Disconnected Jottings

 HAPPY TO NOT BE A FART The reason is, a fart has a very short life span. The moment it's born, its methane molecules begin to become exponentially diluted as it mixes with air molecules. If it's lucky it will manage to penetrate a nostril or two before it becomes too weak to be noticed. When a fart mother releases one in a field, on a windy day, it's just wasted because nobody gets to enjoy it. So what's a fart mother? A fart mother is a person, either male or female who births their methane in a fart bomb. The birth canal is the gastrointestinal tract which terminates in the butt crack. The gas doesn't care from whom it emerges, so either gender is said to be the fart mother. In the human race the male is generally said to be physically stronger than the female, but this is not so with farts. Generally speaking, the gas from the female fart mother is much stronger than that from the male fart mother.

  Occasionally, I have strange dreams, so real that I wake up, exhausted. This began to happen a few years ago when I started to learn about astral projection. That is where a person can learn to leave their body and go to other places. I had also read that it can be dangerous because evil spirits could intervene and prevent the person from returning to their body which would then die. I don't think that is true, though.   There are many books on the subject and I know that with some Eastern religions it is a regular practice. A person may go to another place, and when they return to their body, they relate what they saw, and it can be verified.   So I asked God to allow me to project from my body. That's when I began to go places in dreams, and return, exhausted. That doesn't happen with all of my dreams.   Until three years ago I was involved with a spiritual ministry that God drew me into. I had no idea what I would be doing at the time, but it continued for nineteen yea

  I've given everybody's favorite president a new look. I'm tired of looking at his same, old, sober business suit, so I designed a new, classy one for him, and a nice hat to go with it.    

  Turkish movie theaters are laid out differently to American ones. Movie goers like the screen smaller and to one side so they have to turn their heads.    

  A couple of the judges stepped out to take a dump, so me and Zuck stepped in for the Christmas photo op. I think their judgeships will love it.    

 

I mistakenly thought I would blend in but there was no fooling the girls rifle team. These were the days before 'Wokeness' infested America. 'Inclusiveness' was not a thing to be grasped; 'Exclusiveness' was the order of the day. It was legal to exclude anyone who didn't fit the mold. And so it was that the girls took my rifle away and ordered me into the kitchen to make their sandwiches. I had no choice because I was disarmed and they all had rifles.      

 The late Peter Jennings said he was there, somewhere else, but I was there at the royal stuff. And so was someone else.    

 

 

  Normally concealed under their chasubles, the bishes posed for the camera with the weapons exposed. Extra magazines are kept in their miters. The hidden lesson, here, is: Never mess with a bish. And I'm thinking 'cadre' would be a better collective noun than 'assortment' for a bunch of bishops.  

 

 The photo is actually of a group of men in an alleyway in London in the late 1890s. I added me in the golfing outfit.     

 The Grim Reaper was not having a good day, rushed off his feet and feeling fed up. He had just been kicked off the number 41 bus at Stoke Newington High Street because he didn't have the right fare to go to Urswick Road in Hackney. He was supposed to be at the home of James Fripp at 2 p.m. and it was now 1.56 p.m. It was a two-mile walk  and he knew he wouldn't get there at the right time. Besides that, he felt a bit silly in his long robe and carrying a scythe past Clapton Pond, especially as it was a hot day. He knew he dare not strip down to his shorts, though, because that would be most undignified for someone of his status. Ah, well, Jim was going to be allowed to live a bit longer than planned. You can't win 'em all.    

  I was just thinking about the smell of cigar smoke, Guinness and fart. It reminds me of Christmas when I was a kid.    

 

 

 

  When FB falls on hard times because of people leaving because they're fed up with being locked out... The photo is actually of a shop that used to exist on Stoke Newington Church Street where I used to walk to junior school.    

 

 

  It's not so much that his speeches drag on, it's that nobody knows what he's mumbling about.    

  In the next scene, Spock puts his thumb into a pressure point on Kirk's neck, and they were able to pin him down for medical treatment.  

  I think he's disrespecting the president.    

 

 

 

  And just like that, overnight, Protestants erected a billboard outside Pope Frank's room at the Vatican.    

  That was very kind of himher.    

  I didn't know Joe is a ballet enthusiast. He's very energetic for his age.    

 Pope Frank approves of the music of 'The Bishops' pop group.    

  Oh, for the peaceful days of the momback! Each morning I ride by a glass and mirror company, and they have a big truck and a big forklift that are equipped with the federally mandated backup warning. 'BEEP-BEEP-BEEP' they go, continuously while the vehicles are backing up. Those noises hurt my ears! In the old days a man would stand behind and to one side of a vehicle that was backing up. He could see the driver and the driver could see him as he signaled with his hand up in the air, and he'd be saying, "Momback... momback." So peaceful!    

 We were conned into being extras in the shooting of the movie, and we never got paid for it.    

 The government has no money of its own so who is going to pay for their 'free' chips?    

  Is it a sin to only buy an ice cream cone for one's self?  

 I only sat in it for a minute, and he got all narky.  

 Possible Facebook jail material, which is why I'm posting it here.    

  I'm reminded of a time I went to court to protest a speeding ticket. I was in a line of traffic 5 mph over the speed limit in Milford, Delaware. The road leading out of the town was a known speed trap. The cops were using a new hand-held radar gun and I was singled out. The cop wrote me up for 45 in a 40, but wrote 55 in the margin. In the court I had to face a tribunal of three lawyers. The head lawyer asked me why I was protesting. I said I don't like lying cops. He then said, "The officer was doing you a favor; he wrote 55 in the margin." I said I was doing 45 in a line of traffic, and that I knew that road was a speed trap. He then said, "I know that officer and he's very fair." I said, "Yes but you wouldn't have gotten a ticket at all because they don't give them to lawyers." The lawyer angrily threw his pen down on the table and snapped: "I'm sorry you have a problem with our system of justice!" I said, "I don

 

 I thought Biden's Disinformation Board was set up to oppose false information. It seems I was wrong.

  Me, Joe and Mister Sheila visiting London on a wet day.

 If I was the president I'd turn the White House into a Fun land. We'd have pizza vendors, hot dog vendors, gifts vendors, and there would be a fun fair in the Rose Garden. I'd get rid of Congress because we have enough laws, now, and don't need any more. The Capitol would become a casino, and make money instead of costing money. The Capitol police would become parking attendants.

  Uncle Joe is telling us not to worry about a nuclear war. But a nuclear war would put an end to all our worries!  

"Jobsworth" is a name given to council workers who do the absolute minimum for their wages, and even less if they can get away with it.

When I was young and living in London, we had older houses around our way, and the smoking chimneys in the winter time used to fascinate me. I remember the smell, too. This photo reminds me of those houses but they weren't so densely packed. (I added rain to the photo.)   In later years the Alan Price Set released a record called "Don't Stop The Carnival" and these are some of the words that fit the photo:   But this is England on a winter's afternoon There is no sun, there's just a pale and tardy moon And shivering sparrows on the smoking chimney tops And all the children suffer from cold and flue and raindrops   https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hywhSFg0b9w      

Someone dropped a gallon of pale blue paint on the road by my driveway, last night. I tried to wash it down but it was already drying. The park workers saw it this morning and got to work with a power washer.  Click on the link. Paint on the road

 Once again Facebook's Commies are on the prowl, looking for offensive posts and removing them. I posted this one July 3rd, and they locked me out for 24 hours in November.

Trump's worthless gimmick. I don't believe Democrats want it banned. Why would they want a piece of junk banned? A "Revenge" coin? Because he didn't win? And if you got one, what would you do with it, other than stick it in a drawer and forget about it? It's probably a cheaply made aluminum coin with some form of cheap gold-colored plating. When you dig it out of the drawer a year from now, the golden plating will have tarnished. If it was more than just a piece of junk, they wouldn't be giving it away, free. Apart from that, God says: "Do not avenge yourselves, beloved, but leave room for God’s wrath. For it is written: “Vengeance is Mine; I will repay, says the Lord.” On the contrary, “If your enemy is hungry, feed him; if he is thirsty, give him a drink. For in so doing, you will heap burning coals on his head.”… – Romans 12:19,20. And Trump claims to be a Christian.     

 Me and Pope Frank went for an early morning bike ride, this morning. He said he likes to exercise to lose weight but he always brings cake with him on the rides. I'm not talking about a small, individual cake, I'm talking about a chocolate gateau big enough to satisfy eight large men and a small boy. Competition cyclists often carry small energy bars to eat while riding, but Frank prefers a chocolate gateau. Down at the cycling club, the guys know him as 'P.F.' but I call him 'Frank.' Before we do a run P.F. sprinkles the bikes with holy water but some of them still get punctures.

 Pray to your pope, Joe. Maybe he'll save you!