Dealing with Fires And Other Natural Disasters

HAVE YOU FOUND YOUR FAITH?

Do you have enough faith in God to help you cope with the troubles of our time?

Are you a good and worthwhile person who is entitled to find God’s grace?

When was the last time you prayed to God for the peace of mind to make you feel secure?

Today we are bombarded by natural disasters such as fire storms, and acts of terrorism. How can we hope to cope with the insecurity of our time if we don’t have faith in God and in His goodness and mercy?

I’m not talking about the faith that we salve ourselves with by going to a Church or Mosque or Temple. I am talking about the true feelings of your heart and mind.

Are you really a person of faith?

Do you practice what is preached to you?

Are you kind and caring to other people?

Do you truly love your fellow man?

Are you willing to accept your neighbors right to believe in God in his or her own way?

It is only by answering these questions positively that we can hope to become people of faith.

It is only by trusting in God and trying to be kind and caring that we can hope to find and nourish our faith.

When we begin to have faith in God we will start to find the peace of mind we strive for. We will begin to feel the state of bliss that a true Person of Faith has. We will begin to learn how to cope with the troubles of the time we live in. We will begin to feel secure.

Are you ready to find your faith and feel wonderful?

Are you ready to have faith in God?

Hurry, God may be waiting to hear from you.
*****
MLMF (More later my friends)


These are the 'words' of Johnny Oops the prophet. They can be your 'words' too. For more articles by Johnny you can always come to http://johnnyoops.blogspot.com

Too Old To Fail Again

I know this is going to sound crazy to you, but genius prophets like me, Johnny Oops, age much more rapidly than normal folks. It’s something in our genius genes I think. They are much too aggressive. The result is that as youngsters we grow up both physically and mentally much sooner than others, and then as we hit our prime we start to age much quicker than normal people. It isn’t obvious to you in my physical appearance, but the truth is that I am actually 199 years old in purely human terms. Don’t let it worry you. I will probably be around forever, but there is always a chance that my almost infinite lifespan will be cut short by you know Who if I do something that really displeases Him.

That is why, I CANNOT AFFORD TO FAIL. Did you hear me? At my age failing again simply isn’t an option. I might not get another chance. It was okay when I was a youngster to screw up once in a while. It showed my human side, but now that I am more prophet than human, it isn’t so cute any more when I mess up. I repeat; I cannot afford to fail. The consequences are too frightful to contemplate. I could end up going to the other place instead of Heaven. I don’t want that. I have made too big a contribution to society to deserve that fate.

I tried adding up all the good things I have done the other day in case I am called upon to meet my Maker in what would hopefully be the first of many interactions. Of course I have always been God’s messenger, but this time I am afraid it might be me who is given the ‘word’. Sadly, the list of good deeds wasn’t as long as I had imagined?

What has me worried is that I am about to embark on a new project to get Hollywood to stop their sinning ways. You know my predilection for beautiful women. I am afraid I might be tempted and be unfaithful to my darling wife Sarhara. Oh, the scandal. I couldn’t take the public shame. And what would happen if my beautiful twin girl baby prophets read about my indiscretions in the newspapers. It would be too much for me to bear to see how unhappy I had made my beautiful little Darling and Delicious. It would probably ruin their political futures if they are ever to have them. But what can I do? I can’t control myself. I am a weak and craven sinner. Oh woe is me, is there no hope for me? Where is my salvation?

I went on like this for what seemed like an eternity - maybe it was, until I got the bright idea to tell my wife Sarhara of my problem. Believe it or not she decided to come with me to Hollywood and never leave my side. I don’t know if I really like this solution or not, but what choice do I have?

After thinking about it I decided that I really had no choice. I was seeking redemption, and I needed my wife’s help to find it. What about you? Are you seeking redemption? Are you getting too old to fail again? Be of good cheer. The road to salvation may very well lie in opening up to and trusting your loved ones. Don’t be afraid if your list of good deeds isn’t as long as you imagined it was. Good things come to those who believe and have faith. I don’t know how long any of us has, but let’s make the most of it. Maybe if we try really hard, the best is yet to come. Let’s find out before we get too old to enjoy
It.


Hi, I am Arthur Levine, the author of the novel Johnny Oops. To read more about Johnny and his fictional wild escapades please access: http://johnnyoops.blogspot.com

Talking Politics With Twin Baby Prophets

Darling and Delicious, the twin baby prophets of Sarhara and her husband the prophet Johnny Oops, had a secret that they shared. Although they were only three months old, because they had genius genes, they had the minds of grown up women, and they regularly argued over politics telepathically. The trouble is that Darling was a republican, and Delicious was a democrat. They argued incessantly over conservative verses liberal points of view. Please keep in mind that their views were not those of normally mature women, but these young ladies were determined to solve the major political problems of the United States.

Darling: “We have got to do something about our long term deficit. We have got to balance the budget. Spending is going wild.

Delicious: That’s your fault. You republicans are supposed to be the ones who control the budget and are tough on spending.

Darling: We can’t help it. This war is costing a fortune

Delicious: Who started the war to begin with? I told you it’s your fault.

Darling: Protecting our people from terrorism is more important than balancing the budget.

Delicious: Now your talking like a democrat. We have to spend to protect our people. They are entitled. That’s what’s important.

Darling: It’s your damn entitlements that got us in trouble in the first place. Now see what you’ve done.

Delicious: We are going to have to cut back on foreign spending and the war to save the dollar and protect our economy.

Darling: Now look at who is talking about protectionism. I thought you are supposed to protect us against other countries, not ourselves.

Delicious: That’s not the kind of free market thinking we need. The whole world wants to be our trading partner.

Darling: Then why don’t they trade with us fairly?

Delicious: What do you want – a perfect world?

Darling: This whole discussion strikes me as a classic case of role reversal. What ever are we going to do?

Delicious: We may have to form a third party.

Darling: That would be impossible. We don’t agree on anything.

Delicious. That’s perfect, then we will fit right into the political landscape of the United States.

Darling: I guess when our forefathers fought for individual freedom they did mean it literally.

Delicious: That’s what so precious about our democracy, Darling. Let’s never forget it.

Darling: For once I agree with you, Delicious, but don’t let anyone know. They will start to think we republicans are becoming too liberal, too democratic.

Darling: As long as we both agree that it’s America first, I am happy to keep your secret.

Delicious: That’s okay, that’s a secret you can tell everyone about.

Darling: I think we both should tell everyone it’s America first as soon as we find our voices, and learn how to speak. This growing up thing can be hell. Thank goodness that in our case it is happening quicker than for most.
*****

CHAPTER 1 -- I’M A GENIUS

You can’t stop the future from happening. You can only alter the reality of it. That’s where I come in. I’m a philosopher genius. I can effect change.

My real name is Jonathan Wilbert, but everyone calls me Johnny Oops because I’m a clumsy twelve-years-old who is always knocking things over and saying, “Oops.” I may have the gangly body of a 5 foot 2 inch tall 95-pound awkward boy, but I have the mind of a genius. My I. Q. is off the wall. I’m not one of those nerdy mathematical geniuses or a piano impresario. I’m a philosopher genius on the style of Nietze or perhaps Freud. He hated mothers too, didn’t he? My father is a political science professor at Yale University. He holds some kind of Chair or something. I say why bother. My mother has a PHD from Radcliff College in Behavioral Science. She hates me because I interrupted her career; fat chance of that being the truth. She thinks I’m strange. I guess she thinks she learned something from all those liberal arts courses she took in college. I’m not strange; I’m just different. I try and act like a normal twelve-year-old boy, but it isn’t working. I hate soccer. Playing the trumpet in the band makes my lips swell up, and the idea of watching cartoons with the other kids on the block really turns me off. I’m a philosopher genius. When I grow up I’m going to be one of the leading intellects of my time. For now I have more important things to do with myself than watch Bugs Bunny say, “What’s Up Doc?” What does that mean? It’s a stupid passé children’s colloquialism that will do nothing to change the chaotic state of the world we live in and the one I have to grow up in. I can’t be expected to diddle away my precious time on such trivial pursuits. I have deep serious thinking to do. I have a contribution to make to the welfare of our society and it’s not going to be as some stupid observer of an imbecilic animation even if it’s in color and sonic vision. Deep down inside me I know I have promise. I am going to be someone special. I’m going to be a Guru of great renown. I’m a genius.

Speaking of dideling and changing things, I just had my first experience with sex. It was great. The best part is I can do it alone. I don’t need any girl to help out. I certainly don’t want to make any girl a mother. I read about how that works. The baby might turn out like my mother. I don’t want that kind of guilt on my hands. That would be awful.

“No Mom nothings wrong, I’m OK, just a little diarrhea. I’ll be out of the bathroom in a minute, I’m coming.”

Anyway, this is what happened. I woke up early because I had to pee - too much root beer before I went to sleep I guess. I passed my parents room on the way to the bathroom. The door was open and I heard sounds so I looked in. It was grotesque. They were both naked. My father was on top of my mother and he was shoving his penis into her. It must have hurt her a lot because she was moaning. My Dad looked happy. He didn’t seem to care about her pain. That’s what’s wrong with the world. Nobody seems to care about anything any more, not even when they are causing someone else pain. I noticed his penis was really swollen. I couldn’t observe for too long. The scene was making me sick and I had to pee, so I went on to the bathroom. By the time I got there something was happening to my penis. It was getting swollen like my Dad’s and I didn’t have to pee anymore so I started rubbing it. That felt good. The more I rubbed the bigger it got, and then Oops, all of a sudden it exploded. White goo flew all over the toilet seat and the wall. It was the best feeling I ever had. It was my nirvana. It showed me how terrific life could be. It gave me hope for the future. I don’t know how I knew to do that. It must be the subconscious mind of a philosopher genius asserting itself, but wow was it great. Now I finally know I have a purpose. I wanted to do it again right away, but my penis started shrinking. We geniuses have to learn to live with minor setbacks. After a while I discovered I could do it again. I just had to give it a rest. If I had my way I would spend all day in the bathroom, but the philosopher genius in me took over.

“Johnny you can’t waste all your time having sex with yourself,” I said to myself. “You have more important things to do than to spend all your time jerking off. You’ll sap your strength, and won’t be able to invent the great philosophies you have stashed away in your head. You are something special. You have a contribution to make to society. You have promise.”
So I decided to ration myself to three times a day and no more than a half an hour at a time. We all have to make sacrifices for the greater good. Otherwise the world is going to stay in the crapper forever. It’s not my fault that I’m precocious and started to masturbate early. Philosopher geniuses are physically more mature then other kids their age.

“Mother I said I was coming. I just have to wipe off the wall. I threw up. I’m sick. I don’t think I can go to school today.”

“No Mom I don’t need any help. I can clean up by myself. I’m a big boy now.”



1

Excerpt From The Novel Johnny Oops

The following is an excerpt from my novel – Johnny Oops. From time to time I will post a little excerpt to tantalize you and create a desire on your part to read more. I’m not only a prophet, I’m a marketing genius, don’t you agree? The reason I am not giving you the rest of the first chapter right now is that it has a fairly high sexual content. If that's okay with you, look for part 2 in a few days.

CHAPTER 1 -- I’M A GENIUS

You can’t stop the future from happening. You can only alter the reality of it. That’s where I come in. I’m a philosopher genius. I can effect change.

My real name is Jonathan Wilbert, but everyone calls me Johnny Oops because I’m a clumsy twelve-years-old who is always knocking things over and saying, “Oops.” I may have the gangly body of a 5 foot 2 inch tall 95-pound awkward boy, but I have the mind of a genius. My I. Q. is off the wall. I’m not one of those nerdy mathematical geniuses or a piano impresario. I’m a philosopher genius on the style of Nietze or perhaps Freud. He hated mothers too, didn’t he? My father is a political science professor at Yale University. He holds some kind of Chair or something. I say why bother. My mother has a PHD from Radcliff College in Behavioral Science. She hates me because I interrupted her career; fat chance of that being the truth. She thinks I’m strange. I guess she thinks she learned something from all those liberal arts courses she took in college. I’m not strange; I’m just different. I try and act like a normal twelve-year-old boy, but it isn’t working. I hate soccer. Playing the trumpet in the band makes my lips swell up, and the idea of watching cartoons with the other kids on the block really turns me off.

I’m a philosopher genius. When I grow up I’m going to be one of the leading intellects of my time. For now I have more important things to do with myself than watch Bugs Bunny say, “What’s Up Doc?” What does that mean? It’s a stupid passé children’s colloquialism that will do nothing to change the chaotic state of the world we live in, and the one I have to grow up in. I can’t be expected to diddle away my precious time on such trivial pursuits. I have deep serious thinking to do. I have a contribution to make to the welfare of our society and it’s not going to be as some stupid observer of an imbecilic animation even if it’s in color and sonic vision. Deep down inside me I know I have promise. I am going to be someone special. I’m going to be a Guru of great renown. I’m a genius.

Speaking of didleing and changing things, I just had my first experience with sex. It was great. The best part is I can do it alone. I don’t need any girl to help out. I certainly don’t want to make any girl a mother. I read about how that works. The baby might turn out like my mother. I don’t want that kind of guilt on my hands. That would be awful.

“No Mom nothings wrong, I’m OK, just a little diarrhea. I’ll be out of the bathroom in a minute, I’m coming.”

Anyway, this is what happened.

Johnny And Sarhara Have Baby Prophets

One day Johnny noticed that Sarhara had gotten big as a house. He asked her what happened to her. She said she was going to tell him anyway, but wanted to see if he noticed.

“Noticed what?” he said.

“That I am pregnant you idiot. That’s what you didn’t notice. What kind of prophet are you anyway if you don’t even know when your wife is pregnant? We are going to have little twin prophets running around this house, God help me. I knew I shouldn’t have fooled around with you any more after that Dixie Kup escapade, but I just can’t help myself. Now see what you’ve done.”

Johnny responded. “It’s a miracle. This was to be expected. You should be very happy.”

“I’ll be happy when you are changing their diapers, not me.”

“Never happen my dear, I am a prophet. Such things are beneath me.”

With this last statement Sarhara gave Johnny a swift kick in his shins and proceeded to throw up on the breakfast room table. Johnny said such things were to be expected again and retreated to the privacy of his office/den to contemplate having children. The thought had never crossed his mind before.

Sarhara came home from a trip to the doctors to inform Johnny that the twins were going to be fully mature in about a week and that it was time to pick names. Johnny was surprised at first that this whole procedure had taken only 3 months, but then things always got speeded up when you are talking about prophets and their off spring. He told Sarhara to pick the babies names herself. She told him she had already decided on the names Darling and Delicious, as the twins were both girls.

Johnny was shocked. He was expecting boys. Sarhara told him not to worry about it. They could have boys another time if they ever fooled around again. In fact with the maturation schedule that prophets are evidently on, they could have a whole football team in no time at all.

Johnny said, “I like baseball better.” Poor Johnny, he forgot to duck as Sarhara threw a book at him.

And you think that only normal people have dysfunctional families. Believe me, they have nothing on prophets and their wives. Wait till you meet the twins. They are convinced they are geniuses that have inherited prophet rights and they age at three times the age of normal children. At the age of five they sound and act like they are fifteen, which gets everyone in trouble..

Staring Into the Face Of Death On Halloween

The face was all black and marbled and cracked. It had thin ridges protruding near the cheekbones with the hint of dried blood seeping out of them. I suppose at my age you get used to these things because I wasn’t scared; well maybe just a little bit. I am twelve years old and a boy genius. I know when someone is trying to fake me out, and yet this damn face looked real somehow. The worst part was that it was right in my face. I guess I was too nervous to rip it off and expose another young guy like me out for some Halloween pranks and candy. The part that really scared me was that it kept following me. Why was it after me? What had I done?

I tried to run away from it; dodging and weaving down a side alley a few blocks from my home, but no matter what I did, or how fast I ran, it stayed right in my face. I yelled out at it.

I said, “Get away from me. You’re not real. You are just trying to scare me and screw up my mind. I have your number. You’re a phony. I’m not scared of you. You’re just a Halloween prankster. Get out of my face.”

The death mask didn’t respond. There wasn’t a sound coming from it. It just kept dogging me. I tried to rationalize about what was happening to me.

“Johnny,” I said to myself. “Don’t let this creep get the better of you. You are too smart to be scared off by some dumb Halloween mask. Don’t let him scare you. Laugh in his face.

That’s when it happened. I gathered all my courage and told the Face of Death I knew he was a phony and I laughed in his face. And then I felt it. It was like a searing pain in the pit of my stomach. I felt so sick; I thought I was going to die. I dropped my own mask of an alien crocodile man-eater, and ran home as fast as I could, yelling at the top of my lungs.

“Mommy, mommy, let me in. The Face of Death is after me and he is trying to kill me. I feel like my stomach is going to explode. I am in terrible pain. He is killing me. Help me. I’m too young to die like this.”

My mother tried her best not to laugh in my face. She asked me how much candy I had eaten. I was so scared that I told the truth for a change, and admitted to eating about a half a bowl full from trick or treat scavenging during the earlier part of the evening. My mother suggested a trip to the bathroom, a glass of warm milk, and getting in bed and going to sleep. I did what she said, and the pain started to go away. I was so relieved.

I was lying in bed thinking how stupid I had been to get scared by a mask on Halloween. I felt much better, and realized how silly I had been. This was Halloween, that’s all. I was safe now in my bed, in my bedroom where I could be a child again, and not feel scared of the dark because I kept my night light on and my mother was downstairs watching TV. And then it happened.

I was just dozing off when I heard my mother scream. “Johnny,” she yelled, “Come quick, it is your father. He fell down and grabbed his chest. I think he has had a heart attack. Run next door and get Doctor Able to come right over. Hurry Johnny, please hurry,” she cried.

I ran downstairs, and saw my father lying on the floor. He looked like he wasn’t breathing and white bubbly foam was coming out of his mouth. I ran outside and jumped off the front porch to go to our next-door neighbor, Doctor Able, for help.

That’s when I saw him again. The Face of Death was right in front of me keeping me from getting to the front door of Doctor Able. I tried to run past him, but he wouldn’t let me. Now I knew he wasn’t here for me, but I was still scared. Doctor Able came storming out of his house with his black medical bag; my mother must have called him. Suddenly The Face of Death disappeared.

I don’t know if this was the real thing, or just a Halloween prank gone horribly wrong, or my boy genius imagination run wild, or a terrible coincidence? My father recovered thank goodness, but I almost never go out on Halloween any more. I’ve come as close to facing death, as I want to on that holiday. Well maybe I’ll just go down the street for a little candy if the spirit of Halloween moves me, but I want to warn you to watch out for the Face of Death. Next year it could be you or your family that he is after. Next year this story could be real. Next year it might be your sense of reality that is challenged. Have a happy Halloween, and don’t eat too much candy.
*****

Hi, I am Arthur Levine, the author of the novel Johnny Oops. To read more about Johnny and his fictional wild escapades please access: http://johnnyoops.blogspot.com