Tag: sarcasm

COSMO AND THE GARDEN EARTH (excerpt from Act III)

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act

 

Jesus Christ Superstar Do You Think You’re What They Say You Are?
JT Hilltop

News. North East West South. Good news, bad news, happy news, sad news. All types and in all types of type. There’s tragic news, welcome news, unwelcome news, news, news, news, all kinds of news. Some news has little or no consequence on your life and some comes hurling at you like a shit ton of bricks. So much news it‘s not fit to print. News can make you laugh or cry, chuckle or sigh, scream and die, or wish you could fucking fly. News is unstoppable, it can have no effect on your life or it can cause a drama laden pile of shit upheaval that it will change you forever. But one thing is certain about news and that is its gonna come. News is coming toward you and there ain’t a Goddam thing you can do to stop it. Mary Anne had just this sort of news for the God Cosmo and her news was one of those shit-tons that came on a speeding train out of control heading straight down the track with no one at the wheel. Not even Casey fucking Jones could’ve stopped this bitch train of news and like it or not the news was coming and Cosmo had better be ready. And once this news hits Cosmo’s fan there will shit flying across all the galaxies. The key difference between good or bad news is all in your perspective. “Cosmo my favorite god, the only God I have ever truly loved, I have some good news and some bad news for you and its basically the same. Remember that time we had our romp in the clouds in The District? You filled me up with joy, pleasure, intense feeling and….and a shitload of highly active God-sperm. There is no easy way to say this. You have a baby boy and his names Jesus.” A baby? That’s not your average local planet news, that’s God and Goddess dam intergalactic news! It’s the kind of life altering news that for some is incredible and joyous and to many others it’s indifferent. But for the vast number who get this news for the first time its frightening. It’s the kind of news that will have you running down the street screaming halleluiah I’m gonna be a parent or slam you headfirst into unprepared parenthood. “You have a son” is the very definition of life altering news. “You have a son, his name is Jesus” is beyond life altering, its planet altering, nay universe shaking! Cosmo repeated the name Jesus of Cosmo over to himself more than a dozen times until it finally sunk in that he had a son who is half God, half Non-God.
Now lets put some perspective on this news. Not your ordinary couple and seldom in any of the universes has this type of mixed marriage worked. Mary Anne is a Non-God from a planet in the Babaloo Galaxy who was at one time a God-Toy, or to put it in mortal terms, an erotic escort. Cosmo had paid special attention to Mary Anne and after their weekend fling thought he felt someone else in the room. Little did he know it was just his seedling. Cosmo is the God of The Milky Way Galaxy and was normally very careful on his sexcapades but it only takes one little slip and……well you get the rest. However we must keep in mind that Cosmo has always been a stand up god willing to do the right thing (for a God anyway) as well as quite resourceful. If anyone can put a positive gravitational spin on this news Cosmo could. So this news of baby Jesus would not be taken lightly. First things first let it be known that the moment it sunk in that mary Anne had conceived his only begotten son Cosmo understood his responsibility to both Mary Anne and baby Jesus. As much as he loved his bachelorhood the thought of a solid lifestyle held a degree of appeal to Cosmo. On the other hand Cosmo was quite the lover and never had a problem finding a partner. Yet many a night was spent lonely watching his garden of you mans and Mary Anne would certainly be of interesting company. A God has no qualms about past practices of their mates and frankly he appreciated what she did. Not to mention she is quite skilled at put a huge smile on the virile gods face that weekend. Come to think of it was as if she had surgically implanted that smile for over a week afterwards. Either way the bottom line is he had a baby and a responsibility to both the baby and the non god he had fallen in love with. Wait! What? Fallen in love? Certainly not fallen, perhaps he had stumbled in a profound like with her but love? Come to think of it he did create the fertile crescent while thinking of her beautiful hair (If indeed it was as he claims her head which was the body part he was thinking about). Maybe this news can be used for a positive effect on the three of them and for garden Earth as well. A plan was inseminated and the egg was ready to be hatched. Cosmo knew exactly what to do with the news.
Of course the news is also going to be heard at a Board Co-Operative Gods and Goddesses meeting in District 7. The board is like the gravitational black hole of universal gossip. Nothing escapes it. Whether it’s entertainment, breaking news or even just hearsay, all news that’s fit to print or printed to fit will find its way to District 7 in a radio-active flash. The best thing for Cosmo to do is to have his plan of action fully worked out before they summon him. Some mixed marriages have worked, a god and a non god can live a happy life but many a failure has been scandalized across the universes. With this plan however Cosmo was taking fatherhood to an unprecedented level . He had already sold it on his non god lover who had found herself in a awkward position of being the mother of a gods child. Ironically it was the twisting herself into an awkward position one pleasure soaked night that lead to her situation in the first place. For her part it was difficult to argue with a God to begin with but Mary Anne trusted Cosmo implicitly and his plan seemed to make sense. Truth be told she did have some reservations at first but after thinking the story through a few times it began to grow on her. (The plan….Not the God manhood) Her son would be a savior, a Christ. Her son would be the messiah of Garden Earth. She repeated it to herself, “My son, Jesus Christ, Superstar.”
It was much easier to get the Boards okay than Cosmo had anticipated. Who knows maybe it was his unending charm, maybe they dug the plan, maybe they were just tired of seeing him, or maybe they just wanted the messy scandal over and done post haste. Cosmo laid out in detail how he was going to offer his son as a virginal birth to be the son of Cosmo and help get the you mans to understand that they have strayed from the law of life, and had become a threat to the cycle. He would have a big hullabaloo when the child was born, have him disappear mysteriously while he learns how to teach the word of Cosmo. He will then spread the word of Cosmo and teach all the you mans about the necessity of his cycle of life. Cosmo schemed to find the right woman to impregnate and fake it as a virginal birth. It would go down in you mans history as an immaculate conception and the child would be the son of Cosmo and spread the word. Mary Anne would raise their son Jesus and train him for his mission at the same time. They would stay at an undisclosed location in District 7 where Cosmo could visit on weekends. When Jesus was ready and the time was right he would switch out the child on earth with Jesus and he could bring the you mans back to the path of righteousness. Then he could switch the body double back and everything would be right once again. A pretty brilliant plan if everything goes as it should. If!
The very first problem arose rather early into the plan. Cosmo chose a nice Jewish couple from Nazareth in the city of Galilee. Joseph and Mary. He visited Mary while Joseph was away and worked his sexual magic on her for hours filling her with gallons of egg hungry swimming godsperms. He had Mary believe it was a dream, a very sweet dream, and she would be none the wiser. Of course she became pregnant right away but the snag was in the child she bore. It was a female and Mary named her Rosemary. So he had to make a second attempt after allowing Rosemary to get a few earth years in age. The second attempt was successful after eliminating the x chromosomes from his body fluid. During the night in that session he told Mary he was an angel from the god Cosmo and that she would be giving birth to the son of a god and he would be the savior of the world. But in her dream she heard it as the son God, not the son of A god. When she woke she was even more confused (and satisfied) than the first dream. When she conveyed the story to Joseph he was very suspicious at first. “Wait, you’re telling me Mary that God had sex with you and you are carrying his baby? An angel told you to name him Jesus? And this happened while I was out of town?” Mary was struggling with it as well because the dream seemed so real, but eventually she was able to convince Joseph as well as herself. She told everyone that God has told her to have this immaculately conceived baby and that he was going to save the world. It was met with a cloud of doubt and cynicism, and rumblings of gossipy sordid affairs abounded. But it was as she would find out, not only her cross to bear.
They were advised by some wise men, three of them actually, that it would be best for everyone if the birth not take place in town. Considering it good advice they opted to go to a friends farmhouse in Bethlehem. They had the plan all set and knew God would be lighting the way with a bright star which as it turns out was really a comet by the name Halley. They found a little manger outside the friends farmhouse and decided that it would be perfect. The baby was born, Mary named him Jesus as she had been instructed, and things were going along as planned for a change. The three wise dudes had a baby shower and brought some cool presents and announced to the world that a baby had been born, and that he was the son of God, and he would be baptized by John, a famous revivalist that held people under water until they agreed to repent. He would then be hidden as he learned the word of God in the wilderness with nothing but his rod and a small staff.
To Be Continued……

Laughter Is Far More Than Mere Medicine

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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

 

Original Thought And The Prophet

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origin

Whaaaaat?? Another sequel? Sequels are never as good as the original. Is anything as good as the original? What Is original? Now there’s a thought. But is it an original thought? Some say there is no such thing as original thought because someone somewhere has more than likely had that same thought before. Come to think about it I think I heard that somewhere before. In a way I guess that’s true of course, Tommy Edison gets credit for the light bulb but others claim it was discovered either simultaneously or perhaps even slightly before by someone else. Either way that light bulb has not only spawned generations of ideas it has become the icon of an idea itself. But was it original?
Scientists (or is it romantics?) tell us no two snowflakes are exactly alike but I personally find that hard to believe. What possible kind of study could encompass every snowflake ever? Millions melt before ever being checked. Is there some kind of snowflake database or snowflake genetic information storage cloud? Some haven’t even been created yet so all things considered I’m confidant at least two of those snowflakes in that Alaskan snow drift must be clones. So I will attempt to put original thought into my warped and frivolous snowflake perspective by doing what any original artist would do. I’ll steal it. Or borrow it at least, so this perspective is brought to you in original conceptual form inspired (and ripped off) of a book by the Lebanese laureate Kahlil Gibran. The Prophet.

And then a musician came to him and said “speak to us of music, how is our music not original?” And he answered “Music invades our sensory organs through repetitive and sometimes annoying arrangements of sound. Because we have only 12 notes in every octave it is extremely difficult to create a melody that hasn’t yet been played either in ones mind or on an instrument. Combine that with the fact most of us have been listening to music since our first lullaby and have no doubt watched enough television to have jingles burned deeply into our psyches its impossible not to be influenced by tunes we have heard before when we create music. One could pick up a guitar to start playing something perhaps having just heard that “Nationwide is on your side” commercial and unconscientiously letting the tune drift into what one was translating from mind through the guitar strings. That’s not to say that you can’t make an original song, but it must have come to you from somewhere in your past listening.” It’s called inspiration. Perhaps artists should be wondering where they came up with an original before accusing others of stealing their originals. Music is meant to be shared

And then a poet came to him and said “speak to us of poetry, are not poets original?” And he answered, “Poetry is a way of painting words into feelings and emotions. Poets help us to see ourselves in their flowing word canvas. Poems range in style and can be crystal clear to some while totally indiscernible to others. It is meant to be felt and understood not analyzed. Poetry is an expression of the soul often written while at our most naked and vulnerable selves, when we express our innermost thoughts in words. In that respect it is original, but are not words merely combinations of letters? We have only 26 letters from which to choose our order yet somehow we manage to confuse the usage of English language. But their there they’re, everything will be fine. You poets are indeed original human beings with fragile ego’s so for the sake of argument, yes, poetry is indeed original. But remember it’s the receiver of the poetry message who perceives the originality not the scribe.” It’s all about inspiration.

A Politian came forward and said to him “Speak to us of politics. Are not political ideas original?” And after regaining his composure from sarcastic laughing the prophet answered, “Politics and political opinions are like unwashed armpits. If you stay at home with them you can handle the stench of your own opinion but if you venture out in public best to deodorize your opinions if you value friendships. Its impossible for one to have their own original political opinion because every controversy known to humanity has been discussed, re-discussed, and-over-discussed a million times without an answer. Whatever stance you choose to take has already been taken. In addition, millions and millions of dollars have been spent to tell you what your opinion on various political topics are either through subliminal ads or motivational scam artists disguised as news agents with television shows who’s sole purpose is to anger you into an opinion based strictly on your religion and/or political party of choice. That is not to say you can’t have an original non political opinion of your own but to do that you would need to research the subject through trustworthy methods of information, then sit alone with only your thoughts and think it through. Devoid of outside influences if you concentrate long enough it is indeed possible to arrive at an original conclusion, but it is extremely difficult with all the information super highways and abundance of social media outlet trolls prowling around in the hopes of forcing their own opinion upon you. Otherwise we simply verbally regurgitate someone else’s. spoken thoughts.” That would be inspiring. In my opinion of course.

Next a scientist came to the Prophet and asked, “Why is there religion when we have science? Is not The Origin Of The Species enough?” He replied both religion and science serve a purpose. Science it the study of the world around us and religion is the study of ourselves. Science helps us to understand how and why things work but it can’t explain everything. It is based on testing and re-testing data to prove hypothesis and conclusions. For instance the age of the earth and the dangers of climate change. Religion attempts to help teach us about who we are but science is like a pesky mosquito that becomes more and more difficult for religions to swat.”
“The main problem with religion is most times it’s not a choice, more of a birthright. Often ones religion is determined by their parents or by nature of where they are born and they become defined by their rituals and beliefs. Religion is philosophical, it is based on faith not by cause and effect experiments. One must have faith that the religion they are following has all the correct answers, and the leaders of that religion who give those answers are interpreting the holy texts correctly. One Bible or Torah or Koran can be interpreted in many different ways which give us a massive variety of religions. We have used religion to explain the unexplainable since the dawn of time, assigning gods to nearly everything in nature. So it is useful in explaining the unexplainable and in teaching people how to act correctly as it applies to living together on earth when done correctly. If your religion includes science and instructs you on how to interact with the world then you are indeed lucky, and may possibly have found a true religion. If on the other hand you have become enlightened and reached a state of living that excludes the need for a conglomerate of teachings and beliefs your are even more lucky, because you can appreciate others beliefs while not allowing them to infect yours.” So religion is helpful in adjusting your soul and science is helpful if adjusting your knowledge. You must strike your own balance, but do us all a favor. Don’t attempt to force either upon the rest of us, let us all find our own way.”
And then a child came to him and asked “Well then Prophet, if musicians, poets, scientists, and theologians all contend they deal in originality and may perhaps be wrong then what exactly is original thought and how do we achieve it?” And he answered “let us start with what’s not original thought. Original thought is not learned in a school or institution. Education is a great thing and though it may seem empowering it can’t give you original thought it can only prepare you for it . Many of the young hipsters of the day believe that being able to quote famous philosphers or scientists makes them appear smarter than others because they possess the power of original thought but it doesn’t. It only makes them seem arrogant and out of touch. Education only gives us the foundations to develop original thought. The very second we enter the world we are being shaped by those around us. So to begin with we need to discard all the distractions of life. In order to achieve original you must put down the books, turn off all your electronic devices, and reach deep inside the self and get in touch with your soul, for it is the soul that is the one true original. Get educated then be your own inspiration..PEACE

NOT MY BEAR TO CROSS

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bear

Following is part II from the excerpt of Twisted Tale’s of The Bible Easter special. The God Cosmo had found his companion Mary Anne pregnant with the gods son. When the time came for them to send their son down to the global spinning garden of earth they switched out their real son with the “virginal” birth child Cosmo had impregnated into the unsuspecting Mother Mary in a dream. Their child had been trained his entire life to take over as the son of God Cosmo and spread the word…….

Previously in Part I:

Remember that dude Herod, and the salad loving Caesar? They were none to happy. Neither in fact was the hierarchy of the Jewish religion. Seems like Jesus was gonna have some splainin’ to do to the Romans as well as the Jews. Apparently hey don’t like having their authority challenged. Something evil was afoot.

Part II Not My Bear To Cross
Cosmo felt an evil wind blowing across District Seven causing him profound alarm. Immediately he arranged for his boy Jesus to sneak away from his ministries on Garden Earth for a secret meeting and update. First though it was they’re ritual father and son meteor ball catch. After a few lightning quick hardballs both father and son rubbed their sore hands and sat down together. “So Pops, how’s everything with Mom?” Como hugged his son. “She is well J, she enjoyed the wedding reception but that’s not why I’m here son. My god intuition senses are tingling with bad omen tremors. I’m worried something is not right in the garden beds. How are things going on here for you?” Jesus shrugged his shoulders, “Well it’s not easy Pops. I have my disciples and my family behind me, and some other follower but it’s going kinda slow. I pulled off that fake miracle at the wedding rception and that got me a lot of new followers but I still need to do something big. I gotta tell ya Pops, for some reason they call you God, not Cosmo or A god, but God Almighty. They are scared shitless of you.” Cosmos eyes sparkled with a touch of pride but his recent agita was still a concern “Yes, yes, I see how they act, we need to nip that in the bud quick but we have bigger fishermen to fry here my son. Those people will come around, I‘ll give you some undeniable miracles for that. First though I need to warn you to watch your back. There are some evil people looking to take you down so just be careful. Don’t take anyone or anything for granted. I’m a bit suspicious of a few of your disciples there.” Jesus adored his father, “Okay Dad, I promise, I’ll be extra vigilant and I’ll have the guys fully vetted again just to make sure. Now what’s your cool garden plan?” Cosmo was beaming with pride, “Here’s the deal. I’m gonna help you and create some more of them miracle things that work so well. I’ll have you heal a couple of fake lepers, you know change their spots and all, and let’s see….Walk on water, yea that’s it we’ll have you walk on water. That should convince the shit out of any doubtful diner that you’re the real deal three course meal. That will convince just about everyone to believe in you. Then all you need do is get them back on the correct path of life so they can live amongst each other they way I meant for them too. You’ll teach them how to live a good life co-existing with the rest of the living things in our garden. It will once again be one big happy garden party.” Jesus gave it some deep thought. “Easier said than done Dad but you know I’ll do my best. I think I have a few cards left up my sleeve.” Cosmo gave his son a stern glare, “Its not what’s up your sleeve that concerns me, its what’s in your pants. Which brings to mind son, what are your intentions with Miss Magdalene? Have you vetted her fully?” Now it was Jesus turn to glow with pride. “She’s a looker eh Dad? I think I may bring her back to the District some day. I really do like her, I’m not using her and yes I had her checked six ways to Sunday. She worships the ground I walk on. And she also worships my rod and staff.” The glare morphed into a knowing man to man smile. “Just be careful boy, men have been known to do some pretty crazy shit for a woman. Now you better get going. I’ll get started on your miracles right now. Your disciples are all out fishing in the Jordan River and their boat is stuck. When you get down there I will freeze the river just under your steps long enough for you to walk out and pull them to safety. A very crowd has already gathered fearing the worst. After that it’s up to you.” Jesus shook his head in admirable disbelief, “You are the bomb Dad.

An uneasiness was still in the air and for good reason. Unbeknownst to Cosmo and his enthusiastic son there was a new sheriff was in town. It was sheriff Satan Bear and man was he ever mean. Definitely not someone to have on your bad side, double cross, or even single cross. Worst thing about Satan Bear is Jesus was his natural enemy who was raised to kill him. Unfortunately though, he would sonn become a crossed bear. Satan Bear was weaponized because he was the child of Cosmo’s first attempt at immaculate conception with Mother Mary. The first child born to save the world was supposed to be male but unfortunately for her the chromosomes got mixed up. They named her Rosemary after the herb and instead of being the savior she was nothing more than Jesus’ older sister. She couldn’t penetrate the glass ceiling (or penetrate anything else if ya know what I mean), so she was overlooked and forgotten. Rosemary was filled with resentment and dedicated her life to avenging her younger brother for becoming the savior over her because of his gender. She enlisted the help and sperm of a disgruntled ex friend of Cosmo named Lucifer from the galaxy of Dante’s Inferno. Lucifer was half god-half bear and more than happy to service Rosemary sexually and allowing love to grow where Rosemary flows. Together they conceived an ornery son they named Satan Bear based on his bloodline and his looks. He was an ugly red haired ginge of a demi-god with the face of an ogre but the body of a grizzly bear with a personality most fitting. MEAN! Soon a plan would be set in motion that would end in a duel of apocalyptic proportions that would upset Eden’s applecart for an eternity. If anyone could be a threat to the J-meister it was Rosemary’s baby, all growed up.

Jesus went down to The River Jordan and just as Cosmo had promised the disciples were stuck out on the water where a huge crowd had gathered on the riverbank. Judas cried out, “Jesus, help us!” The big JC closed his eyes and started walking. True to his word his father froze the water beneath his feet with each step and gave the appearance of walking on top of the water. He grabbed the line of the boat and to the jaw dropping amazement and cantankerous cheers and applause he guided the boat to shore and saved the group of hapless fishermen. A thunderous display of accolades followed and word spread very quickly. Soon everyone had heard of this dude who claims to be the son of God walking on water, changing water into wine, healing the sick and showing compassion to the poor. With the hand of Cosmo as his guide he roamed the countryside with Mary and his band of merry marauding disciples healing and feeding and making a huge name for themselves. At one point he took one loaf of bread and fed twenty people, but by the time the story got out it had evolved into feeing thousands with only a half a loaf of bread. Jesus was rapidly becoming the most popular man on earth. They headlined Bazaars and Revivals all over the place. People everywhere spoke of his good deeds, his teachings of tolerance, and his ability to convey Gods forgiveness to those in need. But not everyone was happy about all this pomp and circumstance. Satan Bear was angrily awaiting an opportunity to ease his mothers angst, King Herod wanted “That bastards” head on a platter, and the emperor Caesar wanted nothing less than nail this Jesus guy in the act. Something had to be done about this do-gooder who was telling people they need not pay taxes. Caesar summoned one of his high priests and told him something must be one. As it turned out that high priest was none other than the minister of the sinister and friend of Satan Bear, Caiaphas. Cai playfully nicknamed Satan B “The anti-Christ” which he adored. In private meetings of Caesar, Herod, the Jewish high priests, and the leaders of Rome they set about a plan to create a more permanent solution to their problem. Caiaphas spoke to the cabal, “What then to do about Jesus of Nazareth? No riots, no armies, no fighting, no slogans, one thing I’ll say for him Jesus he’s cool. We must deal with him now. Any suggestions?” Annas, the high priest of the newly formed Roman province spoke first, “My dear Caiaphas, I have a bag of silver and you have a friend you call the anti-christ chomping at the bit to get to his uncle. I have a plan to destroy not only Jesuszilla but Godzilla as well, a kind of father and son package deal. That Judas dude is a closet druggie strung out on opium so he is uber vulnerable. Satan Bear will sell him some high grade shit and then raise the price drastically. We can force him to make a deal with the antichrist for a bag of silver and a supply of opium. We can not only get the 411 on what this Jesus fucker is doing, we can have Judas set him up in Gethsemane. After that its up to you guys who disposes of him” Caiaphas smiled one of the biggest shit eating grins any had ever seen and replied, “Annas that is brilliant. Lets go nail his ass to a cross!”
Now neither Cosmo nor Jesus had any clue what was going on and they just kept on trying to save the garden. Cosmo created more miracles to enhance Jesus’ image and Jesus kept teaching and preaching all over trying to get the youmans back to global synergetic activity. He was gaining ground but his message was being misinterpreted. He became very frustrated and began referring to Cosmo as God just like the people did, and he even went as far as to use it as a threat. “You need to seek Gods forgiveness for your sins or he will bring great misfortune upon you.” It seemed to work so much better than plain old reasoning. Then one day the mad J-man flipped his sandal strap at the Temple when he saw it filled with greedy scamsters and dishonest rip-offs. He had an absolute Temple Tantrum throwing tables and kicking everyone out. Jesus had lost it and the tides were turning against him.
After his hissy fit instead of worshipping him as before people trembled at his feet. They worshiped God and Jesus out if fear. Those flames of fear stoked and inflated his ego to a huge hard self centered Cadbury egg. What I’m saying here is went to Jesus’ heads. Both of them! He began to believe he could control these mere mortals while fornicating his way across the countryside. “Its good to be king, haha.” He was healing crippled people, lepers, and handing out forgiveness as if he himself were a full fledged god. His ego not only discouraged his chosen twelve, but a culture of distrust in Jesus was beginning to form. Sensing this Jesus decided it would be best for everyone if he threw an intimate dinner party to help clear the air.
It’s well documented how Judas betrayed Jesus just before their big dinner but there are a few undocumented occurrences that were left out. First of all it wasn’t supposed to be the last supper, it was more of an awards dinner where Jesus was gonna give props to his twelve disciples while reinstating their faith in him. Before dinner Judas came up to Jesus really high on opium looking to lock lips in a tongue tango of a kiss on Jesus. Despite the stirring in the aroused J-low’s staff Jesus refuted his moves. “Judas, it’s bad enough you betrayed me but must you do it with a snog toggle?” Iscariot was taken aback by both the thwarting of his advances as well as the fact that this savior here was already aware that he sold him out for more opium. He chose to feign ignorance but the J-ster laid it all out for him. Judas knew he was busted, “Cut out the dramatics you know very well you wanted me to do it. Fucking A, now I’m glad I told Lucifer where you would be! Go now, go on and complete your self fulfilling prophecy.” Silence spoke volumes. Judas had thrown Jesus under the bus and the camel shit was about to hit the caravan fan. Tears welled in Jesus’ eyes as he walked into the Garden of Gethsemane and the rest as they say is history. As for Judas, he went back to Lucifer for something stronger, and Lucifer of course made it way too strong and Judas OD’ed.
While The crossed Satan Bear gleefully watched Jesus was passed back and forth from Pontius Pilate, to Caesar, to King Herod until he finally met his brutal end. Thrice denied by Peter, betrayed by Jesus, no one left by his tomb but his faithful Mary Magdalene. For three days and nights she mourned her lover never leaving the grave sight. On the third day Cosmo returned to The Garden Earth from District Seven with Mary Anne. A whirlwind of emotions. They experienced denial, sorrow, grief, but most of all anger. Anger that not only had youmanity lost its way and completely missed the message of peace but they had so brutally murdered their son. They removed Jesus from his tomb and returned to their own garden to mourn him and release him into the universe completely unaware of the events taking place in their beloved garden. So hurt were they it would be over eighteen hundred youman years before they returned to The Garden Earth. Little did they know when they put in the video tape to see had been going on that they would been in for a shock that would shake their entire galaxy!

How Ya Gonna Keep Em Down On The Farm After They’ve Cooked Puree

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cook

the continuing adventures of J T Hilltop’s Potsink Diary
From pots and pans to rakes and snakes I took to landscaping fairly well. Sun burnt arms instead of grease burnt arms, just as hot as a kitchen, and about as physically as taxing yet still I missed cooking. It‘s been three months since the restaurant closed and fate stuck its fickle finger in my life interrupted my path to culinary enlightenment. Leaving me to care for the property of a nursing home and placing me every day at lunch just outside of the kitchen where the sounds of culinary exploits pounded out a rhythm of longing. It stirred inside of me making me miss working in a kitchen with all my soul. Aware of that fate wasn’t done tossing curve balls at my life because on one Monday I learned just what a practical joker fate can really be. Apparently destiny is equipped with a bag full of tricks containing an abyss of irony and has a knack for playing emotional table tennis with me. Like a ping pong ball I got paddled back and forth hard forcing me out of the restaurant across the net to a field of hard labor, then smashed back into another kitchen. Fred had driven me to Mimi Dee’s early in the morning to manicure the lawn while he ran about town “performing” some chores. Popular belief growing on the rumor vine claimed those chores he performed were for one of the nurses at the Huntersville location. Whatev, not my business and besides it was fine by me as it left me alone to work the property at my own pace.
Left to my resources, my new tools of the trade, and a cheap lawnmower I set out to give the yard a neat trimming and edging. A mani-pedi for the acreages of land. An hour and a half into my solo performance was the moment fate chose to sneak an ominous looking dark cumulo nimbus cloud slithering across the horizon setting up cloud camp above my head. One loud crack of sneering thunder and a few seconds later I was the focus of a drenching downpour. Not a dipping of the toe in the pool, but one soaked to the bone bucket full of rainwater followed by another. The skies blushed dark crimson as if foretelling the twisted new path fate had in store. Having become somewhat intimate with fates and destinies I had to assume that this new path would be lined with irony. “Jesus Christ this shit’s really coming down. Can’t get anything more done here so I guess I should go inside.” I mumbled it to myself to validate it was proper for me to stop work an seek shelter. As soon as I entered the back door a very familiar sense filled the room. The clanging of pots and pans as they jockeyed for position on the stove, plates chattering while being pulled and stacked from the dishwasher, and a general sense of culinary atmosphere called me by name. A private culinary symphony all for me supplied by that devious enigma called fate. The air was full with the smells of a variety of meats and vegetables with wafts of consommé memories from a large pot of chicken infused liquid hoping to one day soon become a soup. The smells and sounds were the familiar frantic state of culinary urgency shortly before service. The aura of intense pressure was reminiscent of Cavalieri’s restaurant, my one time Mecca. It was crunch time even in this institutional kitchen and I was so taken aback by my memories I shook off the rain and blurted out to the Nurse in charge of the kitchen, “Can I help? I know a bit about food.” Without a smile a very attractive Jamaican woman in a not very sexy nurses uniform yelled “I need zeese onions peeled and cut, tink you could a’handle dat?” Nary a word more need be spoken as I rushed over to the table with the onions, grabbed a familiar feeling knife and pulled out a cutting board. In a matter of minutes I had peeled, cored, and diced the onions. “What else do you need?” The Nurse stopped in mid stride and asked “You gotta all dem onions done?” I could tell she was doubting me so I held them up and said “Yup, where do you want them?” She smiled at me with a huge open mouth and I noticed a small gap in her front teeth. Suddenly something seemed more sexy about her despite the uniform. As I looked closer I realized the uniform fit pretty tight allowing me a gratuitous view of her shape. She was in her late twenties or early thirties, slender and very pretty with firm looking curves in all the right places. Her skin was smooth and silky with an exotic ebony glow. She looked at me approvingly with dark brown eyes that twinkled sweetly in contrast to the sharp authority she normally displayed on the staff. “Put day inna pot dare witt dee carrots.” When I asked her if she wanted a mirepoix I thought she was gonna run over and kiss me full on the lips. Maybe I hoped she would but either way she flashed me that huge tiny tooth gapped smile. “You do know your way round de kitchen. My name is Margie and yes, I needa celery in dare too. Tink you canna hanel dat?” Time to respond with my innuendo laced charm, “I can handle whatever you got Margie. My name is JT.” She teased back, “Zhay Tee huh? What kina name is dot, can‘t afford whole name? ” It was feeling good, cooking and flirting again, “My real name is Justin, but my friends call me JT because I am Just Thrilling to be with. It seems we are friends now so I guess you should call me JT.” “Yes indeed it do Mr. Trilling. I tink maybe we work well togetter.” She punctuated her statement with a suggestively tender wink. I won’t tell you my thoughts at that moment but they would make a beet blush. It felt great as I assisted Margie in the kitchen getting lunch together quickly and efficiently while the rain continued to pound on the back door just begging to come in for a visit. I smiled at how great it was to be back in a kitchen cooking and flirting again.
After lunch I helped clean up then went outside to put away the tools I had abandoned in the storm since the rain ended as abruptly as it had begun. As I was surveying the yard deciding what else I could do before Fred got back when I heard someone yelling my name. Margie was calling me from the front door of the mansion. When I got there she smiled a huge smile saying to me “I got some good news for you Zhay. I jus talk ‘a Misser Viero an him say you canna work here wit us inna de kitchen and aroun’ de home full time. We canna use the help and you no have to work inna da rain no more. What jew tink Jussa trilling?” There it was. Right there fate dangled its fickle tickle of decision in front of me chuckling at what ominous repercussions would come of my choice. But was it a choice or had fate already made up my mind for me? If I say I would love to Fred will be mad but if I say no I will be saying no to old man Viero and who says no to an owner? Yes also means no more shit spreading, being back in a kitchen, and the chance to do some more serious flirting. Round the clock nurses aides as well as a kitchen job. It really had felt awesome working in the kitchen with Margie. I could definitely see myself working with her and her crew of nurses. Not to mention all the young chicks who help her which I would be working with. Okay, go ahead and mention it I know I will. True I have a steady girlfriend and all, but like my Mom says, “You can look at the menu as long as you remember what your entrée is.” Not sure exactly what she meant but give her credit for trying to speak restaurantese to me. Decision was made while fate laughed. “I think I would really like that Margie, when can I start?” She looked as excited as I was and told me I should finish out the week with Fred and start next Monday. Once school starts we will work out a weekend and afternoon schedule. My new job would be to maintain the inside of the home, help in the kitchen and whatever assistance the nurses may need. All in all it seemed like it was nothing but gold, at least until I learned what new adventures were in store for me. I neglected to remind myself that things were not always what they seemed but that’s okay, I would find out in good time what new tricks fate had in store for me to tickle its devilish funny bone. As intimate as I thought I was with fate I never realized it was planning to teach me about some new adventures which would include urine stains and enema’s. I still had a lot to learn.
TBC

Out Of The Frying Pan Into The Fertilizer

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field

Last time: “Maybe you’re right Buddy, maybe I need a break from restaurants. Tomorrow I’ll go check out Muncies’s Landscaping.”

By J.T. Hilltop

It wasn’t like I wasn’t used to the fecal matter slamming into the rotary wind oscillator it‘s just I wasn’t thinking the said fecal matter would be literal and figure so prominently in my life. The closing of Cavelieri’s restaurant was a lot to deal with and frankly the furthest thing from my mind was me needing a new job. No longer was I an apostle to a culinary madman, no more waitresses to flirt with, no more free beers, but worst of all no paycheck. I was now saturated with disappointment and disillusionment believing the universe had let me down. All my meditating and chanting was for naught. Maybe what I needed really was new path to follow, a change for the better. Time to seek another avenue of employment, to shed the dry snakeskin of the restaurant industry and molt to another field. Actually field sounds right Ken was right I should get as far away from any kitchen, knife wielding Chef or teasing waitress and do some fieldwork. I need a sacrificial rack of lamb. I should do exactly what Ken suggested and go work landscaping for Muncie and earn some cold hard cash. As fate would have it and timing being everything my brother’s ex boss was in need of one more laborer. Hell man I can labor! So it came to pass that I had became the new landscaper laborer for Muncies Field and Dreams Landscaping. More accurately put, I had become the new lawn mowing leaf raking topsoil carrying shit spreading go boy. I had chosen to become a hard working laborer having my skin scorched everyday by dermal burning threats the sun makes good on while also enjoying the hearty aroma of freshly decayed organic shit. Not just any old shit, but class A number one horseshit Munson got from the stables. Enough about the perks though, there’s also a downside.
Every day ended the same, my arm and back muscles pounding out a rebellious beat building to a painful crescendo. I try and cool the aches and pains with an ice cold beer but it seem as though all my muscles tightened up into ball of overworked subdermal tissues and tendons screaming at every movement. My skin radiates a pinkish aura from hours spent unprotected by those relentless threats of the harsh sun. It left my neck and shoulders feeling like they were rug burnt adding to my misery. As if that weren’t enough there was that omnipresent stench of decaying crap implanting its neverending carousel of stink deep into my nasal cavity. Deep! One of my less enviable jobs was to take compost, decayed animal shit and who knows what and spread the malodorous mixture across a field. At first the smell of evaporating morning dew so earthy and rich comes up off the ground like a wisp of warm steam in a pleasant tease just waiting for its replacement. Breathe deep and enjoy that nature while you can because within seconds the dank aroma of compost rises triumphantly up the nasal passages. Its a blend of some of the most offensive smells I could ever imagine, if dogs smelled that stench when they sniffed another dogs ass the species would go extinct. The steaming stench of a mountain outhouse combined with a quarantined fraternity bathroom joining forces with week old spoiled milk and assorted cheeses creating a cacophony of disgust that slowly creeps up my nose making an all out aerial assault on my entire being. The assault continues for hours even after my work day was done. Like pigpen the stench takes on an identity of its own following me everywhere even stalking me all the way to the shower where it finally meets it’s match and scurries defeated down the drain. A small portion of it sets up camp in my clothing as a rank reminder of my newly acquired hopelessness that was eased but never eradicated by the cold beer.
I began taking diet pills every morning to keep me awake and give me the energy to bust my ass out in the shit fields and then swallow down pheno barbs at night to sleep through the amphetamine rush. An expensive proposition because on days that it rained I would be sent home making no money for the day, needing extra beer and weed to calm me down from the pills. Between the pills, beer and weed I went through all my savings after just one week of solid rain. Penniless I was gloomily staring out Munson’s tool shed listening to the rain wondering how the fuck I got here. As if on cue fate suck its fat foot inside the door forcing its way in. Out of the blue my friend Patrick came by with an offer to become an assistant groundskeeper for a local dude who owns three nursing home properties. It’s a full time job despite weather and Patrick was quitting. The job was open and he promised to recommend me. Think how cool it would be to be able to use my newly acquired skills on three locations where you get paid even if it rains. That’s how it was that I became something different. Now I would be a shit spreader with a title. The assistant groundskeeper of the Vieros Healthcare facilities. I was still in charge of manure movement but now I can add garage cleaner to my resume. Whatever, I was working and making money on a regular basis again. Besides the work wasn’t nearly as exhausting so life was good again. Adios Muncie, now I can concentrate on saving up money to get the Hell out of here. Maybe even look for a new kitchen job come the fall.
I found myself spending most of my time at one specific locations, Mimi Dee’s. That was the nickname used by the staff at the Miriam Deegan Adult Home owned by the Vieros one of the richest families in town. They also owned two other homes but I only worked at each once a week. Vieros Ault Home was a full scale nursing home, and the Lighthouse was a health related facility, which is a fancy name for old folks home. The only difference in the two being that about eighty percent of the “patients” at The lighthouse and Mimi Dee’s could care for themselves. Those at Viernos couldn’t even wipe their asses but that was already too much information for me. My concern was making sure all the properties were well kept, trimmed and mowed so the families of the patients would believe that no expense was spared in the upkeep of their parents dwelling. Mimi Dee’s was sort of their flagship home so most of the attention was bestowed on that property. But I was happy mowing lawns and raking leaves, even trimming the shrubs which I knew by name. Not the Latin names, the names I made up for them to keep me sane while spending hours alone caring for properties. Big Zebra, Burning Bush, Sticks, just weird names to entertain me. One great benefit was not having the shit stink hanging around me all day and night.
So here I was in a quaint little Long Island community called Cool Springs working on a property of a former Pratt Mansion turned Rest Home. Tending to the chlorophyll producing floral zoo of colorful organic plants and flowers busy enjoying their days photosynthesizing away and looking pretty. My boss, Fred drove from property to property and left me alone most of the time. He drove me to Mimi Dee’s, gave me daily chore lists, like mow the two acres of lawn, trim the hedges, or weed out the flower beds, and went about his business. A questionable bonus was being invited inside for lunch everyday. Not the taste bud tingling foods Jimmy made but it was decent and best of all free. The best part about eating inside the nursing home was the company at lunchtime. I sat around the table with two other guys, six cute young nurse’s aides, and two nurses. On most days I was the center of the aides attention and I dug that. The free meal was back, the flirting was back, and the paycheck was back. What could possibly go wrong? Little did I know at the time, but fates fat foot was a mere ten feet away teasing me by tapping out the familiar sounds of pots and pans banging, plates clinging, and sizzles sizzling out a kitchen concerto. How I miss and love those sounds.

Cooking On Empty, The Disappearance Of A Restaurant

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another

J.T. Hilltop
Cavelieri’s Restaurant was more than just a job to me it was my Mecca, Café Nirvana, a culinary cathedral where I was transformed from just another suburban punk kid to an integral ensemble cast member of a gastronomic theater troupe. I was a cast member of great importance at Cavelieri’s and having put in many hours of work in the kitchen I had graduated from understudy to be in the main cast of an improvisational culinary troupe. From scrubbing floors to stuffing mushrooms (sometimes while doing mushrooms) to making salads, plating deserts, and even light sauté work I had become an integral cog in the culinary Karmic wheel. We were all equals in terms of contribution, each of us being essential pieces of a performance art jigsaw play. I adored my time with the staff, the laughs, tears, and beers. At the end of each shift the manager bought rounds of beers to all of us, even to us underage cogs. Many an evening we even hung out after shift for over an hour. I had total seniority over the weekend warriors, the kids from high school who were lowly part timers. Hordes of classmates had come through those doors searching for restaurant enlightenment but only a select few achieve it. I was one of those who reached the pinnacle kitchen edification and Cavelieri’s was my Taj Majal, my temple of pleasing palatable worship. I had earned my position of assistant to the high priest of chefdom. All the kids knew I was the head suds buster at Cavelieri’s having dominion over all the other cogs that came to work were to be trained by the holy soapsud Shah. It gave me a sense of purpose organizing and training the utility staff. The entire staff was my family without the blood relation drama. Alone we were circus sideshows, freaks and geeks all totally misunderstood, but when the Cavelieri family was in the house we were a force to be reckoned with. I was looking forward to going to work on this warm spring evening if only to get away from the chaos that cluttered my daily life. Being a central figure in the restaurant absorbed my inner spirit projecting me to another realm.
I had learned so much at Cavelieri’s, not just about cooking but about life. Jimmy had taken me under his wing like I was his son although he’d never admit it. I alone was privy to his paternal advices and concerns. He had become my sensei, my benefactor of chefdom. Even Andre had begun teaching me things although I suspected his motives were more about getting me to do his work for him. Either way I had become the kitchen protégé in line to one day have dominion of my very own kitchen. All the basics plus some tricks of the trade on soups and sauces. The more he taught the more I absorbed. I had became a gastronomic sponge soaking up everything they offered. Plus I was earning as I was learning.
The second I walked up to the back door of the kitchen finding it locked I sensed something amiss. I peered through the grease smeared window but it appeared all the lights were off. I double checked my watch then looked to the parking lot. Jimmy’s car was parked in front with a few other cars so I walked around. Fuck man I hope Jense isn’t gonna yell at me again for using the front door but what else could I do? I could just hear him in his condescending European accent, “Chay Dee! Vat do joo tink dis iss here? Zhew tink we air r-r-rrunning a pup-you larraty conest? Deese eess a r-r-r-r-r-eeeerrrrestarant!“ I opened the front door staring at the abnormal scene perplexed. Across the dining room at the bar sat Jimmy, Andre, Didier, and Rod the bus boy with John behind the bar. I walked up and noticed an almost deathly glumness on their collective faces. “Hey guys, what’s up? The back doors locked.”
The all stared at me as if they had no idea who I was. Jimmy broke the ominous silence and said “Zeet down JD. We gots some bad news today. Johnny, give JD a beer.” My happiness was rapidly running out the drain allowing concern to sneak up in its place as John poured me a cold beer. It was Didier who spoke up next. “ Vucking Jense und Laura have run off with all zee restaurant money. Zey broke into zeee safe, took alla da cash.Tooka zee cash fromma registers und dezzappeared.” My face turned a whiter shade of pale. “WHAT?” If I told you I was stunned I would have been doing the emotion a terrible injustice. As Roget could more accurately put it I was bewildered confused dismayed astounded stupefied flabbergasted floored and blown away. My entire world and every world within a hundred light years had been rocked to it‘s apple core! I looked intensely from face to face hoping one of them would reveal the fact that they were punking the shit out of me but none offered a scintilla of a smile. “Jeeeeesus fucking shit! When did what, how did they, fuck man did anyone call the cops?” I was good at the obvious. While Didier explained everything the harsh news slowly seeped into my cerebellum chased by the cold beer. He came to work this morning and found the front door open and the alarm shut off. The cash register was open and empty, there was an empty bottle of Dom Perignon Champagne on the bar with two empty glasses. He ran to the office which was also wide open as was the safe door. He called the cops first, then Jense. Jenses wife said he left for work early and should already be there by now. Didier started doing the arithmetic and called Laura whom he had expected of having an affair with Jense. The cops came and took away the champagne bottle and glasses but it was pretty obvious what has happened. “I put all zee numbers togezzer, und she come out zero.”
Man this was a lot to digest. So many things raced through my mind. Classic restaurant scandal, the head Maitre d’ and head waitress give each other head then rip off the restaurant and head off into the sunset. For someone who was at the helm of the stainless steel pot and pan bathtub so often it took a while to sink in. “Wait-What?! Laura and that fucking airhead asshole Jense did it? The bastards took all the money? They-they took ALL the money? Wait, what does that mean?” I turned to my mentor, “It means JD my boy that we ain’t got no more restaurant. No mas trabajo amigo.” I looked at Jimmy with an empty confused stare. So that was it man. No more job. No more Laura. No more money coming in. No more Cavelieri‘s. It was painful. Didier explained that the restaurant would have to withhold my paycheck until the investigation was over. The six of us sat at the bar and drank for hours until it was time for everyone to leave. We said good bye to each other, Jimmy and I talked at his car for another 30 minutes where he assured me when he found another job he would call me. A nice gesture but I knew this was the last time I would ever see of Jimmy again. Or any of the other people who had become such an integral part of my life. Now they would all just be in my rear view mirror, a speck of dust in my memory bank. Feeling sad and somewhat broken I walked home. Actually I sort of stumbled home having consumed more than my share of the free flowing beer. The summer was barely beginning and Cavelieri’s days were over for good! I stopped off on the way at Kens to score some ludes to ease the pain.
When I got to Kens room he was flying high and slurring even worse than me. “Hey bro, what’s the matter? You look like you been crying or something. Here man take these, they‘ll cure anything.” Ken had handed me two white tablets that looked like huge aspirins. “Jesus shit man, what the fuck are these things elephant tranquilizers? I trusted Ken to the end so I downed the tabs without waiting for a reply but still I was curious. “Morph tabs bro”, gonna kick your ass six ways to Sunday. So what’s eating you bro?” I pulled a joint from my cigarette pack, “Oh man, fuckin’ Cavelieri’s closed down man, like forever. That chick Laura ran away with the dickhead Maitre d’ and took all the fuckin’ money. They even downed a bottle of Dom Perignon before running off. Now I ain’t got no job. Sucks man!” Ken seemed shocked but was so stoned he had a hard time convincing his face to respond in kind. Almost vacant. “Whoa! Holy Jesus fuck man! That does suck. Hey man, I hear Munson is hiring, you can mow lawns right?” Ken’s eyes were tiny slits and he was nodding. “Dude how many of them morph pills did you take?” Ken held up four fingers laughing goofily and accepted the joint from me which we puffed halfway down. In the middle of toking Ken fell asleep so I laid him comfortable in his bed. “Maybe you’re right Buddy, maybe I need a break from restaurants. Tomorrow I’ll go check out Munson’s Landscaping.”

Jesus Christ Superstar Do You Think You’re Who They Say You Are?

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jc

Excerpt from JT Hilltops Galactic Gardening

News. North East West South. Good news, bad news, happy news, sad news. There’s tragic news, welcome news, not so welcome news, news, news, news, all kinds of news. Some news has little or no consequence on your life and some comes hurling at you accompanied by a shit ton of bricks. News can make you laugh or cry, chuckle or sigh, it can have little effect or it can have a dramatic effect. But its gonna come. News is coming toward you and there ain’t nothing you can do to stop it. Mary Anne’s news was one of those shit tons that came on a speeding train out of control heading straight down the track with no one at the wheel. Like it or not, good or bad, news is a coming and Cosmo better be ready because once this news hits Cosmo’s fan there will be a whirlwind of change and its got a shit ton of bricks with it. The real difference between good or bad is perspective. “Cosmo my favorite god, I have some news for you. Remember that time we had our romp in the clouds in The District? You filled me up with joy, pleasure, intense feeling and….and a shit ton of highly active sperm. You have a baby boy and his names Jesus.” A baby? That’s news all right! It’s the kind of life altering news that for some is incredible and joyous, to many others it’s indifferent, but for a vast number who get this news for the first time its frightening. It’s the kind of news that will have you running down the street screaming halleluiah I’m gonna be a parent or slam you headfirst into unprepared parenthood. “You have a son” is the very definition of life altering news. “You have a son, his name is Jesus.” Cosmo repeated the name Jesus over to himself more than a dozen times and he was still not sure how to take the news.
But lets put some perspective on this news. Not your ordinary couple, Mary Anne is not headed for cable TV show about a pregnant teen, but she may swing a new show about bring up a half god. Cosmo is the God of The Milky Way Galaxy and Mary Anne’s profession is ….lets call it questionable. However we must keep in mind that Cosmo has always been a stand up god as well as quite resourceful. If anyone can put a positive gravitational spin on this news Cosmo could. So this news of baby Jesus would not be taken lightly. First things first let it be known that the moment it sunk in Cosmo knew his responsibility to both Mary Anne and baby Jesus. As much as he loved his bachelorhood the thought of a solid lifestyle held a degree of appeal to Cosmo. On the other hand Cosmo was quite the lover and never had a problem finding a partner. Yet many a night was spent lonely watching his garden and Mary Anne would certainly be of interesting company and a god has no qualms about past practices of their mates. Besides she is quite skilled at put a huge smile on the virile gods face. The bottom line is he had a baby on the way and a responsibility to both the baby and the non god he had fallen in love with. Wait! What? Fallen in love? Certainly not fallen, perhaps he had stumbled in a profound like with her but love? Come to think of it he did create the fertile crescent while thinking of her beautiful hair (If indeed it was as he claims her head was the body part he was thinking about). Maybe this news can be used for a positive effect on the three of them and the garden as well. A plan was inseminated and the egg is ready to be hatched. Cosmo knew exactly what to do with the news.
Of course the news is also going to be heard at a board meeting in District 7. The board is like the gravitational center of universal gossip. Whether it’s entertainment, breaking news or even just hearsay, all news that’s fit to print or printed to fit will find its way to District 7 in a radio-active flash. The best thing for Cosmo to do is to have his plan of action fully worked out before they summon him. Some mixed marriages have worked, a god and a non god can live a happy life but many a failure has been scandalized across the universes. With this plan however Cosmo was taking fatherhood to an unprecedented level . He had already sold it on his non god lover who had found herself in a awkward position of being the mother of a gods child. Ironically it was from twisting herself into an awkward position one pleasure soaked night that lead to her situation in the first place. For her part it was difficult to argue with a god to begin with but Mary Anne trusted Cosmo implicitly and his plan made sense. Truth be told she did have some reservations at first but after thinking the story through a few times it began to make more sense. Her son would be a savior, a Christ. Her son would be the messiah of Garden Earth. She repeated it to herself, “My son, Jesus Christ, Superstar.”

Whats A Nice Guy Like You Doing In A Jail Like This? pt1

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rewrite

Welcome to South Carolina, take your handcuffs off and stay awhile, hear?

A rewrite to JT Hilltops great American novel “Zen and The Art of Culinary Maintenance”

Here I was on the first day as I moved into my new digs, a guest suite in the local detention center of Aiken County South Carolina. I remembered having detention in high school. Often! It’s a form of scholastic punishment for any of a variety of mischievous and normally mundane infractions. Detention in my high school was even nicknamed “Brig” to accentuate the feeling of being locked away. This however, was quite a different form of detention. Instead of sitting in a room with the other shenanigan producing student inmates forced to pretend we were working on homework after school I was given my very own guest suite. It wasn’t an especially large room in fact I’ve seen studio apartments ten time the size and this particular living arrangement came fully furnished yet totally unadorned. I suppose you could say it was decorated in minimalist style, complete with four bare walls, a stainless steel toilet and sink, a pamphlet thin mattress on a wooden platform with a polyester sheet and Government issue wool blanket, and…..well actually, that was it. That was the extent of the furnishings, all the comforts of home for a down and out hermit. Whatever the case it was to be my new living arrangements for the next thirty days. So here I am, this young suave New Yorker, locked up somewhere in the deep south where I feared I may never be heard from again. The pace in this city, I think I heard it called Grandmaville, or Grannyville or some shit was anything but urgent. Great, I thought to myself, here I am in Petticoat fucking Junction. There’s Uncle Joe he’s a movin’ kinda slow!” Somewhere between Mayberry and Hootersville. “Jesus shit,” I thought, “Not a familiar face anywhere and not a single person left to turn to.” Thirty days in this hell hole with no beer, no weed, not even a fucking TV to help pass the time. Just me, myself and….and a band of hillbilly cops. Actually, I wasn’t completely alone, it was kind of a low life criminal condo.
Along with yours truly, and against their wills as well, were five “block” mates each with their very own sardine can housing unit and each sizing up this long haired city boy. I could tell they were wondering what skyscraper it was that I crawled out from under. I was relatively certain I detected a mix of urban admiration and good ole boy Yankee hatred, but I may have been setting their intelligence bar higher than I should have. Having been in the wrong bar at the wrong time on occasion I instinctively I understood the importance of establishing the “upper hand”. I had heard some of the other detainees, let’s call them “Inn” mates, refer to the guards as“turn-key”. So it was time to establish my dominance with my jailors while developing my “street credentials” with my new roomies. I determined that a perfect place to start was right this very moment by showing these local yokel criminals how we do it up north in the big city. So in my toughest NYC voice I let out an authoritative directive. “Ay Oh, Turn-key. Yea you in the uniform over thar, I need to make my phone call.” I had attempted to inject just the perfect modicum of disdain and rebellion as was necessary to achieve my goal of upmanship. An awkward silence befell the cellblock and I‘m not 100% sure but I believe I felt a slight wind from the eyes of my roomies opening wide in astonished disbelief. I was half expecting Barney Fife to come take me to a phone but instead a burly mean looking police officer began to stare at me with such a deadpan sarcastic glare I almost felt jealous. I’m from New York, where sarcasm is taught in kindergarten and is a second language. This dude had such killer swagger in his walk he read me a cynical short story without even uttering a single word. I began to wonder if I was taking the proper approach or if I should rethink my technique. It was then that this komodo dragon in uniform began to saunter quickly in my direction with a slow and deliberate pace that screamed “What we have here is a failure to communicate.” The oily haired officer got his face as close to mine as humanly possible and just stared at me a moment. I could feel his smoky foul breath dancing across my cheeks and I felt the lashes of his eyes as they blinked. Little hard eye hairs that could successfully cleaned under his fingernails if he had the gumption to appear clean. I had a sudden and humbling movie memory penetrate my tough NYC exterior and turn me into shimmering mass of spineless amoeba. “Suey, let me hear you scream suey!” Before my ‘Deliverance’ became a reality I attempted to coax myself back from my baseless paranoia and re-establish control. Oh Hell, stop thinking like that and get your shit together tough guy. You faced bigger opponents in Spanish Harlem just three days ago. You’ve spent countless hours in a Pagan Motorcycles Club bar. You have faced off with New York City detectives. Not very successful with the detectives, but stood up none the less. Well maybe stood up was not the right term, more like whimpered through a face full of mace as I dropped to my knee’s, but I did get a kiss my ass pig in which my friends found impressive a few days later from the safety of our hometown bar. I gave my head a hair clearing shake, swallowed hard and began to feel like I was back in charge again. Apparently, none of this impressed Sergeant Komodo Dragon. He began to speak, and I swore the voice was the same voice I recalled from that scene in Deliverance. “Say what boy?…. Did I hear you say turn-key you long haired New Yoke piece o’ shit? Are y‘all gonna tell me y‘all came alla way from da big apple jess at git an ass kicking here in Aikon County?” I couldn’t help but detect a certain note of arrogance and alarming disdain in his voice. But alas it was too late the drama had begun. I sensed that any second now the proverbial pig shit was headed directly in the vortex of the rotary oscillator. And the fan was humming a darkly ominous Dixie tune! The two of us stared each other down for a minute and the silence raised to a tense ear shattering level that damn near burnt my ears. Then as if right on cue a big shit eating “who the fuck does you think your dealing with” sardonic grin broke out on his upper lip, quickly spread across his jaw until cynicism took over his entire face. He gave my solar plexus a formal introduction to his police baton with a shit kicker smile of an exclamation point. Now I am staring directly into this shit eating evil Cheshire Cat’s angry eyes and what’s most obvious is that it’s giving off some very serious vibe implications. I had to think quick to get out of this predicament, to ease the tensions and repair the relationship with my captor while not losing face with my new room mates. Something big and potentially life altering was about to go down. But let me back up a bit and explain how I even came to be here in the first place.

Apocalypse Wow (part 1) (A twisted tale from the unrepentant liar series)

On By Terrapin - The JourneyIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

inflamation

The last one picked is the one no one really wants on the team and Book of Revelations was the last one picked for the Bible. Coincidence? Maybe, or maybe Revelations was too fat, too slow, and too uncoordinated. Or maybe it was just that no one liked it. Maybe it flat out sucked at being Biblical. But whatever the case there’s only one way to find out for sure. No, not from a cable news network, like they’re ever reliable, no if we want to know the truth about Revelations there is only one thing to do. Investigate. And of course there is only one team of investigators we can trust, and that’s the team at “CSI, Garden of Eden.” So here is the story of revelations as told to the Christian Scripture Investigators from The Garden of Eden.

The CSI team has found DNA and other forensic tidbits hidden for ages in the scriptures. Combined with trace elements like epithelia’s, fingerprints, and other secret documents they uncovered the truth of Revelations as it appears in the very end of The Brand Spanking New Testament section of the book of all things. Our crack team of investigators has gone where no man has gone before, the final frontier of the holiest of holy books, the bible. Here’s what they discovered about the book of revelations, or as its known in the business, Apocalypse Wow.
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The book of revelations is somewhat difficult to tell because its told in some unusual circumstances. The CSI team has learned that story was first revealed to this tripped out dude John, who was locked up in prison in Pathos on a drug related beef. John in turn was requested to scribe this story while under the influence of some powerful hallucinogens. John had been a prolific writer who had already had a number of stories published in the New Testament. A few under the epistle category, and a gospel song called Psalm 43 (The P has the right to remain silent). John from Pathos, where he was known as the pathological prevaricating prophet of Pathos tells the testament during this exclusive interview in his own words. It includes the four headless horsemen of Sleepy Hollow, the Liar of Judah, angels, trumpeters, the beast, a dragon, a false prophet, an arched angel, and of course no biblical tale would be complete without a whore, this one straight outta Babylon. Here’s the tape recorded testimony in his very own paraphrased words as he told it to CSI one day back in the late 60’s…..That’s 60AD, the decade of decadence. This is John’s version of events:

One evening while I was studying in the prison library the guard tells me I got this like visitor. Now not many of my friends come by and my family disowned me so my interest is how you say, peeked. A woman, not saying it was Jesus’ Mary cause I would never do nothing behind the J-mans back, lets just say she looked quite similar to Mary Magdalene. So Mary come in and lays a snog toggling of a kiss right on my mouth. I mean she gave me a tongue wrestling, saliva swapping smacker of a French kiss right there in plain view of everyone in the visitors cave. While we was moanin and goanin I could feel two slimy tabs of something slip off Maggs tongue. Oops! Yea I know, I said it wasn’t Mary Magdalene but she didn’t want us to end up some celeb scandal on the front page of the Abraham Inquirer. And let me tell you the J-man was one lucky Jew brother, Mare was one helluva kisser. Anyway She tells me to swallow, something you don’t normally wanna hear in prison, but I swallows the tabs. Then she tells me I just took two tabs of Cobalt Cheer acid. Man I was stoked, that’s some kicking cid right there my brothers, I knew I was gonna be tripping my nuts off. I smiled all the way back to my cell knowing what was coming. I got to my confinement cave and laid down on my stone cot while my bulge subsided, know what I mean?. After about a half hour or forty five minutes or so I hears this voice. Like I sit up right away and look around but there ain’t no one there. So I lays back down when the voice comes back, this time calling me by name. “Oh Jaa-ahn” So’s I shout who’s that, who’s there? And the voice says ‘Its me John, God.’ Now I’m thinking it must be the acid kickin’ in right? I mean the walls of the cave had been like breathing for a while and this voice was like soft and almost girly. Not the powerful deep voice you’d expect God would have, but the chick like voice insists. ‘Really John, its me God’ Then he steps out from the shadows and sure enough it is the almighty himself, God. Amazing how much Jesus looked like him, I mean like the spittin’ image. What else could I do? I sez, what’s happening God?”
Then he walks straight through the bars, not around them, I mean like right through them, like they wasn’t even there. Then he sez, ‘John, I’m going to tell you a story. I want you to write this story down and make sure everyone reads it.’ I’m really feelin ripe about now so I sez to him, you mean like a bestseller or something? To which he replies, ‘Ah…yea, something like that. But first try and get the story into the bible, because the book need a proper ending and this will be the story of the end and the new beginning.’ Now I’m really thinking the acid must be slamming the insides of my brain up against my skull or something but I figures maybe I should like play along and I sez to him, ‘Yea, yea sure Mr. Devine Being, whatever you sez. He goes on, “When I first created everything I had seven arch angels to watch over heaven and protect it. Six of these arch cherubs were cool, but one malignant rascal, Beelzebub, was just a real pain in the ba-donk-a-donk. Had to do everything his own way and refused to follow my directions. Finally one day I caught him rolling in the hayclouds with Gabriel’s teenage daughter and that was the last straw. I tossed him and his baneful ways out of heaven straight down to earth along with one third of the questionable residents of heaven, like my own heavenly flotilla. He went down to earth with the low-lifes and they formed a gang of goblin thugs calling themselves the Crypts. Picked the name of a sacred burial undercroft just to spite me. After that he enters the Garden of Eden, whips out his penis angling it in front of Eve like some big snake. Well of course his phallus being thrice the size of Adams Eves eyes widened, began to water and left her mouth agape which he quickly filled with an apple. He then seduced Eve enticing her to make love, five times, and that’s when all the trouble began. That was the fall of man, when Adam, teeming with jealousy and divine penis envy begins recruiting humans for his own gang to exact revenge. So I had Gabriel, a very trusted angel form a gang up here first because I knew there would someday be a major showdown and the humans wouldn‘t stand a chance. He formed the Bloods of my blood, after my sons prophecy. We call them the Bloods for short, and it created a rivalry that would be the mother of all rivalries. Positive vs. Negative, Life vs. Death, Good vs. Evil, none of them have anything on the rivalry of the Bloods vs. Crypts. One day we would have our gang lords get together for an epic rumble. This showdown will be called The Rapture. Are you getting all this down John?”
Now I knows I’m still tripping and all but I’m starting to think maybe this shit really is on the up and up so’s I keep scraping away on my stones getting down his words so I could one day write the book for him.Being an ancient journalist of course I had questions, so I asks him to explain to me how this Rapture thing is gonna go down. Then something happens that may sound like a fairy tale or a hallucination. He floats up to the ceiling an sez come on up John it will be easier if I show you”
Now I’m flipping ya know? I’m like how the brimstone am I supposed to get up there, but before I even gets to thinking about a strategy I was lifted right off my feet and floated right next to him. Honest to god, from Gods mouth to my ear he whispers, ‘Watch this. These guys can really stir it up’ A light went on and I swear to you it looked like a giant flat screen TV in HD. The images seemed so real. There was a stage with seven muicians. Al Hirt,Loius Armstrong,Wynton Marsalas, Miles Davis,Chuck Mangione,Maynard Fererson, and Dizzy Gillespie. Not just ordinary musicians each stood with a trumpet in their hands. The seven Trumpeters. They jammed away non stop for about an hour and that’s when the real show started!

TBC