Dr. Noel Uvellotte-Mordaneux

Post by democommie™™™™®© who lost his keys, Grafix by Nezua

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Gently scrambled readers:

I must apologize for my tardiness in taking up my duties as guest-poster here at Jesus General. It’s not as if I had a long way to go to get to work. The motor pool is a scant 2.5 miles down a well maintained private drive through the Blood-O-the Lamb™ vineyards from the General’s Spartan--by GC(Cubed)R standards, anyway—28,000 square foot Bunker and Spa. I do always like to check in with ofJoshua to make certain that she is not pining, in the General’s absence; but, as always, his great good friend, Mr. Garcia was keeping her company. They do get on—she was in good hands.

You may be wondering why I’ve been using this semi-posh tone in writing, today. Truth to tell, I was too. Fortunately I’ve received the answer. I had my regular appointment, yesterday, with my psychiatrist, the eminent Dr. Noel Uvellotte-Mordaneux. He said that after nearly two years of our weekly sessions he had a diagnosis for me—Multiple Personality Disorder. I was shocked, I can tell you!

I asked him if he meant there was more than one “me” in me. His dry, but warm reply was that “Ze ‘Black Hole of Calcutta’ vas less crowded zan your head, nutboy!”. But he quickly allayed my fears by explaining to me that I should take advantage of the situation, or as he said, “Ven life is geeving you citron, make citronella.” He advised me to let my inner Frenchman as well as the inner chef, poet, male exotic dancer, doyenne of etiquette and the rest of the crew pick up the slack when my inner grease monkey was stuck on something.

I’ve put his suggestion to good use already. First thing this morning I wrote some sonnets, baked a lovely brie en croute, tuned up the new prototype command vehicle (an Abrams tank that we made into a ‘rag top’) as well as writing these bons mot. My inner exotic dancer danced his ass off last night at “Beefcake & Brewskis”, (almost $5 in tips!) just down the road, so he’s sleeping in.

My inner Frenchman would like to say that, having read the posts re: Mr. Don Imus and his unfortunate choice of words describing those fine young female athletes at Rutgers that perhaps it would just be best if he went down to the men’s locker room and addressed them as “nappy headed pimps”, in the interest of fairness and sexual equality. I’m sure the gentlemen there would show him a rollicking good time!

I am deeply indebted to Seattle Dan & Tammy for their assistance in preparing this missive. If it hadn’t been for their endless patience, boundless good humor and firm but gentle pressure (in holding me down while the Doc No’s P.A., Igor, applied the electrodes to my temples and testicles) I would never have been able to finish this drivel.

It has been my great pleasure to serve in the capacity of Guest Poster and I shall be ready to serve again, at the General’s pleasure. Sign me as.

Miss Goody2shoes—

unless you fuck with me; then it’s Ilsa-she-wolf of the SS in her Prada jackboots, mofo.