Sunday, September 24, 2017

 

A History of High School


Mix and Mitzi grew tired of Electric People--slang for anyone with some robotic circuits. But they began anew with Rhella and Randy, since he was a Panther!

Unfortunately, although Randy had graduated in the following Crestview class, he quipped,“Panthers? THAT'S what we’re called?”

“We won State Basketball during your Sophomore year!”

“Bully for us!”

“You MUST remember The Watusi Pair!”

Black twins leading the scoring. He didn’t, but liked diversity generally.

“Brain Damage--pretty old fashioned. Shame! Ole Rand once THE Panther Sports TROVE!”-Chief Programmer later confides.

Gives him number of the Japanese man in Kobe who received Randy’s Panther circuits when things went South.

The translation program can barely keep up with his enthusiasm!

“Nineteen and Forty-nine, team best nation-country: two-hand set shot!”

“Don’t even see those anymore!”

“Then, lots. And all Jewboy team!”





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Saturday, September 23, 2017

 

The Man Who Lost His Mind


...and no one noticed

I am he.

Oh, perhaps there’s a brain stem
or something left.

Enabling me to operate on a
primitive level.

To fake it.

I wonder if I had relied on this
for the many years before losing
my mind.

I still work the same job, my
colleagues just as boisterous,
or cutting, as usual.

Live in the same messy studio.

With the exception of one desk,
the surface of which I keep
uncluttered.

A special art has developed
where I space objects on it
weekly.

Enabling me to breathe
much more freely.

Go figure!

About a year into my 90%
brainlessness, I sought the
advice of the wisest man I
know. My old professor of
Interpersonal Problems.

He listened. And then laughed.

“Welcome! My mind left over
five years ago.”

So! A reunion of sorts of the
brain deficient.

All we could do for the whole
conversation was chuckle and
guffaw as to how we’ve fooled
everyone.

But then I turned serious!

I had so many questions!

Chief of which: Do women lose
their minds proportionally?

He couldn’t stop laughing then.

Five minutes elapse, my thinking
he’d need medical treatment.

Finally he breathlessly blurted out “Not...
in the least. They...never do. You see,
they had none to begin with!”

Stop here! Feminists, please.

And plot no revenge of any type!
Especially intricate, quite above
my head!

It was a joke!

Actually I love women more and
more tremendously since I’ve
lost my mind.

I gravitate to their conversations in
the office.

I seek places where they congregate
and I bathe, bathe in their loveliness,
and non-threatening wit.

One of these for lunch. An old paneled
establishment where the chef rules.

He makes me a thumping cheeseburger
that defies gourmets. It shouldn’t succeed,
but does deliciously!

(I should say here that when I possessed
a mind I was a vegetarian.)

I hardly come up for air when I devour it!
Then burp and discretely fart with some
abandon, my chin greasy which I
darent napkin-dab for a whlle in my
gustatorial ecstasy. Ahhhhh! Shine on,
wondrous chin!

Then I turn my attention to the women
dining there. The lovely, bubbling
conversation. The buoyant laughter.

I could swim therein forever. It is
flawless!

Until...she without flaw!

Enters!

Drop-dead gorgeous! an understatement.

Sitted at a corner table, and draws all eyes
towards her as head waiter leaves maroonly.

The other women make excuses to each
other, and fairly quickly depart.

Just me and her.

And do I walk by her and stumble and
shyly apologize, and this awkwardness
the beginning of great romance?

Not a bit of it. Grow up, o Hollywood
Infected.

I flee too! But linger outside to watch
her through the window, street life
shoving at my back.

Alone, she is breathtakingly beautiful
in a shaft of rancid light.

I can take no more of her looks.
And loneliness. So walk away fast!

I’ve been promoted at work, thus
lacking most brain power helps.

Have a new, spacious apartment and a
cleaning lady, an ageless babushka.

Also, about to marry.

I’ve been honest with Tess.

She quips “Who needs a freakin
brain anyway? Or even much money?
Kind hearts are hardly witty, but
they’re purest gold!”

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Friday, September 22, 2017

 

Reaction Time


Philora

Highly nervous Phil married Ora, triply so.
Thereafter we used Philora as a shorthand
indicating any Apeshit Fit over a trifle.

They never disappointed.

Ora, unfortunately, unchattered by
some express train of a Big C.

Departed, she, six months.

Phil grew morose.

But enter Betty!

Corn On the Cob and Apple Pie wholesome!

Calming all around her. Cow-eyed Goddess!

He returns to panic mode nonetheless.

She is rereading her pile of Alfred Hitchcock
magazines.




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Thursday, September 21, 2017

 

By and By


Democrats promised it.
But the Republicans--
as they couldn’t stop

pointing out, furiously--
finally delivered!

Anyway, there it joyously
was, and blocking the stars,
horizon to horizon.

Some said apple,
some blueberry, but
depended on where

you stood.
And the winds.

The children went to bed dreaming

of eating it, Adults did too.
Next night shown sliced,

nice animation
Who gets what.

Most of the hovering
world wept. But

religious people eternal-
ly grateful! For crumbs...

Secret of Life:
Less you want
more you’re loved

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Wednesday, September 20, 2017

 

Future Rocks!


Word just received of the death of
Adam Sheeshman.

Frontman for group, Bomba Gibi.

His mangager, Lute Fen, to release
details soon.

(Please be patient with our researcher.
All male babies named Adam Sheeshman
during the presidency of Adam Sheeshman.

A numbering scheme was lost during
the Afro-Korean Wars.

The hope is that Mithatpasha Caddessi,
his media company, will clarify matters
with an extended biography later today.)

President Adam Sheeshman said
this at 7 AM:

“Musical Genius! I grew up on
Slutmax!  Know every word.”

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Tuesday, September 19, 2017

 

The Controller


-That Ratchel-Ann Romphe
will drive me up the highest
possible wall!

-There to say a few...

-Very few!

-And...?

-Plunge to my death sans women!

-Especially controlling ones!

-Curse!  My White Whale!...and very
nearly as big.

-Ah hah! But she does you good too.

-Name one instance!

-She makes shy people grow some balls!

-That’s not an instance!

-Okay. When the dining room only had
orange juice?

-Which wrecks my stomach! Oy it does!

-She needled you until you got them
to stock Apple.

-Oh I would have fought that through
myself.

-Probably. And in slow motion. And...
many stop-frames.

-What’s always the hurry? How nervous
do you wanna get all the time?

-Anyway, lots of apples would remain
uncrushed!

-All right all right! Point taken.

-God sent her.

-Not enough is said about His triply
wicked sense of humor.

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Monday, September 18, 2017

 

Stay Misty For Me


--or the odds matter

Misty a bright acquisition!

Judge was optimistic about her
sticking.

He gave it 70-30.

But after the first week, and her
pouting after he couldn't obtain
tickets for Slammo & Chutzy...?

50-50.

After all, wasn't real anger, but
severely funked disappointment.

Even odds held another week.

Then she announced she was moving
to Freeport, and, thank you, needed
no help in doing it.

“Let's stay in touch!” brightened he
anyway.

“I'll be awful awful busy!”

So, not a chance. Plus, she put on her
determined face. Which, pretty as she
was, could still horrify children and
small dogs.

Well...plenty other games in town!

He was a realist in realizing the breakup
was partially his fault.

15-85.

But, really, what a Foursquare Bitch!

He had actually lucked out!

His new date, Larsy, asked him repeatedly,
"What did you say?"

She out-vagued the field.

Odds would take some thought in her case.

For their next good time, she showed up at Early
and Marcom, instead of Four Corners!

How long before she’d forget his very existence?

Anyway, he finally decided on 100-1 they’d
ever arrive anywhere.

About right. She finally left with a high junkie
as woefully scattered.

Our hero, yes, cried.

Isn’t it the accumulation of things that leads
us there?

10-1 we’ll all do it at some murky stage.
Or acute.

Will of the Almighty? I heard God and the
Angels washed their hands of relationships
worldwide.

Satan, though, keeps his oar in.

Propelling his Rowboat of Fools!



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