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Saturday, August 25, 2007

Johnny Oops – On Sins And Sex

The next day I took Paula with me to all my meetings. I had called downstairs to the hotel dress store and ordered her an all white outfit with flat white sandals. It was too short on her. I tried to get her to slouch so she wouldn’t look taller than me, but my Paula didn’t know the meaning of the word slouch. I wore a white suit with the highest heeled shoes I had with me, which happened to be a pair of purple alligator cowboy boots. They didn’t go with the outfit. It didn’t matter. I am crazy about her. I plan on being absolutely faithful to her as long as I am in California.

I guess I should take a minute and confess to you that I am a sinner. Yes that’s right, your good-looking guru is a sinner. I come from a long line of drunks, druggies, and womanizers. What can I do? That’s how it was written. But I do have good intentions as long as it doesn’t interfere with my partying and having fun, and I am scrupulously religious where my own religion, Dialectic Materialism, is concerned.

I guess by now you believe that all I think about is sex, but nothing could be farther from the reality that I have conceived for myself. I am a guru in training to be a prophet. I have a real contribution to make to society, and I refuse to be known only for my semi-imbecilic sexual exploits: as if that’s all that was on my mind. I am a prophet in formation. Think of it like having a baby, only this birth is taking place on a divine level. I think these deep thoughts and thus I am. That’s how it works. The more time I spend communing with you know who, the more Godlike I get. This is a natural part of my development. I guess mere mortals have difficulty comprehending what I am saying.

‘That’s all Paula; I can handle getting dressed on my own. I’m a prophet in training. We learn how to do these things automatically. Just stay on call in case I think of something else for you to do. I plan on taking you to lunch with me to meet a big movie producer. You would like that, wouldn’t you?”

She is so willing, so anxious; all she says is yes, yes, yes, it is starting to get on my nerves and interrupt my trend of thought. Where was I?

My religion takes me to all kinds of strange places and meetings with important people. Today I have a lunch date with a movie mogul who wants to capture the story of my life on film. I’m not sure I like this idea. It sounds exploitive to me. The last thing I want to do is to appear blasphemous in the eyes of God, especially in 4 D and Sino Vision color.

Mr. Krumkee showed up for our lunch at the Floating Belches Hotel accompanied by two of his latest starlets. Paula didn’t like this at all. I suggested the girls get to know each other while my new pal Krumkee and I talked business. That was not a good idea. Krumkee seemed more intent on offering Paula a movie contract than making a deal with me, and the two starlets caused a commotion by jumping in the wading pool sans bras. I am almost sorry I ordered a melon and fig salad for lunch.

Krumkee ended up offering Paula a movie contract for more than he offered me for the rights to my life’s story. She ended up going home with him, and I took the two starlets back to my Hotel suite. So much for staying faithful to Paula while I was in California, but this one really wasn’t my fault, was it? What any of this has to do with getting closer to God or becoming a prophet I have no idea, but I have the funny feeling I am about to find out.

P.S. Before I left California I discovered through my agent that Paula had hooked Krumkee up with the Russian mob who invested $5,000,000 with him to make a movie starring Paula. The movie flopped. He lost the mob’s money and was shortly thereafter discovered by the two starlets he had swapped with me floating face down in the wading pool at the Floating Belches Hotel. Boy am I lucky. God must be looking after me. I guess that is only natural considering that I am in training to be a prophet. I never heard from Paula again, but I understand that she has become a spokeswoman for Russian émigrés battered by the Russian Mob. That’s what I mean. Someone must be watching over me.

MLMF (More later my friends)

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