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Tuesday, February 19, 2013

Too Pooped To Pope


Pope Benedict XVI (aka Joseph “Little Joey” Ratzinger) has resigned from Popedom claiming at 85 he’s too old and feeble to fulfill his Papal duties. This hasn’t happened in 600 years, and has gotten all the corporate employees of the Vatican all revved up running reckless through the corridors desperately spinning the Public Relations stories and shredding documents. 

It’s always something, isn’t it? 

Over the past few years I’ve heard rumors Pope Benny has developed various ailments which has convinced him he’s too pooped to pope.

I understand his neck has been in terrible pain from always looking the other way when sex abuse scandals interrupt his backgammon games with altar boys.

I heard his speedo was so tight he suffered severe vertigo and almost drowned in the papal swimming pool at the 2012 Vatican Pool Party Summer BBQ (no women were allowed, and clothing was optional).  He should have gone speedo-less. FYI - the papal swimming pool is filled to the brim with holy water. 

I also heard he’s developed a severe allergic reaction to frankincense and as a result his papal nose suffers terrible mucus build up.  At first it was rumored it had to do with an 80s cocaine habit, but that was proven just a rumor. His drug of choice was heroin. 

But fear not, Pope Benny has plenty of options for his future, that’s if he can avoid prosecution for his involvement is those pesky sex scandals made famous by priests and cardinals and other Vatican folk over the past centuries. 

With his vast array of embroidered house dresses I’m sure he’ll fit right in at Tuesday Night Bingo games on the boardwalk. 

I’ve also heard he’s been recording a rap CD cleverly titled “Pope Benny Raps with Kanye.”  One song celebrates Kanye and Kim’s pre-marital coitus and the bastard child about to be born. Sounds like a hit. 

Oh yes, endless possibilities. 

Once he leaves the Papal Palace he’ll be spending a considerable time on the American West Coast. And when he does he’ll be sharing a one bedroom condo in West Hollywood with the disgraced Los Angeles Cardinal Mahoney.  I heard they’ve already decorated it with leopard drapery, leopard upholstered furniture, and soft pink lighting. 

If all these fascinating opportunities somehow fail him I am certain Pope Benny would make a damn good greeter at Walmart.

Tuesday, February 12, 2013

The Trader Joe’s Bag Mishap


When I first moved to Los Angeles everyone recommended Trader Joe’s.  From its name I assumed it was a swap meet type store.  Little did I know. 

One lazy afternoon I ventured to the nearest Trader Joe’s to see what all the fuss was about. 

Everything I needed to keep me and my stomach and my refrigerator and pantry happy was right before me. I filled my cart with all sorts of grocery goodies. 

At the check-out counter I noticed people using their own canvas bags with the Trader Joe’s logo. I wanted to be part of the Los Angeles “in” crowd so I immediately purchased one.


A Trader Joe’s bag is a status bag. Who needs a pretentious Gucci or Prada or North Face bag when you can proudly tote that Trader Joe’s bag?  

Sadly there are times I need something they don’t sell at Trader Joe’s and have to visit another grocery store.  The first time I did this I foolishly brought my Trader Joe’s bag with me.  

Like Damien from “The Omen” when Damien was brought to the church my Trader Joe’s bag went berserk, crazy, insane, twisting and turning and wrapping itself around my throat trying to strangle me. I fought with all my might.  My young life flashed before me. 

Luckily a Trader Joe’s customer was driving by and came to my rescue, pulling me and the bag away from the store. Once off the store’s property the bag let go. I could breathe again.  

The Trader Joe’s customer looked deep in my eyes and warned me, “Next time it will kill you.” 

I angrily threw the bag in the closet.  I didn’t bring it with me for two Trader Joe’s visits. When I finally decided to end its punishment I took it out of the dark dank closet and saw that it was limp, suffering severe depression, on the verge of death.  Panic. Instinct told me to get it to Trader Joe’s asap. 

I drove so fast. I ran red lights. I screeched my breaks in the parking lot. 

Oh the shame and humiliation. People knew. They saw.  They snickered. If they could they would have branded me with a “TJT” (Trader Joe’s Traitor) across my heart.  

I roamed the aisles filling my bag with Trader Joe’s fruits and yogurt and vegetables and coffee beans and cheese and wine.  My Trader Joe’s bag came back to life.  What joy! What bliss! 

This was a lesson learned from the Trader Joe’s Bag God:  Thou shall never mistreat thy Trader Joe’s bag. 

Amen to that.