Mo' Stuff From John's Big Head And Other Appropriated Materials Found And Manipulated by John DAgostino, Eccentric Artist for His Own Purposes.

Super Holy IT
Do you really need to see another picture of JohnsBigHead? Probably not, but the Eccentric American Artist John D'Agostino, aka: John Dog thought what the heck. So here is a picture from one of the many Istanbul nights of eatting and drinking in search of The Only True God. This was a raki night which turned into a rocky night. Not Rocky as in fighting. We at the church of The Only True God are peaceful folk. Raki is aTurkish drink flavored with anise. Mixed with water and ice it turns white and the Turks call it lion's milk. It is one of the favorite drinks of the Eccentric American Artist, John D'Agostino. If you go to The Only True God site at
www.theonlytruegod.johnsbighead.com
you will find that spreading the Super Holy IT (S.H.I T) is something that is very special to members of the church of The Only True God. This can be done by stepping in the S.H.I T and dancing around. The Rev. John Dog does some funky dancing after partaking in large quantities of lion's milk.

Traditional Turkish music was playing, not as good as funk music for dancing, but good enough when the raki hits and the spirit of The Only True God moves you. It is smart to know how much raki to mix with the water and ice to pace yourself through the night. John D'Agostino, the Eccentric American Artist was never accused of being to smart. Soon the Rev. John Dog was proclaiming the holiness of the Super Holy I T. Hear more from the Rev. at The Rev. Sez:
www.revjohndog.johnsbighead.com
At one point near the end of the festivities, when the last song was playing. John D'Agostino, the Eccentric American Artist treated the crowd at the resteraunt to a solo dance with amazing agility. With the meal finished and the bill paid our party of 12 moved on to a club in Arnavutkoy. How the Rev. John Dog stumbed to and found the car was an act of grace from The Only True God and his fellow believers.

Once at the club this is where things got a little rocky. The raki was continuing to flow. John D'Agostino, the Eccentric American Artist sat there and thought what should the Rev. John Dog doo now? After sitting there for a number minutes which seemed like hours, who knows how long. John D'Agostino, the Eccentric American Artist stood up and focused on the door. No more raki was needed. The Eccentric American Artist John D'Agostino saw the face of The Only True God and The Only True God spoke to him. The Only True God said. Rev. John Dog you have done your work for the night - GO HOME.

Home was far away, but Av and Al's (fellow members of the church of The Only True God) apartment was around the corner. Somehow the Rev. John Dog was transported there. Al was asleep, but John D'Agostino, the Eccentric American Artist pounded on the apartment door until he appeared. A devote member of the church of The Only True God, Al pointed to the couch. The Rev. John Dog could now rest and get his strength back for another day of spreading the S.H.I T and the word of The Only True God.

Thumbs up to Al for his good work in helping the Rev. John Dog in his time of need. Here is a picture of John D'Agostino, the Eccentric American Artist on his way to Sighisoara, Romania on the train to spread the wisdom of The Only True God. Al is by his side along with other believers in The Only True God. John D'Agostino, the Eccentric American Artist is happy all the time because of the blessing from The Only True God. The Rev. John Dog continues his work in Romania. Al has made a pilgrimage to Maine in the U.S. to spread the goodness of The Only True God in America.

Remeber you can learn more about the church of The Only True God and the wisdom of Re. John Dog at these sites:
www.revjohndog.johnsbighead.com and
www.theonlytruegod.johnsbighead.com .
If you want to enter the site to hear the word of The Only True God you must be a believer. So enter I Believe when you are asked for a password.

You can find The Only True God everywhere. The Only True God exists in the sky, in the lakes and rivers of the world, and in all of nature. Romania is a great place to become one with The Only True God. While doing missionary work in Transylvania The Rev. John Dog spent a lot of time spreading the S.H.I T camping in the wilderness. You can see pictures of The Rev. John Dog's missionary work at
www.camping.johndag.com
Pictured below is the Eccentric American Artist John D'Agostino and some Romanian friends who have joined the church of The Only True God.

The Eccentric American Artist John D'Agostino is the one in the blue baseball hat and the Kansas T-shirt.  The Eccentric American Artist John D'Agostino has never been to Kansas.  So when the Eccentric American Artist John D'Agostino heard the expression Toto we're not in Kansas anymore, he didn't know what it meant.  But the Eccentric American Artist John D'Agostino started to use that expression all the time, but in the wrong sense.  For example when asked what time it is the Eccentric American Artist John D'Agostino might say "Toto we're not in Kansas anymore". Hey, but don't ask me what new member Andrea is doing to that guitar. Since there were no toilets at our camp site it was a natural place to spread the Super Holy IT around. Everyone was eating lots of meats and drinking lots of beer and wine and other products from the bounty of The Only True God. Home made wine and meat that has been sitting in the sun for two day can really get you GOING.
Thanks from the Rev. John Dog.

BACK

WAITING FOR THE PUNCH
Act One
A half-empty pint of vodka sat on Mr. John D'Agostino, the Eccentric American Artist's desk. For the life of an insane half-second, John Dog thought Mr. John D'Agostino, the Eccentric American Artist had invited him in for a drink. Then John Dog remembered Mr. John D'Agostino, the Eccentric American Artist’s wife had drank herself to death and Mr. John D'Agostino, the Eccentric American Artist hated demon liquor and its willing tool, the drinker. John Dog was a drinker. The fear began to rise in John Dog's throat like the soar taste of vodka, mixed with pizza and o.j. the morning after an evening out on the town.
“Maximum Dogmeat the night janitor found this in your desk,” Mr. John D'Agostino, the Eccentric American Artist said.
“What was—”
“Never mind what Maximum Dogmeat the night janitor was doing in your desk.. What was that doing in your desk John Dog is the question, ”
John Dog wanted to explain that a quick nip after breakfast and before lunch made the mind-numbing labor of sticking letters in their appropriate boxes go by a little smoother. Instead John Dog looked off to the side and said nothing to Mr. John D'Agostino, the Eccentric American Artist..
“Vodka, they call that the no-tell drink, don’t they?” John D'Agostino, the Eccentric American Artist said. “No tell-tale scent to give you away? Eh, Mr. John Dog?”
“I didn’t know that.”, John Dog said.
“Go clean out your desk. I’ll have no alkies working for me. Go on, get out.” said Mr. John D'Agostino, the Eccentric American Artist..
John Dog walked out of the building and into the sunlight. John Dog carried his office residue in a cardboard box with the company name printed on the side, feeling vaguely relieved. John Dog looked inside the box at the stolen pens, the bored drawings, the idle notes and the broken plastic lottery genie. John Dog forced the box into a sidewalk trash bin and realized his wife, Mrs. John Dog, would never understand, not in one hundred thousand years. John Dog thought, "Fu*k Maximum Dogmeat for finding the bottle and fu*k Mr. John D'Agostino, the Eccentric American Artist for firing me.
Act Two
“I’ll miss you,” John Dog said. “Especially when I lie in bed at night. Unless I’ve drank too much. I won’t then. But when I’m sober and lying in bed at night I’ll think of you my lovely wife, Mrs. John Dog. I swear it.”
“You’re taking it awfully well,” Mrs. John Dog said.
“I’m good at that. By God you’re right. I’m good at taking it.” said John Dog
Mrs. John Dog looked out the window. “I think you’re taking it harder inside. You just have a hard time showing your emotions. I’ve told you that.”said Mrs. John Dog and then she sighed. John Dog stopped packing to look at his wife, Mrs. John Dog. “You really think so? I always thought I was deeper than I let on. Still waters run deep, they say.” John Dog went back to packing and Mrs. John Dog frowned slightly at his back. "Fu*k Maximum Dogmeat for finding the bottle and fu*k Mr. John D'Agostino, the Eccentric American Artist for firing him thought Mrs. John Dog.
“You don’t have to leave,” Mrs. John Dog said. “I’m certainly not kicking you out, even if you, John Dog, are a lush without a job. Tell you the truth, John Dog, I don’t care one way or another.”
“And that’s why I’m leaving, murmered John Dog, you understand.”
“Of course I understand, said Mrs. John Dog. Actually I’m glad you’re leaving. It makes room for Roger to move in.” laughed Mrs. John Dog
John Dog stopped packing. “Roger’s moving in?” Roger, the brother of Mr. John D'Agostino, the Eccentric American Artist and my ex-boss.
“Of course Roger, the brother of Mr. John D'Agostino, the Eccentric American Artist is moving right in,” Mrs. John Dog said, happy now.
“Why, John Dog that’s who I was talking to on the phone. I told you.” said the soon to be ex-Mrs. John Dog.
“You didn’t!” John Dog exclaimed. John Dog was packing again but very slowly, like every shirt weighed a thousand cold pounds.
“I’m certain I did,” the soon to be ex-Mrs. John Dog said, smiling at the window. “Look what a lovely day it is John Dog. A fine day for moving out. Or in.”
John Dog shut the suitcase. John Dog wasn’t finished packing, but John Dog shut and latched the suitcase. It’s okay to leave some things behind, John Dog thought. It’s a perfectly natural thing to do, even in the best of circumstances. John Dog wondered what had happened between him and the soon to be ex-Mrs. John Dog.
John Dog lifted the suitcase and walked to the door. “I guess I’m going now.” John Dog said.
“Where you going to?” the future lover of Roger, the brother of Mr. John D'Agostino, the Eccentric American Artist and the soon to be ex-Mrs. John Dog said, yawning.
“My mom has been begging me to visit so I thought I’d go up there and say hello.”answered John Dog
“Oh. Well, toot-a-loo!” replied the future lover of Roger, the brother of Mr. John D'Agostino, the Eccentric American Artist and the soon to be ex-Mrs. John Dog.
John Dog wanted to say something, something important to the future lover of Roger, the brother of Mr. John D'Agostino, the Eccentric American Artist and the soon to be ex-Mrs. John Dog and true, it seemed that something should be said. Instead John Dog opened the door and closed it quietly behind him.
Roger, the brother of Mr. John D'Agostino, the Eccentric American Artist was standing in the hall. Like a vulture, John Dog wanted to think, but it wasn’t true. Roger, the brother of Mr. John D'Agostino, the Eccentric American Artist stood halfway down the hall, looking at the floor with silent shame.
John Dog started down the hall, his joints stiff, his face numb. John Dog wanted to smile, John Dog wanted to slap Roger, the brother of Mr. John D'Agostino, the Eccentric American Artist heartily on the back and boom: “Well, I wish you better luck than me, old man!” But John Dog didn’t because John Dog had never been that way, John Dog had never boomed and John Dog had certainly never slapped anyone on the back with anything approaching heartiness. Instead John Dog averted his eyes and moved to one side of the narrow hall so John Dog would not brush up against his diluted Judas.
“Sorry,” Roger, the brother of Mr. John D'Agostino, the Eccentric American Artist whispered as John Dog hunched by.
John Dog mumbled something. Not words. Just a mumbling sound that could have expressed forgiveness, hate or even apathy as far as John Dog knew. John Dog walked all the way to the end of the hall and down the stairs and past the old woman at the reception desk who eyed his suitcase coldly.
“Are you going to settle up?” she demanded.
John Dog thought, "Fu*k Maximum Dogmeat for finding the bottle and fu*k Mr. John D'Agostino, the Eccentric American Artist for firing me and fu*k my landlady too. But instead,
“Of course,” John Dog mumbled, walking faster, startled by the cow bell on the door as John Dog stumbled into the cold sunshine.
It’s a new day, John Dog thought, putting the suitcase in the back seat and climbing behind the wheel, and all the fine connotations that go along with that. New beginnings, a fresh horizon to race toward and Roger, the brother of Mr. John D'Agostino, the Eccentric American Artist was probably in there now, perhaps looking through the things John Dog had left behind, perhaps in the ex-Mrs. John Dog's arms, perhaps kissing, perhaps doing something else.
John Dog drove away wondering how Roger, the brother of Mr. John D'Agostino, the Eccentric American Artist felt about all that.

(CONTINUED IN NEXT COLUMN)

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Act Three
John Dog parked the car in front of the grey-paneled mobile home of his youth. John Dog took out the suitcase and the large black mongrel crouched beneath the porch growled at him. “It’s me, boy,” John Dog said, moving slowly toward him, offering his hand palm down. “Don’t you remember me? Has it been that long?” John Dog softly whispered. The dog lunged from beneath the porch and bit John Dog’s hand. John Dog jumped back and yelped and the dog retreated beneath the porch to growl low and deep, teeth bared. John Dog thought, "Fu*k Maximum Dogmeat for finding the bottle and fu*k Mr. John D'Agostino, the Eccentric American Artist for firing him and fu*k my landlady, and fu*k this stupid dog too.

“Goddamn dog,” John Dog said, climbing the porch steps, wiping his bleeding hand on his jacket. John Dog peered through the screen door at the gloom inside. In the deepest corner, in a low arm-chair, sat an old grey woman, John Dog's mother.“It’s me, Ma!” John Dog said, putting his hand on the door handle. “I’ve come home.”
“What for?”John Dog's mother yelled at John Dog. At that moment John Dog froze solid. John Dog stood at the door without a single thought except to hide the suitcase behind his leg.
“Just to say hello, I guess,” John Dog finally said. “To let you know I’m still alive.”
“No one thought you were dead, son.”said John Dog's mother. “Oh.” John Dog shifted his feet. “Sorry I didn’t write. I’ve been in Denver looking . . . well, I don’t really know what I’ve been looking for. It all seems like something I saw on TV, something—” John Dog's words trailed off.
“There’s nothing to drink here,” John Dog's mother said. “I threw it all out when your father passed away.”
“That’s not why I . . . Dad passed away?”, said a surprised John Dog “Three months ago. Thought you knew.”, John Dog's mother shouted. “I didn’t.”said John Dog. John Dog shifted his feet again and waited for the emotional wave of his father’s death to hit him. After a moment John Dog gave up. “Well, John Dog repeated, I guess I just wanted to stop by and say hello.”
“Oh. Well, hello.”piped John Dog's mother.
“Hello. The dog bit me.” John Dog said again.
“That’s not my fault.” scolded John Dog's mother.
“No, of course not.” John Dog replied.
John Dog looked at his feet feeling all the world like an extra with a crappy part in a really crappy movie. John Dog let go of the door handle.
“Goodbye, Ma.” said John Dog
“Goodbye.” said John Dog's mother

"Fu*k Maximum Dogmeat for finding the bottle and fu*k Mr. John D'Agostino, the Eccentric American Artist for firing me and fu*k my landlady, and fu*k this stupid dog, and fu*k my mom too.

Mom smoking a cig on the tub.

Act Four
“Do you take credit cards?”John Dog asked
“Yeah,” the barman said, averting his eyes to show his disapproval. He took John Dog’s Amex and ran it through the little black box. John Dog did not look at the tiny yet powerful machine, afraid to jinx it.
“It’s no good,” the bartender said, tossing the card back at John Dog.
“Sorry,” John Dog said, passing over a Visa. “You don’t have to open it for much. Just a couple drinks.”said John Dog
The bartender frowned deeper and swiped John Dog's card.
“What town is this?” John Dog asked.
“It isn’t a town. It’s a bar on a highway. This card is no good either.” he told John Dog.
“Try it for less,” John Dog said, trying not to sound desperate. “See, I’m here to celebrate.”
The barman made a face then went back to the machine.
“It cleared for twenty,” the barman said to John Dog. “What do you want?”
“Vodka tonic.”chirped John Dog in delight.
“You want to be careful with plastic,” the barman said to John Dog. “Once you screw up your credit, you’re fu*ked forever.”and he glared at John Dog again with a side way grin.
“What’s good credit,” John Dog asked, “compared to an ice cold vodka tonic? Did you know vodka is the no-tell liquor?” John Dog joked. My boss Mr. John D'Agostino, the Eccentric American Artist told me so. John Dog continued.
“No shit. What’s the occasion?”
“Occasion?”smirked John Dog
“You said you were celebrating.”
“That’s right. It’s my re-birthday.”John Dog said The bartender turned back to the television and away from John Dog. He was bored with John Dog and his boring story.. A western was on and John Dog knew it was almost over because the bad guys were losing the saloon brawl badly.
“Ever notice,” John Dog said, “how the bad guys always wait for the punch?”
The bartender flicked his cigarette at the floor.
“The bad guys,” John Dog went on, “will throw a wild punch then leave their jaw out there for a second, just long enough to get hit.”
“Shitty stunt work is what that is.” said the bar man to John Dog. “You don’t think it’s because they want to get hit? Because they know they’ve been bad?” said John Dog back.
“It’s a fu*king movie, jerk-off! They’re not really fighting!” he said to John Dog.
“Oh, right.” The good guys were riding into the sunset now, their work done moaned John Dog.
“The stunt guys probably go out drinking afterwards,” the bartender added winking at John Dog. “Laugh it up over a couple cold ones!”
“Oh, right.” John Dog torpedoed the vodka and tonic in one swallow. “Could I have another?”
The bartender lifted the bottle from the well and John Dog grabbed it.
“Fu*k you, jerk-off!” John Dog said then tipped up the bottle and let the liquor spill down his throat. The bartender hit John Dog in the side of the head, knocking John Dog to the floor. The bottle rolled away and the barman bounded over the bar (and John Dog) on the floor and scooped it up. “That’s coming off your card!” he yelled at John Dog.
“All right!” John Dog said. “Let’s have a few cold ones!”
“You’re 86ed, asshole!” he said to John Dog.
John Dog got up and walked outside. John Dog got behind the wheel and rubbed the side of his head.
“That hurts,” John Dog said, smiling. “I feel it. It really fu*king hurts.”
"Fu*k Maximum Dogmeat for finding the bottle and fu*k Mr. John D'Agostino, the Eccentric American Artist for firing me and fu*k my landlady, and fu*k this stupid dog, and fu*k my mom, and this a-hole bartender too.
“Hey,” the bartender yelled to John Dog from the doorway. “Don’t forget your fucking card.”
“Send it back to the prop department,” John Dog said, starting the engine. “I’ll get a new one.”
John Dog pulled onto the road and drove off into the sunset.

"Fu*k Maximum Dogmeat for finding the bottle and fu*k Mr. John D'Agostino, the Eccentric American Artist for firing him and fu*k my landlady, and fu*k this stupid dog, and fu*k my mom, and this a-hole bartender. And fu*k myself and save my money too, said John Dog.

by Tony Patch,
edited by the Eccentric American Artist, John D'Agostino

Wasn't that the best story?
I could use a Cup-O-Joe, or do you say Cup O' Joe, or is it Cup O Joe, after all that drinking I just don't know.

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