Catchy (Sitting 58) Sand Building…. July 22nd, 2018

Jonathots Daily Blog

(3741)

Shifting.

A gradual erosion of confidence among the populace about the once-favored “Jesus movement.”

It was difficult to know where it started. Perhaps this loss of faith was just a trait of the human race–just no longer able to tolerate goodness.

Although folks insist they are in pursuit of “peace on Earth, goodwill toward men,” they still continue to huddle around the television set to hear of wars and brood over body counts.

A movie–a parody–was released by Hollywood, entitled “Dullsbury.” It was supposed to be a gentle poking of fun at the Soulsbury experience. The premise was that the government and the elite of New York decided to isolate all of the “stupid people” and place them in a huge camp in Upper State, telling them they had won the lottery. For some reason, it didn’t occur to the “winners” why the settlement was called “Dullsbury” and had streets named “Retard Lane” and “Brain-Dead Boulevard.” Yet attempting to maintain some sort of evenness, the Hollywood ending to the motion picture was that many of the people who deemed themselves to be intelligent packed up their belongings to go live in the simplicity of Dullsbury.

But the message was clear: good is cool, but bad is hot–and the majority of the American people like their burritos caliente.

Things were further complicated when Michael Hinston was indicted on suspicion of breaking campaign finance laws and taking a bribe.

Jasper also ran into problems on his comedy tour. In trying to explain the evils of racism, he used nasty words like “nigger, chink and wetback,” causing an uprising leading to cancellations. Liberals everywhere denounced his offensive terminology.

Not to be outdone, Jubal was recorded at a rally in Egypt saying that “it was up to the Israelis to come to the peace table in good faith, and compromise.”

He was immediately dubbed anti-Semitic. He refused to retract his statement, and so became the subject of great debate on talk shows.

It wasn’t an uprising–it was a deterioration.

Like so many things that happen in life, it simply took the steam out of a heated movement and turned it lukewarm.

The two surviving graces were Jo-Jay and Carlin. Both stayed faithful to the cause. Jo-Jay kept marching in the same direction with her boots on the right feet. And Carlin continued to counter the cynicism and scandal with humor and humility.

But pretty much single-handedly, he took on the brunt of communicating the mission with little reinforcement coming from anywhere–especially Las Vegas.

Matthew completely checked out–whatever interest or intrigue he once had for the project was gone.

He pursued a love affair with an oboist. He studied her. He played her. He leaned his feelings in her direction.

Day and night he thought of new ways to pleasure her in the bedroom, and when he wasn’t thinking of sexual techniques, he was remembering the ecstasy he felt when he was in her arms.

He was smitten.

He was old enough and smart enough to know it wasn’t love. He certainly could have called it by that name, but he knew it was actually an advanced dose of infatuation, mingled with personal affection.

But it was all about the sex.

Over the past year, Matthew had indulged in so much intercourse that he had forgotten what it was like to be sexually entwined–what it meant when someone kissed you deeply without fulfilling a checklist, racing toward orgasm.

The relationship between Matthew and Leonora would have been perfect if they never had to leave the bedroom. But even though the joy between the sheets was exhilarating, both of them struggled during their conversational times to make it seem purposeful, or perhaps, meaningful.

Interaction was awkward–especially since Jasper and Soos had dropped in, and it was obvious that Leonora possessed a hostile profile toward all things divine.

Matthew was not so inclined. He didn’t hate God–he just wished that God would move to the other side of town, and not frequent the neighborhood shops. He didn’t want a world without God, but he wanted no God in his world.

Unfortunately, he felt compelled to follow the energy of Leonora’s atheism. To compromise, he stopped taking all phone calls from his cohorts on the front lines of the Jesus campaign. It was his way of tipping his hat to Leonora’s aggression, without shaking his fist at the sky.

Carlin, realizing he needed to have contact with Matthew, flew into Las Vegas. But even though they found themselves in the same building, Matthew was careful to avoid placing them in the same room.

There was no meeting. There was no agreement.

Carlin felt that the weight of the calling shifted to his shoulders, and he was ill-prepared to play the part of “Chief.”

In despair, frustrated and angry, Carlin headed back to the airport to return to Washington, D. C., to meet up with Jo-Jay and try to find a way to still “go into all the world” and share the Gospel.

As Carlin stood in the security line at the airport, two gentlemen in black suits, white shirts and black ties approached him on his right and left sides.

Lefty whispered in his ear, “Would you please come with us?”

Carlin looked to his right and then back to his left and realized he was wedged between two mountains of male humanity. He thought it best not to make a scene. He was led down the thoroughfare, through a door. A private jet stood ready.

Safely out of the airport, Carlin began to struggle with his captors. They were too strong. He shouted, but the roar of the jet engines covered his screams. In no time at all, the two hooligans physically lifted Carlin and carried him up the air steps and into the Learjet.

They dumped him into a large, comfortable seat.

Carlin quipped, “I sure hope this flight has a meal. So far the service sucks.”

 

Donate Button

The producers of Jonathots would humbly request a yearly subscription donation for this inspirational opportunity

Catchy (Sitting 18) Where in the Hell Is Exactly Where … October 22nd, 2017

Jonathots Daily Blog

(3468)

After an exhausting three-day search through the streets of Las Vegas, Prophet Morgan finally ran across Jimmy the Runt (that’s what folks called him), who tried to explain in an animated and often-squeaky voice what had happened to Jubal Carlos.

Matthew had contacted Prophet and asked him to go to Vegas, locate Jubal and keep him in a safe place until Matthew could join them and make the proposal to Mr. Carlos about what certainly might be the bravest and most bizarre promotion in the history of mankind.

It was not an elaborate ruse, but rather, a performance art piece, presenting Jubal Carlos as Jesus–in character, personality, mannerisms and speech. That was the idea.

So Prophet Morgan was sent to locate Jubal, only to discover that he was nowhere to be found. After Jimmy the Runt nervously offered his rendition of the events that had brought about the disappearance, which only left Prophet Morgan with more questions than answers, the Prophet decided to go a little deeper into the honeycomb of the homeless community.

There he met an old Indian chief named Plato. The street folks called him Plato because they thought he possessed great wisdom (and because he insisted that was his name). Plato was just the opposite of Jimmy the Runt. He was slow of speech, overly thoughtful, and unwilling to change his pace for anyone, especially Prophet Morgan, who apparently resembled some of the early settlers who had stolen his people’s land. After three-and-a-half hours of interrogation, Chief Plato finally came out with it.

“They have arrested young Jubal and taken him to jail.”

Prophet Morgan squinted. It seemed completely unlikely. Jubal was well known up and down the Strip, and unless he had gunned down a showgirl outside the Golden Nugget, he probably was not going to find himself in trouble with the law.

But just to make sure, Prophet Morgan headed down to the Clark County Jail, and was able to confirm that there was a Jubal Carlos being held prisoner. He not only was in jail, but had already been tried, convicted and sentenced to spend thirty days there, courtesy of the county.

It was all too odd–and when Prophet Morgan demanded to see Jubal, he was told that unless he was an attorney or had clearance from the federal government, there would be no possibility of making contact.

“What was he convicted of?” demanded Prophet.

A policeman in his late forties, who had obviously forgotten how to smile two decades ago, looked down at the arrest orders and said, “Not that it’s any of your business, but Mr. Carlos was arrested for second degree disturbing of the peace.”

Morgan frowned. “What is second degree disturbing of the peace?”

The cop, without missing a beat, replied, “It’s one degree more serious than first degree disturbing of the peace.”

Prophet Morgan smiled, hoping it was a joke, as the cop stared at him without moving a whisker on his 1973 mustache.

Prophet Morgan left the Clark County Jail and called Matthew, giving him the status. Matthew swore in four languages, three of which he did not know. He hung up the phone and he took the first plane to Las Vegas. Arriving in town, he immediately took a taxi to the Clark County Jail, where he, too, had the pleasure of meeting the Mustachioed Quiet Man, clad in Baker’s Brown.

As Matthew was trying to convince the constable of his need to meet with Jubal Carlos, he glanced down at the file on the desk and noticed that written across it in large letters was the word, “PRIORITY.”

Pointing at the file, he asked, “Is that Jubal Carlos’s file?”

The cop fired back, “It’s none of your damn business, but yes.”

Matthew giggled because even though it wasn’t his business, he still got a reply. He continued, “Why is ‘priority’ written on the file? And while you’re at it, answer another question. What is second degree disturbing of the peace?”

The policeman opened a book, thumbed a few pages and came to Statute 469-374-8. He read from Paragraph Three: “Any individual who engages in any activity which causes the disruption of the common good shall be arrested and pay a fine of $264 and spend thirty days in jail.”

Matthew shook his head. “That’s the weirdest damn thing I’ve ever heard in my life.”

The cop half whispered, “It’s from 1954. Vegas was weird back then. There were a lot of gangsters running around town, carousing and shootin’ their guns off at night. The good folks of the community wanted to make sure they had some law to protect them from the hooligans.”

“Hooligans,” repeated Matthew. “Have you met Jubal Carlos?”

“I have not had the pleasure.” At this point, the cop turned on his heel and walked away. Matthew thought he was going to retrieve another document, so he waited for a few minutes, but the stoic law enforcement officer never returned.

Matthew wasn’t sure what to do. He didn’t have enough legal training to know whether a writ of Habeas Corpus could be rendered, since Jubal was already convicted.

So figuring that Mr. Carlos could be no more than three or four rooms away, he ran through the police station screaming at the top of his lungs, “Jubal! Jubal!”

Actually he was fairly astounded at how long he was able to continue the rampage before he was tackled and thrown to the ground by two burly cops.

Still, they would not throw him into the common clink, where he could be united with Jubal. Desperate and not willing to wait, he shoved one of the policemen, who fell over a trash can, landed against a computer, which knocked over a desk and spilled over to a nearby secretary, who was innocently watching but suddenly found herself tipped over in her chair, unceremoniously landing on the floor. She squealed like a family of mice.

The original cop, who had been watching the strange scene from a distance, ambled over to Matthew and said, “You are under arrest.”

Matthew took a deep breath and replied, “It’s about goddamn time.”

Donate ButtonThe producers of jonathots would humbly request a yearly subscription donation of $10 for this wonderful, inspirational opportunity

G-Poppers … January 13th, 2017

 Jonathots Daily Blog

(3186)

Jon close up

During the bar fight which was advertised to be a Presidential election, G-Pop became very concerned that intangibles necessary to the human family were being ignored, if not attacked.

The funny thing about intangibles is, they should become tangible. In other words, they must gain some reality or we start to fade in the heat of the day. The three most famous are faith, hope and love.

So G-Pop contacted his children and grand-children and asked them to give him definitions of the three words.

The twelve-year-old went right to the dictionary and came up with very astute, well-rounded wordings.

Faith: believing in something not seen.

Hope: pursuing a dream.

Love: a committed affection.

The teenager and budding young woman had very clever answers.

Faith: trusting the map when it’s foggy

Hope: car won’t start–try again

Love: sharing the last of your favorite food.

And that delightful daughter-in-law wrote to G-Pop, telling him that she would suggest:

Faith: believing without proof

Hope: hanging in there

Love: placing someone above your own needs.

And at the last moment a son popped in, sharing:

Faith: believing what you cannot see

Hope: believing in what can be

Love: believing in the capacity of another.

Such great insights. G-Pop sat back for a moment, encouraged. After all, it is a grave injustice to allow faith, hope and love to sit on the shelf in the bookstore of life, waiting to be read.

They are active. For instance:

Faith is churning.

It is the sensation that we’re going to bust if we don’t get an opportunity to take what we think and treasure, and put it into practice.

Hope is a yearning.

It is catching a glimpse of something magnificent and rather than placing it in a book of memories, trying to transfer it onto every “things to do today list.”

And love is a burning.

It is fire deep in our souls which warms us with the notion that the more we treat others with respect and understanding, the greater the chance for us to receive the same.

The family members who responded to G-Pop were basically in the age group which is loosely referred to as “millennials.”

But they get it.

They comprehend how to translate selfish motivations to higher intangibles of universal mercy and acceptance.

The bar fight ended like all bar fights–each thug claiming victory in some way.

Now it is up to those who broke up the fight and separated the hooligans … to bring us back to an understanding of the churning of faith, the yearning of hope and the burning of love.

Donate ButtonThe producers of jonathots would humbly request a yearly subscription donation of $10 for this wonderful, inspirational opportunity

<span>%d</span> bloggers like this: