Sit Down Comedy …February 22nd, 2019

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For the sake of our “Sit Down Comedy” today, I shall refer to this as my Mull-it-Over Report. It is the ongoing investigation done on my life by the people around me, who constantly draw conclusions about my veracity and authenticity.

There is also a Mull-it-Over Report on you. You may not be aware of it yet it persists.

For even though human beings are not supposed to judge, it truthfully ends up being one of our favorite pastimes. We love to consider, reveal and scrutinize the lives of other folks, secretly convincing ourselves that we are in much better shape than them.

This is not limited to strangers you meet, but actually more prevalent among those you consider to be friends and family. Matter of fact, some people discover this Mull-it-Over Report being prepared by friends and loved ones and become so offended that they begin grudges which may last decades, or even until such time as death does its part.

It would be ridiculous for me to turn to humanity and say, “Listen, I know you’re doing a Mull-it-Over Report on me, but I want you to give me the results of that investigation and let me boil it down to a summary before you pass it along to the masses.”

Even if I told everyone I had an attorney-in-general who was going to be my reviewer of the final conclusions, I would never be allowed to tamper with what other people have decided to testify about me or against me.

I have two options:

A. Make it a moot point by living a solid, honest life.

B. Or make it a moot point by letting everybody know I don’t give a damn.

I do not have the possibility of controlling the thinking, reactions or determinations of those around me who have decided, for whatever reason, to investigate my doings and come up with the Mull-it-Over Report.

It would be similar to having children in school and waiting for their six- or eight-week report card, and then discovering that the school had allowed the students to take the tally of their grades and rewrite it into a summary which they would present to their parents. Although it would be popular with the young ones, the school system would be errant in allowing it, and the parents, daft in permitting it.

No, even though I may be nervous by the notion of a Mull-it-Over Report on my life, it is ongoing, irreversible and definitely without edit.

What is even more frightening is that the story goes that God, Himself, is keeping such a record on each and every one of us. (I don’t know about you, but I just got a chill down my spine.)

Since I can do nothing to avoid the Mull-it-Over Report being completed and passed along about me, it may be a bit ridiculous to think that anyone who is a public servant of the United States, entrusted with the care of the Constitution, should have the right to appoint an individual who is commissioned to write the Cliff Notes on a government report about him and his associates.

Here’s what we know. If you are working with several people who were in your business who are indicted, convicted and sent to jail, there are only two possibilities:

1. These people are working at your behest, with your blessing and your orders, since you are their honcho.

2. Or, you have a benevolent spirit which causes you to look on your business as a ministry to help those who are criminally minded—to rehabilitate.

 

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Iz and Pal (Bedouin Buddies)


Iz and Pal

Jonathots Daily Blog

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Sitting Two

Weeks passed.

A friendship was forged.

Dreams were discussed.

Such sweet relationship—made possible when both souls are not afraid to share their hearts.

Somewhere along the way, Jubal and Amir forgot that they were supposed to be enemies. Unfortunately, this caused them to be careless and brought the scrutiny of overly concerned friends and anxious parents.

It was bizarre.

No one was exactly willing to forbid the relationship, nor was anyone ready to verbalize his or her own bigotry. It was assessed, and therefore assumed, that the friendship between the two lads was impractical and taking up too much time.

“Are you saying I cannot see Amir?” Jubal demanded.

“I am saying that Amir’s family, like ours, probably has many duties for their own son that cannot be shirked for playtime,” Jubal’s father stated.

“Did you answer my question?” Jubal stood defiantly.

“I would like you to stop seeing the little Palestinian boy. It is too dangerous,” he replied frankly.

“Dangerous?” asked Jubal.

Jubal’s father rose, striking a threatening pose. “I do not have time to explain to my son the ways of the world, which he should already understand by now.”

“Well, I don’t understand,” said Jubal, hand on his hip, stomping his foot.

What should have been the beginning of a good discussion was ended abruptly, the patriarch leaving Jubal to mope.

But this time, the boy didn’t. Instead, he reasoned. A plan was devised. Perhaps not really a plan—more a notion. One of those fledgling ideas absent a body of detail.

It was simple in its way. In the minds of young Amir and Jubal, it was more important to be together, having fun, than it was to accept what was considered to be “the reasonable way.”

Or was it just one threat too many?

At any rate, each fellow gathered his provisions and scouted out a location.

“It must be far from the village on a small rise, so visitors can be viewed in the distance,” said Amir.

“And be shaded by some trees,” Jubal contributed.

For Jubal and Amir were planning on running away. They had their reasons. What they needed was a place to go. They would not stay away forever—an afternoon, a day, a week—who can tell such things? Yet a statement needed to be made, and in the meantime they could be joined as one.

Jubal brought a small tent, some bread, water, a collection of games and a few pictures. Amir brought food and water, too, along with a partially deflated soccer ball and extra clothing.

Having selected their location and planned their escape, one morning two households awoke, each absent a son. Amir and Jubal were together—at least for now.

And when you’re twelve, now is all that matters.

 

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G-Poppers … June 29th, 2018

When G-Pop was growing up, the mayor of his small town had a young daughter named Jeannie.

Jeannie was smart.

Nobody liked Jeannie. The reason the students did not like Jeannie was that their parents did not like the mayor. So over supper conversation, it was made clear to the children that Jeannie was a problem.

Not much could be done by us young’uns during school session, but at recess, everyone got together and ridiculed, attacked, criticized and ostracized Jeannie. Matter of fact, one day it got so bad that our whole class had her cornered, trying to push her off the playground.

We didn’t plan on hurting her. We just wanted to make it clear that because of her father and the politics that made our parents angry, we were going to get her out of there. Three teachers came running up, and when they understood what was being attempted, the whole class was punished and we were not allowed to have recess for two weeks.

Jeannie was permitted to go home and be comforted by her parents. They were so shocked they put her in a private school and we never saw her again.

This came to G-Pop’s mind when the Little Red Hen–just as in the old tale–became fussy again. People took a thirty-five-year-old woman who was on “recess,” simply trying to enjoy dinner, and asked her to leave a restaurant simply because they did not agree with her politics, and did not appreciate her being the press secretary for President Donald Trump.

Unfortunately, the end result of this tale, unlike the story of Jeannie, is that Sarah Sanders was punished, and the “students” were made to believe they were merely exercising their First Amendment rights by getting rid of something unpleasant.

G-Pop has a question: If it’s wrong on the playground, why isn’t it wrong in the restaurant?

If we expect our children to be tolerant enough to share a space of land and get into their games, why is it ridiculous to think that grown people can’t sit at the table and enjoy a meal with someone in the room who doesn’t meet their favor?

Kicking Sarah out was not a symbol of the resistance.

It’s not a stand against tyranny.

It is an attack on a young woman who’s trying to do her job. What G-Pop thinks about her job can be penned in an editorial to the newspaper–not with a snarling contempt, demanding she be removed because her presence is intolerable.

She left.

She did not stand and fight. And when she left, all the liberals got together and decided it was a good thing to remove her from the restaurant. Matter of fact, one black Congresswoman suggested it should be done more.

Because G-Pop loves his country, he is choosing to believe this was a temporary lapse of judgment.

Just as the kids in his small town had no right to push Jeannie off the playground, no one has the authority to ask Sarah to leave the restaurant.

G-Pop will not return to an America where signs are posted everywhere that say: “We reserve the right to refuse service to anyone.”

We all knew what that meant. We all knew who was not going to get served.

Let us not return to such insanity.

 

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G-Poppers … November 24th, 2017

 Jonathots Daily Blog

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The world is not going to get better. It just isn’t.

This is not a negative statement–it’s not walking around in sackcloth and ashes, proclaiming doomsday. The world has, is and will continue to be filled with tribulation–wars, rumors of wars, nation rising against nation and so forth and so on.

There are only two futilities in life:

1. Waiting on the world to change.

2. Giving up on the idea of change.

Even though the world is not going to change, you are. If you don’t, you’ll fall into the same patterns as your parents, except with higher taxes, fewer advantages and more expensive prices on turkey and dressing.

You are supposed to get better. The question immediately comes to mind–how does one do that?

First by realizing that “better” is not an abstract concept. It is not a case of waking up in the morning and trying to improve all of your actions in order to please Mother Nature or Father God. Rather, it is one simple statement:

I am going to become a better bettor.

I am going to learn what to bet on, what to believe in, what to pursue, what is valuable, what is precious, what is current, what is in need of being handled immediately and what can be put off for later.

I am going to instruct myself on how to wager my time and energy. Otherwise I will be tempted to follow the gray cloud of the news cycle from one storm to another. I will discover the most miserable member of my family and think they demand the most attention. I will become a horrible bettor instead of a better bettor.

Valuable point: knowing what to bet on gives you the chance to discover opportunity to change something.

Nothing you change in your life will be more than two feet from your fingertips. Get used to it. Just think what would happen if we got one billion people to understand this.

So what is worthy of a risk? Where can I invest my precious time?

Find things that are true.

This means at least the folks involved are trying not to lie.

This lends itself to backing projects that are honest.

And what does honest entail? Occasionally admitting that you screwed up.

How about some justice?

In other words, if you are allowed to have freedom of speech, so do the many other tongues flapping around you.

Could it be possible to find something pure?

Pure does not mean that it’s free of dirt–it connotes that the people involved are trying to clean it up.

Get ready to bet on things that are lovely and of good report.

Stop being titillated by vile descriptions and sexual masochism.

Do we still believe in virtue?

What is that anyway? It’s realizing there are things that are universal, and that when they’re enacted, miracles happen.

And doggone it, go out and find things that are praise-worthy.

Our entire society is set for subjects that are bitch-worthy. Find something that demands that you stop, shake your head in amazement and speak out, “Isn’t God good?”

You will not change the world. G-Pop wants you to know that it is your duty to become a better bettor.

 

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Cracked 5 … August 1st, 2017


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cracked 5 logo keeper with border

Creepy Things Your Mom and Dad Say When They Walk Up, Trying to Be Cool, and You’re Hanging Out With Your Friends

A. “Had a bowel dissected last week. Went well, though.”

 

B. “They said the clog in the tube was the largest one they’d ever seen–dark and gritty.”

 

C. “Funny thing–the nurse had the same operation last year, but they had to pump her for an hour.”

 

D. “I watched so much television I finally caught an interview with Kim Kardashian. She really does have a big butt. Smart–but a whopper backside.”

 

E. “Listen, kids–eat more fiber. My doctor said it will save you from walkin’ around with a bag hangin’ off your belt.”

 

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Jesonian: Reverend Meningsbee (Part 29) The Crowd of the Press … November 13th, 2016

 Jonathots Daily Blog

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Reverend Meningsbee

On Thursday, shortly before dawn, a crack team of seventeen go-getters–including technicians, make-up artists, investigators, reporters and what they call the “camera darlings” who actually speak on the air–arrived from the USBN, the United States Broadcasting Network.

One of their representatives had come into town two days earlier and spoken to the elders, pastors, school administrators and parents who were chosen to be part of the series proposed about the Garsonville community. Meningsbee was invited, but only stayed long enough at the meeting to lodge his objection, suggesting that a measure of privacy was warranted for the experiences that the town had endured over the past few months.

He was ignored.

The townsfolk could not wait to be inspected by the lenses of the intruding horde from the West Coast. Although Meningsbee refused to be interviewed, Patrick Swanson, who still had his church out at the Holiday Inn Express, was scheduled, as was Sammy Collins, the Bachman family, numerous teenagers from the high school and David’s mother. (She had asked Meningsbee what he thought about the offer to share her story, and even though he discouraged her, she still felt it would be good for some other parent to know the warning signs of a depressed child who was contemplating suicide.)

Patrick Swanson planned on taking full advantage of this publicity, and touted that his congregation was known as Swanson’s Sweethearts.

Sammy Collins got wind of it, and during his interview, shared about their vision of being Collins’ Crusaders.

As the promos began to be aired on the station, the congregation at Meningsbee’s church wondered if it might be a good idea to develop a nickname. Trying to keep from laughing, the Reverend donned a serious expression and replied, “Maybe you folks could be called Mening’s Bee Stingers…”

No one found it humorous. (Often the wit of the pastor escaped the understanding of his faithful.)

Meningsbee stayed out of it, figuring it would only last a few days.  Then a rumor spread through town that the USBN had decided to do a full six weeks worth of broadcasts about burg, based upon the information they had uncovered.

Meningsbee was suspicious.

For you see, there was a time in history when journalism was the reporting of a story, but now, having to fill twenty-four hours of space, journalists were attempting to make things into stories. What were they up to?

A small hint was given when the advertisement for the series was released on air, entitled, “GarSINville … what is happening amidst the corn?”

This obvious slight escaped most of the townspeople.

They were grateful for the attention and hungry to be heard.

They were desperate to feel important.

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