A Clean Bill of Health
My beloved pug Winston, who had his penis operated on yesterday and I'm delighted to announce that the procedure went perfectly. The veterinary surgeon told me that he managed to scoop all the nasty bootyfunk out of Winston's wang and rip out a massive bio-turd that was growing on his spleen ("bio-turd" being Jonnyspeak for "tumor"). The vast majority of you know Winston from the clever little illustrations I post on the social media. I've been crapping out that kind of stuff for decades but I was stunned to discover that it never really had an element of humanity until I plugged a picture of a little dog into the insanity. Winston came into my life when I was at a low ebb; my heart had been broken from a couple of different directions and he managed (completely to my surprise) to pick up the shards and make me whole again. I never knew an animal intimately before Winston came into my life so I wasn't aware that you can know an animal intimately, and it's been an education to discover that they possess a soul and an individuality that are as unique and special as any human being's. My heart soars at knowing that Winston will be with us for a while longer because in the immortal words of James T, Kirk, "Of my friend, I can only say this: of all the souls I have encountered in my travels, his was the most... human."
Here's a little slideshow of some of my favorite Jonny illustrations that include Winston (click on the white circle in the middle to start it). I look forward to crapping them out for many years to come.
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Natasha Troop, who directed my legendary performance of Richard III. Ms. Troop is a transsexual woman and therefore announced last week that "It's Trans Day of Visibility. I'm not entirely sure what this means except to say that if you know me, you know at least one trans person and as all trans people are exactly like me, you know we are all pretty fucking awesome." While I completely agree that Ms. Troop is fucking awesome, by that same logic it means that all trans people are going to bully me into playing a three-and-a-half hour part in a theatre across the street from a Shakey's Pizza Parlor that is going to take such a toll on me that I'll have a heart attack shortly afterwards. Since a recent study reports that there are at least 1.4 million trans people in the U.S., that means that I'll be spending a lot of time in the cardiac ward. Being associated with Ms. Troop has been every bit the awesome experience she says it is, I am willing to put up with the trauma that my ticker is bound to undergo that but I'll need Winston to pick up the shards and make me whole again when it happens. It's a good thing I got an extended warranty on his penis.
Bro Joe, who celebrated his 89th birthday this week (or something like that; Winston is my research department, so I'll be a little loose with facts until he gets out of the hospital). Having known Joe for longer than most people, I remember when he would mark the day after his birthday celebration by sleeping off the previous night's drinking binge in a pool of his own vomit. I was therefore stunned when a very sober-sounding Joe started the morning by thanking everyone on his Facebook feed for the many good wishes they sent him and including this photo of him posing with a massive birthday card given to him by a charitable foundation that he regularly volunteers at. I don't know when Joe evolved from obnoxious drunk to tree-hugging do-gooder but I'm not sure that I approve of the change. Back in the days when I taunted him outside the bathroom as he upchucked the whiskey and Taco Bell from the night before, I had a fulfilling rush from feeling superior to him. Now that I read about all his charitable work that has made him a beloved figure in the community, it gives me a momentary twinge to get my ass off the sofa and do something for humanity myself. Fortunately, the impulse quickly passes and I go off to take another nap while Joe is a few blocks away volunteering for something. My only fear is that Joe is my elder so the path his life has taken might be a preview of my own. I can only say that if I ever wake up one morning after my birthday clutching a giant birthday card presented to me by a charitable foundation, I hope that at least I'm lying in a pool of my own vomit. I don't mind being a do-gooder, but I still want to have fun while I'm doing it.
Tom Ashworth, who lamented on his Facebook feed that "The most terrifying words in English: Jon Mullich tagged you in a photo on Facebook." Mr. Ashworth is referring to the notification my Facebook friends are lucky enough to receive when they are tagged in one of my delightful illustrations like the ones in the slideshow above. I replied to his accusations of my illustrations being "terrifying" by posting this album cover I created of Mr. Ashworth with his signature musical instrument, the accordion. I will let the reader decide which is a more terryifying fate: to be pictured in a delightful (if occasionally risqué) illustration that gives joy to millions of people (or at least to my 37 Facebook friends), usually with an angelic pug; or to be locked in a room listening to Mr. Ashworth play Lady of Spain on his accordion without even the relief of an icepick to puncture your eardrums with to leave you pleasingly deaf. I have seen the evil in Mr. Ashworth's soul, and it is that f*ckin' accordion.
My celebrity crush Frances Fisher, who my sources tell me recently suffered a power outage, forcing her to spend an evening reading by candle light. Many of you know of my association with prolific novelist Hack Werker, whose current contract with Nasty Tales Publishing House requires him to crank out 250 books a year (on top of his regular job bussing tables at Shakey's Pizza Parlor). Mr. Werker is constantly pressing his acquaintances for details about their more lurid obsessions for inclusion is his stories. And because I spent a lot of time guzzling watered down beer at Shakey's while I was playing Richard III, I was aghast to discover that Ms. Fisher appears as a character in 216 of Mr. Werker's books (as of this writing, I mean; it could have risen by as much as a dozen since you started this paragraph with the way he cranks them out). If this is ever discovered and is traced back to me, it's a clear violation of the restraining order Ms. Fisher has against me so I'm hoping against hope that none of Mr. Werker's novels figured in her reading material during the blackout. If it does, I hope at least that's it's his sea-faring romance Pirate of Love. It has an awesome description of me without a shirt so when Ms. Fisher's attorneys send me to spend another weekend doing time for harassing her, I want her to at least have an awesome visual of my taut, lean body smashing rocks in the brutal Alabama sun on a manly chain gang. It will make my doing community service by picking up Rottweiler poop at a dog park in Alhambra that much more enjoyable.
Donald Trump, who resigned the presidency today after admitting that he colluded with the Russians to make him the most corrupt and incompetent president in our country's history, and that the only reason he ran in the first place was to placate his massive ego but after he was elected he realized that he really had no agenda or personal convictions and was only interested in the office because he thought it made him king of America.