Laughter Is Far More Than Mere Medicine

humor

 

 

J.T. Hilltop

It’s a running joke. No, I’m not talking about the potential candidates running for president constantly flaunting of their assholiness, what I mean is laughter being the best medicine. Although I must admit some of the ranting of those running for president are far more ridiculous than any slapstick routines I’ve seen. The bottom-line is more than just a venue in Greenwich Village with popular acts, the bottom line is that the most creative, concise, profound, and just plain sensible information about life, love, and politics have come by way of brilliant comedians.

 

It started with Lenny Bruce, although admittedly I’m too young to have seen his act live I certainly have learned much about censorship and abuse of power from Lenny. But the first comedian who really made sense as well as developing my sense of humor was a big fan and learned much of his craft from Mr. Bruce. George Carlin. From the Hippy Dippy weatherman to the brightest funnyman who ever shed light on social and political issues in a way in which we could all understand. George Carlin not only made me laugh, yes out loud long before lol was a thing, but he also helped put so much more into perspective in a way which I personally could relate to. George helped me to understand my nagging sense of spiritual emptiness as well as my frustration with authority figures, ie Washington DC. Through his brilliant use of comedic perspective George Carlin shed an enlightening perspective and helped me to sort out my life issues with a hint of sarcasm and a ton of laughter. Thank you for the medicine George, much of what you said still rings true in so many hearts.

 

When George passed away a deep chasm of a void needed filling. His humor was so sustainable because unlike many jokers who tell the same jokes in different ways (sort of like reporters asking a set of questions that sound eerily similar to the first one they asked) his humor had evolved. But the void remained, thankfully to be filled in from an alien from outer space, Mork from Ork. Robin Williams was the next comedian to enter my little world with a handful of laughter medicine. Different from George but equally as talented and funny. Robin taught me that living my life in an improv format was okay as long as I kept my perspectives. The main difference for me was that Robin was equally adept at playing dramatic roles, but none the less his humor not only comforted me but it also helped to validate the social and political issues I had developed from following Mr. Carlin. The recent tragedy of losing Robin hit hard on a number of levels not the least of which was his ability to rise above his inner demons for as long as he did through the use of laughter.

 

With Robin gone another huge void had been created. The next laugh man I latched onto for medicinal joking was Jon Stewart. Jon had transcended social issues to a completely new level, delving ever deeper into politics and the disgusting hypocrisy and corruption while brining it to light in a serious way via his brilliant comedic outlook on life. As a note of accomplisment Jon Stewart was incredibly significant in the passing of the 911 first responders bill to make sure they have medical coverage. It absolutely astounds me that a single person on Capitol Hill needed to be shamed into voting for the heroes that answered the call on the darkest days our country has see3n in modern history but then again, congress are humorless jokes. Jon went up and down the corridors of the building with some responders having to shame them into agreeing to even put the bill to a vote which only strengthens my position that comedians should have more influence on social and political issues. I compare Jon to Johnny Carson on two levels. One I remember my father, despite leaving early for work in the morning never missing The Tonight Show and laughing so loud it often woke me up. I would later learn that Johnny Carson was dishing out the daily social news stories with his own brand of humor. But more than that, Jon Stewart like John Carson before him kick started the careers of many a comedian, the most notable in Jon’s case Steven Cobare, or more pretentiously, Cobert pronounced Cobare. Using incredible wit combined with profound wisdom, both of these jokers are able to place today’s issues in an understandable if not always humorous way.

 

There have been other laugh makers that helped shape the social and political landscapes, Monty Python, Prime Time Players, Second City among others. All have helped us to not only make sense of a complicated world, but to be able to laugh at the same time. It’s ridiculously hard to remain sad or angry while we’re laughing. That’s why I stand by the statement laughter is the best medicine. I will however admit, that some substances make the laughter even funnier, but these are humor additives not humor itself even if they sometimes make us laugh without understanding why we are laughing.

 

In conclusion, in a recent election in Brazil an actual clown, not clown in the sense of those running for president in the US, Tiririca, was elected to Brazilian Congress. Notably he too is a Republican but perhaps its not the same in Brazil as it is here. In summation, maybe it’s time we form an independent political party and load it up with doctors of comedy who can administer the medicine we all need these day, laughter….

PEACE

 

The War On Christmas Is Supposed To Start On A Friday

friday

 

J.T. Hilltop

Despite commercial attempts at decking the halls the day after Halloween the holiday of Christmas is under siege again. Perhaps I shouldn’t call it the holiday of Christmas or I may be accused of being indoctrinated into the war and I am after all a pacifist. But it’s war that has already begun, a bit too early as everything seems to these days. The 2015 War On Christmas. This year the first battle lines were drawn very early and quite decisively with the shot of espresso heard round the world when a plain red cup surreptitiously entered the holiday fray with a social media bang! Excluding snowmen, snowflakes or other such holiday emblems was a clear violation of Geneva Holiday laws not to mention a huge slap in the face to Parson Brown in the meadow who‘s face it was rumored to be the snowman on last years cups. Be that as it may the red cups of coffee have declared war on Christmas on a Tuesday! History dictates the annual war on Christmas is always declared on a Friday. The Friday after Thanksgiving to be more accurate, a day of non denominational salebrations. Rumors of its beginnings in Central America are without merit as is evidenced in the spelling of the rumored cry in and around the Isthmus of Panama, “It’s time to keep the Isthmus in Christmas” So how did the Christmas Wars begin? Did some puppet regime take Christ out of Christmas? Maybe some green monster ripped off all of the Whoville presents under the Christmas/Holiday tree. Or was it far more devious a plot to inject commercialism into Christmas. Let’s let History be the judge..

 

 

It was a cold and breezy day with wind gusts that snickered sarcastically at all the revelers waiting on the eternally long lines. The aggressors had left the comfort of their turkey dinner to cash in on the huge sales. Like the proverbial (not from the book of proverbs) carrot before the horse a promise dangles motivating the troops into leaving behind the safety and love of family to trot happily towards the big screen TV’s advertised all week. Time was ticking down inside the stores as the front lines, the frightened first line of defense prepared for the invasion by making final checks on the store shelves and cashier stations. The manager bellowed out a warning, “Five minutes to opening!” Those four simple words sent shivers across the entire group of employees working this evening. Most if not all had left a traditional gathering of their tribal units to save their low paying jobs which would surly be in jeopardy had they not accepted the challenge of the upper management, to be working on Thanksgiving eve. But a far sinister force had already altered their destinies as they laid out their plan.

General and CEO Grinch surveyed his troops via a closed circuit television inside his very upscale warm and safe abode. His voice reverberated over the expensive audio system, “There is a day of celebration that the little people call “Thanksgiving”. The mass of sales hungry insignificant sheep claim it’s a day of unity in which they offer thanks to all they believe to have given them. Nothing is given to anyone, you have to work for it. Ladies and Gentleman the mindless followers about to invade our store maintain that this holiday is without any religious requirements but you and I both know that is a lie. All they want is to have the best and most presents under their religious tree’s and its up to us not to disappoint. We will prey on their faith in the brotherhood of savings. It is a day in which they wine and dine themselves into a state of numbness after consuming alcohol and tryptophan while watching a brutal display of small armies fighting over the real estate of what they refer to as a “football field”. This only enhances enough testosterone from both male and female viewers to whip them into a feeding frenzy for us, the corporate armies of America. We will tantalize them with the promise of huge sales and insane savings which is the force that drives our enemies, the believers in Christmas presents. We shall put everything in red and green and decorate all the halls from here to Montezuma with festive holiday greetings, bells, holly, and wreaths while calling them holiday decorations which will divide the army. Divide and conquer people! While they bicker and feud between the proper greeting to use we can convert that ridiculous energy into a desire to save. A perfect deception causing them to spend far more than anticipated in a misguided attempt to make this the best Christmas or eh, holiday ever. So be ready, today the war on Christmas will commence on this day of November 27th, Black Friday, a day that will live on in infamy.”

Black Friday. That’s how history will retell this tragic day. Technically the corporate armies have pushed back the beginning to Thursday nights, the actual day called Thanksgiving but history will remember it as Black Friday. It will be a brutal battle in which patrons will stampeded, push, punch, and bite each other over sales regardless of their religion. In the name of Christmas sales the Christian soldiers would be licking and nursing their multiple wounds suffered during the mêlée of Christmas sales surreptitiously projected as “Holiday Sales” designed to include non Christians into the time of sharing and giving which will surely infuriate the soldiers of Christianity while lining the pockets of the corporate soldiers of fortune. Many a front line sale hunting warrior has met defeat while screaming “I don’t care what you Say, its Merry Christmas, not Happy Holidays before being trampled by sale hungry enthusiasts who care nothing about anything that does not relate to at least 50% off.

Oh sure, others have already waged the war of words on television blaming mainstream media for only reporting on the acts of kindness that need no religious declarations and ignoring the fact that the holiday is the sole possession of just one religion in particular. Tragically it matters not when you take into account it’s not a crime federal or even a misdemeanor to use either Merry Christmas or Happy Holidays as a friendly greeting of choice. To the soldiers poised for hours in front of a store to capitalize, yes that’s right, capitalize as in Capitalism, to beat their once loved neighbor into submission in the name of the final flat screen TV‘s all the niceties can commence at a more convenient time. Any cheek turning during sale battles will get a kicking tonight. Move the fuck over you pagan scum, there is a Christmas sale on! Fuck you you elitist piece of shit, it’s a goddamm holiday sale you moronic nincompoop. Who’s to say? A Chanukah sale? Kwanza spectacular? Christmas present special? Do the sales pertain to Agnostics or Atheists? Or is it exclusively a Christmas sale? Nay say the corporate gods, it’s a holiday sale. And why not? We accept monetary denominations from all denominations.

From a strictly nostalgic point of view a dark day was upon us. A one time spectacular day when the family together watched Macy‘s Parade, March Of The Wooden Soldiers, and the traditional football game while the home filled up on the wafting aroma of roasting turkey flesh had been changed forever. A day in which Dad, the head of the household stood poised with a large carving knife prepared to slice up the treasure, the huge turkey carcass on the only day of the entire year that was a day in which we all called peace on all worlds to merely express gratitude and celebrate family. It has forever been misconstrued to a day when children leave the serenity of a happy nested family dinner immediately after pie for a full contact no holds barred live global conflict of penny pinching uncaring attitudes to find the best sale at the cost of harming if necessary even an elderly grandmother. And why not if she attempted to outwit one in an either holiday or Christmas sale. Sanity broke down and the war on Christmas would escalate the very next Monday, cyber Monday!

Those reading this in the future may find this laughable, an actual war on Christmas which was a single day when it first began, but they would be ill informed not to understand how derisive a simple greeting had become. “I’m unarmed, I come in peace” may seem so common sense it couldn’t possibly have not existed forever, (No you sales nuts, not Forever 21) but there was a time when some asshole Americans actually fought a war over using the greeting Happy Holidays or Merry Christmas. It was a deep philosophical rift, with one side insisting that to say Merry Christmas offended their very existence while others insisted that unless everyone said Merry Christmas it was somehow an insult to an entire religion. If only their Gods, their Jesuses, their prophets (not profits), and Santa Clauses had had the chance to admonish them all for their foolishness we may have been able to get through a holiday (yes that’s right, Christmas is a day, Holidays are group of days in which goodwill used to be the main component) season without hating. But then again, maybe that’s what religion means to some of us, not love one another but to show our hatred to anyone not like us. There are many accounts of people so small they needed to put others down to escalate themselves to match the splendor of their twisted ego‘s. It seem that just like being a Vegan, everyone who insists that it can only be Merry Christmas or Happy Holidays seem to have a driving need to let everyone else in the world know that “I don’t care, I say Merry Christmas, not Happy Holidays” or vice versus. Go ahead say whatever, give me a greeting filled with love not words or terms. I’m happy to get any kind of a kind greeting, even a simple Whats up Dude, just don’t laud your choice over me like it somehow makes you superior. It doesn’t. Spread love not anger, and have a great friggen holiday no matter who or what you are…… Love, Peace, and more Love………

 

Dying To Find Out (The story of JT’s Afterlife)

after

 

Like many people I’ve often pondered what will happen to me after I die. Once we pass our expiration date do we get recycled, start again as someone new? Are we limited to the option of floating on clouds with wings and a harp or burning forever with the evilest most vile horned creature from under our childhood beds? Is it another step toward reaching our Nirvana? Or do we just cease existing altogether? Well this is the story of the very day I found my answer. This is the story of my afterlife experience…….

 

 

 

I

“Sir do you want fries with that?” Mmmm, fries. “Why yes indeed my young friend, supersize me with an extra large, I deserve a break today.” Of course I wanted a break it was on of those time I felt an need, no an entitlement to splurge a little and pay my homage to the demons of poor life choices. A really rough week was how I justified having that humongous cholesterol popping double bacon cheeseburger and free fatty acid dripping fries laden with sodium on that one fateful night. What the Hell, I’m all for freeing fatty acids and cheeseburgers come in second only to double cheese and pepperoni covered pizza. Holy guacamole what a tasty burger, better than a Kahuna burger although honestly I never really had one of those. I was having a bacon burger Royall that just begged for a can of Fosters. A jumbo half pound of grease splattering all meat hamburger topped with six slices of sodium laced fat filled hickory smoked bacon and four slices of lactose laden sharp cheddar cheese. All on this delicious sesame seed bun with “secret sauce”. It was the cholesterol lovers special, a sacrificial lamb to the great prophet Angina, patron saint of clogged arteries. It was oh so delicious going down and man oh man it just melted away the stress giving me that all warm and fuzzy feeling in my stomach.. The grease spots on my bag of extra large fries advertised an accompaniment of deep fried deliciousness. This meal was an orgasm and a half for my taste buds who were merrily dancing with reckless abandon all over my mouth. I’m telling you brothers and sisters, when you have the three B’s, life is good. Beer, bacon, and burgers. Collectively they make everything feel all tingly and giddy but as I would soon find out this particular evening that tingling was much more than the usual comfort food rumblings. All that warm and fuzzy tingling on the inside was actually a war erupting deep in my entrails and not a jovial taste bud enlightenment producing the happy tango in my belly

Unbeknownst to yours truly there was an acidic uprising throughout my gastric battlefields. The war of the small and large intestines was fully engaged and acids were bouncing and flying around everywhere. An all out acid attack was underway which was bad enough, but even worse, in cardiac central a shock and awe campaign was in full flight. While the intestines battled it out they sent waves of nausea up through the esophagus in a campaign to create a reflux warning. Tossing and turning, tumbling and churning, the gastro intestinal system did its best to raise the threat level to red and wake me up. But the eight or so beers and the large glass of boxed wine had seen to it that nothing short of an absolute hydrogen explosion or an atomic uprising would wake me from my comatose sleep. The battle ensued and intensified through the evening as much of the fat from the bacon, cheese, and hamburger had forced their way past the intestine walls and into the already wreaked liver. There it jumped on the hemoglobin transport and took the main artery directly to first coronary quadrant. The transport emptied exactly where the cholesterol had been preparing for its moment. The bad cholesterol, the axis of digestive tract evil had been planning for this event over the years, setting up roadblocks all along the arteries to prevent supplies from passing through to reach the life center. If it can cut off all paths to the heart an prevent the flow of life giving liquids to blood pumping center the evil cholesterol will be declared the winner! The blood supply line was doing its best to bring humanitarian supplies to the heart, but this huge bacon cheeseburger gave cholesterol just the advantage it needed to create a proper blockage. Now it can shut down its opponent forever. Without blood flow its just a matter of time. My time had run out, sad to say not a victim of a heinous crime, not dead from a car accident, not an overdose of illicit joy enhancers, not even a natural disaster for me to blame for my demise. Only person to blame was the man in the mirror, the man who knew damn well that all those poor choices would one day take their toll an this was the day. In the end I guess I’m glad I was asleep at the time because I never saw it coming, but stay tuned because what follows death is the issue at hand.

Now back to the fateful event. I’m not exactly sure how to put it into words but I was feeling lethargic, which isn’t completely unusual at this time of night given my hard job and party lifestyle. Still there seemed something a bit more strange to it that night. I mean sure the beer made me woozy and sleepy, and the work its gonna take to digest that huge bacon cheeseburger is taking a lot out of me, but still an unusual amount of lethargy. An almost sinister lethargy was settling over me. A few Zantac washed down with a tall cup of wine should take the edge off and then I could enjoy a serious chillax on the couch. I mumbled, “never again!” How many times have I said that? Ell this time my dear friends I meant it. This was my final dance, my last call.

The Zantac and wine combo platter successfully masked the sensation but not the reality. Having finished the mind numbing exercise of staring at the glowing colored pixels flowing out from the TV screen to process a multitude of worthless information it was time to turn in. I’m just flat out tired as shit and went to bed unaware it would be my last sleep. TBC

 

JT’s Story Of Life

everything

 

 

 

 

 

A Fairly Accurate Fairy Tale Selection by JT Hilltop

Intro:

We can’t wait until our babies can talk until they can talk. That’s because once they start communicating the first thing they learn is how to ask questions. Not a question here and there but a barrage of never ending questions. “What’s sex Mom, what’s the finger mean Dad.” They wanna know everything about everything and the questions don’t stop, “Mommy, where do babies come from? Daddy, why were you moving furniture around last night?” Its just in the very fabric of our being to be inquisitive because even those unable to speak are curious. Inquiring mimes want to know.

Back when I was just a mere tadpole burning questions festered in my head as well. I drove my Mom and Dad crazy with an overwhelming curiosity. “Why do I have to eat spinach? Why do I have to put the seat up after I pee?” And so forth. Unfortunately the answers I usually got to real questions was go ask your mother or go ask your father but still I trusted that the two of them had the answers. Then one day I had an epiphany of sorts. If they give me the answers then who gives them the answers? Who the heck is explaining everything to them? Grandpa talks nonsense and Grandma just repeats herself so it can’t be them. Where the heck are Mom and Dad getting all the answers they give me? So I did what any curious young word detective would do, I launched my own investigation

. It seems they got their answers from some house like building they called church. Apparently this church place is only open on Sundays and in order to get in everyone had to be dressed up real nice. So I guessed that everyone who went to church got the answers to life if they got all dressed up. It’s some dude who wears a robe with a funny necktie thing they saw only once a week on Sunday that has the answers. He seems to be everyone’s father. The father stands up in front of everyone and talks, sometimes even scolds everyone. Then after yelling at them in an apparent attempt to make the parents feel better he makes us sing songs and repeat phrases like “amen” “and with you“ and the like. They pass around some baskets and people apparently either write their questions down in an envelope or they have to pay money to get answers. Mom even gave me a quarter to put in the basket so I assumed I had to save up enough money to get my answers from this father dude. After he finishes all his jabbering and singing he waits by the door to talk to everyone on the way out. I guessed he then gave them the answers to everything. But I had my doubts. I mean like why does this dude who dresses so damn strange seem to know everything? But this is the guy who gave my parents all the answers to all the questions of the world. This is the dude who told Mom where I came from, and told Dad how to make babies. But how does he know so much? I needed to find out. Another investigation.

I watched closer to see how it all works. First we all go into this huge room. A gigantic room actually, and this all knowing dude stands up on a kind of stage he calls the alter all lit up with candles. He stands at a podium and lectures everyone in the room, all of whom are sitting on these hard wooden bench like things. I don’t believe the designer gave any thought whatsoever about how peoples asses would feel just 5 minutes after sitting. I could see all of the kids and half of the Dads squirming around trying to find a position that doesn’t leave bruises on the cheek. That must be what they mean when they say turn the other cheek. Anyway this funny looking dude stands up there and tells stories about a long long time ago, tells us to open our song books and makes us sing songs. Then he gets mad and tells the adults how to live, which for us kids is the best part because its Mom and Dad getting some of the shit they give us constantly. But still, its boring as hell, which apparently is a word I can’t say even though its in that book the dude reads from. Is that where he gets all his info?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

As it turns out he does know everything because it tells him in that special black book. it’s the Big Black Book of Everything he calls “The Bible” and it is considered by just about everyone to be the end all and be all of answers. Some people call it the holy bible. Funny word, if I heard a story with lots of holes in it I would think it’s a lie. Yet people put their hand on this book and swear to things and everyone else accepts that as absolute truth. It made me wonder what could make one book so damn powerful. If this book has the answers to everything and I read it myself I’ll know everything too. So I took a copy, which didn’t seem like a bad thing to me until Dad screamed when I got home and he saw it. Now I know what stealing is and that its wrong to steal. For one thing stealing results in an ass whooping, so you see, that book taught me something right from the start. I was learning already

I finally did read this Bible when I got older though, and what I did read absolutely amazed me. This book, this holy bible is filled with some very strange stories, even stranger than green eggs and ham. It was quite hard to read because even though the words were English words many of them made no sense. Like what is a begat? And why are so many people doing it? So I read it over and over until I could finally understand it. It was loaded with all kinds of rock throwing, sword fighting, and stories about whales and endless rains, and fights with whole buildings falling down and blood. Holy (there’s that funny word again) shite there’s a lot of blood. I wondered who wrote this Bible and why so I asked the Sunday dude with the funny collar how and when it was written. I have to tell you I was quite shocked when I found out. This shit was written thousands of years ago, and it is a kind of history book written by god. The story of Everything by God. Well he didn’t actually write it himself but it was his book, or as the father dude said his “word.” I think he had some holy ghost writers pen it for him but the first five books were written by this like four thousand year old bearded guy named “Mosey”. Not only did he write it, but he had a starring role in the second through fifth chapters. The rest was written by some out of work history teachers called scribes. That is until this Spanish guy named Jesus comes along, then all the different religions have different history books. But my interest was in the beginning, the first five books that seem to tell the story of everything. In the beginning when man created god in his own image. Or do I have that backwards? Maybe this Mosey dude was dyslexic. Somebody needs to spin these fantastic fables out.

So now that I’m fully grown and have an understanding of how all this church and Bible stuff work I decided I would spin this story with my own biblical proportions. I started thinking back to the time when my Mom and Dad would read me stories. All these wild fairy tales of ladies with hair so strong and long that a man could climb up her hair and save her, or a little girl that ventured into the house of a family of bears. Bears who ate porridge and slept in beds. There was a cross dressing wolf dressed as a grandma, houses made of candy, and even three little pigs who each made their houses from different things, one straw, one wood, and one was apparently a freemason who built his with bricks. All the stories were quite harmless really, and very entertaining to a young child. And I had no clue at the time, but these stories had more than just entertainment values they taught me something. They taught me about what my parents called morals. The moral of this story is don’t steal, or the moral of that story is to be considerate of others and be good, be home by midnight or whatever. The point is the purpose of those stories was to teach me what’s right and what’s wrong in a way my young mind could comprehend. As I got older of course I realized that pigs can’t talk let alone build brick houses, and bears live in caves and shit in the woods, and they don’t even like porridge. I learned things from these stories even though they were completely made up. It was just a way to get me to understand right from wrong in a way I could understand at the time. But now that I’m grown up they still expect me to believe in a garden with the first two people ever and some evil talking snake., a man building an ocean liner called an ark and grabbing two of each animal, insects, birds, all of them, and gave them their own rooms. Some kind of floating creature hotel filled with honeymoon suites. It floated around with them for forty days and forty nights while it rained continuously. Somehow they all ate, but not each other. The lions played with the lambs and the crickets and the birds and none of them gave into the temptation for forty days. It got me thinking about these bible stories. What if the funny collar dude was making up stories like The Brothers Grimm did? What if it is just stories written by his mom and dad to help teach him right from wrong? I mean it makes sense, right? Just like Rapunzle, or Rumplestiltskin, or Goldilocks. Maybe these stories of Adam, and Eve, and Noah, and Cain and Able were just fairytales to teach him morals.. What if they are really made up stories written to explain to the children of thousands of years ago how to behave and how to treat each other? And of course how everything came to be?

It brought me to an internal understanding. This bible, this holy book, is nothing more than the history of humans as told by the people who first learned to write. Most of these biblical tales are merely a recounting of stories that were told around campfires or homes around an area of land we call the fertile crescent. Now I need to rewrite these first five stories in the bible in way we can all relate to in more modern times. I need to write my own big black book, JT’s Story Of Everything. Bring it on!

TBC

Anno Domini /from Cosmo and His Garden Earth

ad

It’s well documented the way Judas betrayed Jesus just before their big dinner but there are a few undocumented occurrences that were left out. To begin with it wasn’t supposed to be ‘The Last Supper’ because it was an awards dinner where Jesus was gonna give props to his twelve disciple pals. Before the dinner began Judas came up to Jesus all doped up on his favorite drug opium. His cognitive abilities challenged he attempted to lay a sloppy French tongue slurping kiss on Jesus while at the same time reaching down to comfort his rod and staff. The J-man became alarmed when his man meat began to respond a bit too eagerly so he pushed Judas away. “Judas please! We’ve been through this before, not in front of the guys. It’s my reputation I want to keep up not my dinghy! They can see my semi right through this thin robe.” Judas feeling spurned (and stoned) began yelling “Cut out the dramatics you know very well you like when I comfort you. Now you cast me like a first stone? That father of yours dammit! Now I’m glad I told that fucking Lucifer where he can find you.” A deathly silence filled the room speaking stereophonic volumes. Judas had thrown the son of god under the chariot bus and the shit was about to hit the windmill. Tears welled up in Jesus’ eyes, “Judas…..must you betray me…. with a kiss?” Jesus was hurt but he also knew this was the plan from his old man so he walked into the Garden of Gethsemane with his head and dinghy hanging down. The rest as they say is scripture. As for Judas he was stoned and remorseful so he went back to Lucifer for something stronger to dull his heartache. Lucifer needing to rid himself of the bastard betrayer gave him a dosage way too strong and Judas OD’ed. Judas was found dead in the mud with a contoured confused look on his dead face. By the time Cosmo and Mary Anne returned from the District their son Jesus was dead on a cross.
The sight of the young man nailed to a wooden cross filled Cosmo to the brim with shock. Shock and anger. His beloved youmans had not only lost their way, they had killed the only son. What was even worse for the mourning couple was how violently they killed him. The thought of his son tortured, thorns stuck in his head, nails hammered into his hands and feet, left in the hot sun was too much to bear. Jesus was left to die all alone. Angered Cosmo turned his back on his youmans and headed back to the District with Mary Anne to be with fake Jesus, the child who had become Jesus’ body double. There they would remain for eighteen hundred and twenty three years. It took them that long to reach the final stage of their grieving process. One morning they just agreed it was time to go back to check out garden earth. Cosmo had been gone far too long. They returned just in time to see some dude named Louis Pasteur had figured out the world of tiny little organisms he called germs. Puzzled at these germs Cosmo spoke gently to Mary Anne, “Pius defecation, what the fornication has been going on here?” He needed to review what had been going on in his garden during his absence so they went straight to the surveillance videotapes.
Sans popcorn or any mood enhancing Cosmo and Mary Anne viewed the video on the giant abstract flat screen. They watched the various stages of growth the garden had undergone since their son was killed. Some of it was appalling and some of it endearing. Overall Cosmo was filled with more disappointment than pride. “Look at all this Mary, all the wars, famines, and diseases on Earth! What the burning underworld could they be fighting over?” Mary Anne had majored in Modern Galactic Sociology and was able to grasp the situations well. “Cosmo, these battles they have been waging seem to have two things in common. Arbitrary lines of land ownership and the belief in different gods. They believe they can own part of the garden all for themselves and created lines which they kill to protect. They have formed religions and each religion believes it has all the answers and they are willing to kill any who disagree. Me thinks they have been killing each other for so long half the times they’ve forgotten why. Look at all these atrocities Babe, wars fought in Rome and France between protestants and Catholics, Sudanese war between Christians and Arabs, The Crusades, The Inquisition, not to mention something they call world wars. My sweet nebula what have they done to the memory of our son?” Mary Anne was on the money. The youmans believed it to be garden youman not garden earth. They lock up animals, experiment on animals, why some were even using animals as entertainment, either killing or being killed for youmans pleasure. Cosmo threw up a little in his mouth, “It’s true my love, they have blighted the memory of our son and used Jesus as an excuse to kill and maim. Its deplorable. And these germ things have caused deadly plagues, measles, anthrax, rabies, typhus, small pox, and the bubonic plague. The Black Death. The Bubonic plague that spread everywhere and claimed over 75 million lives. How could those micro-organisms possibly have gotten in my garden?” Mary Anne thought carefully before giving her opinion. The persons name she was about to use was a source of discomfort in their relationship. Not sure why because Cosmo did after all know what kind of work Mary Anne did before they became a cosmic power couple so he knew she had been with others. Even so Cosmo is a god and gods have major ego’s and relationship issues. Of course he had godpenis envy so he was not happy that Mary Anne had sexual history with Mychrighton. “I’m not sure I should mention this or not babe but Mychrighton is pretty well known for his experiments in micro-organism in the Andromeda Strain Galaxy.” Too upset to allow jealousy to sneak into his thought pattern without a hint of injured pride he mulled over her statement. In fact it was an a-ha moment for Cosmo. “Of course, the pathogen killer. Mychreigton had used satellites to destroy his own creations with micro-organism warfare. He would have destroyed them completely if not for the brilliant Lucille of the Babaloo galaxy.” Lucille developed and introduced the Kalocin antidote into the Andromeda Strain. Her brilliant work became a universal antidote which is still used today. “I have to figure out a way to introduce Kalocin in the garden. Maybe we can get this Pasteur guy to think he discovered it.” If Cosmo had dropped Lucille’s name on purpose to counter the subconscious feeling of jealousy it worked. Mary Anne’s face reddened ever so slightly and she angrily reminded herself of the once hot and heavy relationship that was all the rage in the District gossip papers. She thought about firing back with another comment about Mychrighton but took the high road because of the important work ahead.
The two agreed to forge a plan to save the garden and figure out a trap to ensnare the demon seed that was planting demon seeds. Part one was to get the youmans to discover ways to combat the deadly pathogens and hopefully lead up at one point to Kalocin. They believed if they could show the youmans that if they continue on this path of making weapons so destructive it would threaten the existence of the garden it would stop wars. As for the god thing, they hoped that by educating the youmans more about the universe that they would all agree on one theory of how life began and stop killing people who threaten their god or gods. They noted how the youmans had already made giant strides in knowledge. The youmans had figured out mathematics and use abstract thinking and reasoning to solve problems. It’s helped them have a better understanding of their world and introduced the concept of shared education, especially science. Between the various fields of study they were certain the youmans would come to the conclusion that the universe was not created by God and therefore would stop warring. In theory anyway. From simple abacus to Fibonacci and his brilliant scale great minds have developed on earth. “Mary honey, look at some of the intelligent youmans that were in the garden. We had Aristotle, Socrates, Plato, Copernicus, and Galileo to mention a few.” Mary loved to play and said loudly, “What about Marco?” Cosmo chuckled and responded with a quick “Polo!” But Cosmo had more to say. “Yes and not just them, men like Columbus, Magellan, Isaac Newton, they have made tremendous contributions and created things meant for the progress of their species.” Mary Anne had her favorites as well. “Don’t forget Sam an his Morse code, or Jethro Tull and his seed drill. Not to mention Joan of Arc.” The playful jab did not go unnoticed but Cosmo was already thinking ahead. ”Uh huh, many people have had many contributions and with a little nudging we can get the youmans going in the right direction. But we do have to deal with old Mikey boy first. What to do about him?”
What indeed. A very touchy situation especially considering what happened in the past. But this is a different day and a different situation. Cosmo had to come up with a plan to prove that Mychrighton was behind the dabcle sneaking his destructive microscopic killers onto his garden. Up until now the germs an pathogens in his garden were all beneficial. First step was to make sure it wasn’t a natural mutation of the beneficial microbes. Cosmo had to isolate some of the killer disease carriers. He needed to employ the help of a friend. Who can he trust? Not Lucy, that would be a bit too awkward, and James, well James has enough issues with the return of the Klingon wars. The best person for this job is the always Jovial Frodo. Road trip to The Shire!
TBC

How Does Your Garden Grow

garden

G.
Adam my son with your choices I grapple
I offer you melons yet you chose the apple
Now here we are in the Garden Of Eden
I offer you Eve but you’ve chosen Steven

I know I’ve preached love all through the week
But this ain’t what I meant by turning the cheek
The sanctimonious amongst us need to understand
How a marriage Can be between a man and a man

I don’t mean to be peeking inside of your bed
But I expect fornication not just getting head
How will I sanctify your living together
With you boys going out to play all clad in leather

A.
I pray to you father don’t harbor such vex
Love is much more than us just having sex
Why must they define the way we show our love
Is not everyone equal in your heaven above

If divorce and adultery is considered unfair
Sanctimonians you speak of own more than their share
They revel in their sins cause they get washed away
By sitting on benches in church on Sunday

While parentless children suffer unbearable trauma
Steven and I will raise our kids free of bad Karma
I know this might not be what your original plan had
But you created love without condition and everyone’s glad

G.
I created this world in a mere seven days
But I’m not here just tom garner your praise
I created sun and then water I created all life
I created this woman to be your wedded wife

A.
So much you created to make us all happy
But why is there hatred to make us feel crappy
The most beautiful thing any one of us heard of
Two people living life married….and living in love

PEACE

The Continuing Adventures of JT Hilltop/The Long And Winding Road Home

home

Whenever you’re hitchhiking you take a chance on the driver’s intentions. Kidnapper, serial killer, sexual predator, cannibal. And those aren’t even the scary ones. But if you’re broke and you need to get somewhere far away taking a chance may be the only feasible option. I caught a glimpse of my reflection, wild stringy hair, rough beard, dirty clothes, and generally pretty unkempt looking and pondered further. On the other hand the person offering me the ride is also taking a chance. Perhaps I’m wielding a machete waiting to take over his truck, maybe I’m an axe murdered, or a road warrior searching for a target to engage in a fun packed evening of torture. So when it comes down to it we were both taking a chance. Thankfully for us both we each proved to be pretty much normal. Or at least not nefariously crazy. Jeb was driving a medium sized furniture store truck called Franklin’s Furniture. Creative name aside he was a relatively nice guy who it turned out has a home complete with wife, kids, two cats, a dog and I would assume a picket fence outside of Fredericksburg Virginia. The furniture store he drives the truck for is a family business with Jeb Franklin the oldest son of the founder and owner Frank Franklin. (I know, right?) The only excitement Jeb ever seemed to have was when he took trips down to North or South Carolina to pick up furniture for the family’s store. He was enthralled listening to my tales and I was more than happy to pass the time relating my travels in a slightly embellished format. In fact he was so enthralled by my enhanced tales and so tired of his “boring” life he decided we should pick up a few beers before he has to go home to his mundane life with “the wife and kids” and go hang out for a bit. So we pulled off I95 at Fredericksburg and drove about fifteen minutes before he pulled into a deli.
A plethora of thoughts began infiltrating my otherwise stable mind. Mostly those chances I mentioned earlier. Is this dude gonna bitch rape me, make me squeal like a pig in heat? Damn man maybe he really is a serial killer planning on chopping me in pieces to hide me inside his furniture. Perhaps scheming to skin me alive to make a humanhide leather recliner chair for Franklin Furniture. Or he could just really just a lonely guy whose biggest thrill is when the new prime time TV season begins? Of course I was hoping for the latter but preparing for the former. Fate would really have a fucking laugh and a half if after all the crap I’ve been through I finally choose to get my shit together only to have me murdered in the State For Lovers. Irony at it’s most seductive. Probably have me die unceremoniously too, just a boring straight up kill. No cool ritual killing or sadistic torture to at least make my last breaths interesting. But fate would have to find someone else to play it’s practical joke on because it turned out Jeb was just a nice guy looking for some company to break up his mundane existence.
When Jeb got back in the truck we drove to a cemetery, which I admit at first gave me frightened goosebumps. They were groundless of course because it turned out to be Jeb’s favorite spot to sneak in a few beers before going home when he returns from trips. It was a desolate quiet area, no traffic, no people walking around, nothing but a bunch of dead bodies. Spooky, but sacrosanct. And anyway Hells Bells man free beer! I mean it’s not like I’m gonna give up every vice on earth. So it was we drank beer while chatting and laughing at just about anything and everything as if we were best friends. I suppose for that hour and a half we were best friends. Then again, best friends don’t normally do things like what Jeb did to me. After the two of us were bordering on total drunkenness nature called out to me. I got out to pee by a big old tree in wooded area not far from the truck. While I was answering natures call returning about half of the free beer I had just consumed Jeb started up his truck and took off. There I was holding my own. Literally! I cursed fate for having found a way to get a quick chuckle in.
First things first. A wiggle followed by a zip so I could assess my new situation. Drunk, alone in a cemetery in who knows where, no money, no ride, and as is normally the case in my shithole life, no hope. No fucking way! Not this time, not this bullshit again. Every time I make an effort to stand up reality knocks my ass down again leaving my head spinning in some unfamiliar place. Dammit I was so damn close this time. Out on I95 with the potential to be back home in a day or so ready to leave all the bad luck behind. I was gonna turn my life around again only this time it was for real. But Destiny is not just a stripper in the club, destiny is a mother fucker who holds a carrot of beer in front of a gullible weak willed freak with a sarcastic smile. No way, no sir, not this time Destiny, no bills in your G-string od life. I’m gonna sober up, figure out where the hell I am and get back on the road. In the dark! With a belly full of beer! From a Goddam cemetery!
I was walking down the dirt road peering at the oddly symbolic tombstones reaching up from the earth as I headed toward the main road in search of Same Old Shit Highway. You know what? Fuck this. I’m not having it. I am not gonna let this derail me. This fuck up is just another stanza in JT’s song. Well I ain’t singing the fucking woe is me blues anymore! I’m singing inspirational tonight. I said I would turn this bullshit around and turning it around is exactly what I’m gonna do. Right here right now. My slumped over defeated slow walk morphed into a quick paced confident strut as I headed out of the graveyard towards the highway. Two snaps a twirl and a pirouette just to prove my point. Very powerful! There was only one thing I had overlooked. I was drunk. My peacock proud strut hit a large stone and I stumbled forward falling face first into the sidewalk. The scrapes on my knee’s and elbows combined with the pain from a slight ankle twist were nothing compared to the bruise my ego took. I apparently had an audience.
A young couple had witnessed my fall from grace unaware of the significance of it having been a fall out of a cemetery onto the sidewalk. But they were a caring couple who came over helped me up then listened to my tale of woe, no embellishment needed, with tremendous empathy. Jim and Deb were a few years younger than me both working their way through college before getting married. If the future of America lies in the hands of people like them then I’m confident we will all be okay. Deb offered to clean my scrapes and Jim informed me he was leaving for Boston in the morning. They offered me up a nights sleep on their couch followed by a ride as far as New York City. It was all I could do to keep the estrogen that had been building up from pouring through in a flood of grateful tears. I accepted. By this time tomorrow I’ll be back in Long Island, or at the very least back in New York. I was on my path to getting my life in order. The three of us walked down the silent street until we reached their apartment. The thought never once occurred to me that they might be one of those dangerous options of chance I had so over-thought about when riding with Jeb.
TBC