Thunder Thighs And Heck Jenson's Miracle Boy

     I was told that when the mother was said to be having difficulty with the birth and that her whinnie was very faint, the message spread through the crowd in a hushed whisper that, she wasn’t gonna make it.  Most weren’t too worried about the mama, after all the next day she was scheduled to be sent to a factory somewhere over near Farmington, to be made into glue and to wigs.  No, what the crowd was surely gathered for was the child.  When Thunder Thighs, Heck Jenson’s favorite horse, became pregnant at such an old age the whole town had thought it was strange.  Nobody coulda’ foreseen however, what Ted Girk the veterinarian discovered upon his examination of ol’ Thunder Thighs.  Thunder Thighs was pregnant with a human boy.  Heck was shocked.  He began tellin’ everybody in town that there was a miracle baby coming, and that he was going to be born right there in his stable.  So, the whole town started buzzing with miracle fever.  They came to visit Thunder Thighs often during her pregnancy and combed her thick black hair for her, and stroked her saying: “Good girl Thunder Thighs, good girl.”

                Thunder Thighs began to stomp her big hooves kicking up dirt and mud and straw, while Doc Girk tried to calm her down and bob and weave to stay on Thunder Thighs’ business end, to catch the baby she was trying to force out.  By the time the boy’s blonde head started to show out of Thunder Thighs’ Hindquarters, she looked like she was about to keel over.  Keel over she did, and when she hit the ground with a great thunk, a naked eleven and a half year old boy with blonde hair and blue eyes shot outa’ her like a cork and slid across the stable in his own after-birth.  The crowd gathered was quieter than Dafford’s Cemetery at midnight.  They gawked at the boy and each other, and at Heck.  No one knowing what to do, Heck took of his jacket and threw it over the boy as he began to stir.  The boy stood up and pulled the jacket around him, slimy from head to toe with a hundred pair o’ eyes all staring at him.  It was at this point that Rabbi Schmulie Bogdonawitz extricated himself from the crowd and approached the boy.  The crowd looked and nodded and thought, yeah the Rabbi should be the one for the job.  The Rabbi said, “Hello, miracle boy!  And welcome to this modest stable of Heck Johnson’s in our humble town.  You truly are a blessing and a gift.  Mazel tov and L’chaim my young friend.”
The boy looked over the faces of the crowd before smiling and then saying.  “HOWDY YA’LL I am your lord and savior returned.  Ya’ll got some beans or anything because I been stuck up a horse’s ass since Christmas and boy howdy am I hungry.”  The crowd stared at the slimy, naked miracle.     

Her Name Was Veronica

                Today I was watching a movie that had a character named Veronica in it.  Afterwards the song ‘Veronica’ by Elvis Costello popped into my head.  I started singing it as I walked around the house aimlessly, while doing laundry.  It was stuck in my brain, so I decided I needed to listen to it.  I opened my laptop and went to youtube.com, this being the quickest way I could immediately listen to that specific song.  On YouTube’s homepage there was a featured video of Seth Rogen on C-span talking to a senate appropriations committee.  When I saw his face I thought of his guttural annoying laugh and the secret jealousy I have about his fame sprung up in the back of my mind.  Of course I had to watch this video first.  I began to watch and it turned out that Mr. Rogen was there to speak to the senate about Alzheimer’s disease.  He told a personal story about his mother in law.  And gave some nice factual information about the cost, the ugliness, and the overall crapy’ness of the disease.  He spliced in his own brand of self-deprecating humor.  It was at this point that I said whoah this is weird, ‘Veronica’ is a song about an old woman with dementia.  I glossed this over as an interesting coincidence and not the internet’s subtle way of controlling and or knowing my thought process, and kept listening to Mr. Rogen’s testament.  He apparently helped start a charity. 

                This all made me think of Mr. W, at work.  Mr. W is an employee of mine that has in my opinion a good amount of the symptoms normally attributed with the very early stages of this disease.  When I first met him I assumed he was very slow.  Through conversations I have learned that he is a veteran and was an electrician for 30 years before retiring.  He works for me now doing menial work.  No matter how hard I try I cannot teach him and have him retain the knowledge that is required for these menial tasks.  One day I will “correct a behavior” as they call it where I work, and the next day he will do the same wrong thing again.  When confronted he says with a surprised somewhat vacant look in his eyes, “oh nobody ever told me that, thanks.”.  Others at my workplace sometimes think it is an act, because he can be so cognitive at times, but then he will just fall apart.  He bums me out daily.  I am frustrated not just because he slows me down, but also because I can’t imagine not being in complete control of my brain. 

                On Christmas Eve, one of the few days we don’t work, I got a call from a colleague of mine.  I ignored the call figuring that they were trying to get me to come in and do some last minute work.  He left a message, when I listened to it I found out that my co-worker had found Mr. W in the building on Christmas Eve.  He had been sitting there since noon and it was now six pm.  My co-worker asked him what he was doing there, and his only response was he was there to work.  I had told Mr. W our holiday schedule before he left the day before, but in my haste to get home and be with my family, I forgot to write it down for him.  Rather than make an embarrassed call to find out if we were working on Christmas Eve, he had just showed up around the time that we normally work.  I sat down to eat with my family trying to fight back tears as we began to eat.  Feeling how sad it was.  How he just sat there all day when he could’ve been with his family, and this was all my fault.  He had to just sit there all alone in an empty warehouse with only his thoughts for company. 

                I have gotten over my guilt but still every day I want to do something to help.  Maybe I do by asking the same questions daily.  By the repetitive tasks I get him to do.  It still doesn’t make me feel any less helpless.

Thoughts I think Every Day

Existence: 
                   I open my eyes.  A ceiling, white puffy paint, cracks.  In doors.  Inside of something.  My house.  Steven's house, he owns this, I rent it.  I am laying down, is it laying or lying.  I am on a bed.  This bed, it exists in my room, in the house that Steven owns, on the floor and beneath the ceiling.  The floor is wood paneling.  I know that it exists because I am touching it, seeing it.  It exists.  I exist.  There is proof I exist.  Birth certificates, paper trails.  My thoughts and my memories they only exist in my mind.  Does any of this matter?  How do I prove that I exist?  What do I leave behind?  If I leave something behind will it make me exist?  If I fall in a forest will I make a noise?  Like 'ow' or 'whoopsidaisey' or ' thunk'?

Time Travel :
                          I still don't understand time zones.  How is it noon here and nine somewhere else?  It is already tomorrow.  Tomorrow has already been and yesterday was.  The present is just the past of the future.  As I write this, it is old news, but it is the newest blog post since yesterday.  Is it all predetermined?  If it is, there is no now.  Like this moment right... now...crap it is gone.  What I need is a constant(you're welcome Lost fans).  Like every time I go to the bathroom, it is the same.  That will be my constant.  When I pee it will remind that I am in the now, and will always be in the now. 

Legacies and The Meaning of life : 
                                                             I will be remembered as that vain guy who was pretty likable.  In the words of Forest Gump: "I don't know if mama is right and everything happens for a reason... or if we are floating around accidental'like on a breeze.  But I think maybe it's both.  Maybe both is happening at the same time."  He had an IQ of 75 and he will be always remembered as a hero, a ping pong star, and a millionaire.  And I... I got nothing.  Well until I am gone I will just keeping on keeping on.  I will stay a romantic without the reverence, a humorist without the social commentary, and a Hemmingway without the impotence.  Well, without the impotence, yet.  Yet!      

Eyes Skyward In Wonder

Wild wisps of hair running through my eager fingers
Holding out, held on, tracing the lines of hands
And brushing lips against a wrist.

Blissfully rolling and pitching on the edge
On the way down
A waterfall constant rush and then a hush.

Then a pounce with pounding sinuous thighs
Arms coiling around and constricting
Slithering away with serpent’s tongue hands
Leaving trails downward
Eyes following trails in the dark
A hungry gaze feasting the landscape.

Stars aligned
Heavenly bodies orbiting
Not a warm sun but a cool foggy moon
Eyes skyward in wonder.

questions

Whoah wait if I am not the new normal, am I the new not normal?

Or is it the new weird, or new strange, or new unique?

Why are my hands shaking?

Why did I drink so much coffee?

What was that noise?

Is that the wind or some kind of rodent?

Should I keep this mustache?

Is my hair cut perfect?

Or is it better than perfect?

How can I get my kids back?
Should I start professional arm wrestling?

Is my life interesting enough for reality tv?

Or is it too interesting?

Why does my head hurt?

Why do I think about time travel so much?

Another Excerpt from the Bible 2

The Bible Two:  The ‘New’ New Testament:
Stories from hell…
An Excerpt from the Journal of Jack Covington P.I.

     Leninovich Stolalvya in life had been a successful man.  A respected man almost up until his death.  Lenny as his friends called him, had grown up first generation American who put all his efforts into becoming a king in the financial market.  Unfortunately with great passion sometimes comes greed.  A hunger that is never filled.  The constant acquisition of more and more power and money is what drove him.  When his investors finally realized that they investing in speculating on speculation, and that all their money was gone Lenny was already so wealthy he couldn't be touched, or so he thought.  During a particularly dire low point in the world economy the American Government which he loved and had helped out from time to time decided to make an example of him.  Rather than let him blame bad management for his crimes, they held him personally and financially responsible.  Before they could have him arrested he took his gold plated .44 magnum and ate a bullet.  Now, when they say 'there is a special place in hell, for this kind of person'  there is.  He and a few other not so poor souls, are housed in a few old dilapidated mansions overlooking the lake of sulfur.  We called it ' The Hamptons'.  Even in hell the rich folk still have nice views. 

The First of Many Unlikely American Greeting Cards(not sure what the name of the business is yet.)

    

Happy Bastille Day

      This Bastille day I hope that all of your aristocrats are virtuous.  I hope your oligarchs are socially conscious.  And I hope that you don't let the class system get you down.  When God gives you lemons, make lemonade.  No bread in the pantry?  Eat Cake!  If a bunch of "Connerie" is getting you down, sharpen the guillotine blade, and try to keep your head.  Three cheers for La Resistance.  Also, the French word for dangerous has an 'X' in it, which is totally badass.

Another Long Lost Letter From Rasputin's Young Lover

Another Long Lost Letter From Rasputin’s Young Lover:

Dear Raspy’,

                I won’t be writing you anymore.  My pleas for you to return to me have gone unanswered.  I know your commitment to God and your work comes first, but I feel as if this relationship is based on a memory of you, rather than you.  When I think of your face I can no longer trace the shape of your beard in my mind.  You were the love of my life and I may never love again.  The lord may send me someone, but you have ruined me for other men.  So, now it is goodbye my love.  I hope that someday when you are in the arms of a cold winter’s night, you can think of me and you will be warmed.

All my Love

Svetlana Banglanka

P.S.  Could you send me my crockpot.  I left it the last time I visited and I really want it back.  I found your megadeath t-shirt and I am sending that with the letter.  That was an awesome concert wasn’t it?  Anyway if you see anything else laying around send it to me.  TTYL!!!

A Skeptic, A cynic, and A Pessimist

A few people have described me as a skeptic, a cynic, and a pessimist.  Webster’s defines these terms thusly:

Skeptic: a person who questions or doubts something (such as a claim or statement) : a person who often questions or doubts things.

Cynic: a person who has negative opinions about other people and about the things people do; especially : a person who believes that people are selfish and are only interested in helping themselves.

Pessimist: a person who feels or believes that bad things will happen in the future.

I am all these things at times, but everyone is.  Today, I was sitting on my couch when someone rang my old antique doorbell three times.  No one ever rings that doorbell, unless it is a friend intentionally being annoying.  When I went to the door there were two nicely dressed individuals standing on my stoop.  One man, one woman.  The man wore a fedora and had a thin mustache like mine.  His was grey, his suit was grey, his hat was grey, and the cardigan he wore beneath his suit jacket and above his pressed white button up shirt, was blue and looked like it could’ve been homemade.  He wore a black and white striped tie.  His partner wore an olive green shawl over a plain blur dress.  She had a red-orange knit hat that also could’ve been homemade.  I didn’t look at their shoes, I was too busy staring them in the face trying to figure out what they were doing on my porch, and how I could get them away from me. 
“Good morning Sir, my name is Robert.  Are you familiar with the Bible at all sir?”  I thought about that question for a moment.  Yes I was.  I was raised Catholic.  Had I memorized the King James, like I assumed these two had?  No, of course not, it is a book.  A book written by men to teach others how to live.  It is not the word of some being from some other magical place.
“Do you know the lord’s prayer?”
“Yeah.”
“What does it say in there?”  I start to try and remember all the words.  It is hard to do when I am not in a giant room filled with other people reciting it.  I have to mouth the words.  I get to the part about ‘on earth as it is in heaven’ and Robert interrupts me.
“Now what do you think about that, doesn’t that sound nice?”  This man is presupposing that I believe in heaven, know that it is nice, would like it to be that way on earth as well.
“Yeah sure it sounds nice, from what I have heard of about heaven.”
“Well I have this brochure for you to look at with some questions on the back.  Do me a favor and look at those questions and see if you think those are good questions for Christians to be asking.  And pick one that you would like to learn about.”  The silent woman pulls the brochure from her bag and hands it to me.  The front had a collage of a bunch of nice looking people from every ethnic background and the words ‘Good News From God!’ in big bold letters.  I flip it over to check out the news.  I read the fourteen questions on the back, trying to find a question that didn’t have the word God, Christian, or lord in it.  The only one was number six.  ‘What hope is there for the dead?’  I tell Robert that I had thought a lot about number six.  How I wasn’t sure what happened when we died.  How I hope that we could see our loved ones.  But how I am pretty sure we just end up rotting away in the earth.  I tell him how the idea of not existing scares me.  How this world for me could not exist without me.  So, honestly what hope is there for the living or the dead. 
“I am glad you ask that question.  The answers to all these questions are in here.”  He pointed to the Bible and looks up in the brochure what verse he should read to correspond to my existential dilemma.  He opens the Bible and tells me to read John 11:21-24, 38-44.  I immediately wonder what was written in 25-37.  I read the words he wants me to read.  And he talks to me about Lazarus.  The story made me angry.  What was the point in even allowing Lazarus to die if he was just going to bring him back.  It made death pointless.  I smile at them and tell them I will read the brochure and read my Bible and meditate on all this, and other unnecessarily polite lies.  They tell me that they will come back next week same time.  I make a mental note not to be home around 1130 on Thursday and say goodbye.

A Response to an Old Love Poem I found...

A Response to an Old Love Poem I found…

Roses are red, violets are blue.
I wrote a poem once and it was for you.
It spoke of love on wings of a dove.
The verses were free, I asked for no fee.
It spoke of a light burning bright in the night.
I know it was trite, but to me it felt right.
I call it ‘Baby Precious’ as other lover’s had inspired.
Now the light of the poem has dimmed and retired.
Baby precious always shines is a lie, and I am a liar.
It may all sound harsh.
For in the foggy march of time, the changes come with a punch.
But I have my own hunch.
Even though the light went out, does not mean it never shined.
A smile comes when I flip through old pages and find.
The name ‘Baby Precious’ brought to mind.

STATE OF THE UNION 2032

STATE OF THE UNION 2032: The President stands on the steps of the Lincoln memorial looking out on a crowd of loyalists

 

My fellow North Americano’s we are again at a crossroads in our great nation’s history.  We are a nation divided once again by an ideal.  An ideal that our fore fathers fought and shed their blood for.  Again we face a problem with no easy solution.  As we have learned time and again what is easy is not always right.  The simple fact remains that after thirty years the television program American Idol must be canceled.

Eighteen years ago if you had told me that I would be standing in front of you, this great nation torn asunder again by a war that pits brother against brother, as your president.  I would’ve told you: you’re whack.  But now I stand here Justin Bieber your president pleading to a wayward nation to begin to heal this rift. 

This nation has had to endure many hardships.  December 7^th 1941, September 11, 2001(never forget), and the recent atomic attack of the New England section of the United States in the hopeless attempt to wipe the “Harvard Elite” from this earth.  Moments that shall live in infamy.  Thinking about these dark days could lead us to lose sight of the good that has come in the 21^st century.  The annexing of Canada for one, and the passing of the 35^th amendment allowing canucks like myself the right to run for president, and two days ago when I learned what the word infamy meant(LoL). 

Like our nation I had my fair share of troubled teenage years.  In fact I was deported from this great nation at the height of my music career.  I, like the country that I loved and still love to this day were both suffering from something called “affluenza”.  But as the Bible and YouTube.com taught us there will always come a day of judgement. 

All this does not change the fact that today I sign into law something very controversial.  Perhaps the most controversial document ever penned, but a necessary one.  When I sign this document the television program American Idol will no longer be legal to produce or watch.  This decision may not be popular, but it is the right one.  It is the one that reaffirms the belief that all men and women of this country and their children and their children’s children, are born with the right to the pursuit of happiness.  Happiness, ya know that word has such a special meaning today.  It seems so far.  I assure you, however, that happiness is on the horizon.  God bless Usher, and God Bless America!!  DON’T STOP ‘BELIEBERING’!!!! 

Hold for applause then robo-journey and the corpse of Steve Perry are brought out to fireworks and the chorus of Don’t Stop Believing echoing on repeat over and over.  At which point the mechanized war machines are deployed to Simon Cowell’s secret bunker to dispatch the fuhrer of pop music.

Another Excerpt From The Bible 2: The 'New' New Testament

The Bible Two:  The ‘New’ New Testament:
Stories from hell…
An Excerpt from the Journal of Jack Covington P.I.

I don’t know how many days it has been.  I stopped counting.  Eternity is longer than expected.  For how long I have been here, not much has changed, I could’ve died yesterday.  That is the worst part the monotony, and the never really knowing when or if it will end.  In life I went looking for lost things.  Stamp collections, wayward husbands, drunks, runaways, a cat once.  And mostly what I found were lost souls.  People wanting to stay lost and I robbed them of that.  Now in death I have been hired again to find a few lost souls.  When the big guy(the prince of darkness, satan) called on me I thought about telling him to shove it.  But good old Lu found a way to tug at that place inside me.  That place that doesn’t like questions and is always searching for answers.  When he informed me the world that I had known had ended I didn’t care much.  It had ended for me long ago.  What did interest me.  The reason I am working for him now, is when the world ended there were three souls that were supposed to come straight to hell that never showed.  Now rule number one of the afterlife is: you cannot escape your fate.  If someone had stumped the big guy, they had done something that countless others including myself could not do.  Honestly, I wanted to know how.  I also knew that this case would allow me access to the whole shebang.  All the circles, purgatory, even the pearly gated paradise for the beleivers.  This was an opportunity he knew I wouldn’t shy away from.  Especially now that the world had ended and all in it had been judged.  I will admit it I wanted to find her.  I wanted to know where she ended up.  I wanted to know how it had all got so damn fucked up.  Above all I needed to know why.
I left Lu’s offices and began to walk down the dilapidated street set on both sides with burning buildings.  I shut my ears to the cries of the suffering tenants there was nothing I could do for them anyway.  I lit a cigarette, by my count it wasn’t evening yet, but since there was no sky there was no way to tell.  The fluorescent streetlamps overhead did nothing but cast ghoulish shadows on the sidewalk.  As I walked the foul stench from the greenish yellow boiling lake drifted into my nostrils and burned my lungs.  I pulled the collar of my jacket up over my nose.  I knew where I needed to go first I just hoped he was home.  At the edge of the lake I looked across at the crumbling mansion, as the sulfur bubbled and spat flame in the air.  Yeah, I better go talk to Lenny I thought. 

 

To be continued…

I found a journal from when i was ten

I found a journal from when I was ten.  Enjoy these excerpts:

3/19/96

“Finally I’m away from those kids.” Said Mrs. Miller feeling exhausted. 
“Pssst, Mrs Miller, let me out of here!”
“Aaah what was that?  Who is there?” she exclaimed!  She hastily looker around the hotel room.  She looked in the bathroom.  In the dresser.  In the closet.  The she saw one of her suitcases starting to shake.  She opened it and I jumped out!!!

 

3/26/96

I’ve had a lot of weird hair dues to outline lately.  Last week I did a girl with a beehive.  It had a hole right in the middle.  I wanted to just touch it, but I told myself not to.  Yesterday I had a guy with his hair standing up, he must use hair goo.  When I tried to hold his head still my hand got all gooey.  As you can see, my job is not always fun.

 

4/2/96

Yesterday I went to the museum and you won’t believe what happened.  Well it all started when we saw a couple of sculptures with no heads or arms.  The fabric that was supposed to be their clothing was falling off.  When I looked at one it started to glow.  I asked Chris, “Did you see that?”  “See what?” said Chris.  “Nothing.”  I said puzzled.  We walked on.  I wasn’t paying much attention because every so often I heard a voice saying: “ I want your soul!”  I stayed back behind the group.  One of the sculptures picked a piece of artwork and shoved it in the hole where its arm should be and started swinging it at me.  I pulled at the fabric and it all unraveled so the sculpture was naked.  Then these peculiar white rays shot from its eyes and went into me.  I put the artwork back on the wall and ran away.

BS

      People of Earth I have important news for you.  Today February 15^th, 2014, I Joseph Partington Coleburn have discovered a new Element.  I made this shocking discovery in the same way I make most of my discoveries by observing the wheelings and dealings of the humdrum everyday life of this post 9-11 world(I’ll never forget).  This Element is found everywhere and in everything.  I call it BULLSHITANIUM(BS).  This is actually the most dense of all the gaseous elements on the periodic table.  Its weight is nothing, because it has no actually substance or value.  While our society cannot subsist without it, it is astronomically useless.  Reality TV, 24 hour News Networks, and the Tea Party Movement are all products of its sublimation.  It is not radioactive, however it is extremely cancerous and unstable.  It is ever-changing and becoming more and more prevalent daily.  By the year 2015 our atmosphere will be 93.9 % BS.  There is nothing we can do.  In fact just like global warming it is in fact useless to even think about.  The Bullshitanium has already infected every single molecule on this planet.  Perhaps next time we shall do better. 

Valentine's Day

     So, it is Valentine’s Day everyone, but do we really know what that means.  Valentine’s Day or The Feast of Valentinus is a Roman Catholic holiday celebrating the martyr Valentinus.  Valentinus was executed by the Roman’s on February 14^th 496 ad.  What did he do you ask?  I will tell you.  Valentinus was a devout Christian with but a few vices.  Chocolate was number one!  In the Roman Empire at the time, Chocolate was sacred and was illegal to consume.  It was thought to be the excrement of the god Bachus himself, the god of “all around good times”.  Because of this it was forbidden to be ingested and was only to be stacked in a golden chamber pot and worshiped all of February: even then known as the shittiest month of the year.  Well, Valentinus just couldn’t help himself and at a friend’s house emptied the golden chamber pot and licked his fingers clean saying “Diet starts tomorrow boys!!”  His second vice was drawing a design that looked like an upside down butt on top of all the letter ‘V’s in his letters to his friends and family.  This is where we get the traditional, although highly inaccurate, heart shape.  Valentinus’ third and final vice was the one that got him sodomized, drawn n’ quartered, poisoned, decapitated, and fed to rats.  He had a love for writing terrible love poems.  So, on this Valentine’s Day I would like you all to remember what we are celebrating.  I will now leave you with one of his own favorite love poems.

Roses are Red
Violets are violet
Chocolate is brown
Hearts are shaped like ‘V’s with butts on top
But you, you are specialer to me than all

Shreddin' the Freshy POWPOW on my Way Home

     Ugh seriously I am going thirty-five miles an hour on the interstate.  At least there is barely anybody else on the road.  If you are going to die, it is better to die alone right.  I have no idea if I am in a lane, are there lanes anymore?  Oh here we go turn into the skid.  What does that even mean?  I am not going to make it up this hill.  Since when are there hills on I-95...  Shit not this song I don't want to die with this song playing, on my way from this job.  I hope everyone enjoys their flowers for Valentines Day.  I don't know who I feel more sorry for, me who is going to end up frozen to death in a snow bank right next to the Philip Morris building, or the guy who thought that his significant other really wanted flowers delivered to them from flowers.com.  It is never the thought that counts.  Oh good the mega millions is up to 133 million.  The odds of me winning the lottery are less than the odds of me being dead before I get home.  There are so many things I didn't do.  So many things I wanted to do.  I need a drink.  I wonder if the bars will be open when I get back to the city... If I live I am going to turn over a new leaf God.  Or whatever is out there.  Who am I kidding?  That would be a pretty big gamble for God, let me live and then maybe I will be a better person.  Man I am hungry.  I don't want to die hungry, but I work straight through dinner.  The last thing I ate was tortilla chips and cheese dip, how fitting.  The last thing in my stomach and the last thing on my mind is cheese dip.  Oh man turn into skid... quarter mile to my exit.  Then I just have to navigate the secondary roads that are supposed to be worse.  I have lived a good life.  Whatever will be will be.  Que sera sera.  I wonder what the turn out will be like at my funeral.  Probably pretty big.  I have won every popularity contest I have ever entered.  It is my one skill, winning popularity contests.  Maybe they will have some crazy memorial party at one of the places I frequent.  But not everybody would want to go to the same place, my friend group is too eclectic.  There would have to be multiple memorial services.  Would they bury me or cremate me?  I would really rather they gave me a Viking funeral, but there is probably some stupid law against that.  Oh hey Mojo's is open, betcha David is working.  Post drive home celebratory drink... don't mind if I do.   

Food Court

     I went to the mall today.  In the food court to the left of the Burger King there is a place called Little Tokyo, and to the right a place called Honolulu BBQ.  Directly across the seating area is a place called China Max.  All of these places serve "fried rice", although one calls it "Hawaiain Rice".  Two have noodles.  All have a salty chicken or beef combo that taste fairly similar.  Two have cylindrical fried rolled up things referred to as eggrolls, and all serve the great Coca Cola products.  Two of these places have a bourbon chicken option.  Bourbon, which is a Kentucky liquor.  The ethnicities of the proprietors of these places are not obvious, and I would not even try to guess.  Some speak Spanish, others speak broken English with a east Asian accent.  I know the food is probably terrible for you and is mass produced in some factory somewhere and shipped to these three little businesses.  I know this is because a bunch of American's once decided that they wanted to eat the food of these three diverse cultures, and that some corporation in their wisdom decided to dumb it down, dull the flavor, and mass manufacture it.  This is what we do, we find something unique and different and make the American version.  This is the American dream.  Great food done poorly.   

Shuffle

     I kept getting the migraines back then.  As we were passing the sailboats down by the marina the blur in my vision was so bad I couldn’t read the names of the ships.  We pulled into her old driveway and I immediately got out of the car and vomited all over the gravel.  I felt shaky but slightly better.  There wasn't much there in my stomach contents mostly the water and the candy I had been eating in the car.  The torso of a gummy bear sat there in my puke reaching its arms up to me.  We went inside and I got some water and headed for the bathroom.  They had always had soft water in the old house which meant that when you tried to wash up it just left you feeling greasy with soap.  After I washed I came downstairs and tried to help her with dinner, but I felt nauseas again so I headed for the couch.  When I woke, dinner was ready and I was starving, she had already broken out the gin, so I poured myself a glass of water and made myself a drink.  I chugged the water down, and sipped my gin slowly.  We sat down to eat in silence.  I reached under the table and slipped my hand on her thigh and gave it a squeeze she smiled at me and we ate.

    After dinner we went outside.  The sun set and millions of stars were shining down on us.  There were too many, looking at them made me queasy so I looked at her instead.  I brushed her cheek with my lips and whispered that I loved her.  She turned toward me and kissed me.  I looked up at the stars and felt lonely so I put my hand out to her, and she took hold of my arm and pulled me in closer.
     She went to put on a record and I made us some drinks, then lit a cigarette .  “Cards?” she said as she entered the kitchen.  “Sure” I said.  We sat down and I began to shuffle.  I was cutting the deck and then shuffling but not doing the bridge trick.  She grabbed the deck out of my hands and started doing the bridge very slowly and pointed out all the steps how to do it and was teaching me.  At the end of this impromptu lesson she put the cards down and told me to try. 
“ I am perfectly happy with the way I shuffle.”
“I'm not.”
“ So what”
“Why not just try. “
“Why should I?” I said and laughed.
“You're hopeless."
"I am hopeless because I can't shuffle."
"No you are hopeless because you know you can shuffle and you won't try."
"My way of shuffling was mixing the cards up too you know."
"That is not the point."
"Is there a point?"
"You never try at anything."
"Whoah.  This is shuffling cards lets not make this a giant metaphor for all my failings in life please."
"Don't get defensive."
“I don’t like being treated like a infant just because I don’t want to shuffle the god damn cards the way you do.”
“You teach people how to treat you.”
“Oh fuck off. You realize we are talking about shuffling, here.”
I grabbed the deck and started doing the bridge trick over and over.
“ There you had it… almost perfect.” she said excitedly and smiled.
I put down the cards and said, “ I know but the thing is I didn’t want to do it.”  She looked at me with real anger as she picked up the cards and threw them on the floor. 
     I sipped my drink and looked at the playing cards on the floor.  The one eyed jack, the queen of diamonds, and the six of spades were the only ones that landed face up.  The rest were a pile of ornate little paisley'esque designs.  I studied one and saw little mouths and reptile eyes with slits for pupils looking up at me, dancing around hearts in a cloudy spider web.  She sat there, I picked up the cards and began doing the bridge trick over and over again.  After the third perfect time I said “ So you want to play candy land or something?”  She laughed and got up grabbed a cigarette and lit it, and sat down in my lap.  I told her I was sorry, and she said yeah and hugged me.  We finished our drinks, and went upstairs to bed.  She of course fell asleep instantly and began to snore loudly.  The crickets and the cicadas were even louder than her snores. 
     I went to the bathroom and turned the light on.  I splashed water on my face and stared at my reflection.  The water dripped from my nose and my chin and made me look like I was a melting wax sculpture.  She came into the bathroom.  “I woke up and you weren’t there.”  She hugged me from behind and looked at me in the mirror with a broad smile I tried to return it.  She took off her night shirt and stood there naked, her tan skin looking yellow and dead in the harsh light.  I turned the light off.  I pulled my clothes off and embraced her.  I picked her up and squeezed her tight.  I sat her down on the bathroom sink and I ran my hands from her knees to her waist.  It was dark and I couldn’t see the reflection any more.  All I could see were two shadowy blue figures clutching for one another in the dark. 
 

The Little Man in the Oak Tree

On a warm summer’s morn, when the air was as fresh as the day it was born.  I took leave of my studies and leaned against an old oak, to work on my verse.  The weathered old oak held me erect and I did not object, for such a lovely serene scene one could hardly expect.  There I was, to sit, and sit I did.  Waiting for inspiration, chomping at the bit.  Not long I sat before I found myself with an itch in my back.  I asked the old oak if he would oblige.  His weathered skin capitulated to my demand as I rubbed and writhed.  Just then I heard a voice from whence unknown.  I stopped my scratching to make this talker be known.  It was then that I saw the little man of the tree.  His pointy ears red, as he pulled on his beard, when he said with a squeal and a skree.

“Oi Fatty Fat Head!”
“Oi Fatty Fat Head!”
“Why you lean on my tree.  This is the tree of my home you see.  And I am sick of you daft poets disturbing me with your verses, free.  And if you don’t stop mucking about, I shall anoint thy head with my yellow fountain of pee!!!!”

This my eyes and ears did not believe.  The nasty little man began to heehaw and heehee.  And scowl at me as he chastised me with gestures of the obscene.  I looked on this little imp with mouth agape, and said.

“Oh elf of the tree couldst thou permit me.  For such an extraordinary sight I could never hope to see.  You are truly a marvel, my compliments on your oak tree.  What a nice home you have, perhaps you would like to tell me your tale, for I am a master and my scribblings are for sale.  We would be famous together, both our stories living on forever.  Long after this tree is chopped down, or burned, or falls victim to the weather.”

Good reader I tell you my face became read and my heart began to pound, as he emptied his teeny tiny bladder and danced around.  My head was wetted, and as I fretted, he giggled and gaggled and said.

“Oi Fatty Fat Fat I peed on your Head!!!”

Grey Hair and Asparagus Pee

Grey Hair

A graceful mark of age,
A silver lining,
A reminder of change,
A unique streak of beauty,
  Salt and pepper studs with soft grey touches,
Black and white and sepia


Asparagus

There is a time for rhyme
And a time for pantomime
A time that they crossed the Rhine
There is crime
  and parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme
But no matter the time
Asparagus makes your pee smell funny

River City Sups

River City Sups

 

     The River City.  It is a place that has burned down two or three times and is still rising from the ashes.  A place where city councilmen use city funds for their weekend getaways.  And the indigent roam the street, because there is no shelter for the tired, hungry masses, but there are multi-million dollar mansions bought with old money and old blood, overlooking monuments to soldiers of a war that they lost.  A river teaming with whitewater surges through this little metropolis.

     In this grimy town sits a college that is slowly but surely buying up the poorer neighborhoods and gentrifying all in it's path.  Crime, sex, drugs, and corruption, run rampant.  And who will stand against it?  Who will be the beacon of light in this dark city?  Who will bring this city forth from the ashes?

     These guys?

 

Skyler Farmer, AKA; SCREAMO: (21)  A supersonic howling hipster screaming in the night.  His singing will BLOW YOUR MIND.  A college student and dorm security guard by day majoring in, what else, homeland security.  By night he is the unofficial leader of this vigilante crew.  At odds with sometimes it seems like the whole city.  What can this young man do in the face of such destruction?  

(his arch nemesis: NEIGHBOR RON)

 

Trip Longbow: (20)  He has never missed a target and never will, he walks with an effortless shuffle and slouch, but in his heart beats a hero's drum.  He and Skyler are roommates at 204 N. Vine St. the headquarters of the River City Sups.  This heroic marksman is the beer pong and corn hole champion.

( his arch nemesis: Drunk Mike)

 

Arnold Fishburne, AKA; WYLDEHEART: (21)  Call him Arnie... I dare you.  Strong and kindhearted, but there is a part of him that you can never touch.  And a secret beast within, always ready to spring forth and berserk.  If you give him a bottle of whiskey he transforms into a near invincible monster, which comes in handy when fighting crime, but the hangover is killer. 

(arch nemesis: Metal Bobby) 

 

Together they make up three members of The River City Sups!!!

 

next issue: Meet the Whole Crew!

 

 





Jonah Hill

     So, can I go down on whoever Jonah Hill did to get his career.  Is he a scientologist or something?  He starts off as the least endearing chubby, funny guy of all time.  He loses the weight so he is now a not so funny, svelt jackass and now gets Oscar nods.  Was it so long ago that he was in that terrible movie: Grandma's Boy, where he was playing second fiddle to Nick Swardson and 3rd fiddle to whatever the main dude's name is?  Maybe it is because he is SO GOOD at improvising dialogue.  For proof here are some dialogue excerpts. 

SuperBad
"Bro"
"F*** you bro."
"No F*** you bro, you F*** it up."
"F*** bro, that wasn't F***'ing cool bro."

The Wolf of Wall Street
"Bro f*** you bro."
"No for real bro F*** you bro."
"Bro F*** bro."
"F*** you bro."

Oscar worthy!!

If I'm Too Rough: Don't Play

"Where ya going Jacky boy?" Val said without looking up from her shiny blood red nails.  Jack stopped, and leaned on the desk that she sat behind.
 "My usual answer would be 'Nowhere fast'," he said with a smirk.
"Let us dispense with the usual, it is so dull after all."  She kept on examining her nails.  Jack scanned the desktop, for her cigarettes and helped himself to one before saying: " I will dispense with the usual answers, if the questions change."  Val put down her emory board, swiveled her legs out from under the desk crossed them and said, "Fine.  How about where are 'we' going Jacky boy?"
"Where would 'we' like to go?" Jack said and lit his cigarette, as he leaned across the desk toward her.  She swiveled her chair again, put her elbows on the desk, and her chin in her hands.  She rolled her eyes, raised her eyebrows and spoke coquettishly saying, " Oh I don't know... any place that is far away and secluded where hopeless romantics can go to be oogled over by a tall dark and handsome man. 
"There ain't no such place sister," Jack said as he leaned away and blew smoke in the air.
"You're no fun."
"I'm mean too."  Jack said and stood up to walk down the corridor and out of the office.
"Just a little rough around the edges," she said and went back to manicuring.
"Serrated maybe?"
To that she chuckled and said: "They certainly broke the mold, Jack Covington."
Jack took a drag off his cigarette and said: " I like to think that I am the mold that they scraped off the bread that they wanted to keep."
"And what am I?  The expired mayonnaise?"  Val said with a laugh.
"No you are white wonder bread tastes good, but no nutritional value."
"You ARE mean," she said looking up from her nails.
"If I'm too rough, don't play, besides, I left my kid gloves in another life."  Jack turned away from the scowling woman and exited.

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Fear

My dear Fear
Oh Fear, my dear
The only love I have is for Fear itself
You are always near, my dear
Though I try to silence you
It is so clear, my dear
That it is you who owns my ear, my dear
You are wife, mother, lover, you are born from me, my dear
And yet you birthed me
Always here, my dear
No love, no hate, no drive
Only Fear, my dear
Impulses and compulsions are all
Without you I know not which way to steer, my dear
Oh Fear, my dear, Three cheers for your omnipresent leer my dear!

Another Excerpt Of The Bible 2: The 'New' New Testament

The BIBLE 2: The ‘New’ NEW TESTAMENT

DUDE’ eronomy

Ch.9 V1

St. Peter’s Post Revelations, Revelation:  The thoughts and ramblings of Heaven’s eternal Doorman

The Ten Commandments?  Are they relevant now that the Earth is gone and we are in heaven?  The simple answer is yes.  For a more in depth deconstruction and explanation of the Ten Commandments read on.

 

1.Thou shalt have no other gods before me.  Yep he is still pretty big on this one after all it is the reason you are all here.  You believed you repented you prayed, you got in.  The hard work paid off and you got into your first choice so I guess you better show some respect.

2.Thou shalt not make unto thee any graven image, or any likeness of any thing that is in heaven above, or that is in the earth beneath, or that is in the water under the earth. Thou shalt not bow down thyself to them, nor serve them: for I the Lord thy God am a jealous God, visiting the iniquity of the fathers upon the children unto the third and fourth generation of them that hate me; And shewing mercy unto thousands of them that love me, and keep my commandments.  Don’t believe that the lord God is jealous have I got some stories for you… Really!!!  Just don’t bow down to any idols.  Even if you meet some soul walking around heaven and you realize it is former American Idol winner Kelly Clarkson, do yourself a favor and just walk on by.  It is not worth the trouble.

3.Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord thy God in vain; for the Lord will not hold him guiltless that taketh his name in vain.  He is pretty serious about not calling him unless you really need to talk to him.  He is a pretty busy man these days.  Since the world ended the influx of souls wanted a quick jaw wag with the big guy has grown exponentially.  It is best to make an appointment.  Of course he is always ready when I call his name.  But I try not to bother him too much anymore.  He still really hasn’t gotten over the whole denying him three times thing… I mean Jesus Christ, how long is it going take for him to get over that one god damn moment of indiscretion. 

4.Remember the sabbath day, to keep it holy. Six days shalt thou labour, and do all thy work: But the seventh day is the sabbath of the Lord thy God: in it thou shalt not do any work, thou, nor thy son, nor thy daughter, thy manservant, nor thy maidservant, nor thy cattle, nor thy stranger that is within thy gates: For in six days the Lord made heaven and earth, the sea, and all that in them is, and rested the seventh day: wherefore the Lord blessed the sabbath day, and hallowed it.  This one doesn’t matter anymore.  If you wish to count the days you can although it is pointless.  The days will turn into weeks, then months, then years, pretty soon it will be eons and who cares.  Every day is the Sabbath.  We are resting and celebrating his holiest every day.  You have no jobs, you have no reasons to worry, no money, no disease.  So Chillax already.

5.Honour thy father and thy mother: that thy days may be long upon the land which the Lord thy God giveth thee.  You no longer have any fathers or mothers.  If their soul ended up in the same plane of being as yours fine, you can honour them if you want.  The point is it is not necessary.  They gave you life brought you into that world and that was great.  But that life has now been refunded and because of that you no longer owe that life debt to the one’s that birthed you.  If you would still like to hang out with them and argue about politics go for it.  Just know that there are a heck of a lot more souls here to get to know.  I mean don’t you want to meet Elvis?  Just kidding he is not here.

6.Thou shalt not kill.  You can’t kill that which does not live.  To my knowledge you can’t kill a soul.  In heaven there are no murder mysteries.  But there is a pretty good library of true crime.  And for some reason plenty of Russian novels with which to pass the time.  Time which has no meaning… never ending time… it just goes on forever and ever… sigh.

7.Thou shalt not commit adultery.  No marriage, No wives, NO PROBLEM!!!

8.Thou shalt not steal.  Possessions are tricky, there aren’t any that I know of, so if you end up stealing something I would like to know who “had it” and how did you and they “get it”.  I mean we aren’t even corporeal beings how could you even pick something up? 

9.Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbour.  No neighbours, sounds like heaven, am I right?

10.Thou shalt not covet thy neighbour’s house, thou shalt not covet thy neighbour’s wife, nor his manservant, nor his maidservant, nor his ox, nor his ass, nor any thing that is thy neighbour’s.  Coveting!  It is still pretty bad.  But then again nobody has oxen or asses or manservants anymore so whatever. 

If I had to come up with one more a number 11 if you will in this list one that makes more sense now that we are all in heaven.  I think I would have to say “Thou really should go and talk to that guy Philip Seymour Hoffman.  He was a great actor.  And he knows the ropes up here.  He has been here for like 5 years now.”

RIP PSH

I can’t believe this crap…

It only took me one day to run out of things I want to write about…

Whatever no one is going to read the stuff anyway…

I guess I could write a poem, but I don’t know, I don’t feel like getting drunk enough for that…

Maybe I could go back and write another fake lover letter to Rasputin…

I don’t think so.  I can’t do two letters in a row.  People will be all like “what is this a blog full of letters?”

Maybe I could write about one of my dreams...  I don’t remember my dream from last night though…

Perhaps I should write about love, or truth, or the spirit…

Nah the golden rule is “write what you know”…

What do I know?  What do I know?...

I know that those mice in my house died a horrible death…

A horrible, accidental death…

Oh the fragility of all life…

Oh the suffering…

Man I am hungry…

Why am I hungry I just ate like a whole sleeve of Ritz crackers…

I need to stop snacking and start eating regular meals…

I think Oprah used to tell everybody to do that, she was also super anti-carbs…

Remember when the meat industry tried to sue her…

Isn’t that how she met Doctor Phil?...

What!?!?  Philip Seymour Hoffman died what a bummer…

Bummer…

Well time to get real and get this blog post written…

Wait isn’t it Super Bowl Sunday, I got to see the new commercials!!!!

 

A Letter To My Father On His Birthday

Dear Dad,

                Happy Birthday!!!  63 the big six-three, you don’t look a day over 62 and a half.  I hope this letter finds you well.  That is kind of a fun expression don’t you think.  It personifies the letter as if the letter was ‘searching’ for you and has now ‘found’ you.  Not only did it complete its’ ‘search’, but it has somehow ‘discovered’ that you are ‘well’, as if it can determine your state of being.  Imagine that a piece of paper actually being able to qualify your emotional/physical/mental state.  WHAT FUN!!!

                How is Mom?  … I guess you can’t answer immediately since this a letter.  So, I guess I shouldn’t have even asked, she may be great now, but by the time I get your response she may be terrible.  So, never mind about how Mom is, I will just ask when I call you later. 

                The rash went away.  FINALLY!!!  And most everything is going well with me.  The heat just stopped working in my apartment, but I have taken to wearing socks on my hands and my head and my genitals, which is the style nowadays anyway, so I keep pretty warm.  The pipes froze the other day so I haven’t showered or drank any water in the last 72 hours.  I dug a hole in my backyard to dispose of waste which has worked well so far, I felt like a very DIY handyman type.  DIY means do it yourself by the way, in case you don’t know the new hip lingo.

                I didn’t get the promotion at the job that I hate yet.  But I am still holding out, there is nothing like more responsibility to really get me motivated.  The other day I was thinking about what you were like when you were 28.  Do you think we would’ve been friends?  Either that or mortal enemies.  There just wouldn’t have been room enough on this planet for both of our 28 year old egos.  You were married and had one baby girl by then.  We probably wouldn’t have hung out much because I am afraid of babies.  I think it is because I am the youngest and we never had pets growing up.  When I see a baby I tend to just think of the worst possible thing I could do: i.e.; smash it, throw it, etc.  Also, I don’t like talking to them like they are babies.  I would much rather just talk to them like normal adults, but then everybody looks at me weird.  Like last week I asked my friends baby “So, baby, how’s is work going?”,   he just pooped and cried.

                Well, anyway happy birthday dad and remember each day is better than the next.  I love you and you are my hero.

LOVE

Your Son, Joe

 

P.S.  Send money

P.P.S.  Did you know that “P.S.” stands for post script

P.P.S.S.  I was just kidding about sending money

P.P.P.S.S.  Did you see Miley Cyrus’ MTV unplugged that junk was off the chain!