Saturday, March 31, 2012
Excess
of Mulligans,
do-overs at
any rate.
How we jade
when you in-
dicate a tally
in reality,
but not. Even
your fantasies
begin to cease
counting.
Labels: cheating, do-over, mulligan, tally
Friday, March 30, 2012
Two Political Wags Tackle the Vicious
-Then we agree that the present atmosphere
couldn't be much worse?
-Lincoln said we should rely on our better angels.
-Do they still exist?
-Bought out by corporatists and outsourced.
-Where to?
-What's the difference? Some place where no
self-respecting dog'd take a shit.
-And I was pondering a vacation there with the
ball and chain and little monsters.
-One can be unhappy anywhere, though
I still prefer a location where you don't see
dog shit to the horizon.
-I thought you said...
-I said self-respecting dogs. Like us.
-Then we agree that the present atmosphere
couldn't be much worse?
-Lincoln said we should rely on our better angels.
-Do they still exist?
-Bought out by corporatists and outsourced.
-Where to?
-What's the difference? Some place where no
self-respecting dog'd take a shit.
-And I was pondering a vacation there with the
ball and chain and little monsters.
-One can be unhappy anywhere, though
I still prefer a location where you don't see
dog shit to the horizon.
-I thought you said...
-I said self-respecting dogs. Like us.
Labels: Lincoln, outsourcing, poisonous atmosphere
Thursday, March 29, 2012
The American Right
marshals its Petains
with talk of freedom,
especially in the market
for legislators. What
would a glorious future
be worth
if it couldn't be
purchased?
marshals its Petains
with talk of freedom,
especially in the market
for legislators. What
would a glorious future
be worth
if it couldn't be
purchased?
Labels: bribery, Petain, Right Wing
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
Outside Supreme Court,
It All Plays out as Parody
Representatives get facetime.
Pickets also, in prides of signs.
Law professors invited to parse
common language until
it trails past farce and into
insanity. “Circus clowns” etc
bandied for this jostling caboodle:
a comparison much too wimpy.
Labels: clowns, law enforcement, Supreme Court
Tuesday, March 27, 2012
Demonstrators Outside Supreme Court
Clueless tools since
Justice is blind,
others say.
Though she's been seen
throwing as many elbows
as the NBA.
Clueless tools since
Justice is blind,
others say.
Though she's been seen
throwing as many elbows
as the NBA.
Labels: Justice, NBA, Supreme Court
Monday, March 26, 2012
Dems Send Diogenes to GOP Confab
White robe cinched with
blood red rope (though,
modern lantern). Class act,
at any rate! Thus understood
by Prescott Withers and Soapy
Kleet who bribe him
to reverse course to
the Democratic meeting
at The Hotel Mel Sturgess.
The TV crew hasn’t set up, so
Kleet shoves Miley Days and
cameraman into the taxi with
Diogenes. She kisses Prescott
prior to departure--he owns
the station. “So I’m still looking
for an honest man!” gets
screamed on lurching away.
It commences to pour rain.
“Well good luck with all of that!”
toasts Billy with silver flask
as the lantern’s LEDS skitter
along the soaking pavement.
Prescott demurs a draught.
“My stomach!”
Labels: political dirty tricks
Sunday, March 25, 2012
“Plenty of Blame
to go around.” Whenever the scandal de jour hit we were
informed of this. But I never expected it to be enshrined
in a law.
Now I have received a registered letter regarding the latest
mortgage mess. My Guilt Index is .067. I called the 800
number and listened, not unpleasantly, to Glen Gray
and the Casa Loma Orchestra. Eventually, a Ricky answered, telling me I had to be interviewed even though I had no mortgage, renting an apartment.
My interview had been outsourced to Zellseek,
a corporation in a nearby industrial park.
Zellseek had recently organized flatly, and no one proved
responsible for anything. But an obsequious robot gave me
a t-shirt with .067 embroidered on it. He took me to three
departments where they were too busy to speak to me.
Finally, a Rolden Excelsior rolled up with delicious coffee and
scones. "Isn't it all so terrifically silly and stupid?" he asked
rhetorically.
The scones were blueberry and heavenly. "Who baked...?"
I began.
“I do everything around here!” Soon he was helping me into
a green blazer. "Do you feel like you've won the Masters?”
he laughed. “At any rate, please accept this gift from
my robot associates to lessen the inconvenience of
being subjected to such asinine incompetence.”
“A Rolden Excelsior?” my bud, Nick, gushed later.
“Your path is golden from here out!”
Indeed I was friended on Robo-Universe shortly
thereafter; also invited to a picnic where I
proved the only human.
My Rolden scolded me for not wearing the blazer.
"Everywhere you go! Will protect you when..."
Labels: flat management, robot, scandal and blame
Saturday, March 24, 2012
Hickory Dickory Dock
The mouse ran up the digital clock.
Not. For no grand assemblage of
gears, pulleys, and weights, but
a flat field with numbers backwards
on a billboard. Some mice like staring
or meditating, such as Marvin resting
inside there, fur glowing softly red
from numerals dimmed for night.
All is peace, then a power failure, and
terrifying cave. In the restoration, he
pulses red and black. Such indeterminacy
can prove death to the sensitive, and Marvin
the Meditating Mouse is heard to wail now
via Mouse Media, "O how flat, stale and
unprofitable this Mouse Life is!” Ultimately
fleeing--clock being set for the moment--
he flings back: “It hath made me mad!”
The mouse ran up the digital clock.
Not. For no grand assemblage of
gears, pulleys, and weights, but
a flat field with numbers backwards
on a billboard. Some mice like staring
or meditating, such as Marvin resting
inside there, fur glowing softly red
from numerals dimmed for night.
All is peace, then a power failure, and
terrifying cave. In the restoration, he
pulses red and black. Such indeterminacy
can prove death to the sensitive, and Marvin
the Meditating Mouse is heard to wail now
via Mouse Media, "O how flat, stale and
unprofitable this Mouse Life is!” Ultimately
fleeing--clock being set for the moment--
he flings back: “It hath made me mad!”
Labels: digital, Hickory Dickory Dock, mouse, time
Friday, March 23, 2012
The War on Women
flowers best in
depraved states’
legislatures. There
fat white men hath wrought
what needs to poor dears taught.
In The Alabaster City
such gleamings are
rheostated low
since attention must be paid.
So the righteous timid stay.
Labels: states, War on Women
Thursday, March 22, 2012
If there’s a War on Women,
then its foot soldiers are
Lady Republicans in
heels and wholesale June
Cleaver cocktail frocks,
(from sweatshops) and
marching down the avenue
like WW2 Waves! Not.
then its foot soldiers are
Lady Republicans in
heels and wholesale June
Cleaver cocktail frocks,
(from sweatshops) and
marching down the avenue
like WW2 Waves! Not.
Labels: GOP and Women, June Cleaver, War on Women
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
All Heart
-The stable boys are acting up! They want quarter
more an hour.
-I’m on the fuckin phone all morning screaming! And you
bring me this, Chubby? Fire every fuckin one!
-Now, Chief.
-Now Chief my ass! What's next after uppity spicks?
-Be some trouble replacing...
-Your problem. Don't bother me. What Spanish for
You’re fired?
.....
-Their spokesman, Jose begged me to--
-Your typical fat heart! Let him talk then, Chubby. I won't understand a word anyway.
-Please, Sir...
-Staring at his feet. Get that, Chubby! It's Dickens
or something. Cap in hand! OK, give them another
dime an hour. Get him out of here before he starts
to thank me.
...
-They're lucky wasn’t my father or grandfather: Cut the
wages in half! Well, what the hell! We live in more
enlightened times. And I’m the tender heart. More bark
than bite, I know. Oh what the hell! They knew they were dealing with a softy. I’ve lost millions with this heart
of mine!
-The stable boys are acting up! They want quarter
more an hour.
-I’m on the fuckin phone all morning screaming! And you
bring me this, Chubby? Fire every fuckin one!
-Now, Chief.
-Now Chief my ass! What's next after uppity spicks?
-Be some trouble replacing...
-Your problem. Don't bother me. What Spanish for
You’re fired?
.....
-Their spokesman, Jose begged me to--
-Your typical fat heart! Let him talk then, Chubby. I won't understand a word anyway.
-Please, Sir...
-Staring at his feet. Get that, Chubby! It's Dickens
or something. Cap in hand! OK, give them another
dime an hour. Get him out of here before he starts
to thank me.
...
-They're lucky wasn’t my father or grandfather: Cut the
wages in half! Well, what the hell! We live in more
enlightened times. And I’m the tender heart. More bark
than bite, I know. Oh what the hell! They knew they were dealing with a softy. I’ve lost millions with this heart
of mine!
Labels: 1%, Hispanic, labor relations
Tuesday, March 20, 2012
Subtext of Women's Plank, GOP Platform
When the devil
can't come him-
self, he sends
a woman.
When the devil
can't come him-
self, he sends
a woman.
Labels: GOP and Women, War on Women
Monday, March 19, 2012
Formula
Take the sleaziest used car thief
polluting the industrial slime
of some Georgia backwater,
add the “salesmen”
being deposited
there from battered SUVs.
Levines the Machines to fleece
the hicks with promises of presents.
(There will definitely be pie in the sky.
But you must move fast or my manager
will withdraw this offer!) Take these
and multiply exponentially
and you approximate Wall Street.
Labels: backwater, sleaze, Wall Street
Sunday, March 18, 2012
All But Time
His impressed skin
after deepest sleep
tells him the children
have eaten Ritz Crackers
in the bed again,
while scrolling porn
titles on the program
guide. Joline will
come to handle them.
It's a short flight
on Sardine Airlines,
thank God! He wears
shoes with velcro straps,
the better to kick them off at
X-ray. Proper also for his des-
tination. The air aboard assaults
with historical BO. Picks
the youngest cabbie midst
an imploring horde.
He'll recite the history wrong
but spew great celebrity gossip.
Has him cut the AC and open
the windows to ancient odors,
their palpable feel. Once
again established, it's dinner
at the port where's he's remembered
with staggered toasts. Returns praises
with his own. Afterwards, Marco
takes the driver's seat of the tractor
in the moon-slashed courtyard.
"Since when?"
"It’s time."
His impressed skin
after deepest sleep
tells him the children
have eaten Ritz Crackers
in the bed again,
while scrolling porn
titles on the program
guide. Joline will
come to handle them.
It's a short flight
on Sardine Airlines,
thank God! He wears
shoes with velcro straps,
the better to kick them off at
X-ray. Proper also for his des-
tination. The air aboard assaults
with historical BO. Picks
the youngest cabbie midst
an imploring horde.
He'll recite the history wrong
but spew great celebrity gossip.
Has him cut the AC and open
the windows to ancient odors,
their palpable feel. Once
again established, it's dinner
at the port where's he's remembered
with staggered toasts. Returns praises
with his own. Afterwards, Marco
takes the driver's seat of the tractor
in the moon-slashed courtyard.
"Since when?"
"It’s time."
Labels: aging, escape, memory, nostalgia, pornography
Saturday, March 17, 2012
Enforcing Madness
DEPUTY
Started with fight between Mike and Marie outside
Kippy’s Kool Kup.
SHERIFF
Been called for those two before.
DEPUTY
It wound down and then Mark interfered.
SHERIFF
On which side?
DEPUTY
Marie's. Offered to marry her.
SHERIFF
Pretty drastic on the moment. But, ah, cottage
small by the waterfall! Did Mike rev back up in
his hurt and anger?
DEPUTY
Huge wrenching sobs. By this time the quarrel
has moved back to the bungalows.
SHERIFF
And the mischief makers among them?
DEPUTY
First, Melo.
SHERIFF
Stop with all the M's!
DEPUTY
Last one!...well not quite. Anyway he got a rifle for
birthday and proceeded to shoot it into the sky.
Reciting political slogans.
SHERIFF
Left or Right?
DEPUTY
Alternated.
SHERIFF
It can't stop there.
DEPUTY
One they call the Colonel?
SHERIFF
Interrupted his wet dream of glory to...
DEPUTY
obliterate concrete lawn jockeys and
plastic flamingos with his AK-47.
SHERIFF
No garden gnomes? Anyway, where are the Enforcers?
DEPUTY
Just arrived, Deputy Jerry getting colonel in bearhug.
SHERIFF
Thus restraining a sovereign nation!
DEPUTY
Other deputies grab other maniacs.
SHERIFF
Don't forget that love started it all.
DEPUTY
Whatever.
SHERIFF
But not over yet. PTT.
DEPUTY
Post Trauma Trauma? When it's all calmed down,
weirdness reappears? Bingo, Sheriff! When everybody
in cars for downtown ride, Marie's sister, Melody,
throws a harddrive out her window at Deputy Alice.
She had been asked for a statement but was studying
for a Calculus exam.
SHERIFF
Intellectual component. We lacked that.
DEPUTY
Anyway, Magistrate due to sort it out in morning
at his office.
SHERIFF
Don't stand too close to him.
DEPUTY
Does he go that way?
SHERIFF
Not entirely.
DEPUTY
Started with fight between Mike and Marie outside
Kippy’s Kool Kup.
SHERIFF
Been called for those two before.
DEPUTY
It wound down and then Mark interfered.
SHERIFF
On which side?
DEPUTY
Marie's. Offered to marry her.
SHERIFF
Pretty drastic on the moment. But, ah, cottage
small by the waterfall! Did Mike rev back up in
his hurt and anger?
DEPUTY
Huge wrenching sobs. By this time the quarrel
has moved back to the bungalows.
SHERIFF
And the mischief makers among them?
DEPUTY
First, Melo.
SHERIFF
Stop with all the M's!
DEPUTY
Last one!...well not quite. Anyway he got a rifle for
birthday and proceeded to shoot it into the sky.
Reciting political slogans.
SHERIFF
Left or Right?
DEPUTY
Alternated.
SHERIFF
It can't stop there.
DEPUTY
One they call the Colonel?
SHERIFF
Interrupted his wet dream of glory to...
DEPUTY
obliterate concrete lawn jockeys and
plastic flamingos with his AK-47.
SHERIFF
No garden gnomes? Anyway, where are the Enforcers?
DEPUTY
Just arrived, Deputy Jerry getting colonel in bearhug.
SHERIFF
Thus restraining a sovereign nation!
DEPUTY
Other deputies grab other maniacs.
SHERIFF
Don't forget that love started it all.
DEPUTY
Whatever.
SHERIFF
But not over yet. PTT.
DEPUTY
Post Trauma Trauma? When it's all calmed down,
weirdness reappears? Bingo, Sheriff! When everybody
in cars for downtown ride, Marie's sister, Melody,
throws a harddrive out her window at Deputy Alice.
She had been asked for a statement but was studying
for a Calculus exam.
SHERIFF
Intellectual component. We lacked that.
DEPUTY
Anyway, Magistrate due to sort it out in morning
at his office.
SHERIFF
Don't stand too close to him.
DEPUTY
Does he go that way?
SHERIFF
Not entirely.
Labels: law enforcement, love, politics
Friday, March 16, 2012
Short History of Low Tutelage
In the Middle Ages, monks
penned instruction re female
behavior. Nowadays it's vile
Southern Legislators taking up
this latest White Man's Burden.
Labels: Abortion, education, South, women
Thursday, March 15, 2012
Reaching the End of Something
Road washes out
behind, thus
not sure how
got here...some-
thing to find?
Anyway, what now?
Never your play.
Labels: lost, pilgrimage
Wednesday, March 14, 2012
Legislator
Well I came here
a boyscout, real
Mr Smith. Proved
hard scrubbing
the scales from
my eyes too. Question A,
though, resolves everything:
“How does it benefit the Rich?”
Now, can sometimes help others
in the churning wash. That's
the moral bonus standing me up
on the platform at patriotic shindigs,
and getting me on the TV.
Well I came here
a boyscout, real
Mr Smith. Proved
hard scrubbing
the scales from
my eyes too. Question A,
though, resolves everything:
“How does it benefit the Rich?”
Now, can sometimes help others
in the churning wash. That's
the moral bonus standing me up
on the platform at patriotic shindigs,
and getting me on the TV.
Labels: legislator, wealth
Tuesday, March 13, 2012
Cash Card
Sort of liked the Canadian bank took over after the Florida one.
I think of Canada as not as mean or crooked. Anyway supposed to cut their old cash card in half, but had to make sure the new one worked from the Mega bank.
It did. Hallelujah! No real opportunity to destroy the old one until I got home.
I had the scissors out when the door burst open. A man and a woman, she fondling a machine pistol.
“So, Whitey, bit late with the required act, huh?” sneered
skinny male.
“I just got back from...”
“Yeah yeah yeah,” she impatiently fingered the trigger.
“Well we bodied two today. Trifecta?” male smiled at her.
“Are you from the government, or the bank?” I trembled.
“Like, there’s a difference?” he assembled a quizzical face.
“Love the question though. It’s cute!” She waved the muzzle under my nose and then into the general air.
“So’s old Fred Q here. I base that on the fact he hasn’t shit his pants yet.”
“There’s a lady in 31a who’s a total bitch. Made her family miserable for years and she refuses to cut her card in half!”
She pointed the gun to the splintered door.
“Well, Freddy’s rounds go into her. You lucked out, old fart. Here! Give me the fuckin scissors! Ever see hands shake like that?”
“Every day.”
Sort of liked the Canadian bank took over after the Florida one.
I think of Canada as not as mean or crooked. Anyway supposed to cut their old cash card in half, but had to make sure the new one worked from the Mega bank.
It did. Hallelujah! No real opportunity to destroy the old one until I got home.
I had the scissors out when the door burst open. A man and a woman, she fondling a machine pistol.
“So, Whitey, bit late with the required act, huh?” sneered
skinny male.
“I just got back from...”
“Yeah yeah yeah,” she impatiently fingered the trigger.
“Well we bodied two today. Trifecta?” male smiled at her.
“Are you from the government, or the bank?” I trembled.
“Like, there’s a difference?” he assembled a quizzical face.
“Love the question though. It’s cute!” She waved the muzzle under my nose and then into the general air.
“So’s old Fred Q here. I base that on the fact he hasn’t shit his pants yet.”
“There’s a lady in 31a who’s a total bitch. Made her family miserable for years and she refuses to cut her card in half!”
She pointed the gun to the splintered door.
“Well, Freddy’s rounds go into her. You lucked out, old fart. Here! Give me the fuckin scissors! Ever see hands shake like that?”
“Every day.”
Monday, March 12, 2012
Even Olaf Q
knows, no free lunch
as Scandinavia lurches
to bankruptcy, cradle
to grave. Tops in quality
of life? Yeah, uh huh?
Socialist survey slop!
Almost past disquieting:
obsessions with sex.
Must be the cold.
Well everything gets old,
and we need moral fibre
to murder ragtops,
thus saving your frozen ass.
knows, no free lunch
as Scandinavia lurches
to bankruptcy, cradle
to grave. Tops in quality
of life? Yeah, uh huh?
Socialist survey slop!
Almost past disquieting:
obsessions with sex.
Must be the cold.
Well everything gets old,
and we need moral fibre
to murder ragtops,
thus saving your frozen ass.
Labels: Scandinavia, socialism, Sweden, welfare state
Sunday, March 11, 2012
The Visit
As he tried to enter the building, wheelchairs hemmed him round, the women having swung them into his legs with unbelievable force.
"I'm Claude Harrelson," he laughed while trying to extract.
"My mother is Mrs Harrelson. On the seventh floor!"
"Don't you try to fool me, Richard!" screamed one whose neck was horribly bent, the words bouncing from the pavement to meet ticking noises coming off her wheelchair’s underseat battery.
"His own mother!" scorned a fat woman plopped in a handlebar number, her skewed wig of a red not seen in nature. Others echoed her, popping up in their aluminum, mostly manual, chairs. Claude nearly broke free, the rows of letter boxes and the security TVs of the lobby beckoning.
"He was never funny until he married that bitch," sneered Crooked Neck, who had maneuvered behind him and now buckled his knees with a motorized thrust.
"Excuse me ma’am. You don’t know who I married, if anyone."
She had pinned his foot, and, as he ripped clear, the vehicle rolled slowly downhill, sparks and smoke flying from its hulking battery. The woman, able only to mutter as to his ungratefulness, couldn't stop the chair, tilting now towards the chrysanthemum bed and threatening to deposit her on the sidewalk. Claude felt obliged to give chase down the insanely gradual pitch, past a blue mailbox and a harpy waving a letter who shrilled, "Millard! Look what I was doing!
You can stop me now if you got the guts!"
He got to the chair just as it snapped into some briars.
It proved heavy to pull out and heavier to push back up the incline. Panting, Claude had leisure to discover that the woman at the mailbox had sunk to her knees and was wearing a floor length nightgown covered with rosettes. "It's too late now,” she sobbed. "Everything is."
Just as he is wedging Crooked Neck between two other wheelchairs, ("You ruined my chair, Bright Ass! How can I get to Rec for Bingo now?") he is also chastised by a white-jacketed doctor in a pencil mustache. Doors are open on his BMW coupe from which Mozart slides across the buttery front seat.
While counting out pills on the roof: "Life isn't the Keystone Kops my good young man. You have to be more careful."
Shortly, the physician dispenses ribboned prescriptions from a basket--to hands greedy and blue waving above the wheelchairs. "Now now! Enough for everyone, My Darlings!"
A black ambulance driver shaking a paper confronts Claude, requesting a clarification. "Fuckin Mrs Honderlee or some such? Look! Look!"
"I’m just here to see my mother when I got trapped into this wacky mess," Claude still pants. "Give me a break!"
The women, more emboldened by medication, shove him into the driver who roars at Claude "Don't you fuckin push me!" Claude finds himself careening into the doctor, now back
at his car.
In truth, could’ve stopped.
The surprised physician cuts his lip on the open door of the BMW, glasses clattering over the roof, counterpointing Mozart.
The women shriek the louder, a corkscrew humpback declaring "He's no son of ours!"
"You are insane as well as irresponsible!" the doctor hisses at the suddenly lunatic-grinning Claude, before fetching his glasses and wiping them methodically with a tissue. "And now will I hasten to cell-phone the police."
"Why not the National Guard? You can probably hasten them just as well!" Claude squeals.
The black driver shakes his head. "Out of control, everything, and the young dude, he’s completely lost it. Oh yeah!"
The woman from the mailbox has been crawling towards them on her knees, her nightgown pulling off her mottled shoulders. "It's still too late. It's all too late now!" she wrenches.
As he tried to enter the building, wheelchairs hemmed him round, the women having swung them into his legs with unbelievable force.
"I'm Claude Harrelson," he laughed while trying to extract.
"My mother is Mrs Harrelson. On the seventh floor!"
"Don't you try to fool me, Richard!" screamed one whose neck was horribly bent, the words bouncing from the pavement to meet ticking noises coming off her wheelchair’s underseat battery.
"His own mother!" scorned a fat woman plopped in a handlebar number, her skewed wig of a red not seen in nature. Others echoed her, popping up in their aluminum, mostly manual, chairs. Claude nearly broke free, the rows of letter boxes and the security TVs of the lobby beckoning.
"He was never funny until he married that bitch," sneered Crooked Neck, who had maneuvered behind him and now buckled his knees with a motorized thrust.
"Excuse me ma’am. You don’t know who I married, if anyone."
She had pinned his foot, and, as he ripped clear, the vehicle rolled slowly downhill, sparks and smoke flying from its hulking battery. The woman, able only to mutter as to his ungratefulness, couldn't stop the chair, tilting now towards the chrysanthemum bed and threatening to deposit her on the sidewalk. Claude felt obliged to give chase down the insanely gradual pitch, past a blue mailbox and a harpy waving a letter who shrilled, "Millard! Look what I was doing!
You can stop me now if you got the guts!"
He got to the chair just as it snapped into some briars.
It proved heavy to pull out and heavier to push back up the incline. Panting, Claude had leisure to discover that the woman at the mailbox had sunk to her knees and was wearing a floor length nightgown covered with rosettes. "It's too late now,” she sobbed. "Everything is."
Just as he is wedging Crooked Neck between two other wheelchairs, ("You ruined my chair, Bright Ass! How can I get to Rec for Bingo now?") he is also chastised by a white-jacketed doctor in a pencil mustache. Doors are open on his BMW coupe from which Mozart slides across the buttery front seat.
While counting out pills on the roof: "Life isn't the Keystone Kops my good young man. You have to be more careful."
Shortly, the physician dispenses ribboned prescriptions from a basket--to hands greedy and blue waving above the wheelchairs. "Now now! Enough for everyone, My Darlings!"
A black ambulance driver shaking a paper confronts Claude, requesting a clarification. "Fuckin Mrs Honderlee or some such? Look! Look!"
"I’m just here to see my mother when I got trapped into this wacky mess," Claude still pants. "Give me a break!"
The women, more emboldened by medication, shove him into the driver who roars at Claude "Don't you fuckin push me!" Claude finds himself careening into the doctor, now back
at his car.
In truth, could’ve stopped.
The surprised physician cuts his lip on the open door of the BMW, glasses clattering over the roof, counterpointing Mozart.
The women shriek the louder, a corkscrew humpback declaring "He's no son of ours!"
"You are insane as well as irresponsible!" the doctor hisses at the suddenly lunatic-grinning Claude, before fetching his glasses and wiping them methodically with a tissue. "And now will I hasten to cell-phone the police."
"Why not the National Guard? You can probably hasten them just as well!" Claude squeals.
The black driver shakes his head. "Out of control, everything, and the young dude, he’s completely lost it. Oh yeah!"
The woman from the mailbox has been crawling towards them on her knees, her nightgown pulling off her mottled shoulders. "It's still too late. It's all too late now!" she wrenches.
Labels: elderly
Saturday, March 10, 2012
Fruitflies
live short lives,
a few yawns
and gone.
Some go all in
for a science
designed to trumpet
our thumping magnificence.
live short lives,
a few yawns
and gone.
Some go all in
for a science
designed to trumpet
our thumping magnificence.
Labels: fruitflies, science
Friday, March 09, 2012
Discussion
"Well of course you're not June Cleaver!
Look! I don't have time for this Woman shit!
That's Democrat crap."
"Well of course you're not June Cleaver!
Look! I don't have time for this Woman shit!
That's Democrat crap."
Labels: June Cleaver, Republican, women
Thursday, March 08, 2012
Stick In Proverbial Fork
He's done. Sidestep the last
gush of bile. Been coming since
media buyers began steering clients
away from hate radio, despite
some desired demographics.
Too radioactive. Besides, the one most
sought: Young Women–-remember them?
Those sluts and prostitutes of homemade
porn fame?–have presence naught there.
He's done. Sidestep the last
gush of bile. Been coming since
media buyers began steering clients
away from hate radio, despite
some desired demographics.
Too radioactive. Besides, the one most
sought: Young Women–-remember them?
Those sluts and prostitutes of homemade
porn fame?–have presence naught there.
Labels: Hate Radio, Limbaugh, radio
Iran--the Ecstasy Begins
Since it’s worth so little anyway,
minimum wage or preferably less,
Republicans burn again to spend
your children’s blood for money.
Since it’s worth so little anyway,
minimum wage or preferably less,
Republicans burn again to spend
your children’s blood for money.
Labels: Iran, Republican, war
Wednesday, March 07, 2012
Battle Hymn of the Old Republican
As many panties to sniff as I can.
Then I'll bomb Iran.
Labels: Bomb Iran, panties, Republican
Tuesday, March 06, 2012
Monday, March 05, 2012
Homeschooling U
STUDENT
Well, I read the first three Sociology chapters. Gibberish!
“PROFESSOR”
Well, we-uns gotta find head and tail.
STUDENT
Won’t be worth it.
“PROFESSOR”
Not your decision.
STUDENT
You’ll just use it to transmit your vicious prejudices anyway.
“PROFESSOR”
Well it’s homeschooling: its burning purpose! What do you think you get outside the family?
STUDENT
Greater variety of bias. Besides, I could play football.
“PROFESSOR”
We got Intro to Athletics. They haven’t sent that shit yet.
STUDENT
Can’t wait.
“PROFESSOR”
Have to. Shakespeare next.
STUDENT
Plays or sonnets?
“PROFESSOR”
Plays. Some good violent shit there!
STUDENT
No sonnets? At least they’re shorter.
“PROFESSOR”
Fairyland! Well, as much as I enjoy this academic
happy horseshit, gotta help pick some alternate
delegates to convention.
STUDENT
Let me guess which party.
STUDENT
Well, I read the first three Sociology chapters. Gibberish!
“PROFESSOR”
Well, we-uns gotta find head and tail.
STUDENT
Won’t be worth it.
“PROFESSOR”
Not your decision.
STUDENT
You’ll just use it to transmit your vicious prejudices anyway.
“PROFESSOR”
Well it’s homeschooling: its burning purpose! What do you think you get outside the family?
STUDENT
Greater variety of bias. Besides, I could play football.
“PROFESSOR”
We got Intro to Athletics. They haven’t sent that shit yet.
STUDENT
Can’t wait.
“PROFESSOR”
Have to. Shakespeare next.
STUDENT
Plays or sonnets?
“PROFESSOR”
Plays. Some good violent shit there!
STUDENT
No sonnets? At least they’re shorter.
“PROFESSOR”
Fairyland! Well, as much as I enjoy this academic
happy horseshit, gotta help pick some alternate
delegates to convention.
STUDENT
Let me guess which party.
Labels: Homeschooling
Sunday, March 04, 2012
Whatever Mess
of splinters or
beastly marks
read out for intellect-
ual cover, we're
all of us walk-
ing dogma at
the least–-just so
an inner glimpse
can lower the pitch
to resonate
with angels.
Labels: dogma
Saturday, March 03, 2012
Worried Sick
many times.
Waste! confide
some who slip
through 25,
30, retire
to Florida,
stacking bathroom
closet with laxatives.
Labels: retirement, worry
Friday, March 02, 2012
Insidious Minions
force the close
of the only toe
emporium in Duluth.
In truth, minister, padre,
rabbi and inman had
chipped in scathing verse.
T Hee, proprietor, calls it
an experience and
Paula’s Precious Pets grabs the spot.
Hee theorizes was his emphasis on
the whole toe, rather than just the nail,
doomed him. Moves the voluptuous lot
to Atlanta. At The Riled Cat, Bailey-O
orates: "His Southern Strategy. Desiring
to see the freakin sun
more than ten days a year!"
Labels: Duluth, nail salon, public pressure, Southern Strategy
Thursday, March 01, 2012
Revolutionary Mid-East Societies
finally settling
on some form of
democracy. Suggest
American, since
vast matrixes
of bribery in place.
Labels: America, bribery, Democracy, Middle East
