Cracked 5 … May 2nd, 2017

 Jonathots Daily Blog

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The Real Reasons That President Donald Trump Did Not Attend the White House Correspondents Dinner

 

A. The cooks were from Mexico and the food tasters were Muslim.

 

B. Heard they were serving humble pie.

 

C. Correspondents?? No one corresponded with him!

 

D. Lost his invitation–kept it in the same box with t-shirt reading, “I support the media”

 

E. The duck is always better than the goose

 

Hone to Own … December 7, 2013

Jonathots Daily Blog

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1. “I did my best.”
2. “It must not have been in God’s plan.”
3. “It wasn’t fair.”

You have just read the three excuses that keep mankind pursuing a mediocrity that teeters us precariously between animal and God.

These excuses are so universally accepted as “facts of life” that to question them is to be declared either cantankerous or un-American. Yet, may I address them?

First of all, I don’t know what my best is.

It is both arrogant and surrendering to make the statement. Arrogant because I am presenting that my best should be good enough, and surrendering because I portray that life should not be about the pursuit of improvement.

I have the responsibility to hone my talent. “Hone” is an unusal word. We don’t hear it much because it requires the combination of critique and passion. Actually, if I follow the Good Book, I am told to multiply my talent–which in reality, is the only way to hone it. If I am not looking for subtle ways to create differences and increase my potentials, I will gradually slide back into mediocrity.

I critique myself, and then pursue with passion additional avenues with great joy due to the possibility of getting better.

Secondly, God’s plan, put bluntly, is to give people the freewill choice to not perish.

As a matter of fact, it says that: “It is not God’s will that any should perish.” Then it adds this caveat: even though it is not His will that any should perish, He wants us to pursue repentance.

Repentance is changing your life in the direction of success.

If you actually believe that God planned for you to suffer, you might want to start checking out those Greek gods from Mt. Olympus.

And finally, “it wasn’t fair” is comical because life was never meant to be fair–but rather, balanced.

And the balance in life is found by combining events with my reaction.

In other words, if a blessing comes my way and I gloat, I set myself up for future failure by ignoring the need for reflection. If a trial comes my way and I become depressed, I am a duck sitting in the middle of a pond in front of twenty-five hunters.

It is my job to hone my abilities in order to own the privilege of determining my destiny.

Don’t cripple yourself with self-confidence. Also, don’t limit your prospects with self-pity.

• You haven’t found your best yet.
• God’s plan is for you to succeed and not perish by adding the miraculous ingredient of change.
• And searching for fairness is futile when the only balance in life is giving a great reaction to whatever comes our way.

In conclusion:

Answer the question

Question the answer.

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Sometimes… March 6, 2013

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Sometimes it doesn’t matter.

Sometimes a little piece of insignificance can float through the air and blow away into the distance.

Sometimes a duck can quack and the pond remains serene.

Sometimes a hip-hop rock star, can appear on a late-night talk show and giggle about smoking the “herb” and a young human listening, who is confused about choices, will not end up crushed by the burden of drug abuse.

Sometimes a climate of “prayer and scare religion” can preach its message of doom, with the glory of heaven to follow, and no one gets hurt, no one is lost and no one is perplexed to the point of agnosticism.

Sometimes careless conversations of overwrought self-esteem can be voiced in our culture without human beings feeling entitled to gifts and opportunities beyond their scope.

Sometimes the gridlock of Washington, D.C. is just fodder for the 24-hour news cycle and doesn’t affect the single mother or father desperately trying to put food on the table for their young’uns.

Sometimes a mother can drink her glass of wine or a father his mug of beer and the children of the household will grow up without any dependence on alcohol.

Sometimes a religious system that preaches more of heaven than God’s will being done on earth can hide behind its ritual without feeling the responsibility for the vacancy left in the hearts of those who have heard the empty message.

Sometimes young girls can go to movies and see women exploited, raped, beaten, cursed and marginalized and still grow up to be dynamic forces of nature.

Sometimes a young woman who is addicted, frustrated, lonely and drained of hope turns out to be just fine and survives her turmoil and presses on.

Sometimes fairy tales come true. At least that’s what we’re told.

But not today.

Today a young child of God has died because of too much and too little:

• Too much religion and too little reality.
• Too much laughter about drugs and too little knowledge of what they can do to the paper-thin persona of a human being.
• Too much hypocrisy and too little truthful repentance.
• Too much of a notion that women are sex objects and too little value of their worth as humans.
• Too much of everything that deceives and too little of the nuggets of truth that enlighten.

She’s dead.

I knew her as a small child and helped out her family the best I could from my wallet. But not from my time. For you see, sometimes it’s all right to free ourselves from any responsibility or guilt, but most of the time, it’s just a cop-out.

So sometimes it’s important that we rededicate ourselves to the notion that there is nothing wrong with beleiving we should do more, even if sometimes it points out the fact that in this particular case, we didn’t do enough.

Sometimes we need more than just what is available.

She did. She deserved more.

So to a religion and culture that loves to expound on all sorts of irrelevant information, let me tell you that there are casualties to your casual approach.

She died today. She died of too much and too little.

By the grace of God, may she be the last.

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Painted Pigs … September 20, 2012

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One of the more intriguing chores while traveling on the road is arriving in a new community, establishing a headquarters and locating a grocer who doesn’t charge too much for basic grits and gravy. We used to eat out a lot at restaurants, but that is not only expensive, but much too high in calories and filled with so many unknowns that one feels like a culinary explorer. So we find it much more healthy and wise to eat off of plates instead of styrofoam.

In this pursuit in Marion, Indiana, I was cruising along in my van and was startled to look on one of the corners and see a pig. Now viewing myself as an individual with an open mind, I was willing to accept that in a small farming town, a pig might be allowed to wander at will. But upon careful inspection, I saw that this particular pig was purple, with stripes, and had flowers on his backside. Even though I’m not a farm boy and not very acquainted with the fashion statements of the herd, I was still pretty sure that this was unusual. With a more intense second glance, I realized that this was not a living pig, but rather, a ceramic or tin one, sitting on a street corner, decorated–painted, if you will.

It looked very authentic–so realistic that I was a bit creeped out by the whole experience; because as I turned to the right, there was another one–this particular one, plaid. Straight ahead of me was yet another, adorned in some sort of bonnet.

They were everywhere.

Even though I have lived for many decades on this planet, I suddenly realized that … I don’t like pigs. I don’t know what the source of this disdain for the creature may be. Maybe it’s because I read Animal Farm. Or was it that CSI episode, where they explained that if you threw a dead human  body into a pig pen, that within twenty-four-hours the pigs would eat everything, including the bones. (You have to admit, that’s creepy.)

I kind of think it goes back to the fact that when I was a small child, Porky Pig freaked me out. He was dumb. Or maybe not. But he stuttered. And he was always–pardon the expression–the butt of every joke.

And of course, the Bible doesn’t do anything to help the image of your basic porker. Jesus says not to “cast pearls before swine.” And we also have a gruesome image of hogs running down a hill, possessed by demons, leaping off a cliff and drowning in the water below.

So as I drove through town, I realized that what they were attempting to accomplish was a cute, quaint tipping-of-the-straw-hat to the rural culture that had formed the backbone of their community. And I do have to admit that painted cows on the corners of the street would not have been any more relaxing to this tourist. But there are swans. Ducks. Sheep might even have been better. But pigs … are best “baconed,” ribbed, barbecued, and chopped. And even then, they ultimately get their revenge by hanging around to clog up our arteries and terminate our lives.

I have since been back to the Marion community three times, and have not yet gotten used to the painted pigs. I still fail to remember that they are there and that they’re not really alive, and one time even reflexively slammed on my brakes, thinking that one of them was about to run out in front of me. So if the goal of Marion, Indiana is to present something intriguing or memorable for those individuals passing through their village, they really missed the mark with me. Pigs on the corner of the street do not bring out notions of warmth–fireplaces and farm houses with grain silos filled with provision and goodness. No. Pigs are … piggy.

So in my opinion, it would be better to select some other way to bring coloration to your community. Because honestly, if you’re not supposed to cast your pearls before swine, it probably would be true that putting pearls on swine isn’t any more effective.

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