Wednesday, June 17, 2015
No posts until 1 July
Tuesday, June 16, 2015
Party Like It's Nixon
-I'm dancing and I don't care WHOever says I look like a goddamn fool!
-Fuck 'em!
-The first twenty anyhow!
-And save the rest till tomorrow!
-I’m hot enough for my natural rhythm to come through!
-And Blackies try claiming only they
got it.
got it.
-Just don't bother going there.
Labels: "Natural Rhythm", dancing, Nixon, party, rhythm
Sunday, June 14, 2015
The S*x of R*bots
-Well, we finally got the Department Robot writing all
the software!
-Which leaves us squat to do!
-Hark! I hear Management Robot sharpening
his ax.
-Lance. We’re to be run through.
-Not I! said the little red hen.
-Rooster, rather.
-Once upon a time. Anyway, Gert and I pulling
the trigger soon on a little three-bungalow
outfit in the Adirondacks. Live in one and...
-...rent the other two to seniors farting their
way into the actual sunset?
-One. The other reserved for Honeymooners
fucking their way to Early Primate.
-No thanks. Besides, I’m not worried. I think the
Robot loves me.
-Terrif! Will work out the way for you it would
with a human man.
-Man? Thought it was a woman.
-Hey, pick your sex, or exact gradation therof.
We’ll stick a module in!
-I’d like him-her wild!
-Done!...when high minds get horny...
-Don’t finish that! Let me show it!
Labels: Adirondacks, high minds, honeymoon, horny, priimate, programming, robot, robotics, senior, sex
Saturday, June 13, 2015
How happy after
suitable griefs
to raid the meds
of the deceased
with permission
of widow or -er.
There, the yearned-
for jiffy means
to lift or depress, fudge
or decorate pain. And when...
so finally doth ALL it flip, and thus
becometh one's own
grave wrench? Why,
pass on the stash!
A form of flash-
ing scholarship.
Labels: addiction, death, drugs, meds
Friday, June 12, 2015
Young Law
Fresh from law school, neither Lorne or Erin find work.
So they decide to sue...anyone. For giggles and experience.
Enter Chuckie McCoy. Fierce Socialist, but money in the
family--though he pretends otherwise.
With his spurring, the attorneys file suit against a small
beachwear manufacturer, seeking damages for flagrant
violations of overtime regulations.
They thought the Judge, while not dismissing things as
frivolous, would throw it back to the proper government
agency regulating same.
But, under the Republicans, regulation little or none, so he,
a Democrat, lets it go on.
In the meantime, our fledgling attorneys do get hired by
separate law firms. They keep the case as a sort of service,
social hobby. The firms came aboard too, warily.
Two years pass, and the original manufacturer absorbed
by a rapacious conglomerate, which wants messy legal
triviality off the books, so a meeting arranged to forge
a settlement in a baronial penthouse boardroom atop a
new skyscraper of flash and aluminum.
They offer to pay ten thousand to each aggrieved worker.
The young lawyers pour sarcasm back.
The initial Socialist has become a maniacal Righty, but such
metamorphosis alters little re immediate Justice--except
the reluctance to pursue it.
Just really curbs civilized expression.
What’s finally resolved: Workers receive fifteen thousand each.
PCM in Conglomerate-Speak.
Paper clip money.
Since, their efforts pro bono, of course, our attorneys get
nothing, but their firms like the PR value: fighting for the
underdog, and sweeten their bonuses thereby.
The former Socialist glad to see it all end: embarrassed
by his once shrieking out for the little guy crushed by
etc etc etc.
Now he’s for the Freedom for that same little guy to
choose to be crushed.
Inside, doesn’t feel that different.
Labels: conglomerate, Justice, Law, lawyer, overtime, Right, socialism
Thursday, June 11, 2015
Coffee
Appearances
Hopsey Cranow halted in midsts of outdoor tables at Beanie’s Grind, a 'Worldly Coffee Emporium.'
Trucks huffily contended through fetid pools in this rundown industrial slice.
“Oh the precious poopie of it all!”
wisecracked he to strangers. "Croissants in wildly miraculous variations! Coffee to gag a maggot!
All alone? Try a scone?"
Whereupon a Gryphon traversed the bags of Sumatran in the shop, flew out through the open window,and seized him by the throat.
Over!
Detective Andrew later asked Brett and
Undine of Columbia University to describe it.
“An enormous flying entity, particularly
odoriferous.”
They knew was a Gryphon, of course,
but awaiting Good Morning America
in order to reveal such.
Labels: coffee, Columbia, gryphon, pretension
Wednesday, June 10, 2015
The Judy Garland Yacht Basin
Actually, just a small park where
the kids launched their toy sailboats.
But, unknown to Bud, reason for the
slang title, men met there past curfew.
He knew of no curfew himself, often
walking late at night, sitting on a bench
and thinking.
A process interrupted by a police raid
one evening.
Even in a Fascist municipality, he was
quickly dismissed, Judge Roark suggesting
he nocturnally ramble elsewhere.
He kept to his studio apartment, wearing
a path into the carpet.
Until Sudsy, his downstairs neighbor,
remarking on his soft singing one day
in the elevator: "I know why the caged
lion sings."
A knock when one not possible one evening,
and it's Father Maguire. "Trolling," he
claims, "but not in the cyber sense."
Yes, his family had belonged. No he never...
Well, he'd try Mass, uh huh?
He did, and before long was roped into helping
with the Youth Group. Joining Stelly, as the only
singles chaperoning.
She had lost a husband in Iraq, and was mega
serious.
No hope there?
Well, a couple of coffee dates, and much more
talk than both were used to.
Emptying, to reveal the unfortunate truth.
At work, Ripper and Sunday told him of tests
to ascertain whether she was crazy.
Since most were, it seemed the best course
not to apply any.
The big event for the kids was New Years Midnight
Mass, followed by breakfast.
Stelly and he did the cleanup, and he walked her
home post 3AM.
Never to really return to his studio--thereafter only
used for storage.
Well, what Rome doesn't know...?
The Italian Period of Sensed Religious Anxiety
wouldn’t be lengthened, however.
The couple had a small wedding in April, wily
Fr Maguire presiding.
Are they happy?
Two adults, so there's a fair enough chance.
She, of course, is not crazy. A little too much
the other way, but they're working on it.
Labels: Catholic, crazy, crazy women, hook-up, Iraq, Judy Garland, lonely, priest, restless, Youth Group
Tuesday, June 09, 2015
Buying Time
Deal
-Amazing they could scour all the blood
from the Plaza’s stones. I strolled through
a wedding last week. Bride,
cream-ivory-white, her attendants peaches!
When the sun slid from
clouds, the effect was brilliant!
from the Plaza’s stones. I strolled through
a wedding last week. Bride,
cream-ivory-white, her attendants peaches!
When the sun slid from
clouds, the effect was brilliant!
-Delicious sundae, yes? How...long
can Mars rest?
can Mars rest?
-Forever, unless goaded by Money’s usual insane rage for ever more.
-We’ll beg them sign a paper to say they’re satisfied.
-Get us a year, then?
-The youngsters can get wed, edging
out required suicidal patriotism for a bit.
out required suicidal patriotism for a bit.
Labels: greed, patriotism, war, wedding
Monday, June 08, 2015
Rushing Sounds
Bit of a follower, I’m afraid. So, I went along with him,
even when disaster loomed.
Just ordinary screwups easy enough to handle: get some
hands in there who knew how to clean things up.
But...the hurt afterwards, and avoidance of him!
AND me. Unfazed, he! “I welcome their hate!”
Well I didn’t, so I started pulling away.
He got married! And she is very nearly worse.
Case in point, the D’Onofrio girl, worried to death
about going to dance with bare shoulders pretty
scarred by acne.
“Can you say Craters of the Moon?” the new wife
slid in. He continued in the same vein, of course:
“I told her not to worry. She’s black enough
to resemble the dark side!”
That was enough even for me, and I laid both of
them out, citing the proverb Fools rush in where
angels fear to tread.
“Pussy angels? Why does that not surprise me?”
“We’re opting for the other place,” adds she.
“Fewer bores!” he laughs.
“Freedom!”
Labels: '"Freedom", angels, boors, follower, Fools rush in, heaven, Hell, Italian, manners, prejudice
Sunday, June 07, 2015
Drama Queens
We called them The Three Drama Queens. Steffi,
Denise, and Roger's Other Brother, or ROB.
It wasn't that they threw insufferable fits, though
they had on occasion. Mostly, language blown way up,
and the same, of course, for petty hurts.
In the club, each took some tolerance, and President
Craig thought if he busied them, they wouldn't have
time to act out.
He threw the Ice Cream Social at them when the
Carruthers moved away, and it soon started to have
disaster written all over it!
Okay, but so what? There'd have to be some fuss and
bother anyway. It being in August and like a furnace
every year!
And the picnic area requiring some repair after some
benches had collapsed after the long winter, and left
in that decrepit state while unhurried Carl got bids.
ROB handled that himself, complaining endlessly. No one
allowed to help, especially to touch his tools.
Plus, our usual ice cream distributor left the business!
So, it'd all be a challenge for non-Drama Queens!
Immense success! And the trio acted normally,
even moreso, and quite welcoming to the members
and families who seldom came out for anything.
True that ROB became famous for claiming "I'm melting on
this very SPOT!" And repeating it.
And Steffi and Denise went at each other as the day
wound down, but it wasn't that noticeable because they
did it in slicing whispers.
The kids tried to gobble every flavor up, since things could
get soupy quickly, and some got ‘Ice Cream Eye’ and screamed,
but our female DQs proved motherly in applying warm facecloths.
A scientific note: Chocolate Macadamia caused the most problems
that way.
President Carl tried to sign them on for next year, but they exploded
in unison: "No way, José!"
But we’ve been learning, and take that for a yes.
Labels: acting out, club, Drama Queen, ice cream, making a show, petty hurt
Saturday, June 06, 2015
In and Out
Our whole company involved The Box. You stayed
locked in, or burst out.
That is you did things traditional, Steady-Eddie, or
you innovated.
Most of us stuck with good ole Eddie.
The innovators could get wild! A crazy bunch.
The whole business proved workable for most
companies, but ours, finally, got stuck.
At first, this handled by everybody going into
the community one day a week. But, such action
turned out wretchedly since the community
harbored hatred, but didn't have a way to fully
express it until now.
In the Board Emergency Meeting, Dr Renslow
shouted "What we need is The Man on Horseback!"
Thus we got Carlos...then a string of ten names.
Cadiz royalty of sorts, and Olympic Equestrian.
We pasted to HQ windows the day he rode in, accoutered
in silver, on his pale horse.
Well, he was interested in only half the work force,
the women.
A big scandal followed many petty ones, and out he
galloped, an embracing female assistant in back of him.
Nude. Yes, that’s what I said.
New CEO, Rhodine Dirks, aka The Ax Woman!
She went so far with it, she fired herself!
This much chaos, the Master of All Chaos had
to step in: The Government!
So we really work for Uncle now! And are
therefore subject to the scathings of
Congressional Committees.
The Republicans praise the box dwellers:
rock-ribbed, American Values, etc.
They damn the burster-outers as Socialists,
responsible for the ills of the company and
the world.
The Democrats came in and put through an
anti-hierarchy bill. Now we have no positions
of authority. But, no, we don't call each other
Comrade!
The Next Chapter? Well, there can't be one, really.
Just been named a Department. And now a cabinet
seat for the former Sad Randolph, The Totally
Defunct and Ragged Cowboy Clown.
He’ll be the best cabinet officer ever, no contest!
Labels: Cabinet, CEO, Democrat, employee, firing, government takeover, innovation, Man On Horseback, organization, reorganization, Republican
Friday, June 05, 2015
I am dying, Egypt, dying
When Little Egypt passed,
Hennesy of The World apprised
sidekick Curly Ames: “History!”
“Oh yeah? Hootchie-choocher
up there with Treaty of Ghent?”
In the style of American Acid
very nearly almost alive presently.
Spreadsheets don’t
contain malcontents.
Labels: Antony, Cleopatra, Egypt, Little Egypt, sarcasm, Shakespeare, spreadsheet
Thursday, June 04, 2015
Acrid Pair
“You can have your tramps, just
don't bring them home here!”
A low blow, decidedly, so Budge
mentioned what he called her
‘Great Punctured Romance!’
It hadn't been much then, but the
crying most bitter now.
Anyway, she ordered him out, and
told him with scarlet-faced scorn
to get his clothes later.
Clothes. When he lived by himself,
they were seldom clean.
"You always look so nice!" praised Letty,
tending bar at Mert and Mickey's.
"And smell the same!" Mickey added.
He had left Mert for a young professor
at Yale. She stayed away thereafter.
"Out of the closet and into Education!"
this aggrieved one, now sobbing at the bar,
had laughed once.
“As much as I can handle!” Mickey remarked,
pouring himself a Becks, so Letty must have
said something.
Anyway, they convinced Budge to go back to
his sister.
"We just had to clear the air!" he insisted on
his return, but then fell back on groveling.
She had the brownies ready, still warm.
Labels: breakup, brother, living arrangement, siblings, sister
Wednesday, June 03, 2015
Ireland votes gay
to shame
a bloodied church.
Which can always fall back, as
if such forever possible, on hate
the sin, and love the sinner.
Who can tell the difference, really?
Yeats said it, as you’d expect,
better, with his dancer-dance.
Preceded by O brightening glance!
And you don’t get many of them
to the pound, do you suppose
he was Bardic everywhere? Say the wife
finally shrieking? “For Jesus Christ’s Sake,
tell me in plain words what you fancy
for dinner!” Or in the pub dissecting
our disgraceful team, maybe saying
The Little Sisters of the Poor’d beat ‘em?
Well, that is poetic, the image
of a wave of nuns advancing
to our goal, concealing, one after
other, the ball in black folds!
Before the coup de grace
of our final humiliation!
Our keeper giving his best
imitation of a man. Or ass.
Labels: Bard, Catholic Church, football, Gay Marriage, Ireland, poetic language, soccer, Yeats
Tuesday, June 02, 2015
Opposites Attract
For those who like music with their dancing,
arrangements can be made to play melodies.*
Renata needed no music, dancing every evening
while watching herself in her studio’s mirror.
So, she was fat and had just the one leg?
Grace was entirely possible.
As were grace notes, such as evinced by redoubtable Sweeney.
Who was fat and had one leg.
Opposite amputations.
“Darling mine!” he very nearly sang, “We’ll strap together
to make one powerhouse performance!”
She still didn’t know, kept imagining how it’d look in the mirror
as she studied herself there.
*Bob and Ray Routine
Labels: amputation, dancing, handicap, mirror, studio mirror
Monday, June 01, 2015
How Arrangements Arrange
Going Condo
My studio apartment is unique in having a nice kitchen.
Tillie McGregor often moaned to me that she couldn’t
make a decent cup of tea, for one. Never mind the
“biscuits,” or cookies.
The lingering odor of the latter when I return proves
worth the minor inconvenience.
Well, really, none of that. As she now uses my kitchen just
after I leave for work. Our two studios have a common door,
which has never been locked, we discover. No, no need to
go through the hallway for her.
Unlike Laurel, we call her Laurie of Wales, who begged
to get hands one my small upright piano, left by a previous
tenant, drunk, and untouched by me. Except for my once in
a blue moon dusting. She would ordinarily go through the
hallway, but Tillie grants permission to enter her apartment first.
She practices while Tillie bakes.
Of course, she must perform, and so the women hold a sort of
recital-feast for me weekly. No bachelor ever happier!
In the foreign exchange section of the bank where both work,
they have chosen to start at noon. Strangely to a non-banker,
but I guess there’s reasonable activity in that period.
When the reasonable activity at my apartment changed a trifle,
I couldn’t put my finger on. Or with whom first. And then...
bit later...cold evenings, three of us buzzed...
Somewhere in there the place went condo, and we bought
our units.
Which we didn’t spare the expense modeling into one.
I treated to the king bed, state of the art.
I know, I know: women will fight in such an arrangement.
Never a cross word, but plenty of hearty Scotch food topped
off with smoky whisky, and lusty hymns from the mines
and moors!
Thunder might issue from pulpits, so these we avoid.
Don’t miss ‘em one damn bit!
Labels: condo, living arrangement, menage de triois, relationships
