Thursday, April 30, 2015


Free Market Has the Answer Of Course!

-All the marvelous electronic
systems, and goofuses wandering
into the White House anyway!

-And Congress boiling up one of their
usual rehearsed fits about it!

-Okay, I'm bidding on the New Protection
Package. All the same electro-horseshit,
plus twenty Chinamen with binoculars on
the rooftop. I'm bringing ’em in!

-Buck or two an hour?

-At least! And  all the kimchi they
can eat!

-That's Korean.

-Fuck 'em! They're all the same.

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Wednesday, April 29, 2015


Hanging Out

-TV full of people demonstrating for Gay Marriage,
front of Supreme Court.


-Tell me, Russel, cuz I wanna know, have
you ever been sexually demeaned in here?

-Not sexually, no. Just in the way we demean each
other in here naturally.

-That’s a democracy!

-Guess so.

-And, outside this boozy lounge?

-Hurt so much so many times, I’ve blocked!

-Too bad. Let’s see, you’re about six-zero.
so...fifty injurious years, give or take..

-Took! About it, for the years.

-Fifty more, home free!

-They count on my dying before that, of course.

-That’s the American way...right after lynching.
But look at all those young people on the TV!
Taking your place, and with more fight!

-Yeah, but after the long struggle, it gets to be
bore-ass. And then fewer and fewer show up!

-Do the Republicans bring in Storm Troopers then?

-Bash a fag for Christ!

-But you don’t give up?

-Of course not. THEY don’t!

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Tuesday, April 28, 2015



Brell, the first white woman to
marry a black robot!

Got knows she’s Liberal, so it goes
well enough.

But, he’s been manufactured in India,
and thus, Oxford accent.

Puts the rest of us off. Uppity.

Wouldn’t in Green-witch Village, I suppose,
but this is Marauder, Oklahoma.

I want to add For God’s Sakes! -–but, better
brought up than that.

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Monday, April 27, 2015



He was letter-perfect on the script, debating
Flap Algent on The Rising Sub.

With the other, not so.

The Gonch, on The Left Will Rise Again, kept
interrupting him, for one thing.

Anyway, two “risings” from Right and Left each.

Mr Headly paid in cash. But withheld a twenty.
“Shrieking! my Friend. Let the reasoning go
at times.”

“I try to hammer the points!”

“Go freakin nuts!”

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Sunday, April 26, 2015


Requirements After Dark

The Enormous Funk lasted seven weeks, and then one fine day
I plucked the bills folder from the shelf.

Owed everybody, so I wrote the late checks, ripping up the

Mailed them, some with penalties to teach me a lesson!

I never learned, I suppose. Darkness has its way of cloaking

I did decide to walk to the drug store and pay in person there.

Holkie was a snap person on such matters, so I prepared for his
"You finally paying me? I gotta pay people too you know!"

He up in his lighted enclosure and Stelly at the register, her smile...
her wonderful smile.

But, no Stelly, and Holkie took the check silently.


“Lost her. Some...kinda stroke. Collapses at the register and gone
that night.”

“I’ll miss her terribly!” The first sincere thing I said after the
cessation of the blackness. I had been faking it to make it and was,
therefore, most unsteady.

“Me too.” Both crying.

Her smile stayed with me as I walked home, all the jostling cars
like double their bright colors. Somebody berated a "Tijuana" in
the taxi garage.

Just before I reached my block, Stelly spoke.

"No chance to say goodbye, Rolf."

"I'm so so sorry. I...don't know how I came out of this last one!"

"Ask me not to leave."

I did.

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Saturday, April 25, 2015


His Bell

You couldn't report yourself as missing.

Someone had to miss you, and wonder where
you've gotten to, and, of course, seek the help
of the police.

He went about, expecting a cruiser's stopping,
its blue light spinning down to still.

He had dropped his wallet, probably watching
Omar and Celeste in the new ape enclosure.
Had climbed an old fretwork that the apes had
formerly used, but now outside their fancy one.

Nobody turned it in to Lost and Found.

Just as well, since he forgot his name, and someone
would surely have asked, thence checking driver's license.

Ricky and Elinor, God's New Gifts absolutely, took him
home and fed him, tried questions to jog his memory.

No go.

That night they went to Lefty's Paradise to watch

Giants-Eagle on TV.

There the Professor guessed he had graduated Harvard,
and his fresh companion, the ex chorus boy, opined he
had the quickness of an athlete or dancer.

“Good and healthy and strong!” remarked Sudsy, who
hired him on the spot to unload trucks, flu having swept
his small firm.

Strictly under the table, since no Social Security number.

So he had found friends, a neighborhood, a hangout,
and a job!...and a name, Chauncey, bestowed by the Professor.

Not bad for his first disconcerting day.

That late night on the daybed gracing the sun porch,
he tried to fit some things together.

No use, but he replayed the football game in acutest detail.

Maybe that was kind of key?

Beatrice got interested in his story. She despatched trucks,
and started bringing him lunch. They dated, and eventually
he left his cozy daybed for her cramped studio apartment.

“Believe me, Chaunce fills it up without yours truly!”

Beats had season tickets for the Jets, but had promised them
to others in her family, but not for any playoff games.

The Bengals coming in for the first round got Chauncey so
excited he could hardly speak.

The old man checking the ticket with some sort of wand cried,
"Buzz Ackley! and they couldn’t find YOU better seats than THESE?"

Ripper Collins later sought him out with his mike for the Jumbotron.
..."But I'm not sure I'm he."

"Well, I'm sure! That ‘he’ gives it away: Pure Yalie!"

He took him down to the field and the young players, of course,
couldn't recognize him, but the twin gray-bearded trainers,
Hip and Bix, hugged him together, and massaged his shoulders.

She worked her laptop that evening. "You live in Nutley," she
told him, "18 Appletree Lane, wife Cindy, girl at Trenton State,
boy in Air Force."

They drove there next day, and Cindy fainted.

Detectives Markham and Pesticci were present, making sure that
Beats’ cautious phone call to Cindy wasn’t a con, and knew how to
revive her. Too, they swabbed his mouth for DNA. They explained
that they kept his case from the media since they believed it
involved the Mafia taking over sports memorabilia.

“We expected you were wearing a cement overcoat at the bottom
of a  polluted pond in The Meadowlands somewhere.”

Cindy proved completely sure, and needed no DNA, so Beats left.

In a couple of weeks, Buzz recalled almost everything, and the
couple invited Beats back. Cindy told her she'd love her forever!

She became Aunt Beats at Christmas etc. to the youngsters
back from college and the Air Force.

Cindy, strangely, never had a jealous bone.

All the characters in this story of forgetting are pretty

Buzz has more than his share of where did I put my...?
but functions appropriately enough for his age.

The League is kicking in to a fund to help those like him.

“I do remember every SINGLE time on the field that my bell
was truly rung!”

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Friday, April 24, 2015


The Existence of the Chinese Palindrome

“Is there even such a a thing?” asks Marcy Chang of
Hong Kong TV, after A man, a plan, a canal--Panama!

Mr ‘Mystery’ replied by smiling. He proved more forthcoming
about the other mottos and proverbs lining his wall.

He translated the one in Spanish to English and to Chinese.
He who is bent on revenge should dig two graves.

“Are there any fun ones?”

“Not really. Some quite grim, but most inspirational in the
American style.”

Every day in every way I'm getting better and better!

Her audience liked that sort of thing the best, so she
pressed sweetly.

But Mr Mystery said that proverb very nearly ended
his life. He had destroyed a previous room because of
his inability to live up to it.

“That much passion! If you'll excuse my saying so, you
don't look...”

“There had been some drinking.”

“And is there now?”

“None! A day at a time.”

“Are you AA?”

“No, but Mr Mystery is.”

A fire in Kowloon, so Marcy had to wrap it up.

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Thursday, April 23, 2015


The American Constitutional Monarchy

Hardly without bitter opposition from other families with
ancient claims, but the Holy Zollerns were picked to be
America's Royal Family.

The "Holy" came through a smattering of priests, ministers,
and even rabbis.

But the best recommendation consisted of a crop of
handsome wastrels.

From that, not ecclesiastics of course, a King would be chosen.

As it was. King Hogate, the initial ruler of the American
Constitutional Monarchy!

“Twenty-Second Century,” gloated Senator Bissing(OK)
“and we have finally finally arrived!”

Hogate, the greatest wastrel of them all, a former ski-surf bum,
instantly took the reins--and the women.

It didn't go well with the former.

"I'm ruling by whatchacallit, Divine Right! Constitution's
a shit-rag."

When a delegation from Congress protested, he made
them kiss his feet, and kowtow backwards from the throne
room. All shown on video worldwide.

And too much of a demeaning disgrace even for a royalist

The women especially disheveled and hysterical.

At this historical point, Senator Einhuss of Pennsylvania, toasted
at Washington's Turf Club, "Long live the King! The new one, not
this stupid fuck!"

But they really hadn't made adequate plans for succession, and the
competing royal families started up again.

Intolerable. The King himself vowed beheadings, but couldn't
take the time away from weed and women.

His Guard surrounded him with machine pistols, always.

Which they, following historical tradition, turned on him.

Thus the American Royalist Experiment lasted about a year.

In another one, most of that persuasion were assassinated,
fled, or converted back to shoddy democracy.

After all this Civil War chaos, The New American Republic
was instituted.

It proved the old one, with even more bribery.

Most of the remaining Royalists followed their money to Bermuda,
looking hairy-knobby-kneed in the national shorts.

The young king is mourned, eighteen international films being made.

The tragedy is being exploited on Ebay, daily auctions of royal souvenirs that individual legislators have put up.

“Don’t give a fuck,
turn up a buck.”

But many feel they’ve carried the Congressional Motto too far!

“May you live in interesting times! cursed Chinamen a million
or so freakin years ago,” rapped the Bitchy Bees, a female group
heading, thank God, to Mars.

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Wednesday, April 22, 2015


Always One

So the left-idiots tag us with “Benghazi Party?”

We decide to have a Benghazi Party!

Some come as corpses.

Great weed and super platinum booze, all
contributed by suck-ass lobbyists.

Only one sour note: stupid fuck brings a
real gun and shoots out the kitchen globe.

Shower of glass.

Always a stupid fuck!

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Tuesday, April 21, 2015



The Latest Thinking

-There IS Pie in the Sky! It's for Wealthy,
of course. But, crumbs fall.

-And, if I run around hysterically, with
my maw agape?

-You'll benefit!

-And, since I'm standing, like to present
my jive version of The Star Spangled...

-Like? I'd say it's a requirement. But, sing
it straight. We always prefer Straight.

-Not in thinking.

-No, never there.

-When did your bullshit start? That it could
reach this enormous wattage?

-Why, with God.

-He's a Republican then?

-Another insane one! We could never run 'im.

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Monday, April 20, 2015


Propaganda Barbie

We’re dyed in the wool! Nuff said! But it was a mistake
to give our only granddaughter a Benghazi Doll.

It repeated Benghazi so many times that I had to cut off
the strap in back with its pull-ring.

O did she scream and cry! But we bought both of them
identical cowgirl outfits, and she calmed down.

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Sunday, April 19, 2015


The Future of Sex

Estelle-7 and Mona-4 couldn't stop
quarreling. Their human husbands
kept them apart, so the insults sped 


All to the effect of sex: which robot had
the techniques that madden thoroughly?
Insuring wondrous ecstasy! Uh huh?

The Robot World specialized in hyperbole.

And when the husbands didn't really seem
to care about the fighting, the state butted in.

The men ordered to sell the robots.

And take on Dorotheas. These models
discussed history and literature.

And joined civic groups.

Robot Resale handled the auction.
Winner of both: Rev Cotton Mather--
yes a descendent, but no fire-breather.

A temperate clergyman, though giddy
notes started creeping into his sermons.

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Saturday, April 18, 2015


The Ivy Snob

Nets of Silver and Gold

Rens met the trio in the laundry room.
Two six-packs, and they kept offering
beers. They had just come out of the
state university, and were alarmingly
allusive in Lit and History.

After a few beers, Rens told them.
“Look! I’m a snob. Just let it go!
Underneath I’m even worse.”

“We never met anyone like you. Should be
in a case at the Smithsonian,” laughed Wynken.

“Brilliantly lit!” added Blynken.

“And revolving!” screamed Nod. Yes, screamed!
He had gotten a head start by drinking in
the afternoon.

From then on, a quartet. Rens felt inferior
to their quick wit, and read the books that had
been actually assigned in the courses he had
bullshitted through.

With girls, different. They had three steadies
from the opinion survey team they worked on.

Rens had none and no possibilities. He worked
for his uncle in Finance, bouncing around
small New Jersey branches.

Gwennie coming along one night for no apparent
reason, Blynken phoned Rens.

She proved...Chemistry! At least that’s how he
tried explaining it.

And a great beauty!

“Great Beauty my ass! I wanna DO something in
this world. Not ornament it. And Chemistry begins with C. There’s a whole range of other letters!”

She moved into his studio apartment after a bit,
and they often lapsed into theoretical talk of

“My mother’d love you! Manners. She eats that
crap up!”

The quartet, and the one of girls, did several
things together. Great days and nights!”

Then Wynken told him that the trio would be
‘sailing off in their wooden shoe.’ Grad work at
Indiana where they got a pretty good deal for all.

“Of course, we want you too.”

“Impossible!” he pronounced in French. “And you don’t NEED...”

“Not a great mystery, Rens. We love you.”

He told Gwennie that night, with the news, too,
that his uncle’s firm was establishing headquarters in Newark, leaving Wall Street. So he had to move there in the new scheme. 

He omitted the uncle’s racist jokes involving spear-carrier guides.

“Trains run both ways,” she told him. “Love can move with them.”

Altogether too much ‘love’ of a day and evening, and he stayed up late reading his lease and figuring an escape 

from it.

Gwennie slept nested in his old JPress shirt, singing, just audibly, the Broadway tunes her mother adored.

It felt so pretty he fell asleep at his computer.

Woke up in the red light of his clock radio, face soaked 

with tears.

“This...won’t do!” he informed 3:00 AM.

“A River of Crystal Light,” muttered Gwennie.

“Go back to sleep. No such thing.”

“Where are you going, and what do you wish?”

“Nowhere. Nothing.”

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Friday, April 17, 2015


Societal Seeing

 “I see,” said Dorsel.

“I too!” from Max, followed
by Maxine's nod.

Rands, however, took some
convincing from them.

Finally came aboard!

But then Bertram announced (He always

"In truth, you all SEE nothing but what
you're programmed to see. That hasn't
changed in many years, and won't.”

"Uh huh?" laughed Dorsel.

“Your ideas, even when you think them
daring, fit a well-worn groove the
authorities are more than comfortable with.”

His Loretta entered the room. "Stop it, Bert!
People can stand only so much reinventing
of the wheel."

“It's completely caved in and utterly useless!”
spat Bert. “Decay is all!”

When those two left, Maxine sneered
“Such men are dangerous! L-except.”

L-except meant that as a literary allusion
it was free of the requirement to use "persons."

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Thursday, April 16, 2015



Pell and Marion were smallish, the couple on the wedding cake.

Therefore, the experiment had a good chance.

He dressed as her and she, him.

They were to meet Cliff and Di, both probably sloshed.

Were. So it wasn’t that difficult pulling it off. Though both imitative
voices sounded like the beginning of colds.

The only emergency came with Hops dropping by. Pell, as Marion,
insisted he have a drink. Too much an opening for Hops as he
told two raunchy jokes involving Chinese girls, then put his arm
around “Marion” who finally shoved him away when he began singing.

But Hops was none the wiser either.

Once home, our Wedding Cake couple placed clothing on the bed,
and each hung things back up in separate closets.

Except for the underwear, which went into the hamper.

Pell dangled the bra last, and then dropped it in.

-Had no real use for this!

-Don’t have much of a one myself.

-The package may be small, but, ah, it’s pretty!

-Don’t get any ideas.

-I wasn’t. But I’m not tired.

-I have no desire to talk about the evening. It came off well enough.

-But you’re left...?


-Too easy?

-Isn’t everything?

-Did you get jealous when Hops...?

-It’s a clown show, not method acting.

They watched The Late Show, and the timer clicking off
found them asleep.

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Wednesday, April 15, 2015


At Aunt Jemima’s Quilting Party

she sent home Uncles Tom and Ben. Women only!

No Race Gal, she had invited Scarlet O’Hara and
Jeannie With the Light Brown Hair.

The former bored on and on concerning myths of
White Southern Womanhood!

The latter flitted about, bearing her hair. Jemima got
them down to quilting, though Scarlet insisted on
sitting on her lap.

Well, you couldn’t quilt that way, so Jemima placed
her among the blackest women.

Simon Legree came to the door to do his horrible thing.
He had been tasked with keeping an eye on all uncles.

Jemima, though, turned him away so fast his atrocious
head was spinning!

The chattering quilters were making so much noise
that nobody could think! Even drowning out the beaters
of the feet on the Mississippi mud outside!

Jemima shouted that the dancers were turning that mud
into concrete for Uncle Tom’s and Ben’s heads!

That proved the laugh of the night! Finally you couldn’t hear
the dancers, who, discouraged, quit. Save one who rapped:

De fat black broad gets uppity
n’ make de party for white hos.

Racist dick he come to doh,
look for de crazy uncles. He

try seeing all de tits,
and mean as catshit!

Jemima invited him in for catfish, but Jeannie with the Light
Brown Hair started her borne-vaporing again, distracting

Scarlet retched about her lost dump of a house: “Plantation!”

Jemima laughed uproariously, and was particularly jolly to all!

Where will we find her like again? Old Black Joe, he done gone!

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Tuesday, April 14, 2015


What's in Your Swiss Surprise?

The One Person With Sense

Heck's ID doesn’t work at the cafeteria as he waves
his phone. Loudspeaker announcing: "ID not verified!"

A guard takes him to a janitorial closet.

All the brooms and mops hanging there are brand new,
still encased in plastic on the business end.

“How long, Lord? How long?”

“Not SO...!”
answers a male voice through the door,
followed by Gloria's “We just verified your ID!”

Indeed the loudspeaker instantly announcing
“This verification brought to you by the men
and women of Your National Guard!”

The door clicks open and Gloria...a crowd quickly
gathers because of her beauty.

She introduces him to the 1-PS which she had
magnetically drawn to her.

“I'm told there's a real shortage of you 1-PSrs,”
remarks Hecks.

“I have trouble myself when I'm looking for one!”

“I found him at the Big Salad Bowl!” Gloria gushes.

“Skip it today. Wiltorama!” -exiting 1-PS as a
camera crew arrives, and follows the couple into
the cafeteria.

He gets the Swiss Surprise.

Gloria, as the cameraman explores her every
angle except up the you know what, tells
Biff Ocknell of 6-Flash News, "They had him in
a broom closet, so I just reached in and grabbed
the best one!”

They break for commercial. Just before the camera
lights come on again, Loretta Spaldino, informs
Gloria: “Say mop this time, reached in for best MOP!”

“But I already said broom!”

“Nobody remembers. Quick survey tells us mop.”

“With the crew finally absconded, Gloria asks him
what’s in his Swiss Surpise.

“I don't know. Cheese.”


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Monday, April 13, 2015


Stages of an Office

Conservative Goal

I fill out forms. I know, we all do. But it's my living.

And an easy one, until I get a 5206. Nothing auto-fills
there. Everything must be filled in. And correctly!

Or face the wrath of one, Jeanetta.

The sessions with her are memorable. Literally.
You're given things to remember.

Such as

In 14e of 5206
A dash will do it all,
while 14f is wall to wall!
And there are other tricks!

This is just a smattering of the humiliating times
I spent with this “poetic” fussbudget!

Really! I have a Master's Degree!

Headly Merse had the same difficulties, but his
solution was to fetch her a Polack with a
seven-word vocabulary for a week in the woods.

He set about doing just that. No one every
found out how he did it, but Founder's Week
we were always given off, and...

Mr and Mrs Eddings, the Mom and Pop the
present employees had never seen, "celebrated"
in a flag-bedecked suite in Bide-a-Bit. But they
were too Altzheimed out to sense much.

Anyway, Jeanetta, came back refreshed and easy-
oozie. "Let all the sticky forms...go! They're a
pain in the ass. I'll handle 'em."

So, the Polack was some physician of sex! Wow!

Unfortunately, he was also now a broken man.
Everybody in Shipping remarked on it. Then...

a rogue forklift pinned him against the far
interior of a truck.

He rehabbed for a month, and when he came back,
had the most eccentric walk in the valley.

And never spoke again, though mumbled.

Was quietly retired by the company, Jeanetta's vote
being the deciding one.

Thus was Jeanetta at the peak of her power, but you'd
never know it day-to-day. She was sunshine!

There can be cloudy frames. And the one big one:
Her Mercedes shot into an overflow pond during
Hurricane Arturo, and she drowned.

Instead of her, we now have Royal. And many
days his Mrs too. Those are great days because
she brings in French Pastries from Pierre's,
the boxes decorated with crowns.

Royal eliminated ALL forms! I'm now busy
writing the history of the firm.

He's mostly austere, but does drop by
with severely rationed words of small talk.
His management style is...well simply
not apparent. But classy.

His wife is, of course, terrific!

Then, enter Melissa, on Spring Break from Smith.

Even sweeter than her mother!

But, one day of cool morning and Spring-Fever afternoon,
she leaves her ski jacket.

This precipitates a crisis because Bill Hepple
a down-the-line accountant is caught embracing,
and kissing and whispering to it. And detaching
the expired lift tickets!

By me, who really has no authority over him, but tell
him to knock it off!

"I can't help it, because I'm a Royalist!”

"We all support Royal!"

No, I don't mean that in the way you're saying it.
"They're the Royal Family! I'd give my LIFE!"

I had always been a democracy guy, and this was
all pretty upsetting.

Fast forward five years and I’m okay with it, since
I’m Pope.

Only in the yearly procession of course, but
with an unlimited budget for vestments.

The processions always go swimmingly!

The exception was the first one. The Polack
very nearly ruined it by prostrating himself
sarcastically, and mumbling fiercely in Polish
and English.

All looked to the Pope, sensing a spiritual

I  blessed him with utmost peering deliberation.
“Arise! My son!”

Lion became weirdly-walking lamb, and the
procession continued

Not a dry eye.

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Sunday, April 12, 2015


Only in America

The Dollar Store Detective
told Hasan Morrisey of the
City Police that the killer
used an electric toothbrush.

Sure enough, a check of the
more notorious flophouses
yielded Scutz Halp, and he,
and spinning brush, seized.

Soon, State Police started dropping
by, and DSD perused their files while
stocking shelves.

The real Jewel in the Crown was
the FBI, with agents helping him
unload a truck.

Dorine and Max, the owners, first
thought to fire him, but when Channel
Six 'Panic News and Worse Weather' came
along, they learned his publicity value.

Too, Dorine had a video camera and starting
filming, with Max as director.

They sold the store--no time!--but the genius
criminologist remained there to be a consultant
to D&M Productions as they signed Hillman
Dempsey, the former "Roger Brillands, Dance
Instructor Sleuth," to play him in a new series.

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Saturday, April 11, 2015


The Next Gallic War

French banning super-
skinny models, thus

partially unboning
the absurd sashay

of anorexics, a walk both
angular and sweep-
ing to flaunt

Monsieur's rags with
attitudes of gangsters.

All the rage!
Turn the page?

I don't know, there's, too, toy-
ing with someone's living...
though resembling boys.

Snaps Marcel Floatloafers:
“Shall I foist plump
farm girls with flushed
cheeks and giggles then?”


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Friday, April 10, 2015


The Final Solution

-The Catholic Church is too nit-picky in declaring
martyrs, and it therefore takes too long. Thus, we’ve started The Martyrs’ Bureau.

-And as a Conservative Protestant Patriot, I’m applying!

-Who’s tormenting you?


-No one takes them seriously!

-Then, other religious. All because I insist that God
is a tree and not a rock!

-Let me get my pen.

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Thursday, April 09, 2015


Advice in a Red State

-Where am I going wrong as the conservative
governor of a conservative state?

-The ideas are pure in the abstract. Put them
into force and they’re beyond ridiculous!

-Thus the whole world gets a horselaugh?

-‘fraid so.

-If you live for The Ideal, the naysayers tear you down!

-Somebody around here doing that former?

-Okay, okay! Sarcasm noted. I’m still a politician.

-Then start acting like one! Not John Galt 

inhaling his pissy pants!

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Wednesday, April 08, 2015



On a middling Summer morning the capital awoke to find
a puddle of chocolate covering the valley to a one-inch depth.

People went a little crazy with spoons and cups and bowls.

Governor Retz ordered out the full state police, but few
enforcement problems presenting themselves, they joined in!

The national press hit on “Frenzy!” but they would use words like
that to ridicule us. Hicks, mid the greasy “Sophistication” of the
rest of the country.

All the chocolate was gone by the end of the day. Eaten on the
spot or stored.

The speculation began. A joke by a billionaire? Somehow...
naturally occurring? What?

Never been answered.

Fortunately remnants of Hurricane Esther-Ann sped through and
thrashed the odors away.

They, alone, had made many people sick.

After that, Hacks Loney of The Morning Drive ran the best retrospective. Awfully hard, though, on Chef Dupierre of the Excelsior Spa and Casino. 

Chocolate Bacon and Eggs drawing his sustained rancor.

"And even anorexics acquired tiny pot bellies," he did go on, "a sure sign they fell off their boney-ass wagon!"

Again, the rest of the nation decries his vulgarity, but they’re fairies.

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Tuesday, April 07, 2015


Me’s On Scene

-Why the long face?

-Went out with my personas last night.

-But your reputation is one central person. Admirable!

-That’s baloney! I’m dealing with a whole bunch
of me’s.

-How can you stand it?

-I can’t! Told them all to get the fuck out!


-Pretty much successful, but The Comedian was
sucking around at breakfast.

-Did you give him some toast?

-Give ‘im nothing! He’ll eat the whole freakin world!

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Monday, April 06, 2015


Original Thoughts

-My editor is on the warpath for SOMEthing 
outa me!

-An idea! Trace a Conservative idea from 

its beginnings in Puritan sermons to its 
present use by imbeciles.

-That's...really not bad.

-The beauty of it is I get to skip the entire 

middle portion. Mud Flats!

-Maybe I shouldn't write that intellectual part.

-A blessing on me! A barefoot boy!

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Sunday, April 05, 2015


She did all she knew

him to please! Had been an independent businesswoman.

International, as a matter of fact! Enter the right young man.
In the past where one vowed heat, she had laughed, keeping it
casual enough until the next.

Well, she had no time for sexual and emotional depth!--if such
exists and isn't simply invented.

But this new one assumed control, and the independent woman
took orders.

First he dressed her. So, he no longer called her The Crowd.

But she, opting for some solo effect, bought bright accessories,
so he changed the nickname to The Loud.

Then he toned her down overall. But too much!–-so he admitted
by labeling her The Dowd.

What happened to her then formed a local legend: She kept
forgetting things.

Thus, The Cloud!

Well, you'll be pleased to know that The Cloud retained enough
wherewithal to cut HIM loose!

Thus jettisoning, too, the Extraordinary Sex! Uh huh? Terribly
tragic! Yup.

She gave over most of the management of her company to two
sharp young women, and has semi-retired to a crazily rambling
warehouse-y hulk overlooking the raw Pacific near Carmel.

There you'll see her in jeep and jeans, not giving a shit about how
she looks.

Well,  you can take Bohemia too far too, but she has a way to go
to rank with her former idiocy.

And a boyfriend after long last! But he's an old fart who loves
the classics, and seeks not to dress, rather educate her.

Oh oh! The same thing really? Nope. This she enjoys tremendously,
reading voraciously, challenging his theories with relish.

Yet...only a few wine bottles short of giving him his Walking Papers, too.

Thence, celibacy will reign a good while, and then?

Makes no difference if you color her The Proud!

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Saturday, April 04, 2015


Dream Factory

 After the previous night, when both Rip and Caroline actually
left him, Hobie proved scattered in the important scene,
dropping a drink when he toasted the end of the Interstellar War.

But the Polish director wouldn’t reshoot. “Good! Stupido!
Ev-body stupido!”

Also his metallic pants made his rectum itch so, he cried.

“Good! Cry. Is happy time, so cry because!”

Hobie finally got to Dr Rolski, the studio’s European Publicist,
in town to translate in this shipwreck of a production.

“After I graduated from Krakow and signed on here, they told
me Dream Factory, which I correctly translated to Bullshit Factory!
Anyway, I can’t say anything to the director, who belongs in an
institution, American OR Polish. Better, American, since 

his English is better than his Polish.

Hobie sunk back into the sofa in Rolski’s cluttered Winnebago.
“In English, Polish, French or German, my life is flying apart!”

“Join the club!”

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Friday, April 03, 2015


Trade For Pot of Gold?

Choreography Up Big

-Then they go into a great snatching dance, where they race hither and yon and snatch at things. 

This time they're bellboys, and it's luggage.

-Uh huh? And where is the Big Snatch?

-She's checking slowly lifts a fleshy arm...they drop the bags and instantly slide in to her on their knees!

-Worship mode? How could she have waited so patiently? If bullshit were electricity, they could power every theater on Broadway!

-In a stranger, yet parallel vein, Fred Allen cracked "If Adam were a chorus boy, there'd be no human race!"

-We lucked out then.

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Thursday, April 02, 2015


Fruitful Dialog

-We have become massively precise. I can tell you
when Eskimos shit, thus when not to send our
commercials though the frozen ether.

-Of course! Since a Cray spins at HQ. Plus each minion
possesses desktop, laptop, tablet, smartphone...on and on!

-The result being? By your cynical lights?

-We have become massively INCOMPETENT!

-You exaggerate.

-It’s an Art Form presently!

-Avant Garde or highly ritualized?


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Wednesday, April 01, 2015


Garbage on the Wabash

Discovering the Forward World 
in a Backwards State

-Those Indiana Republicans are pissed at Social Media. 

“It distorts, etc! Jumps the freakin gun!”

-Uh huh? What’s the subtext here?

-What kinda world is it when we fuck you and
get caught immediately?

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In Another Country

 -You have the right office, but the wrong country!

-Where have I been?

-I was about to ask.

-Touring England with a Beatles Tribute band.

-Which are you? They never had a Boris Karloff.

-I'm in the business end. And aren't you exaggerating
somewhat? A Brad Pitt I'm not, but...

-We'll put Boris on your license. No use using real names
just yet. New country and all.

-And starting crookedly?

-The more things change...

-What will this cost me?

-A dinner. Your money will only be stolen down the line.

-Ah hah! Girls still wanna have more fun?

-You got that right! Now put on your best Boris Karloff smile
while I snap a few digital beauties. I'll put it on the UN Approved Form, laminate same.

-Didn’t they go home after the referendum?

-Nope. Partying on! At any rate, they imported a French restaurant,
and we'll go there. There's nothing else in this shithole.

-Excuse YOUR French?

-No apology for accuracy.

-Bye the bye, why does it REALLY stink so?

-They closed the State Meatpacking Plant. Not too carefully.

-Another triumph of Socialism?

-Actually, was run by an American firm. So, Triumph of

-They're running neck and neck.

-And, after dinner, what? Movie, Boris?

-I don't know. I guess. We're playing on an entirely new
field here!

-We'll make it familiar.

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