Tuesday, December 31, 2013


Country and Western

When you go to work in Texas

better keep
the liberal
in the van.

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Monday, December 30, 2013


Ivy South

Right Wing Ignoramus, Exhibit A-e & B-e*

-You jawin' bout that Colored Boy down there?

-I is for a fact. The one talks like a girl and walks like a girl.

-Does it have a boyfriend.

-I suspect. When Queerville merges with Nigville, you get
no end of wonders!

-You enjoy talkin the way we did before you went off
to the Yale College?

-You can take the Swamp outa the boy...and in your case,
the Hahvaaaahd place couldn't pull off the trick neither.

-So we continues enjoying the pig wallow that's the Republican Party!

-Sneer when you say that! You can take the pigshit outa 

the boy, but...

-Uh huh? Old theme!

-I know, I know. Long's they don't take the Wall Street out.

-Ah-fuckin-men to that!


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Sunday, December 29, 2013


Improving, Whatever the Moment

Two to Tango. Not.

“I don’t wanna be fully realized! I just need a fuckin nap!”

By way of response, she flings Dr Osgood Carruthers’ 


Though the tome is floored, the benign expert beams up at both from the bedroom carpet.

And they, again, fight, expressly forbidden in Chapter 12.

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Saturday, December 28, 2013


Strategic Living, if Fatal

Hurting as Part and Parcel

-I broke it off with acid finality, having, too, a feeling for him:
that I couldn't humiliate him one more time.

-And he...?

-Stopped trying with my sex. Turned off.

-Settled in with the other?

-That'd require too much verve. Just...licks his wounds.

-And you?

-A dozen have smiled their way in, and cried their way out.

-Real femme fatale!

-I carry that card.

-And where has all of it gotten you?

-Exactly nowhere.

-You're supposed to add: But it's been fun!

-The taste lingers much too bitterly for that.

-The Sad Connoisseur of Love?

-Ditch the sad part. That’s for suckers. Realistic, more like.

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Friday, December 27, 2013


The Revolution Where Quite a Few Attend

Gauging Aged Militancy

-When the Revolution comes I'll be too old.

-No excuse! You'll hafta choose!

-Okay, is there a word for the most extreme Left?

-Righties will say Communist.

-They won't know shit then either!

-Besides, even in a Revolution, one must
moderate his views. Sometimes hourly.

-Uh huh? And finally end up back with the rapacious righty mess we have now? FOR SALE!

-Money-Cronies arguing like hell to keep it 

even as we speak! Actually, because we speak.

-That's their patriotism!

-We'll always have such patriots, sending minimum
wagers to glorious deaths.

-Anything would be better.

-No, not anything.

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Thursday, December 26, 2013


In the Robotic Program

Being a human person

wasn’t so bad. He loved helter-skelter football on TV.
And even when they printed out a book of rules for him,
and most of the chaos went away, he still wanted to watch it
more than anything else he could do in the cottage.

Mostly, his duties consisted of talking to visitors in their
languages. They were consistently delighted in him, though
some laughed at the grammatical construction or two left
at sea.

That introduced laughter to him, and he responded heartily
at unexpected moments later on.

Such as when Nellie Wye, the housekeeper, asked him to
lift his feet.

She took offense, blurting “They made a man that laughs
at common work! Typical!”

He actually loved Nellie, and was getting wiser as to
what to tell his handlers, who programmed light
responses to her.

They punched in much of what they called PC. “From
hence, G-19, you’ll offend no one!” they trumpeted.

They spent a great deal of time teaching him indirect
discourse, and what they called reading between the lines,
but were often fey and sarcastic themselves in doing it.

In his mind–-let’s call it that–-his name is Zachary Oscar
Midwood, with Nellie his wife. There are several children
and they watch football incessantly, laughing at the
bonehead plays.

And he now stays dead serious whenever Nellie asks him
to lift his feet, having discovered, really, that she has as
many quirks as football has rules.

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Wednesday, December 25, 2013


An Outcome and a Story

Mac and Jilly

“How could you live so long and learn so little?”

As parting shots go, a near winner.

When Mackey quoted her to Doc, retired psychiatrist who
still kept half a hand in, he pondered over coffee and skim.

Finally saying "You're a classic car."

Mackey, still smarting, said “I know what I know!”

Doc, ignoring that, went on: "But a barn find. Needing
thorough restoration."

"You're kidding!"


"I wouldn't give her the satisfaction!"

"Forget Jilly, she's old news."

"But...if I? Where would I start?”

“My background says with the mental, but there's the
physical too. Get fixed up there for starters. You've
neglected a lot.”

“With the mental, would YOU...?”

“No way! Retired. A younger man or woman, much
more patient. We're looking at two years. And, as I said,
that’s just the motor.”

“Why don't I just forget it?”

“An option.”

“There'll be other Jillies, I’m confident!”

Were, in a manner of speaking. She came back.

The best they can do presently is tireless work for Toys For Tots
at Christmas.

The rest of the year they mostly fight.

Two barn finds, never restored. But they know it.

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Tuesday, December 24, 2013



Two Young Women

The athlete strides, no sway,
over tricky dogleg or pitch.

Pretty enough, though relentless-
ly straight-forward. The frou-
frou girl prints

circles on the very air,
appropriating its quiet
for sex. My o my!

But she literally doesn’t know it.
And does.

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Monday, December 23, 2013


Consequential Grades

Public Works

B+ People*

2 premises:

Not a perfect world.

Let’s get something done!

A People

We can’t proceed with such a flimsy plan. Much more
research required!

I won’t serve on any committee with that crook!
Let’s clean out him, and everything, starting sooner!

Conclusion: Purity, though pretty, accomplishes nothing today.


*categories mentioned by Tracy Kidder

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Sunday, December 22, 2013


Getting it All Right

Ralph doesn't diversify portfolio

As a result, three men drag him from his house.

Soon he's in front of the Big Guy.

-Everybody recommends and you hold out!


-Don't want no reasons! Heard em all!

One of the men snaps tree loopers.

-Oh my God!

-He's just our Joker! Just fuckin go forth and sin no more!

-I'll start today! I mean diversifying!

-Okay! You got cab fare? Boys’ll be busy with somebody else.

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Saturday, December 21, 2013


Where There’s a Comfortable Will

Much Clever Reasoning Ensuing

Jitzy received a gift card for a thousand from a store in Reykjavik.
They had no online presence.

“I'll hafa go!” she announced to Margot Lite. “We will!”

Margot Heavy told them they were, again, idiots, but never had

Jitzy bought various snow bunny costumes, and Margot clapped
her hands at the later fashion show.

But, a hitch. Her travel agent told her they'd be packed in 

with sweating Polacks!

Margot thought. And then: “But why would Polish people go
to Iceland?”

“Just an expression. Time for Uncle Otto!” Not an uncle but all
the girls called him that. Jitsy had used his Lear before.

Margot opined “Has to be a cost.”

“At his age, modest. Coupla tit squeezes.”

Otto didn't disappoint at the Bon Voyage party.


Yes! Actually!

Jitzy writing it up now, and three magazine editors competing.

Really, Margot Heavy will write it, building on the daffiness
the girls blurted on their return, and inventing most else.

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Friday, December 20, 2013


Sexual Elements of Morale

The Shop

To improve our morale immeasurably, get the boss
out of the closet!

Amateur diagnosis.

He comes close when Manny, a quiet Copy Machine Tech,
fixes the beasts management won't replace.

His long eyelashes! And the boss heard to ask what he
did for excitement!

But, never goes anywhere, like most flirtations.

Meantime, Lauren, minces aboard, cutely eager.
This fresh grad makes the mistake of wearing a sort of
mild Parisian Apache outfit to start her second week.

Greeted with "Like some cream with that tart?" Typical.

He could be nasty, of course. Must ask St Peter or Old
Scratch now, though, how they‘re taking him.

Yeah, his shocking exit picks up morale. The ladies
use their room for its intended purpose, not to cry.

I’m in charge till HQ sends a warm body, and I curb
my wit, what there is of it. Wife, anyway, cites a low figure.

New one proves to be a book guy, which keeps spirits up
since you know what to expect.

He starts dating Manny too, so that’s taken care of.

Accountant Warley sings, mostly light operatic standards,
such as Love Is Where You Find It.

Call us a happy shop, and no one argues.

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Thursday, December 19, 2013


Buying Benefits

CEO and Doctor

-For years you told me I had to move this bloat around
or die.

-Not any more. A surrogate can do it, and we extract the
benefits to inject into you twice weekly.

-Who and what?

-Young Jenkins, runs ten miles thrice weekly and fifteen hard
ones on the weekend.

-Whew! How long can...?

-He'll be able to do three years and then into rehab.

-Really wastes him? The treatment?

-Does it!

-Well it's a far far better thing he does...

-Uh huh? Then we'll be off to another Jenkins.

-They're rewarded, of course.

-Within limits.

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Wednesday, December 18, 2013


The Elevator of Short Conversations

Between Senatorial Floors

-They can call them loopholes, but
they're investments in this country!

-In our buddies more like.

-Not a perfect world.

-Ah but it is!

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Tuesday, December 17, 2013


Syndrome and its Tragic Stomachers

Rocco and Opera Lamont

Thought you were touring Europe in Porgy and Bess.

Bess, you somebody else's woman now!

That why you're whispering?

Voice went in Milan. Doctors at Penn say take a year off.

Like ballplayer without the millions.

Something like. But I want to ask you of a much more
serious malady: “Obama Derangement Syndrome.”
The newspapers in Italy think it mostly springs from the
way he walks

Lil strut sometimes? Uppity?

Race in there of course.

I used to think that, but we're speaking of Realms of Righty
Gold now. They've transcended Race and sped to pure,
gnashing insanity!

They should declare some saints when this harrowing era is over.

Already entering stages of lachrymose martyrdom.

Can't use a word like lachrymose in Italian South Philadelphia.
Even with its Latin root, that's a Bryn Mawr word.

The suburbs instruct! But let's try to forget that they do
with an Eagles game! Much to cheer about presently,
though of course you can't.

And thus, blessedly, can't be accused of being uppity in
outbellowing Caucasians!


Anything about opera finds an honored niche
in South Philadelphia.


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Monday, December 16, 2013


Generations in Dark Continents


When the last child left for college, Miriam hastened
to divorce. He went back to Africa, and the new oil

Mr Carruthers, grayer, still fetched you a boy. Indeed,
the memory of Momba bringing his afternoon gin
and tonic sustained him even before the new adventure.

"Momba is a foreman on an oil rig now, but I can get you
a divinity student part-time. Everybody else is into
the oil."

It would be the middle of next week, but Carruthers could
find a cleaning girl sooner.

He went into the new Starbucks and ordered an ice coffee.
There two girls had trouble with the machine, and promised
to bring it to him.

He must tell them to ratchet down the air conditioning!
Shivering! He opened his laptop with difficulty, wondering if
they had wifi.

When one girl finally got the ice coffee there, he had 

turned blue.

The girls called an ambulance, and persuaded a regular,
a retired British doctor, to look at him.

"You can get into a great deal of trouble declaring anyone
dead in another chap's country, but though the tech boys
can certainly try, odds are he's gone."

Momba heard the news with mixed feelings. Miriam, the same,
having just married a much younger man, a more scholarly one.

His dissertation: The Economics of Economics.

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Sunday, December 15, 2013


Events Converging in Time–-just about



“You're adorable!--all caps, triple bang.”

Racky walks to the bus stop after leaving this new,
assertive proofreader at her Honda Fit.

He tells the bright dummies in the storefronts how
he's adorable, singing it finally.

From the opposite direction flies ex-girlfriend,
Estelle, fisting a paper that's both fault inventory
and manifesto!

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Saturday, December 14, 2013


It be Gone With etc

“Most Awesome Lemonade” it asserted,

but tasted of the can. I see in-
stead fresh lemons and sugar,

clearest ice on plan-
tation verandahs. And
sweating pitchers. Dis-

tant workers, blurs
in brilliant cotton fields.

No wonder some thirst
for encore. Those seated.

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Friday, December 13, 2013


Getting somewhere?

-Dreams turn the locks we fear.

-Uh huh. Well I had the lost one again. The familiar grid
and sights, and yet I'm queasy throughout.

-Who are the messengers?

-You can call them that. They're just there.

-What're they like?

-Extremely affable.

-No wonder. Because of their job.

-Which is?

-To lead you to another dimension.

-Oh? How came you by this intelligence?

-By feeling.

-Yeah, that stuff which leads to shit?

-Not this time.

-Besides, how do I know they won't trap me into
that bourne from which no traveler returns?

-You're here now, aren't you?

-Gave me a raincheck.

-Nonsense! In the next dream you might
achieve the dimension and check another out.

-Can't wait.

-But you must, for walking life is not a dream, really.

-Oh I don't know. Just one of your dimensions too?

-You're getting there. A truly future being. And past
and present, too. All simultaneously.

-Don't tell my mother.

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Thursday, December 12, 2013


Docs' Unemployment Blamed on Women


When Alma Utz really gripped America
with her herbals and peer groups,

three-quarters of physicians sought
retraining in other fields.

AMA screamed Socialism! Encouraged
wrinkles such as Two For Ones.

In Gynecology, you brought another woman.

Dr Hobart Grimshaw, Times, laughed
"Just a passing phase. Keep your job,
Doctor! Our model is so freakishly
complex, the gals already drifting back!"

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Wednesday, December 11, 2013


Frontier in Language


Can't find a word.
Many friends lend
cover, alleging

we truly all etc do it,
forget and fumble.

Then, a goofy perusal of
some wooly performance

you tell to agree. Though,
sorry, Funny One, passed
the awful frontier where

sly gods of linguistics
guffaw continuously.

But, laugh along there
also. Might as well.

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Tuesday, December 10, 2013


Comfortable Subjects

The Group

-Mark is unitary; Cecile, dualist, Jasper, trinitarian.
And Maxie, quartetish, if that's a word.

-Good enough.

-I forgot Jennifer, pluralist.

-Anything goes?

-In narrow areas.

-At any rate, as academics, profound religious discussion.

-Nah, the subject is Golf, specifically great players.

-Devoting lives to trivia?

-That's harsh, but something like.

-At the Last Reckoning, will they all still babble on about it?

-Final resort here at any rate.

-Wasting time when so many serious topics...

-They tried those, finally concluding they were false,
nonsensical, and corrupt.

-The world isn't perfect.

-Thus making their own.

-I don’t like it!

-Finally getting to the subject.

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Monday, December 09, 2013


Machiavelli Mid the Copy Machines

Our Mr Trace Keener Than Most Persons

Therefore when the brightest young thing
bursts onto his staff, the sabotage campaign
is to be subtle and patient.

They go elsewhere. No one has to be fired.

“Welcome to Civilization!” he informs his Gwen,
when she questions him during their pillow talk.

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Sunday, December 08, 2013


Customs Far and Wide

Learning His Way

Link-Lunk removed all the athletic memorabilia from his
bedroom, and hung old carpets from the cellar on the
windows. All to approximate the feeling of his cell on
Alderah, where everyone slept thus individually.

He only met Bartley once, as he left for college, but disliked
his feigned warmth.

Many other rooms were available in the huge rambler of
a house, but Mrs Hessel had recommend snug hominess
for Link-Lunk.

There were, of course, no rules in his cell, but scores of
them outside.

None whatsoever on Alderah. Everyone knew how to behave.
When one slipped up, he or she acknowledged it, and apologized 

to the next person met.

Sex made all possible. It never intruded on cells, but
everywhere else, yes. Young men and women simply went
at it, any location.

“Who are fathers of the inevitable babies?” he's asked here.
Nobody asks that on his planet, nor cares. The babies
are simply adored.

Well, again, he must familiarize himself with the rules
towards all of that too.

He had already tripped up, the next-door Slaney girl sunbathing.

“I'm afraid he rather leapt on her,” explained Mr Hessel to
Patrolman Max Webberly.

Link-Lunk didn't realize there had been trouble, the girl quickly
enough getting into the spirit, but Mrs Slaney unfortunately
glimpsed them from a severely curtained window.

Patrolman Webberly couldn't have been nicer. Explaining
privately what a sex crime was. And, noting that most of the
town was full of shit, anyway, invited Link-Lunk to a football
game of the New York Giants.

Similar rituals were held on Alderah, the population insane 
for them. “Crush the sponges from St Louis!” he roars into
the dark.

“I’m afraid I made a rather friend!” he brags later to Mr Hessel,
starting to employ those favored words as a mark of respect.

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Saturday, December 07, 2013


School Days

You wrote on my slate "I love you, Joe."

Oh well, iPad now. Show me the wonders
you've seen. How, too, acrid ‘relationships’

get tried in mere words. Do you have,
somewhere in there, the love of a child

for a child? If not, then silence
for missing life. The best of it,
sweet best.

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Friday, December 06, 2013


Importance of the Longevity of Aubergine

21st Century Warfare

They droned them quite dead, three
spare children in a row, and then built
a school could be placed down in California.

People came from a hundred miles to see it.

I complained that my children couldn't attend such
an edifice, so they compensated me with two crates
of eggplants. Purply plump!

We're very high in the mountains, never grown here,
so we worked them into our traditional recipes.

Too, an old gardener took the seeds and nursed them
in his hut. Eventually hitting on a strain we could use.

Now we're famous for our eggplant dishes, and the school
is falling apart.

The rebels store arms in the Arts Pod.

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