like the goat.”
Iz shook his head. “Very sorry. I guess our manly body parts are much more mature than we thought.”
Karin winced, considered a retort, but opted to move on. “Well, I guess you’ve answered question two–‘What are you trying to do?’” she noted. “Or is there more? Are you boys trying to send a message to the Israelis and Palestinians?”
“Yes, we are,” said Iz. “Leave us alone.”
Karin looked around in all directions. “It appears you are alone.”
“Then good,” replied Pal. “But we also can do without reporters.”
Karin pretended to cry. “You mean you don’t want to be famous?”
“No,” said Iz. “Famous is our worst fear. The less people know about us the better.”
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Jonathots Daily Blog
(3475)
Matthew was arrested.
The charge was obstruction of justice/interfering with the duties of a peace officer. He didn’t really care.
They finger-printed him, took his mug shot and he was escorted through two green, metallic doors into a holding area with a large L-shaped cell, occupied by about twenty or so people.
Matthew immediately noticed that all the detainees were sitting on one side of the cell and Jubal Carlos was on the other. He was a bit confused about the separation–until he was placed inside and came close to Jubal. Mr. Carlos explained that since his incarceration, he had refused to eat or bathe. He smelled like a rotten tomato at a manure factory. All the inmates had decided to leave him alone to literally stew in his own juices.
Jubal looked horrible–already gaunt, ashen, with a bit of sweat dripping from his brow. He was happy to see Matthew, though perplexed as to why he was gaining a partner.
“What happened?” Matthew asked.
Jubal drew a deep breath, looked around to make sure no one was listening and replied, “I don’t exactly know. I was down in the homeless area, passing out bologna and American cheese sandwiches, when I was suddenly surrounded by what looked like a battalion of policemen–clad in armor! I protested, so they added the charge of “resisting arrest” onto my indictment. They explained that a complaint has been levied against me by a woman from New York City, who was visiting in Vegas, and she said I accosted her, demanding donations for the street folk, and she felt threatened.”
Matthew squinted. He hadn’t known Jubal very long, but the chance that this pacifist had stirred up a sea of violence seemed highly unlikely. Something was obviously going on. He paused, trying to figure out whether he should assimilate into the scene along with Jubal, or share the vision he had for taking Jesus to the streets.
Instead, Matthew opted to ask for his phone call. He chose to dial up Jo-Jay. She was once again right on top of matters, and had a lot more information than Matthew.
She explained that Prophet Morgan had gone off to the blackjack tables for his yearly fund-raising campaign for an orphanage he funded in Honduras. Sister Rolinda was in the streets of Las Vegas, passing out condoms to the prostitutes, Soos was already on her way to the Clark County Jail, having picked up through the grapevine that Jubal was in there and assuming that Matthew would not be far behind.
Matthew gave Jo-Jay one instruction. “Find out the source of the arrest of Jubal Carlos.”
She jumped on the opportunity. No question or doubt. What a dynamic lady she was. It would have been so easy to whine–discontent over such an ill-defined mission. Instead, she decided to learn as she went and hope for the best.
As soon as he hung up the phone, one of his jailers told him he had a visitor. It was Soos. Matthew was confused by Soos’s appearance–she was limping and had what appeared to be a colostomy bag hanging from her side.
“What the…?” Matthew wasn’t able to finish his thought before Soos grabbed his arm and guided him back toward the clink. Being placed safe inside again, the keeper of the crooks brought Soos a chair so she could be comfortable during her visit with Matthew.
Matthew continued to stare at Soos in disbelief. “What the hell is going on?”
Soos motioned for him to be quiet, whispering, “I found out they wouldn’t let anybody see you or Jubal, here, unless it was a relative or an emergency, so I told them I was your sister and I was on my way to have an operation to be further disemboweled for my cancer treatment.”
Matthew gasped. “You what?”
Soos continued. “Figuring they would need to see some evidence of my condition, I went to the medical supply house, picked up this colostomy bag and some other contraptions that made me look real endangered.”
Matthew shook his head and Jubal chuckled.
“Don’t encourage her,” Matthew said to Jubal.
Jubal reached through the bars, took her hand and shook it. “Brilliant, my dear.”
Soos looked Jubal in the eye. “Thank you. Do you know how bad you smell?”
Jubal laughed. “No…but thank you for making me aware.”
Matthew began to explain the situation to Soos, but she stopped him. “I only have ten minutes. That gives you five minutes to tell Jubal what we’re trying to do with this campaign, and five minutes for me to take the I-Phone I snuck past the guards in my colostomy bag, so I can make a video of Jubal and put it on the Internet, and see if we can’t get him out of here.”
Matthew was speechless, dazzled.
Soos went on. “Oh, you’re such a man. I don’t have time to explain the details to you. Just trust me. Let me tell Jubal. Here’s the way it is, Mr. Carlos. We’re trying to get Jesus popular again, and we thought the best way to do that was to get you to travel around the country, in character, playing the part and the heart of Jesus, so that once again there would be a visual for the young people, and in so doing, the same controversy, presence, and maybe power, would be generated.”
Matthew tried to interject but Jubal touched his arm and silenced him.
“You explained that so well,” he said to Soos. “It would have taken my brother here two hours to do that. I don’t know if I want to be Jesus or not, but I would like to get out of here, eat a nice steak and take a shower.”
Soos, tipping her head back to avoid the odor, agreed. “We think that would be a good thing, too.”
“So what do you want me to do?” asked Jubal.
Matthew started to give stage direction. Soos interrupted. “Listen, Mattie Boy, I’m on a roll, so let me handle this.”
Matthew felt it was a poor time to have a business argument in the Clark County Jail. He submitted.
Soos paused, thinking, then looked at Jubal and said, “I want you to be Jesus, and I want you to tell people what Jesus would feel about being in the Clark County Jail, accused of a crime he did not commit.”
Jubal crinkled his brow, then bowed his head. After about fifteen seconds, he lifted it up and spoke to Soos. “I think I’m ready.”
She cautiously removed her phone from the bag and pointed it in his direction. “Action.”
Jubal began. “I was in prison, and you visited me. I am in prison, and I’m so lonely. I do not know what I’ve done wrong. I have tried to love people–and they told me these folks were not lovable. I passed out a bologna sandwich, and was informed I was disturbing the peace. I’ve tried to bring my music to the world. I have brought the rhythm of joy, and now I find myself quite alone–without anyone to be my champion. I’m not afraid. I’m not sad. I haven’t given up on anything I believe. And if I’m supposed to stay in here until my sentence is completed, then praise God. But if I could get out, I would do even more. I would climb a housetop and shout. I would find an injustice and expose it. And I would find ways to sprinkle hope and faith on everything I see. My name is Jubal Carlos. There’s nothing special about me except whatever I can do special to bless others.”
He bowed his head again.
Matthew was in tears.
Soos smiled. “That’s a wrap,” she said. “Now let me get to work.”The producers of jonathots would humbly request a yearly subscription donation of $10 for this wonderful, inspirational opportunity
Jonathots Daily Blog
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A. POWDER AND SNUFF
A cavalcade of powdered wigs and various opiates and hallucinogenic drugs inhaled and smoked by the Continental Congress
B. REACH FOR A LEECH
Bring your family for a once-in-a-lifetime “placing of the leeches”–so they can see how the colonists attempted to cure all disease (paramedics standing by in case of great blood loss)
C. “TAKE A NEGRO TO WORK” DAY
Call up one of your friends of color and take him to your job as your slave, complete with chains and desperate expression. Yes, you can be Tom Jefferson, and he can be just “Tom.”
D. ODORATION
Come and experience various chambers with early American body odor sprayed in, to give you the experience of sniffing people who wore too many clothes and did not use deodorant.
E. MUSKETING
Salute to the Second Amendment–a Revolutionary War Gun Show, complete with unreliable, sometimes exploding flintlocks, and a chart displaying that it would take approximately seventeen straight hours for a mass killer to murder 25 people with a musket. (That’s if everyone agreed to hang around for the re-loading.)
Jonathots Daily Blog
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(Transcript)
Her name was Jody. (Actually it still is.)
She sat in front of me during Social Studies.
No one liked Jody. She committed the three grave sins of early “teendom”: she was a little larger, she was very quiet and therefore assumed stupid, and she copped an attitude if you made fun of her.
And they did. Make fun of her, that is.
Rumors about Jody spread through our classroom daily with the proficiency of a team of reporters on the New York Times. One of the more repetitive and prevalent accusations was that Jody smelled bad. Matter of fact, one of the guys thought it was hilarious to put a can of air freshener on her desk before she arrived at school. When she knocked it off and threw it on the ground in anger, the whole classroom burst into laughter.
I never noticed that she smelled. Matter of fact, I’m pretty sure she didn’t.
When our teacher, during the “season of love,” thought it was clever or even cute, to encourage us to send a Valentine to one or more of our fellow-students as a throw-back to our childhood days, I objected. I thought it was beneath our status of being graduates of elementary school.
Yet I was out-shouted by the rest of the class so the plan was set in motion.
I decided that my way of rebelling against this childish practice would be to send a “Valen-kind” card to someone nobody else would think to include. Obviously, Jody came to mind.
So retrieving my construction paper, crayons and round-tipped scissors, I temporarily digressed to the mind-set of a third-grader and produced a card for Jody from me. It said the following:
“Happy Valen-Kind’s Day, Jody. I just wanted to let you know you’re not so bad and I don’t think you stink.”
I signed it and placed it on her desk on February 14th, as the teacher had requested. Unfortunately, my friends arrived before Jody did, found the card on her desk, read it and started to make fun of me incessantly.
When Jody arrived and she read the card, she came toward me to give me a hug, and being alarmed, I pulled back (I assume with a bit of revulsion). She was offended, but it didn’t keep her from following me around for the next week-and-a-half with gooey eyes, thinking that I had the hots for her.
(Even though I was just trying to be kind, I think I overdid it a little bit. I don’t know.)
Eventually, I had to sit her down and tell her that what I was trying to do was let her know that she was okay and just one of us–not that I was looking for a girlfriend.
She was a little disappointed, but I think, relieved.
By the way, the three main bozos who made fun of her ended up, after graduation, spending most of the time under the carriage of cars–changing mufflers.
It’s interesting how things work. Rarely are we able to maintain the status that we felt we possessed when we were in our teens.
Because there’s one thing for certain: Jody could clean up, take a bath and become a new person.
But unkindness sticks to you like mud.
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A voice writing in the wilderness
Jonathots Daily Blog 
