Catchy (Sitting 42) Head Hunter… April 1st, 2018

Jonathots Daily Blog


Moving stealthily across the room, Matthew eased his way into a large, brown, shiny leather chair with golden buttons. Crossing his legs, he wiggled his nose as if dispelling a fly and inquired, “You are an atheist, aren’t you?”

She replied, “I am a psychiatrist and a graduate of the University of…”

He interrupted her. “I know all about your degrees and all your studies. I’m a professional. I check things out. What struck me was that you advertised that your therapy was non-religious.”

She paused. “Yes. That particular line from my promotion is a hold-over from my days of working in Gadsden, Alabama, where they still believe that peters can walk on the water.”

Matthew laughed. “That’s very good. I just wanted to make sure that you’ll be able to listen to me with an objective mind, neither judging me critically because you’re faith-based, or over-evaluating me intellectually from some throne of godless superiority.”

She shifted in her chair and said, “Why don’t we just order in sushi and forget about the whole thing?”

Matthew liked her. Her name was Dr. Sherry Lynn Montgomery. He had carefully sought out her services because Matthew was convinced that another week of being the sole proprietor of his own brain might end him up in a sanitarium.

He needed to talk. He was tired of listening. So many opinions, so much rhetoric, so much danger, so much assurance. He just wanted to say “one, two, three” with the hope that someone would counter with “four, five.”

The doctor jumped in to fill a quiet space. “I grew up in Alabama,” she said. “My father was an evangelist for the Church of God. He was the kind of man who believed everything that came his way was true as long as it could be confirmed that a prophet, savior or apostle said it. He was not a horrible human being, but there were folks he hated. To use his colorful language, he explained to me many times that he despised ‘sinners and niggers’ and not necessarily in that order. He would jokingly tell me that ‘the niggers should be glad he made the distinction.’ I use the language for your ears, not to be flamboyant or cavalier, but to let you know that there was a cave I had to climb out of before I could reach even ground. I am familiar with that process. I have led many other religious spelunkers from their darkness to an understanding of the simplicity of this life.”

Matthew shook his head. “Damn, you talk pretty. I bet you’ve used that speech before.”

Dr. Sherry smiled. “I have. It’s a good speech–mainly because it’s true.”

“All right,” said Matthew. “Let me tell you a little bit about myself.”

This time, Dr. Sherry interrupted. “You are the young man who owns his own advertising agency, and decided to take on the task of making Jesus popular again. I also investigate my possible patients.”

Matthew scrunched up his face. “Well, not exactly. I’m not personally trying to do it. I just could not figure out how in the hell to turn down two hundred and fifty million dollars…”

“So what you’re saying,” continued the doctor, “is that you are not a religious fanatic–just willing to become one for the right price.”

Matthew stood to his feet and clapped his hands. “You got it! You really do know your stuff. Excuse me, Doctor Piety. Would you turn down two hundred and fifty million dollars if they offered it to you, to make Jesus popular again?”

“It seems to me that Jesus’ popularity has already cost the human race much more than two hundred and fifty million dollars,” she said tersely.

“Oh, I see,” said Matthew slowly. “We’re going to be serious.”

Dr. Sherry Lynn Montgomery leaned forward and pointed her finger at him. “Since you’ve taken over this little enterprise, there have been rumors of miracles, healings and even some fellow raised from the dead.”

Matthew inserted, “That one was temporary. He croaked, you know.”

She shook her head. “We don’t need more religion in this world. We need more reasonable people who will take the time to use their common sense and available knowledge to access real solutions.”

“Hell, you got no complaint from me on that one,” responded Matthew. “Except the parts of what you’re looking for don’t seem to be available. Are there such people in the world? Isn’t everybody waiting for the magic lamp they can rub so they can get the three wishes? I have to be honest–there’s a part of me that wants some sort of God, to take all the shit out of my life and leave behind promises. I don’t even care if He breaks the promises. I just can’t believe that my life is limited to what I know or even to what I can learn.”

“Why?” asked the doctor. “You’re not a stupid man.”

Matthew interrupted. “You can call me Matthew.”

“Actually, I won’t call you anything,” she said, “until I can determine if we’re going to have some sort of ongoing conversation.”

Matthew held his hand up to stop her. “What I want to know is, why do Christians always seem so sure about God and atheists always seem so mad?”

“I’m not mad,” said Dr. Montgomery. “I am just not titillated by fairy tales about eternal life, and I refuse to waste the one life I’ve got trying to measure up for the one that does not exist.”

“Are you sure it doesn’t exist?” asked Matthew. “Damn–if someone would just guarantee me that there’s nothing else but here and now, I think I could make it work. And if I couldn’t, at least I would know I was just another miserable son-of-a-bitch, waiting to expire. But I’m not sure. I’m not sure there is a God. I’m not sure there isn’t. Which means I’m not sure I know what the hell I’m doing.”

“I’m sure,” she replied. “Take my word for it. Listen to a young girl who said her prayers every night until she was eighteen years old and was able to sneak out at the end of the revival meeting, escaping into the darkness to start a new life.”

“You mean you ran away?” asked Matthew.

“Yes. And that was twenty-five years ago. And no one tried to follow me. I was told they declared it was God’s will–that my flesh had to be turned over to Satan for purification.”

Matthew just stared at her. “I know you don’t believe in any of this. At least that’s what you say. But I’ve been there for the meetings. I’ve listened to my friend, Jubal, talk about the joy of the Lord. I sat and spoke with a man who was electrocuted and was alive again. I saw my friends from college, with dismal outlooks on life, who now are coming to some kind of awareness. Pink returning to their cheeks and peace to their minds.”

“Fine,” the doctor said curtly. “Why don’t you just join them?”

“That’s easy,” said Matthew. “There’s too many of them. I’ve never been a soul who followed the mob mentality. I wore my leisure suits a full three years longer than the fashion snobs permitted. I still occasionally look in the Farmer’s Almanac for weather information. And I’ve never ordered anything but a pepperoni pizza any time in my life. I like things steady. I like the taste of my own efforts on my tongue. I don’t want a God to take control of my life. But I don’t want a devil to haunt my efforts.”

Dr. Sherry Lynn Montgomery just shook her head. “You’re very confused, Matthew. You neither have the bliss of ignorance nor the refreshment of enlightenment. What is it you think you have?”

“Jack and Coke,” Matthew said quickly. “I have Jack and Coke. It is the cocktail of rock stars. It’s what the Beatles drank, and it is what the next rock and roll band who offends some fearful mother in America will be guzzling down.”

He grinned. “Do you know why the rock bands started drinking Jack and Coke? When rock and roll began, the cities where the bands performed would not allow alcohol backstage. Many of the tours were sponsored by Coca-Cola, so there would be tons and tons of cans of Coke backstage. So the bands found it very simple to smuggle in bottles of Jack Daniels in their road cases, and even when the liquor was added to the cola, at first sight to any innocent producer, it just looked like a soft drink. Isn’t that amazing? It’s another example of humans adapting and evolving to meet the need.”

“Are you an alcoholic?” asked the doctor.

“No, no,” said Matthew. “That would be much too easy. I can go five days without drinking, and then follow it up with three days of doing nothing else. I never feel the need to drink, I usually just feel compelled to waste some time so I don’t have to think about this shit I’m talking to you about today.”

Matthew held up a finger. “Here’s what I know. If God doesn’t leave me the hell alone, He’d better be prepared to pay for my rehab. And I’m not talkin’ about some little state-sponsored place in the woods. I’m talkin’ about Malibu–with lobster for breakfast.”

“So it’s God’s fault?” questioned the doctor.

Matthew stood up and ambled toward the door. He turned the knob, opened it and was about to walk out, but then decided to conclude his speech.

“No, actually, good doc… Now it’s your fault. I occasionally like to include new people in my life so I can have someone fresh to blame.”


Donate Button

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

Cracked 5 … February 7th, 2017

 Jonathots Daily Blog


cracked 5 logo keeper with border

Items for Super Bowl Parties Ignored and Marked Down the Day After at the Wal-Mart Deli

A. Sweet and sour turtle eggs


B. Patriot Stew–fermented Georgia peaches in red-eye gravy with ground falcon


C. Tofu wings with triple-hot purple hummus


D. Seaweed chips and shark-gut dip


E. Ever-graying sushi




Donate Button



PoHymn: A Rustling in the Stagnant … June 3rd, 2015


   Jonathots Daily Blog


PoHymn June 3rd

I Am Sleepy

I am sleepy

I’m not allowed

It is not time

I am grown up

Not a little kid

Why do they hate naps?

They like rollercoasters

That seems kinda normal

But some don’t like hotdogs

Perverted little twerps

I want to sleep

Or maybe a drink

Not alcohol, just water

Then I’ll have to pee

More movement instead of slumber

Maybe I could doze for a moment

But I hate that startled wake-up

Convinced everyone is staring

Why do I feel so lazy?

Well, not lazy–just drowsy

Say “drowsy” slowly

Sounds drowsy, right?

Maybe I have sleeping sickness

Don’t you have to get bit for that?

A tsetse fly

Someone made that up

They are laughing at me somewhere because I used it

There are other words like that



Mountain oysters


Yeah, some guy in Japan knows it means “poop”

The Japanese are laughing at us

Mainly me

At least they are sleeping now

They are in bed

Time zones

I am sleepy

Zoned out

Trying to stay awake

By being clever

But it’s “sleepy clever”

Which just seems silly

When you’re really awake

No one is looking

Just a second

40 winks

Maybe 44

What is that?

Did I just nod off?

I definitely lost 10 minutes

If you find them, call me

But not until later

Right now … I am sleepy.

Donate Button

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




A meeting place for folks who know they’re human

 $3.99 plus $2.00 S&H

$3.99 plus $2.00 S & H

$3.99 plus $2.00 S & H

Buy Now Button


Terrified of Tuna–October 25, 2011


It comes in cans. Honestly, I feel that should be the end of the discussion. Fish does not belong in cans. I suppose if you found one rotting in a puddle of water outside your home, you might want to gingerly pick it up with a pair of tongs and stuff it in an empty pork and bean canister and dispose of it in the nearest trash bin. Other than that, I don’t think fish belong in cans—whether it’s tuna, mackerel, salmon, or of course … sardines.

Now, I know it’s good for you. But there are lots of foods that are good for you that don’t taste like tuna or maintain a metallic flavor in your mouth. (I also don’t like canned vegetables, by the way. It seems to me that canned vegetables are the ones that lost the bet in the garden. The fresh ones won and get to go to the market. The frozen ones get to maintain their shape and color. But the canned ones lost—and end up looking like they have some form of anemia.)

But certainly tuna—being a FISH—should not be in a can.  And the problem is—it tastes so much like tuna! It may be the personification of the term “fishy.” Another thing I don’t like is that when you open up a can of tuna, you suddenly have two cats rubbing up against your leg, purring their lungs out. Here’s the weird thing. You don’t even OWN a cat. And then you look down and the cat looks at you and there’s an unspoken moment when you know what that feline is thinking. “Listen, bud—pretend all you want to, but we know what you got there is cat food. So hand it over.”

What can you do with tuna? There’s tuna and noodles, which requires really good noodles, sauce and cheese.  Tuna comes in a distant fourth.  There’s tuna salad. Now, for a long time I thought I liked tuna salad until I realized that what I really liked was eggs, pickle relish, Miracle Whip and a bit of celery. Yes, I got healed of the notion of eating tuna salad one day when I ate egg salad and realized it was better—because there was no tuna in it!

Most people put mayonnaise in tuna salad, too, which is really aggravating.  I like Miracle Whip.  You know what bothers me about mayonnaise? I think it’s a scam. I think some guy forgot to put two or three ingredients into his Miracle Whip, put it in jars and shipped it before he realized his mistake, so he ran to the store and re-named it and re-labeled it, placing the word “creamy” on the front—and there were people out there who were so frightened of taste that they bought it and enjoyed it. That’s my theory.  I think I’m going to stick with it until someone disproves it.

But back to tuna. Some people like to have it grilled—or seared. I never thought searing was a positive thing to do to anything, and of course, grilling makes everything taste great. This summer I ate grilled peaches! Put some black lines on any particular food with a little bit of charcoal taste, and you have a delicacy.

Tuna is not a delicacy. After all, it’s in cans.  And of course, now they put it in pouches. The pouches kind of freak me out too, because they kind of look like Grandpa Ford’s chewin’baccy containers.  Perhaps there’s a new product there—tunabacca.  With this you get bad taste and mouth cancer at the same time.  Pardon me, that wasn’t really funny.

Fish has a public relations problem anyway, especially since people have started eating sushi.  I’m willing to try new things—and I have eaten sushi. But I’ve broken it down to its individual parts: rice, raw fish, and grass clippings. Let me see—what makes this dish work? Even people who are avid sushi eaters might step away from the table if you removed the rice.  Just the raw fish and grass clippings could be a little nasty.

But the main problem—or the ongoing one—is that fish eaters and tuna consumers are very pious. They think because you don’t like tuna that you are an unhealthy person. I love fruits and vegetables.  I love lean meats.  It’s tuna that bothers me.  Or is it tuna in a can? Or is it tuna posing as a real ingredient in a salad?

I think it’s tuna.  Tuna just annoys me. It can ruin a really good sandwich.  And for those who put mustard in their tuna salad—it’s the only time that mustard wins out in a taste test. 

So for me, I am not going to eat tuna. And I’m not going to deceive other people by saying that “fish is ALWAYS delicious.” Because the people who won’t eat fried fish turn around and insist that their grilled fish be covered with butter or tartar sauce.  Does this food have taste, or are we just trying to disguise it behind things with which we really like to tickle our palate?  I’m not so sure it’s better to eat fish when it’s not fried.  And for those folks who insist that THEY just put lemon on their fish, I have to say, that particular taste is dry and makes me think that somebody put a citrus plant too near the wharf.

No tuna for me, please. I’m not usually a picky person, but tuna does tend to terrify me. It reminds me of that joke from the Rocky movie.  Rocky says toAdrian, “Did you know,Adrian, you can tun-a-piano, but you can’t tun-a-fish?”

You can’t tuna fish. Exactly, Mr. Balboa. 



Jonathan sings “Let”

Jonathan Sings “Spent This Time”

Jonathan and his partner, Janet Clazzy, play “The Call”

Published in: on October 24, 2011 at 1:36 pm  Comments (1)  
Tags: , , , , , ,
%d bloggers like this: