Yesterday was occasioned by a visit from my steadfast brother Patrick, back from fighting forest fires near Big Sur, California. Needless to say, his heroism makes George Washington look like a swarthy, acne-ridden Spaniard in comparison.

Here are several photographs he shared with me. I will now show them to you, using the internet.

This is fire, one of the most powerful elements in the natural universe. Terrorizing wildlife, and destroying habitats, fire has long been used by man to establish his just dominion over the earth. Also, fire is hot and makes things smaller and black. At any rate, my point is that this fire is George Bush’s fault.

Here is Patrick, after having faced the terrible menace of fire. Note the sturdy courage in his eyes and the soiled qualities of his undershirt. Behind him lies a path cleared out of the brush, as well as another man, believed to be actor Tom Berenger.

The brush in question was anywhere from 8 to 15 feet high, and teeming with poison oak. As a result, Patrick, along with all the other members of his crew were covered with red rashes and sores that were irritated by the heavy duty clothing and heat. On the other hand, my job involves occasional meetings that run long, so we’re both no stranger to hardship.

In the midst of working 18 consecutive 16-hour days, moments of rest were cherished by Patrick’s crew. He can be seen in the foreground, the back of his shirt blackened with sweaty iniquity, while two of his comrades relax in bizarrely identical repose.

Fine work, Patrick. I’m proud of you, mostly!

Today, I’d like to announce my retirement from blogging.

It’s been a great four-and-a-half years for the John Larroquette Project. I’ve lived for the challenge of getting up in the morning and coming up with an idea to write about. The creative writing process is one that I’ve always found rewarding. I can honestly say that I’ve loved every minute of it.

Unfortunately, as I sit here this morning, I’ve come to the realization that while I know I still can blog, I just don’t have the desire to anymore. I’m just burnt out. While I know I’ll miss the daily challenge, I won’t miss those mornings where I’m going through the motions, or the feeling of posting drivel just because I spent 20 minutes writing it. I’m just going to take some time off, and spend more quality time with my wife or with a good book.

It’s been fun, and thanks for reading.

…

You know what? I’ve changed my mind. I’m not retiring. I want to come back.

You see, I didn’t really want to retire in the first place. Adam pressured me into it. If you go back and re-read my retirement address, you’ll see that every word of it was honest, except for the parts that Adam forced me into.

What’s that? You’ve already moved on? First of all, that seems improbable, given that I retired only a few moments ago. Secondly, who are you going to replace me with? Ben? Ben’s a nice guy and all, but he’s not ready for prime-time - he still needs more seasoning and tutelage under the master (i.e. me).

Let me put it to you this way, who gives the John Larroquette Project the best chance to succeed on a daily basis? Me, right? So let me back. If you won’t let me back, I demand that you release me from any affiliation with the John Larroquette Project, and let me blog elsewhere. As a matter of fact, I’ve been having a few behind-the-scenes conversations with Kevin’s blog, and they seem very interested in bringing me on board.

What do you mean, “blog tampering”? I’ve never heard of such a thing.

Look, I don’t want to get into some bitter squabble with all of you. All I ask is that you allow me to retire and unretire in peace, and bend over backwards to meet my increasingly fickle demands.

I just wish all of you hadn’t put me in this position.

My Dearest Richard-

As I type this, the morning rain falls lightly on my sunroom awning, like a dwarf tossed from a blimp. The metallic percussion delights my ears, but has proven a fright to my cat Ben Franklin, who otherwise spends his mornings sprawled across the floor like a beached raccoon.

Softly, the rain lands upon my lawn, restoring my grass and replenishing my dreams. With each splashing droplet, my soul rejoices and my abdomen gurgles with merriment. O that you were here with me to share in this sweet moment! I confess that I yearn to hold your hand ‘neath the weeping willow with warmest affection.

Also, we would suck down some Coors.

Do you remember the night when you tickled my belly-skin with your fingers? Do you remember how the rain washed all remorse away, like Scrubbing Bubbles bathroom cleaner? That evening’s enchantment has relived itself many times in my memories since then. I can scarce forget the fondness of your calloused fingers, thickened by hard prison labor.

I hope these words find you well, Richard, and fully recovered from the dreaded pox. I have enclosed a package of maple custard, prepared tenderly for you. May its sweetness remind you of my most tender devotion.

P.S. Say hi to Carl for me.

I am a man, mightier than any since Cain smote his brother!

This weekend, I built a fence for our backyard. It is a white picket PVC fence that would cause Tom Sawyer to defile himself with its beauty.

Behold!

Did you just defecate yourselves with envy? Do you need to pause to find appropriate cleaning supplies in order to salvage the chair you are sitting in? Is your poop permanently ground into the fabric due to the sheer shocked velocity with which it exited your anus? Yeah, I thought so. It’s my new fence. Believe it.

I was aided in this fence’s construction by my soft-spoken father, and my oft-speaking father-in-law. Watching them together was something akin to an Abbott and Costello routine. Meanwhile, I dug holes with the strength of Sampson, the hair of Absolom, and the wisdom of Kissinger. Today, my arm muscles are weary and fatigued with overuse, and my brain-muscle is strained from thinking about digging. I fear I am as useless as an iPod in the palm of a thumbless Amish man.

The pain in my upper extremities is great on this day, my friends. With each excruciating keystroke, I bring my body closer to the brink of utter oblivion. Like Lance Armstrong pedaling up the slopes of Mount Everest, I punish my body for the glory of something greater – in this case, another entry in a middling blog to be read and instantly forgotten by several hundred people. It is a cause that makes the life of Abraham Lincoln look like a weak-chinned SuperAmerica employee.

Also I did the dishes.

A few weeks on, here’s a rundown of where we’re standing with the problems related to the break-in of our house by reckless teens:

It appears the people who broke into our house and stole our car, having been witnessed by at least three people committing the crimes in question, will be walking away freely. I’m glad to see accountability and personal responsibility are alive and well in North Minneapolis.

—

On the other end of the spectrum, I actually have to hand it to American Family insurance. They’ve really done a nice job in handling our situation. After some minor arm-wrestling with various adjustors, they are paying to replace our iPod, repair our car, and covering the cost of installing all-new windows for our sunroom. This will mean that our favorite room in the house will go from being a two-season luxury to a room that we can use year-round (with a space heater in the winter). Maybe this winter I can invite you over to our newly energy-efficient sunroom for some diet beverages and stilted conversation.

—

For the first two weeks after the robbery, I woke up a few times a night after being startled by some innocuous sound or another. I would then wander our darkened house with a knife, searching for evidence of an intruder. As you can guess, this was in no way emotionally draining. Eventually, I traded my knife for a wood Louisville Slugger. I call it Bonedust, and with it, I can connect with black do-rags like the sweet-swinging Joe (Baby Jesus) Mauer.

—

We finally got to pick up our car on Monday. It had a smashed windshield, a few small dents, and it was caked in powder that the police use to find fingerprints. It looked chalky and ashen, like John McCain. When I turned the ignition, the stereo suddenly began blasting hip-hop from a disk they left in our stereo. Apparently the new Coldplay disk I had sitting on the passenger seat didn’t do it for them.

The individuals wearing white t-shirts and black do-rags left our CDs and iPod paraphernalia, but took with them our Happenings coupon book as well as a Mad Libs book we use to kill time on road trips. Needless to say, these were odd selections. Do 15 year-old thieves use coupons for Greek restaurants? Do they value frugality? Why our Mad Libs book? There is virtually no chance these clowns know what an adverb is.

—

On a completely unrelated note, here is a snippet of last night’s dinner conversation with my wife:

WIFE: I bought you some underwear at Target today.
ME: Do they have Taz on them?
WIFE: No.
ME: Then I don’t want them.

About a year ago, Rock TV finished a video called America’s Next Top Pastor. As our videos go, it was a decently successful satire on some of the issues in the American church today, particularly regarding people’s expectations of their pastors - that they be “cool”, relevant, funny, and cuddly, but never challenging or willing to discuss unpopular issues. It also featured Beaker.

The video was posted on YouTube when it first came out, and over the last year, it managed to collect just over 12,000 views and become the most watched Rock TV ever. Unbelieveably, the video was featured on the front page of YouTube yesterday, and has been viewed over 100,000 times in the last 24 hours. That is completely nuts.

The most interesting facet of this recent spotlight is the comments the video has garnered - a mix of positive and negative. Generally speaking, the positive feedback seems to have come from Christians (which makes sense, given that the satire would only really hit home with somebody familiar with today’s Christian landscape). Much more amusing are the negative comments, a few of which I am happy to share with you now:

ducktill writes:
I didnt laugh once , how come?

I don’t know, ducktill. Did your cat get run over recently?

–

oXxBENNYxX0 writes:
Be very care folks !!
joking about Gods stuff/PPL is like playing with a mad viper !!
trust benny !!
and ya NEVER really know ,Sometimes who IS real/Really Gods !

Eloquently stated, sir. I shall indeed trust Benny in the future, because ya never really know who IS real/Really Gods, whatever the hell that means…

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AznElf1 writes:
Boo, this is completely painting another view on us. Is this what America has gone to? I think so.

I can’t make heads or tails of this. Who is “us”? What view have we painted on them? Why is an Asian Elf watching Rock TVs?

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TJZA1986 writes:
what a sh*t. My time was wasted watching this.
you clearly don’t have anything good to be done out of your meaningless lives.

Excellent point, and quality insight. Hopefully my honorable suicide can still set things right.

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koreaboi6 writes:
i found this very offensive…as i’m sure many other people did
some of it sounded like a weak imitation of dane cook to me. anyway, they didn’t have to involve pastors and christianity. pastors really have a rough time in the increasingly secular world today. i find comedy that doesnt aim for a larger audience and that offenses a large population very inefficient

Thanks for paying attention to the video, koreaboi.

–

And finally, supershroom164 writes:
no wonder America is sucking so much.
America wastes money on stupid offensive productions that arnt even funny.

This video cost our ministry about $60 to make - it was spent constructing the Beaker puppet. Apparently this money tipped the scales toward our nation’s cultural demise. On behalf of Rock TV, I would like to apologize to supershroom and the world.