Defrag.

Residing within my hard drive I have a folder I've cleverly named "Mail Junk". Its contents are photos and videos I have downloaded from various email forwards from family and friends. Keeping items in this folder helps to later locate and discard which I do every 4 months or so. Today however I cannot recall the last time I deleted the junk. Perhaps explaining my poor computer performance as of late. Sadly, cleaning never seems to help does it? Seems like once you litter your system with AOL, junk mail forwards and personal photos, the computer always moves a little slower than those first months you got it. Hmmm...maybe because this is a PC. Man, I sound a bit snobbish now that I own Macs which are superior machines by the way. But I digress...

Continuing, cleaning provides another chuckle or two while browsing over the photos and videos. Before ridding them off my hard drive, I will share some with you. Hopefully, I can explain each and make this into a delightful blog entry---but don't hold your breath; there are never any guarantees with my writing. Be warned: Some items may be explicit as guys do tend to forward items about boobies. We're guys. We can't help it. Boobies are fascinating.

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1. Anyone with an e-ddress and at least one friend has received a joke featuring a notorious young character known as Little Johnny. It is a bona fide fact that every 15 seconds someone receives a "Little Johnny" joke. Amazing. Truly amazing. Directly to the left is one, I believe, I received 184 different times over a period of two months. Generally, the jokes are not accompanied with a photo. Obviously this marks a special edition of some sorts. Perhaps the gazillion time it was forwarded that first morning . Whoever started the "Little Johnny" phenomenon is laughing his ass off to the bank these days (maybe he struck some type of deal with royalties or even the McDonalds). I wonder how he started? Was there really a Little Johnny? Was he perhaps the child's father or distant relative?

Here is my theory on these infamous Little Johnny stories:

Back in the 50's, a teacher talked her spouse into attending her annual Christmas party for work. We will call them Fred and Helen for the sake of the story. Reluctantly Fred agrees simply to avoid spending the holidays being bitched at for "not caring about someone's feelings" and "being a selfish son-of-a-bitch". During said Christmas party, Helen hits the sauce a little too hard with her teacher friends, including the sexy, full-figured music teacher who as the rumors had it knows her way around the men's locker room quite well. Unfortunately for Fred, the Christmas party turns into a post-party gathering at a nearby tavern where he finds himself in the company of several intoxicated teachers, including the music instructor, which is definite proof his dear Helen is three sheets to the wind because she had spent many nights complaining and spreading rumors about the buxom songstress.

One drink leads to another and poor Fred is bored out of his everloving mind. His only saving grace is entertaining himself with a list he has secretly penciled on a bar napkin; it consists of special "favors" he believes he deserves for sitting through this hellish evening. Occasionally Helen glances at him prompting the list immediately into hiding. Knowing his wife, the list is purely fantasy, but jotting it down certainly is entertaining. Sixty minutes later, he is exhausted from hearing the intoxicated rants regarding school board politics, text books and daily lesson plans. The only thing keeping him from sitting outside in the car blazing a pack of smokes is watching Little Miss Music's exposed nipple peakaboo out of her tight blouse every time she giggles.

Eventually, the conversation turns from school curriculum to more confidential matters: the student body. Oh brother, thought Fred, until the discussion spotlights one particular student, a troubled third grade boy named Johnny Tucker. Still second guessing his decision to wait in the car, Fred overhears the words 'fuck' and 'vagina' coming from Miss Exposed Nipple and springs to immediate attention as if he'd been poked with a branding iron. Better yet, Helen is hysterically laughing and sharing her own Little Johnny stories. Four letter words and body parts included as well. This is a side of Helen that Fred hasn't seen since their second year of dating---October 18, 1956 to be precise. She is a bit of a prude, even blushes at the word 'pee pee'. Fred listens to every word pouring from his wife's mouth. He is captivated. Helen's recollections are as colorful and brilliant as the others---and she isn't holding back on the explicit parts either.

Turns out this little Johnny kid uses these words and a collection of others with eased consistency as most would use 'dog' or 'cat'. Visits to the principal's office only inspire him. Basically, he does everything Fred wished Denace the Menace would do---pulling down his pants to expose himself, smacking woman on their asses, substituting letters on English homework to create profanity. This Johnny kid is priceless. If he were older, Fred imagines, they would be great pals and chase skirts around town while Helen attended her PTA meetings. The stories were brilliant. Suddenly this Christmas party has some flavor.

Hours later, Fred, Helen and music teacher are the lone leftovers from the company Christmas Party. Hammered and hysterically laughing, they order more drinks, tell more stories and before you know it Fred has pulled out his list. On his deathbed, Fred would later recall this night as the greatest of his life.

A few weeks later at the bar, ol' hubby Fred starts telling his buddies about this legendary kid in Helen's class. Eventually the entire bar is howling over these "Little Johnny" stories. Strangers are patting Fred's back and buying him beers. A skilled raconteur, he is the highlight of the bar. Draped by women, his pit of stories are as bottomless as the glasses of beer each story is rewarded. With his marriage on the rocks, he comes back every night with more anecdotes. Helen's no longer talking to him by April, so most of the stories are complete fabrications. He learns, the more vulgar the better. A year later, Helen has filed for divorce and no longer lives in the same city. Meanwhile the stories have spread from Joe's Bar Tavern in Philadelphia to Vernon's Liquor in Charlotte to the Horse Shoe Beer Factory in Oklahoma, eventually reaching the West Coast and every little tavern across America. Everyone knows a tale or two, no matter their age, religion, sex or financial status. Like rumors often do---fade over a period of time---the "Little Johnny" anecdotes lose their original names, origins and facts. However, one consistent remains: In each story the boy's name is always Little Johnny.

In the above forwarded image, Little Johnny---several generations removed---is easily recognized. That little Johnny, he's something.

2. Yeah right. Like she'd walk around in public like this. With all the media hounds constantly following her. Whatever. Hmmm... What if it is her? Can it be? Regardless, I wished I'd watched more episodes of "Friends".

3. You never know a person until you've walked a mile in his shoes---or in my case taught him how to wash his hands or prepare a meal. Having worked with MHMR programs, this one gives me a chuckle. Until I came to really know a mentally challenged person, I perceived them to be completely different than me or anyone I hung out with. I was ignorant. Like everyone else, we put our pants on the same---only it takes some a little longer. This picture and caption crack me up because there were times at work when I'd overhear an instructor and immediately roll my eyes thinking "What the fuck is she talking about"; and then I'd look at the group and sure enough at least one of them would make eye contact with me while thinking the same thing--What is this bish talking about?

4. Any explanation needed?

Damn I love Chappelle. Too bad Family Circus isn't really this funny.

5. Trick-or-treating is fun for all ages. But be careful of the tricks though.

I remember one Halloween night when my aunt Margie---the one who slept on my parents floor after seeing The Exorcist---bravely looked into a coffin on a neighbor's front lawn. She immediately ran squealing when something within squirted her between the eyes with water. Frankly, I thought she was lucky. The kid who lived there always picked his nose.

4. OK...I'm a guy. I have guy friends. Guys like boobies. Do women send these types of forwards but highlighting parts of the male anatomy? Interesting thought.

This particular forward is truly for the safety of male motorists across the world. Incidentally, I drove around for hours immediately after reading. Not a damn thing happened.

Lesson: Don't believe everything forwarded to you no matter how much you pray, think positive thoughts and drive around corner after corner, street after street, city after city...

5. I may not trash this one. Good stuff.

As much as men like boobies, we like peace too.

Hopefully, you enjoyed this journey through my hard drive.

Until the next cleaning.......

patty boy