Is our site not good enough for you to spread your vile links? Have you no respect for what we are trying to build here? Together We Can. We are just as good as that other site (rhymes with Onion). Why have you not bombarded us with your frivolous drivel and nonsensical text? So come on, get a move on already, we is the love? Don’t make me come to your website and post links back to the Galaxy (reminder its www.thejimgalaxy.com). We are chalk full of juicy keywords for you to latch on to.

PS - We will come looking for you if I do not see some comments to this post by Wednesday, sundown. The clock is ticking…….

HEAVEN – The quarterback for the Arizona Cardinals, Kurt Warner, has believed for years that everything in his life, from working as a stock boy in a supermarket to marrying a frequent guest on the Jerry Springer Show and spawning enough kids to begin his own Crusade to the Holy Land, has been part of God’s plan. It was God, or his son and partner in business, Jesus, who drew up the blueprint that their humble servant, Warner, would rise from obscurity to win two MVPs and a Super Bowl under the Satanic direction of evil offensive genius, Mike Martz – with the catch being that Warner would have to maintain the same perpetual five o’clock shadow made fashionable by Don Johnson in the Eighties. Warner kept this belief even when he broke his thumb and wanted to scream, “God-dammit!” – as this injury initiated a long drought in his fortune, attributing it all to God’s plan for Kurt Warner. Now the divine strategy has ordered that he return to pigskin throwing glory, with the dead pig also playing a key role in the drama that features the qb being the second rated passer in the NFL.

Then, yesterday, God, with Jesus at his side at the podium, called a press conference to denounce any such nonsense that the Creator and Mover of the Known Universe has spent the better part of the last fifteen years calling in political favors to be used to, one, get Warner a job with the Hy-Vee Grocery Store in Iowa before his gaudy ascent into the NFL, and, two, to orchestrate the college draft that brought Eli Manning to the New York Giants that resulted in Warner going to the bench.

“Listen, you idiots,” said a cranky God, “I wanted Eli to go to the San Diego Chargers. The wife and I have a little place on Mission Beach, and I hate how Philip Rivers throws sidearm. It offends my sense of symmetry.”

“My father has a severe case of OCD,” interposed Jesus, leaning into the microphone.

“Please, son, can you say the same thing while standing on the other side of me.”

Jesus obeyed his father, though he had to repeat the whole sequence when he failed to use the same inflection on both the left- and right-hand side of God.

“And,” continued God, “I have never forgiven New York City for electing Ed Koch, who, if you remember, crucified my boy, Jesus.”

“But wasn’t that the Pharisees?” asked a bold reporter from The Village Voice.

“What’s the difference, you little shit?” snapped the All-Knowing One. “Anyway, the fact is I’ve had no time for Kurt Warner, not that I don’t appreciate his fawning worship of me, though I just found out about it couple days ago from my secretary. There’s been a lot going on within the family, as I still cannot get my uncombed white-maned head around this business of my son and Satan now being best friends. True, Satan used to be my number one lieutenant, but, well, you know the story of how he took some of my best people and set up his own shop across the nebula. Hey, maybe this guy, Kurt Warner, can go on a road trip with Jesus and the Dark Angel, say on the Trans-Siberian Railroad, and the three of them can form a special bond while going through all kinds of zany adventures in modern Russia. There’s a divine plan for Kurt.”

It is reported that Kurt Warner, on hearing that his life has been nothing but random coincidence, and this on the heels of being informed that his IRA from the Hy-Vee is down to zero, has decided to shave his face.

So Barack Obama sez that his pick for Treasury Secretary had made a “simple” mistake. Yeah, it’s no big deal, he will only be in charge of the IRS. The same IRS who had to audit him and let him know that he “forgot” to pay self employment taxes. Hey, Timothy Geithner, it was only $34,000. Chump change. But again, he will only be in charge of America’s finances. Great transparency by the incoming president. It is a proud day to be an American (especially today being the due date for estimated tax payments to the IRS - the same payments that Geithner short changed the tax Gods over several years). Heck, the Republicans do not even seem to care, so why should we? I mean, this is the same guy who In October 2003, was named president of the Federal Reserve Bank of New York with a salary in 2007 of $398,200. But he forgot to pay a tax that any self employed person with half a brain coughs up every year. Oh well. Cannot wait for my next estimated tax payment.

BitterBilly

Dear Jim:

My buddy and I hope you can mediate a dispute. He says that the perfect woman is three-foot high, wears roller skates and has a flat head so that you can rest your beer atop her head and walk around while she gives you head. I say that a flat head ruins the whole experience, being that if you rested a beer on her bobbing head, it would spill all over the floor. What do you think?

Signed,

A male going straight to hell

Dear A-male-going-straight-to-hell:

Listen, I would love to help you guys, but most of my readers are women, none of whom have flat heads (at least none that I know of), and if I lose them, there goes The Jim Galaxy. All I can tell you is to try the following experiment: One of you boys should tie roller skates to your knees, put on a graduation cap and then blow the other one, while that guy rests an open beer on the graduation cap. If it spills, then you are right; if not, then your buddy is right – and whoever ends up on his knees had better hope he does not enjoy the experience.

Signed,

Jim Galaxy

Dear Jim:

My boyfriend and I are about to take the big step of moving in together. I love him and he loves me. But there is one problem. He wants to keep his pet goat and to park it in the living room, the same as he did when growing up in his parent’s home and the same as he does now in his efficiency apartment. I am an interior decorator by trade. As such, I was looking forward to turning our love nest into an esthetic masterpiece, but feel that a live goat will clash with my plan.

Signed,

Gets-my-goat

Dear Gets-my-goat:

This seems like a two-part problem.

Problem #1: What are you doing falling in love with a guy who keeps a goat in his living room? True, his being a throw-back kind of guy — that is, back to the Ukraine of the 1750s — could be a breath of fresh air, if you disregard the barnyard odor that will no doubt infuse your living room, but still…Does your human steed buy his milk at a supermarket? Or does he just lean forward from the couch and squeeze out something to pour over his cereal? But who am I to talk. I once fell in love with a girl who was cursed with the name of Gladys, and, yes, she always appeared to me wearing a drab dress while being filmed in static black and white. So let us just assume that there is more to your boyfriend than an unstaunched loyalty to his goat.

Problem #2: What does a young Martha Stewart do with a goat in her living room? I would ask the actual Martha this question, but she just left to get an oil change at Jiffy Lube. Hmm, I guess the best thing to do would be to adapt the décor to the cloven-hoofed animal in your midst. Use a barnyard motif to go with the barnyard odor, and then tell your pretentious friends that your goal in fixing up the place in such an unconventional manner was authenticity. Phony people love the word “authenticity,” no matter how smelly it is in practice.

You can even use the goat when you entertain your snooty friends. What you do is create a chip and dip holder in the form of a saddle that you put on the goat, and then have the goat walk person to person offering a delicious appetizer – and think of the money you will save in wait staff. Then, after dinner, when the party moves back into the living room, you hang a dart board on the goat. Now I am sure that members of your uppity crew are animal-loving liberals; as such, imagine how interesting the game will be when the players have the added incentive of making sure they don’t puncture the goat with an errant shot and thereby invite comparisons to Mike Vick. I hope this helps.

Signed,

TheJimGalaxy