Jonathots Daily Blog
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Things That Don’t Seem Quite as Interesting Since the Arrival of the Pandemic
1. Virtual anything
2. A vacation from work
3. Halloween masks
4. Spending time with the fam
5. Home schooling
Cracked 5 … June 27th, 2020
Jonathots Daily Blog
(4453)
Ideas Being Considered to Replace Football This Fall
1. Start a war, wear jerseys, keep score (televised)
2. Duck shooting from Clint Eastwood’s back porch (jerseys, scoring and televised)
3. Reruns of last year’s games—but dramatically change the endings
4. Watch the local feed for your church service and bet on sinners (jerseys and scoring)
5. Wife Swapping U.S.A. (no jerseys, televised and scoring)
Sit Down Comedy … June 5th, 2020
Jonathots Daily Blog
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Mary of Moncrief, Michigan.
A triple threat in alliteration.
She is forty-six years old, the mother of three children who range in age from twenty-one down to a precocious ten.
She is the assistant manager at the local Nordstroms, where she has been employed for twenty years, ascending in the ranks, and well-respected.
The date is November 8th, 2016.
Mary was awake early that morning. She had lost her battle with insomnia hours earlier, trying to remain still as a mouse, hoping that sleep would be merciful to her fatigue. Giving up, she rose, made coffee and cinnamon toast—one of her favorites—and prepared for the day in the quiet of a very chilly pre-dawn kitchen.
She had one thought on her mind: should she go vote before work, or wait until afterwards and possibly face long lines?
Actually, that wasn’t the primary question. What had been haunting her mind for weeks was whether she could cast a vote in good conscience either way.
Politically, Mary was a moderate.
At least, moderate for Michigan.
She had voted for her share of Democrats and a similar array of Republicans. She felt she was informed and believed herself to be open-minded to opportunities offered by both parties. But the past few months had left her in a whirl, dizzy from disjointed facts and accusations.
Donald Trump seemed unqualified to be President, but his journey as a mature man of business seemed respectable.
Hillary Clinton, on the other hand, seemed more prepared for the position, but less sure-footed in the midst of entanglements.
But still, that wasn’t the real problem.
Deep in her heart, Mary of Moncrief, Michigan, felt that everything was just moving too fast.
She wasn’t against progress–she was upset about the speed being used to achieve it.
So many issues.
Abortion, for instance.
Mary believed a woman should have the right to choose the conclusions of her life, but she was uncomfortable about how the subject of abortion—the termination of a fetus—had become so cavalier. She especially hated the phrase, “abortion on demand.”
Wasn’t a little more humility in order?
Mary also knew she didn’t hate gay people. She was one of the first ones in her local church to rally behind the idea of civil unions.
But lickety-split, she was expected to not only honor gay marriage, but to be supportive of it whenever it was brought up, so she wouldn’t come across as a homophobe.
It felt unfair.
After all, the world of psychology and psychiatry had, for decades if not centuries, contended that homosexuality was aberrant behavior which required treatment.
Now, since that diagnosis had been recently abandoned, they expected Mary and all the American people to quickly shed several generation’s worth of comprehension and join the parade.
It was fast.
Mary wanted equal pay for women in the workplace, but when she rallied with those struggling to achieve this worthy goal, she found herself in the midst of some who decried motherhood and made fun of the simpler values Mary held dear.
Mary was especially troubled by the spiritual indifference, which seemed to reject any soul who believed in God, deeming such a person irrational or uneducated.
Everything was so quick.
Marijuana becoming legal. If marijuana was so safe, why did the people who smoked it always portray it in their movies as a brain-staller—and a pathway leading to no motivation?
And then—the candidates themselves.
Mary of Moncrief, Michigan, was very worried about a man who mocked women, weaker folks and other nationalities with a sneer. But on the other hand, how could she support a woman like Hillary Clinton, who defended her husband’s mistreatment of a twenty-one-year-old intern in the White House, and even to this day, joined into the attacks against poor Monica?
As Mary sipped her coffee in the kitchen, she heard rumblings from the bedrooms above.
Soon her family would join her. Her thoughts would be blended with their desires.
Realizing how important her decision was, she scurried around, deciding to leave for work, going to the polls early to beat the rush.
She called out her good-byes and best wishes for the day, jogged to her car, got in and drove off.
She was nearly to the polling station when she veered off at a graveyard. She sat, staring at the frosty granite stones. Still they were—and at peace.
In a moment of deep reflection, she asked herself what all these people who had once lived would want her to do.
Who would they want her to vote for?
Mary just wished that one of those who wanted to be President of the United States would acknowledge that affairs, nations, wars and social revisions were happening at such a rapid pace that we all needed a deep breath—just to appreciate where we are, who we are and what we’re about to undertake.
Was there an order in it?
Did civil rights come before women’s rights or abortion rights?
It all seemed to be happening at the same time.
Was she supposed to feel some beckoning or even a requirement to vote for a woman since she was a woman herself? Maybe she would have felt differently if Hillary had even visited Michigan—instead of assuming that the unions and the black vote “had it in the bag.”
The Democrats took too much for granted, and the Republicans granted so very little.
Time was passing.
She had a tiny window—about twenty minutes—to go vote and still get to Nordstroms for her shift.
But after weeks—perhaps months—of deliberation, she was no further along.
So she made a very quick decision in her troubled mind.
That night, as Mary of Moncrief, Michigan, watched the election returns, she was so troubled that she felt a chill go down her spine.
Donald Trump was winning. Would he rise to the occasion and be a great President?
Should Hillary have been the one?
Even though the campaign had drug on for more than a year-and-a-half, now it all seemed to be too quick. Too speedy.
Mary was not a bigot.
Mary was not conservative.
Mary was certainly not liberal either—not by present standards.
Mary didn’t hate anyone.
But Mary also didn’t favor people just because they were of a certain color or even just because they were victimized.
As the night wore on, it gradually became more obvious and then official.
Donald J. Trump would be the President of the United States.
Mary didn’t know what to feel.
Maybe she was a little relieved that there wouldn’t be any more Clintons in Washington, but also a bit frightened that a real estate developer would be leading the greatest nation on Earth.
But most of all, she was in turmoil about herself.
For she had gone to work—and didn’t vote.
Cracked 5 … May 2nd, 2020
Jonathots Daily Blog
(4398)
The Best “Last Words” You Can Say Before You Die
A. “The treasure map is in the…”
B. “You have always had really bad breath. All of you.”
C. “I am coming back as a tarantula. Check your shoes and toilet seat…”
D. “I want to say something personal. You bored the hell out of me.”
E. “Finally. No diet plan.”
Cracked 5 … April 18th, 2020
Jonathots Daily Blog
(4384)
Items You May Need to Go Out and Deal with Bull
A. Crap detector
B. Red cape and a clown
C. A bully
D. A bulldozer
E. Seductive pictures of cows – utter porn
Cracked 5 … April 11th, 2020
Jonathots Daily Blog
(4377)
Some Ways to Know that You Are Overweight
A. Your stomach arrives in the room before you do
B. You must hold your breath when you tie your shoes
C. Loving elastic-waist pants
D. Having three favorite types of meatballs
E. When anyone says, “You still look great.”
Sit Down Comedy … April 10th, 2020
Jonathots Daily Blog
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My doubt has a gooey center and my faith is a bit crusty.
There are times I feel more like a sympathizer than a believer.
All the Bible-reading and ministerial chats still leave a festering in my curious soul.
For you see, I have been all alone in the wilderness or driving a car late at night when an inspirational silliness caused me to speak to the quiet stillness, “God, are you there? Do you have a word for me?”
It happened again this morning.
My friends left to get groceries and I was all alone in the house. The street was quiet and there were no whistles and buzzes coming from my Internet connection.
A chill went down my spine. I felt so close to something.
So I spoke again. “God, are you there?”
There was no answer—just as there wasn’t in the forest primeval or my motor vehicle.
Immediately, I felt foolish and cheated. Both emotions vied for the authority over my heart.
Suddenly there was this tiny notion that became an idea and evolved into a full-fledged sensation.
“Does my faith have to come from God?”
Are you telling me that if there were no God, we couldn’t figure out, “Love your neighbor?” After all, it lessens the murder rate.
Do we require tablets of stone? What is the purpose of that high mountain?
Could I discover the truth of this planet, and eventually the universe, without a Sunday School teacher? Or is it necessary for me to suffer rebuke, endure reading boring holy passages or shiver at the threat of eternal damnation?
Or is it just obvious that you should leave your neighbor’s wife alone?
Do we really need a commandment to inform us not to kill, to be generous or help the helpless?
Is it really profitable to be scared witless in an attempt to understand the mind of God?
Doesn’t “created in His image” come with an accompanying conscience?
Here is the entire essence of belief:
You can’t do your own thing if your thing messes up someone else’s thing.
Killing sucks.
Selfish leaves you alone.
Oh, and by the way, the Creator loves you enough not to speak. Because if He spoke to one, every human would want a private audience. Then we would start counting words. How many did he speak to Edith? More than Harry? Was his tone sweeter with Joe than with Donald?
Great people don’t need to talk. Great people do.
And if you’re talking about the greatest Being in the universe, speaking could be an immense disadvantage.
***
A friend of mine sat in a garden, pleading for his life. The answer came when the authorities arrived, arrested him, put him on trial and executed him.
How lonely he must have felt during his death.
How forsaken.
He was buried because he was confirmed dead.
But thirty-six hours later, he rose from that body and stepped out of his own grave.
It was an uncomfortable delay, but still … impressive.
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