Another Day at Metropolis University

This is a video clip of a prank some kid pulled in a college lecture. I only wish I had the wherewithal and the showmanship to pull off something like this:

Not only does this guy commit himself to the role (complete with a heroic pose before blasting out the door), but he never once hesitates.

Though I wonder about the guy seen in the foreground as our boy bursts out the back door. He's got his head resting on his fist as though this sort of thing happens every goddamn day. "YAWN! I'll give a shit when it's something unusual."

If it takes more than that to pique his interest, he's going to be living one boring life.

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"Three things sell this newspaper: tragedy, sex, and Superman."

JP 2.0

One of the side effects of being a writer (I'm not sure when I decided that I deserved that title, but it sure makes me feel important) is that you inevitably compare the stuff you write with your current life. Also inevitably, the real world falls hugely short of the fascinating fiction that you've created. Such is the case with me, so I want to start making my own personal narrative much more interesting. Batmite once joked that he'd like to ret-con his life, and I think I'd like to do the same. If you don't know what "ret-con" means, then pat yourself on the back, for you are getting sex regularly.

First, I need a better origin story. "Young boy plays school with neighbor girl and eventually becomes a teacher himself" lacks the panache and swashbuckling adventure that my life deserves. Perhaps I was once sucked into a parallel universe in which the narratives of every book ever written existed for real, and then Long John Silver and Holden Caulfield help me battle Moby Dick, Count Dracula, and the personification of post-modern existentialism... played in that universe by Brian Dennehy. Once returning from my dimension-spanning adventure (which is totally not ripped off from the movie The Pagemaster), I'd become so enamored with literature that I'd HAVE to become a high school English teacher.

Second, my life requires a villain, a worthy foe, some adversary whose machinations must be countered by my every life move. I'd imagine a Professor Moriarty type played by Alan Rickman who speaks in a menacing British accent and is obsessed with ruining my reputation... or perhaps stealing a magical jewel or gem that I have in my possession. In fact, I like that second option. In the rebooted version of my life, I use a crystal made of Imaginatium that maintains the balance between fantasy and reality. Of course, this battle between me and my nemesis takes place in my off hours. During the day, my foe works as a rival English teacher who teaches only EVIL literature (like "The Scarlet Letter" and anything written in the Victorian Era).

Third, I need a sidekick... and Batmite would serve this function adequately. He would be the Robin to my Batman... only, you know, without the homoerotic overtones. In the new JP-Prime universe, Batmite's parents were killed during an elephant stampede, so he inherits their fortune, which he uses to assist in my various quests and adventures.

Fourth, lots of chicks! We're talking like James Bond-esque weekly beddings of comely lasses with a penchant for swooning. Of course, these minor sexual conquests will merely mask my unrequited love for some long-term romantic interest who is my intellectual and witty equal with whom I often flirt but never develop a serious relationship with due to various plot machinations that keep us apart. But every few years or so, my long-term love interest and I will get together seriously before she develops amnesia or is manipulated by my archnemesis into betraying me. Then we'll do the whole dance all over again.

I suppose Batmite-Prime can get some secondary chicks. His relationships, while more comical in tone, will likely prove heartwarming... or his women will end up dead as I must assume the role of makeshift legal aide in order to defend Batmite against murder charges.

Finally, in this new rebooted version of my life, I need theme music. I'm torn in this regard. I'm not sure if I want a really hardass rocking song with electric guitars and drums or a sultry, pimp-tastic jazzy number heavy on the saxophones and Barry White vocals. I'm really leaning toward the latter. I have no idea where this music would come from. Maybe set my alarm clock to begin every morning by playing it. Or hell, as long as we're talking parallel universes, let's say it constantly emanates from the aforementioned magical Imaginatium gem.

Oh yeah, and I constantly wear tuxedos, drink scotch on the rocks, speak with a sexy French/Spanish accent, and I have a wicked-awesome beard. Fucking right!

And maybe my Physicist brother in the alternate universe would have already built a time machine and magic wand so that this shit could become reality... unlike the slackass version in THIS universe who hasn't invented diddly-squat (insult will be retracted if he actually builds his solar death ray).

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"I get it now. He bad mouths you, and you make him delicious, sugary energy shakes. And I open my mouth, in a helpful way, and I get slapped. Must be in topsy-turvy world!"

Feeling Fruitier Than Usual

I love cantaloupe. It may be my favorite fruit.

Yesterday I cut up two whole cantaloupes. In less than 24 hours, I've consumed all of it.

I'm sad to see the cantaloupe gone. In fact, I'm feeling rather meloncholy.

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Making objections to my lame melon puns is fruitless.

Bringing Dandy Back

Here is a list of once popular things that have been forgotten for decades or even centuries that should make a comeback no matter how impractical they may be.

1. Top Hats: Nobody ever wears a snazzy top hat anymore, and that's a real shame. They're too damned classy to be forgotten to history. I would even accept the fedora being brought back into regular use. Pulp detectives and black comedians can't have all the fun.

2. Personal Jesters: Don't get me wrong. I don't want to own my own personal jester; I want to be one! Given limited career options, I think I'd stand a good chance by putting bells on top of my multi-tiered and colorful hat and throwing pies into my own face for the amusement of a benevolent monarch.

3. Public Orgies: If they were good enough for the Ancient Greeks, they're good enough for me!

4. Robes: While I'm thinking Greek, long flowing robes should be acceptable attire for everyday activities. Not only would walking around in a tailored bedsheet be exceedingly comfortable, but the loose material hides a lot of unsightly flab from public view.

5. Walking Staffs with Interesting Shapes: These days, you never see a gentleman carrying a walking stick that's shaped like a giant snake. That's a loss to society at large.

6. Meaningless Titles for the Landed Gentry: Half a millennium ago, even if you weren't royalty, you could still give yourself a pompous title as long as you owned a shitload of land (and a comparable shitload of slaves to tend to it). Slavery and feudalism may be bad, but let's not throw the baby out with the bathwater. If I own a home, I want the ability to preface my name with "Master," "Sir," "Duke," "Baron," or my personal favorite "Count." It would be even better if you could pull an "Alfred, Lord Tennyson" and stick the title in the middle of your name.

7. Old Timey Maps: For some reason, Rand McNally frowns upon maps having regions cordoned off with declarations like, "HERE THERE BE DRAGONS!" Not only do I want to litter my topography with such things, but I also want to be able to assert my manifest destiny by renaming shit after my friends and family regardless of what the indiginous populations have to say about it.

8. Muttonchops: It takes a classy sumbitch to pull this look off, and I want more men (and women if they have the gumption to do it) to be growing muttonchops to go along with their top hats. You only ever see them in beard/moustache competitions, and those are far too scarce.

9. Monocles: I have no idea how people kept them from falling out all the time, but nothing says, "I have enough money to swim in and you don't" quite like a monocle. In these tough economic times, it's hard to identify rich people so that you can throw rotting vegetables at them, and monocles would help to vilify the right folks.

10. Largest Man Becomes King: You have to go pretty primitive for this rule to apply, but it would be great if I could assert supreme rule over a sizable group of people just because I'm the biggest of the bunch. And I'd be sure to execute any scrappy ambitious little kids to prevent a "David vs. Goliath" scenario from ruining my sovereignty.

11. Corner Paperboys: CNN and USA Today lack the same flair and panache that's encompassed by a newspaper boy with a Cockney accent and a flat cap shouting, "EXTRA! EXTRA! READ ALL ABOUT IT!!"

12. Snake Oil Salesmen: Enzyte may have Smiling Bob, but the 19th century had the best advertisements for medication in any medium. Why for just a dime sir, you can find a gen-u-ine liniment that soothes the soul, cools the blood, balances your humors, and eases the derangements of the abdominal organs. And the bonus of the Snake Oil Salesman is that he often wears a top hat and sports a wicked set of muttonchops!

I'd also like to quickly address some classical trends that are best left forgotten:
- Duels: I can't win one, and I'm sure I'd mouth off to the wrong gentleman before too long.
- Inquisitions: They don't take too kindly to smartass atheists.
- Slavery: Largest man often becomes a valuable but unpaid laborer.
- Ritual Castration: There's just no good that can come from that.
- The Pillory: I have a very sensitive neck, and there are a lot of crimes against the establishment that I'd like to commit.

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The Past: From your perspective, that's when this post was written.

But That Was When I Ruled the World

Allow me a small moment of English major indulgence. There's a poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley called "Ozymandias" about a traveler who happens upon a decrepit and worn away statue in the middle of the desert. On the pedestal appear the words, "My name is Ozymandias, King of kings: Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair." Unfortunately for Ozzie, the poem concludes by saying that aside from the rubble of the statue, there's nothing to look at. Time has long since destroyed the works he speaks of, and Ozymandias is just a name on a slab of rock in the desert. Only "the lone and level sands stretch far away."

This is one of my favorite poems. The major theme is that no matter how great our achievements or how much of an impact we think we've had on the world, time and history will eventually forget all of us. It's a real pick-me-up! Anyway (returning to the less poetic real world), the poem reminds me of a childhood fantasy I had back in elementary school. When we impressionable little buggers were introduced to the concept of the time capsule, I found the whole concept intriguing. We were supposed to gather objects that we thought best represented our generation, put them into some sort of sealed container, and then bury it for future generations to see. The whole idea was completely stupid in retrospect, but I loved it. My thoughts immediately turned to exploitation. Our teacher told us that this time capsule could change the way that future generations perceived us. I thought this a great opportunity to make ourselves look good. After all, if we threw in a Calculus book or the collected works of Shakespeare and left out our third-grade collections of slap bracelets and pogs, future generations might look back and say, "Wow! Our parents were really fucking smart!"

Of course, the class didn't take this approach, but the thought was still in my head. Once in middle school, we learned about the concept of history being based on whatever archival materials could be found, and these are often incomplete records. Once again I was presented with more evidence of the possibility of changing the future's opinion of me. Suppose I could bury a book in my backyard that purported to be a first-hand account of how I conquered lands and ruled the world for decades! Perhaps in a few thousand years, my book could be the only record of our era. History books of the 44th century would be filled with mentions of JP the Great (or JP the Conquerer if they'd prefer). The idea was very compelling.

But my fantasy of becoming a faux historical global monarch was only the first step. I soon realized that I could never reap the benefits of such a scam, so I thought my plan needed a boost. That boost came when I saw Back to the Future, Part II. As you'll recall, at the end of the movie, Doc Brown inadvertently uses the DeLorean to go back in time to the Old West. As soon as he vanishes, Marty receives a letter from Doc that was sent with instructions to deliver the letter to him sixty years in the future. Marty then goes back in time to rescue Doc Brown. From the Doc's perspective, he sends the letter and Marty suddenly shows up. The miracles of time travel save the day again!

I wanted to try the same trick. I figured I could put an addendum in my manifesto indicating my current date and location and instructing future time travelers to come pick me up. But I couldn't wait. I grabbed a blank journal, and that became my first line. "To all readers of this document: I am JP and I am writing this on (whatever the date was) at (whatever time it was) from (I provided latitude and longitute coordinates for my house... we calculated them for a science class once). Should you be reading this, you must use your time travel gear to retrieve me from the past. I look forward to seeing you, my noble descendants!" (I'm paraphrasing of course). I got about three lines down before I got distracted by a Pop Tart or Card Sharks or some other such nonsense, and I never finished my temporal ruse. I decided that since no one showed up, either they never found my journal or the future never discovers time travel (and if that's the case, I'm sorely disappointed by science).

Several years later, I was cleaning out my closet and stumbled across that very journal. It was completely empty save for those few lines. I scoffed at my own immature notions and threw the journal in the trash. That's gotta be a predestination paradox or a time loop or something. I was the reason that no one ever came back in time to find me!! Curse my closet-cleaning day!

Many of you may scoff at the idea of a single book with undefined sources being able to alter people's ideas about events millennia after the fact. But then you forget that organized religion has been pulling the same stunt for ages!

That's right, everyone!! I'm comparing myself to Jesus!!

If only Jesus had demanded his own time machine, we might have funded our own Quantum Leap program by now.

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JP: The Once and Future King (with apologies to Elvis)!

Wanted: Dead or Alive

WANTED:
THE MAD BLOGGER

Height: Too High
Weight: None of your damn business
Build: Sexy
Eye Color: Elegant shade of brown

Known Aliases: "The Undesirable Element," "JP," "Sugar Cheeks," "Big Butterscotch," and "Giant Whitey."
Known Accomplices: "Villainous Virgil," "Demented Dave," "Cleo the Corrupt Cat," and "Batmite the Pedophile."

The Mad Blogger is wanted for his wanton disregard for the integrity of blogging, the mental and emotional rape of his readership, and he may have killed a man. The Mad Blogger, while usually limiting his verbose textual terrorism to his own den of sin "The Undesirable Element," has been known to frequent Star Trek message board to express his displeasure over the dearth of Picard/Worf slash-fiction. He has also been spotted on several baffling websites devoted to women with a fetish for soup strainers, a "Cooking in the Nude" Facebook group, and at least three chatrooms involving proper comma usage.

The Mad Blogger has been known to alter his appearance through the use of disguises. He will occasionally pretend to be level-headed and concerned member of the community; however, such outward benignity merely obscures the fact that he wants to corrupt the world with his wicked and bizarre ideologies. Do not confuse this Mad Blogger with other similarly-named bloggers who are less-deserving of the title, such as those ill-named whiners over at "The Mad Blogger" Website.

The Mad Blogger should be considered armed with a needlessly vast vocabulary and considered extremely dangerous. His nefarious associations with other rampant bloggers with small, cult-like readerships are a matter of public record and should be reported to your local authorities. Do not attempt to apprehend this criminal yourself. His suave and sexy demeanor may lull you into a false sense of security, and female victims have been known to be swayed by his countless charms.

If you see this man or have information concerning his whereabouts, please contact your local FBI office or call "1-800-BAD-BLOG." We are offering a very generous reward for information leading directly to the arrest of the Mad Blogger. Your commitment to justice is thoroughly appreciated.

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BEWARE THE MAD BLOGGER!

Avast Ye Scurvy Readers!

Yo ho and shiver me timbers, ye landlubbers! I'll bet ye didn't even remember that today (September 19th) be International Talk Like a Pirate Day! Ye be treadin' a mighty slim plank if ye don't heed me warnings. Fill yer talkin' with all manner of pirate lingo today, saavy?

Jewish pirates get ye some bonus points! Ahoy vey!

So find ye some worthy grog, batten down the hatches, and marvel at me urchins, me hearties; else ye be seein' the dark side of Davy Jones' Locker!

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Yarrrr!!! Pirates don't waste precious rape and pillage time with italicized conclusions.

Space Herpes Not Included

The Moon Beaver is highly prized among Earthmen.

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Half of all readers now feel that JP is immature. The other half already knew this.

The Once and Future JP

DATE: APRIL 8, 2038
TO: PAST JP
FROM: FUTURE JP
SUBJECT: DON'T EAT THE BOYSENBERRY PIE

Greetings Past Self. Using cutting-edge software that I obtained illegally, I've been given the ability to type messages to the past. (You don't know what a government-employed three-dicked Rigellian wanted in exchange for this chronoton keyboard.) After using my newfound power to irritate several fanboys who were debating the fourth season of Battlestar Galactica (turns out the Cylons are actually descendants of the Grape Ape... who knew?), I decided to impart some future wisdom to you.

First of all, I highly recommend that you hide every trace of your accomplishments as an English major. Once the genetically-enhanced Emperor Penguins take over the world in 2015, they torture anyone who has more than a passing familiarity with Modernist Literature. It turns out the penguins have a penchant for Victorian Lit. I had many a herring slapped in my face while they demanded that I shout "GEORGE ELLIOT ROCKS MY FLIPPERS!" Better to avoid that whole debacle altogether.

In 2018, the nudists take the world by storm following the downfall of the Penguins (turns out that the Victorian mindset of the Penguins did not prepare them for rampant nudity). This actually works out well for you. With the rise in obesity, you actually look pretty damn good by comparison. Strut your flabby body with pride.

In 2025, this blog will finally take off. After 17 years of laboring in obscurity, my pithy diatribes about condescending penguins and gun-wielding nudists finally gains the attention of the American public. Unfortunately, Virgil and Batmite, who combined their forces in a single super-blog in 2020, don't take kindly to this new competition and hire some hooligans to break your legs. Don't worry. Your new hover-chair is totally baller.

Once your blog hits the big time, female adulators come out of the woodwork. Unfortunately, you're such a naive twit that you end up marrying four of them. Each of them takes a large percentage of your fortune. It turns out that pompously declaring that you're the reincarnation of Jack McCoy doesn't work too well in divorce court.

And for crying out loud, don't marry the last one. Charlene may look like a quality nymphomaniac who digs the big, but that deep voice isn't explained by her "past cigarette habit" and I'm still ordering medicated salve at an alarming rate. We sure do know how to pick 'em, don't we?

Oh, here's an important one. That whole atheist thing you have going right now? You better give up on that one pretty damn quick. The second coming of Jesus was a few years ago, and that created quite a few awkward moments... with the whole "I don't believe you exist" thing. Fortunately, Jesus is a pretty cool guy, and he's a fan of our blog. We ended up debating the finer points of Law & Order's 48th season for a few hours over a couple of beers. I have to admit, I was kinda pissed about paying for beers given that the jerk could have been turning water to wine all night. But he kept on with "apocalypse" this and "heretic" that. You don't fuck with Jesus when he's been drinking.

Oh hey! They find a cure for heart disease in 2021. You can eat all the bacon you want; they've got you covered.

One last thing: Don't try to burn down the English building. I know you have that elaborate set of plans, but that fuse burns faster than you run. My eye-patch looks pretty sweet, but I think I'd pass on it if given the chance.

So fair thee well, past self. The future holds many interesting adventures for you. Now just watch out for Batmite. He's got a sharp stick in his closet that's meant for your thorax. Take him out before he can get to you.

Your pal,
You

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9 out of 10 future readers have extorted and blackmailed JP for large sums of money. The last reader just wanted a ham sandwich.

Mein Fuhrer is but a Dream

I had a weird dream a few nights ago.

I'm not sure why, but the theme of my dream was that everyone could have a good time. My dreamscape consisted of this joyful little world where everyone was singing and dancing without a care! And then right in the middle of the whole thing was Adolf Hitler playing an accordion and wearing lederhosen.

But the strange thing for me was that Hitler was clearly not having a good time. He was, in fact, quite the sourpuss.

I found the dream odd. I told Batmite of my dream. Batmite has added "dreams of Hitler" to his list of reasons to fear me. He also thinks it's disturbing that the only part of the dream I found odd was that Hitler wasn't happy.

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You can bring a Hitler to the party, but you can't make him smile.

We Didn't Start the Fire (But We Definitely Laughed)

Most people who know me have probably seen this video, but damn I love it. I don't think I ever get tired of it. It so perfectly demonstrates what happens when people of only moderate intelligence with a decent of amount of money get bored. So please enjoy "Fire Melon."

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Kerosene - Improving the explosive quality of cantaloupes and other tasty fruits for maximum entertainment value.