Unthinkable disasters were averted when JOE was whisked to the White House for the second time this year. In a miraculous, but no less commonplace (for JOE) confluence of events, He'd just arrived for His annual UK jaunt when the rioting broke out. "It hadn't hit the news yet that I was in town, so when I realized it wasn't about me, I figured I better blow Dodge, or however they say it. And right that second, the Feds rang," remarked a none-too-surprised JOE. "They wanted my input in the wake of that debt-ceiling hoo-hah, but getting me out safely was looking tough. Then I came up with this incognito decoy thing that kicked, like, 28 kinds of scrotum. I hated to leave, because there's nothing like standing in the rain, eating eel pie---nothing---but I'm not so selfish that I'd stick around and probably get set on fire. Besides, the peanuts on Air Force One are pretty bitchin'. So I get there, and what does that goofball, B-Rock [as the president allows JOE to call him] do? Gives me a t-shirt that says, 'It's Good To Be King,' and wants me to wear it it for the big photo-op. After the trouble I'd just gone to, I politely refused. The photo explains everything. What the fuck was he thinking?" 

But onto the important stuff, namely snack updates and JOE's ever-increasing animal magnetism. Blueberry coffee has been found, albeit sporadically and in maddeningly small amounts, thus inspiring His latest kick and new recipe, Cottage Cheese a la Schmeaux, a stunning concoction which incorporates Emerald brand "Breakfast Blend" trail mix and slices of tangerine, which He demonstrated live via webcam from the set of Chopped Chef Nightmares On Elm Street or something, waving his enormous, jewel-encrusted Bavarian spatula like, frankly, a maniac. "We're talkin' protein, fiber, vitamins, and a big whompin' bumload of deliciosity, all in one 97-ounce cup," explained the culinary cutie-pie, resplendent in His foot-tall Chef Boy-Ar-Dee hat and "Eat Me" apron. After a grueling six seconds of the required 'stirring constantly', He added, "That's the key, right there. Anthony Bourdain described the dish as 'toothsome,' but that's a snooty-ass, stupid fucking word, so DON'T print it," demanded JOE, perhaps a bit too brusquely. We chose to override His directive, to preserve the integrity of the article, and now await our individual spins on His dreaded "Wheel Of Punishment."

Then, in an online forum discussion, JOE observed the notorious Kim P. and a (cough) gentleman we'll call Peter Holt, because that's his name, discussing grilled cheese sandwiches using mayonnaise instead of butter as the browning agent. "It's not as disgusting as it sounds," JOE advised,  "but I told Mr. Holt not to skimp on what I call 'the Sultan of Seasonings', BaconSalt, and he started bitching about how it always cakes up on him. Apparently, he couldn't be bothered to shake the jar. I've known him a while, and he's got over four decades' experience in frequent, furious, repetitive hand motion, if you get my drift, so I don't know who he thinks he's kidding."

While visiting His local Family Dollar outlet (which JOE tries to do at least once a week to donate Tootsie Pops and used scratch tickets to the less fortunate), He wandered through the Long Since Expired, Potentially Fatal Canned Goods aisle, and spotted a small, solitary pink aerosol bottle of a body spray simply labelled "Cotton Candy Scent." Sensing immediately that unknown forces had conspired so that He alone would find it there, plus the fact that it was only a buck, JOE applied a quick spritz to the wrist, and decided, "This stuff reeks. But it reeks of destiny." He raced to the checkout, where the 4-foot, 200-pound Hindu clerk with the weird makeup caught a whiff, leaped clean over the counter and pinned JOE to the floor, jamming a tongue in His ear like an aardvark rooting for grubs in a rotten tree stump. "I knew then, I was onto something. Too bad it was a guy, or I might've had a go. I special-ordered enough to fully immerse myself in, and after an 8-hour soak, attended my monthly Jerry Van Dyke fan club meeting, where all eyes---and noses---were on me. The phone hasn't stopped ringing since. More tail than a fuckin' litter box, I swear to Christ." 

On a recent excursion to bucolic Webster, MA, to see JOE's close personal friends Blue Oyster Cult, a heated discussion broke out as to whether JOE is more A) footlose or fancy-free, B) hale or hearty, C) fine or dandy, and many other baffling conundrums. His gracious riding companions, the lovely and talented Pizzle Twins (who brought along enough Chester's Puffcorn to keep Him going for least five 5 minutes), were cleanly split on many issues, while a cocksure JOE insisted he was both equally, in all categories, and in staggering amounts thereof. Readers will be glad to know that we'll be hosting interactive polls of this very nature in future issues, so start making your plans to ignore them now!   

But all this raises the question, what's with JOE and feet, anyway? First it was the toenail clippings on eBay, then the pedicurist, the oddly specific donation of Tootsie Pops to the downtrodden, and now the footloose controversy. Even back when we pleaded for a more consistent publishing schedule, He said, "It keeps you all on your toes," not mentioning that while we're up on said toes, He enjoys painting them and dusting them with confectioner's sugar. So does JOE in fact have a foot fetish? "In a word, not really," He assured us, "but I have gotten special attention for my big feet, because everyone knows that big feet means big shoes, and the skirts enjoy nothing more than going shoe-shopping with someone who knows intimately about all things orthopedic. But occasionally, yeah, I do think about other stuff." Fair enough. So how was the BOC show? "Pretty great, but I was kinda bummed they didn't do 'She's as Beautiful as a Foot'."

NEXT ISSUE: The JOE "Reverse Sweepstakes," where everyone who enters gets to give Him all their money, maybe something about hash browns, and other invaluable nuggets of wisdom...