Battle for the Bananas - Round One

In case you are not a Facebook friend of mine and want to see what's been occupying my free time lately, there's this:



Round two in in July.

Can We At Least Still Be Friends?

I used to belong to Toastmasters International, an organization developed to increase members’ communication skills and self-confidence.

About 6 months ago I decided I’d achieved the level of personal growth I was looking for from the club and I did not renew my member ship.

Today I got an email from Toastmasters which had a header saying:

From: Toastmasters International To: John Bunyan
Please respond to donotreply

And it started out like this:

"Dear Toastmasters Member,
Please disregard the e-mail below as it was sent in error."

The message below reported that they had noticed I had not renewed my membership. They thought this was perhaps an oversight and

"We thank you for your membership and hope you continue to enjoy and benefit from your Toastmasters experience!"

Apparently, right before they hit “send” they realized who I was.

"Oh, THAT guy? Never mind. Just tell him we sent this by mistake."

So much for communication skills.

The message reminded me of all the confusing social interactions I had with girls in high school. I was always responding to donotreply.

So much for self-confidence.

They did add this to their message:

"We apologize for the confusion."

At least that was considerate. Those girls in high school never did that.

Blame for Breakfast - My Morning With Rand Paul

Rand Paul met me for breakfast at Mom's Country Cholesterol and Vegan Home Style Diner in Rabbit Hash, Kentucky. He ordered the “Extremely Conservative Breakfast”: red and blue berries in a plain, white yogurt and some tea. I had the “German Sampler”: eggs, goetta, potato pancakes, bratwurst, baked apples and toasted salt-rising bread with some black coffee.

Rand eyed my foreign dishes suspiciously as he explained to me how unfair President Obama is being to BP Oil, blackening their reputation and tarring them with responsibility for the explosion and spill. I was inspired to take another swig of the rich, thick coffee in front of me.

“It’s un-American,” insisted the Libertarian/Republican/Tea Partier Senatorial candidate. "And I think it's part of this sort of blame-game society in the sense that it's always got to be somebody's fault instead of the fact that maybe sometimes accidents happen," Paul said. “Just because BP may have been aware of safety problems doesn’t make then responsible.”

Paul was interrupted when Dewayne Ortiz, the owner of Mom’s, came over to our table. “You’re Rand Paul, aren’t you?”

Paul stood and extended his hand. “Yes, sir, I am. Thank you for a wonderful breakfast. I’d love to have your vote this November.”

“And I’d love for you to get out of my restaurant.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Yes you are, Mr. Paul. And I reserve the right to not serve sorry-ass racists in my establishment.”

“I am not a racist, sir. But I respect your right to refuse service to anyone who offends your personal sensibilities.” And to me he said. “Come on, I’m getting used to this. People want to blame me for the words that accidentally spilled out of my mouth.I can’t be held responsible for my loose grasp on the concept of fairness and equality.”

Dewayne saw me sadly eyeing my island of foodstuffs surrounded by a quickly cooling and coagulating puddle of grease still on my plate. He swiftly packaged it to go and sent us out the door. Rand turned to wave to him and didn’t notice the car weaving down the street, pursued by police with sirens blaring.

I dove out of the way, shielding my to-go carton, when the car suddenly jumped the curb and struck Paul, who was knocked against the wall and fell on the sidewalk. The driver looked aghast as he stumbled out of the car and knelt next to the fallen politician. Officers scrambled from their cruiser and threw the driver to the ground. “Sir,” they advised him, “you are under arrest for driving under the influence, reckless endangerment, failure to control your vehicle, and, possibly, manslaughter.”

Rand, endeavored to raise his head. “Oh, I’m fine,” he insisted, “and I request that you cease this unfair treatment of a free, white, citizen of America. Don’t blame him, don’t blame the bartender who over-served him, don’t blame the liquor companies. Accidents happen. It’s nobody’s fault. We live in this blame-game society, because of all the liberal, big-government bleeding hearts. It’s their fau … responsibility for this mess we’re in.”

Mr. Paul was rushed off to the hospital and I went home to finish my breakfast, with thoughts about civil rights and responsibility spilling out of my brain the rest of the day.

The Vatican Shag

First you get down on your knees,
Fiddle with boys, as you please,
Bow your head to sin unchecked,
but, stand erect, stand erect, stand erect!

Do whatever crimes you want; if
Caught you’ll be cleared by the Pontiff.
Everybody have his own
Prurient liaison,
Doin' the Vatican Shag.

Pervert priest with sex obsession’ll,
Be absolved in the confessional,
Though the guy does things that we revile
And the Church knows he’s a pedophile,
There’s nowhere that he’d be safer,
There’s no crime he’s put away for,
Jail’s not his fate
All he does is relocate!

So get down upon your knees,
Fiddle with boys, as you please,
Bow your head to sin unchecked,
but, stand erect, stand erect, stand erect!

The Pope attests he didn’t know men,
Touched those boys with hands a roamin’
Oy, you’re naïve, ya
Think that we’ll believe ya
Still you ejaculate,
”I am immaculate”
Doin' the Vatican Shag!