Thursday, December 31, 2015


Defining the Movement, 2024

-I don't like to perversely brag,
but, in the Modern Era, nobody
steals like us!

-Grand Old Purloiners?

-You said it! The wimpy party tries...


-We're Masters of the Universe!

-The Congress?

-A Thing of Larcenous Beauty!


-The movements of a Symphony of Financial Chicanery!

-And, where the buck stops? President?

-Never stops, circulates. But in...

-this present Renaissance of Theft?

-He's Da Vinci and Michelangelo combined!

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Wednesday, December 30, 2015


Guarded Old Party

-Well, tidings of comfort …

 -and boys?


 -Just my brand of Republicanism.

-Shame they can’t catch up with you!
They eased you away from that
Chairmanship when it was absolutely
your turn.

-Unfortunately, we must cater to those
mixing snot into speech.

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Tuesday, December 29, 2015


“This New World needs you!”

How could anyone or anything need me, a kid? And in 
New Haven, not New York or Boston.

But Dad and Uncle Art go on, Art reading the letter 
aloud once more. In its gold-like frame.

Even though I’m this very Cub Scout of the Month 
congratulated by Dr Goebbels, the two adults ask me nothing

Art blows on the glass, pulls his shirt out of his pants 
to polish!

Dad takes it from him then, hangs it back on the wall: 
“We’ve been begging him to come here!”

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Monday, December 28, 2015


-Where’s the OUTRAGE?

-That poor old tired question again? Out of steam!

-The government employs whores?

-Well, not a bureau of them. Contractors.

-Which it sends...?

-Ace and Darly are the real poster kids!

-Foreign Intrigue sort of thing?

-Strictly Domestic. Ace to Evangelicals is one ticket.

-But he’s male!


-It’s a sin!

-But they have a wonderful arrangement where
forgiveness is built in.

-That may be, but there’s horrible suffering

-The process seems to have been streamlined.

-And? Who? Darly you say.

-Spoken of in the same breath as Art! Where Ace is the Great Technician, Darly...

-I don’t wanna hear it!

-Men sigh in boardrooms years after.

-I don’t wish to be sarcastic, but we’re being “protected” by these two then?

-Not presently. On vacation.


-That’s their custom.

-What do they DO?

-Nothing. Just chitter-chat and innocent whatever.
Both avid stamp collectors for one. In fact,
Darly got her start amid philandering philatelists.

-Had to work that in?

-Been carrying it around for some time!

-Well, all of this is NOT a joke!

-I don’t know. Before leaving this planet,
everybody has to find out how bizarre it really is.

-We’re speaking of The Nation!

-Very well then, before leaving...

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Sunday, December 27, 2015


Two Couples Impromptu

Fifth Anniversary—Double Bridge Neighborhood Group

Jeanette sang to Cloris as they danced in a hug,

When I’m not near the boy-eee I luh-uve, I love the girl
I’m near!

“We should get back.”

“They’re both swimming in the punch bowl by now.”

“Or…we’ll hafta reward them for waiting,” warned Cloris.

“He’ll get no nookie from THIS cookie!”

Wittiest thing said in the History of Womankind...both ladies,
it must be noted, bit high.
They crashed, giggling, into a drumset, and, through a small
door behind it, crawled into the tight room beneath the stage.

Jeanette kicked the door closed with her foot, cutting
the DJ’s patter.

Hogue and Bokey drained yet another vodka punch.
“This is good shit if they left the strawberry crap
outa it.”

Bokey nodded and then asked, “Should we find the girls?”

“I took mine out as a favor to her brother.”

“And I got mine…I don’t hardly remember.”

“Screw it! They’re probably lesbos anyhow.”

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Saturday, December 26, 2015


The Christmas Party, very nearly shot

-I missed the young people?

-Yeah, my girls left with swarthy strangers.

-Seduction From the Seraglio?

-Shut up and drink!

-Agreed! I'm catching up.


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Friday, December 25, 2015


Staking the Ground

Like it when
Easy Listening
Channel plays Cafe

Society Ballads, or
Jazz past soft. Bring-

ing back seductions or
other daring business
at Carlyle or Waldorf,

while sensing art and clarity
under one's plan.Thus

background serves fore-
ground nicely. From

the minstrel
at Troy to

Beegie Adair
and Bobby Short.

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Thursday, December 24, 2015



The one single desired tidings of joy and bitterness, as she had recently staged a breakup with her forever boyfriend.

The children wanted to play with their new toys to the point of smashing them against others, and tears and exhaustion.

The men to return to the football game on the tube as it wandered to its artless conclusion. 

And drink.

But the women, gathering torn wrappings, needed
to depart, resigned to a two-hour process thereof
before finally getting on the road.

Enter Aunt Dot, unshakable resolver of impasses!

The last car left fourteen and a half minutes later.

She freelances also.

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Wednesday, December 23, 2015


The Ritual Beating


announces the Patriot-Beacon.

As a result nearly the entire Roger Hodding family
is in custody.

Historian Douglas Mercer of Wyatt Earp Junior
College explains:

“In the early days, the miners could be beaten.
In the contract.

The Federals stepped in, but the First Families
kept the tradition with Ritual Beatings.

The mines have given out, and the Hodding family
runs Paradise 2 Catering, and not Paradise 1 Mine.”

Waitpersons Hal Nestry and Dinah Lodge have been

"Just a matter of time before one of these RBs ran wild,"
remarks Sheriff Delbert Cart. "When asked about the
treatment of his wealthy prisoners, he quips, "Country
Club at end of Appletree Lane. This is here!"

Family Attorney, Rastings Murr, admits the young went
a bit far. "But the tradition is a hallowed one, and we're
willing to negotiate a nurse and officer present next time."

Family elder, Judge “Maximum” Hodding, confined to a
wheelchair and thus not a participant, holds that. "It's all
Political Correctness! You don't need any more laws!
Enough on the books covering everything under the sun!
In the old days," he adds, "the miners took it like Men!"

His son, Roger, nicknamed “Minimum” and the present
family leader, echos his sentiment.

But Professor Mercer claims that "It'll go easier on them if
they don't try to be poster children for Republicans!"

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Tuesday, December 22, 2015


Uniqueness of The Academy

The usual academic conference. Papers read
which started concretely enough but then
wandered into thickets impenetrable .

Discussions after, worse.

Finally, Professor Derven of The Ohio State University
stood up, cleared his throat exaggeratedly, and
shouted “All the relativity! Can’t anybody SAY anything?”

“Well, I can!” piped up Dr Carrathers of Penn. “The Coke
Machine in the lobby is broken!”

Pressed for specifics by the Chair, he told how he put in
coins never returned. Just another Existential Dilemma!

Had he tried a dollar bill?--from Associate Chair.

“No, just coins.”

Unsatisfactorily foggy picture indeed! So a committee
dispatched to compile an accurate account.

They returned, having tried everything. Conclusion:
Definitely Broke!

Also it was important to note that the machine stocked
other sodas, lemonade, and ice tea.

Doctor Darlene Valiant-Dark of Cornell thanked them for the
new information, then objected to the word, broke.

An expert would have to testify.

Thereupon a discussion raged–-and, finally, a few tears.
(NOT a sexist comment—evenly distributed.)

Meantime, Starlight Amusements send Jetzy Ogontz to fix
the machine.

It’s perfect again, but many hurt feelings have to be
soothed over dinner.

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Monday, December 21, 2015


Round Up the Usual Western Insanity

St Rita the Mostly Good returned from a bender
in Reno with a nondescript cowboy. Her husband
informed the Sheriff.

He and his deputy, the other Drama Queen of Law
Enforcement, drove him out to the highway and
unholstered their weapons. He took the hint and ran.

Since she was Mayor, Rita settled down once again to
the routine of her office. During the two-year good
period, Scratch Ass Dog prospered.

The name was real, but, of course, had been chosen
by drunken silver miners during its entirely lawless phase.

Later it became a ghost town. Then Rita and her husband
refurbished it as a tourist attraction.

He ran the Quality Inn, and she the dance school. He was
always good and she, as before intimated, mostly.

There wasn't that much lawbreaking but shifting and
obscure parking regulations gave the sheriff and deputy
the bulk of their work, primarily in the collecting fines aspect.

Neighbors from surrounding towns often spoke of going to
the Scratch, or the Dog, for a quick drink.

Few ever tired of the staged shoot-out where Sheriff played Lefty,
the one-armed. And Deputy, Pig, the reputed worst man ever to
live in Hopp County.

Lefty killed him daily, not really preventing a very aggrieved final
speech after a spectacularly elongated stagger and fall. Then Lefty
gave an oration over the dead body as to the glory of Law Enforcement.

St Rita the Mostly Good itched to flee again, with or without a passing bum, when the Quality Inn was robbed during the shootout reenactment.

Sheriff quickly apologized to the audience and he and Deputy took off, Siren screaming and red and blue lights spinning!

The pursuit was Keystone Kops, both vehicles ramming each other and the squad car ending on its roof.

The SUV, however, had hit the only oak mid runt trees,
cactus and scrub, and the officers managed to crawl out and
limp to it to effect the arrest of the unconscious old man
supplementing his Social Security.

The Mayor put them in the same hospital room, and the three
got along, but the old man complained of their screaming in
real and imagined pain.

A video was retrieved from the carcam, and St Rita used stills
from it in the new brochure.

The young state trooper filling in part-time caught her eye,
but her husband unrelented his surveillance.

She, however, became entirely busy choreographing a ballet of 

The Chase. A little license therein, since the children shot off
silvery cap pistols but nary a shot fired in the unhinged pursuit.

Anyway, the first performance was in the hospital room where
the old man applauded vigorously, and the officers grew jealous
of all the attention being paid to the dancers.

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Sunday, December 20, 2015



Even after the internet, Moke and Kippy sent
weekly letters.

Lulu and Racker kept them in Birkenstock
boxes in the cavernous attic.

They had inherited the monster of a house,
and crack many jokes about filling it up,
but no possibility there.

When winter came, they closed most of the
rooms off, but Racker said he enjoyed going
into one or another to think. Air like ice
evidentially conducive to such.

When the correspondents moved to Paris, they
missed a couple of beats. Kippy started writing
poems in French––she had taught it at Central
High—and Moke started painting again.

He did send his efforts via the net. Fetching
neighborhood scenes, crusty bistros and the like,
which inexplicably acquired jarring pop elements
after a couple of years.

Then, all shape and color, with not much fathomable.

Now, just color.

I like them, but don’t know why.

For some reason, it becomes necessary to visit a
mountain monastery celebrating its five-hundredth

Well, some reason: She thinking of writing their
Gregorian Chants into secular poetry.

Oh well, I couldn’t see the future in that, but that’s
just me!

At any rate, their bus went through a barricade
in a rain storm and plunged...! well, all died.

Lulu and Racker held a memorial in the huge house
and we’re reading from the letters by candlelight very
nearly horizontal in the wind. Two things strike me.
They had been interested in virtually everything.

And! They had a Romance! From Childhood till they
sensed each other’s breathing.

Until it stopped.

But we all knew theirs was an ideal out of reach. End of
our particular stories in that regard! Two exs studied me
as the flames resumed upwardly.

Anyway, the lovers wanted their ashes in “a beautiful,
natural place,” and her brother in Virginia volunteered his
beaver pond.

I sent him my video of the service here. That had been a
friends’ deal; the beaver pond a family one. Except for
Lulu and Racker. They’re invited. Hey! Every family’s

They didn’t want to leave Brusque at the vet. An old
little Jack Russell gentleman, if still frenetic. So I came
over and took care of him in their three-day absence.

Lulu had moved the boxes of letters to a special alcove
under the eaves. I wandered up there during a blizzard.
Blessedly alone, Brusque afraid of the attic.

Sorry to disappoint, but the wind prevented my hearing
anything else, if the lovers intimated to one another.

They did in a dream the next week. He said “It’s cold!”
And she, “Never! with you.”

So? Was the Wind translated then, as Romantics would
have it?

I say just the wind. My twisted mind, the rest.

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Saturday, December 19, 2015



Just before Delilah repaired to her little alcove for
The Late Show, she inexplicably opened up about
her former mother-in-law.

The astringencies delivered to a young bride from
a polite mask!

Clint said he'd pray about it.

“You can't have Faith for another person!”

Turning his back, he sunk to his knees, bedside:
"Called Love."

The next month they decided to sell off the retail
operations, concentrate on mail order and net.

Lorna worked in the original farm store, mid the
framed photo of son Hap, Delilah’s first husband,
lounging on the catsup Harley he killed himself with.

The new owners loved her sweet way with customers.
Named her The Tradition.


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Friday, December 18, 2015


Evolution of American Justice

Since the society based on torture,
its civilizing thrust consisted of making
the choice of victim fair.

Therefore a regulated lottery. And a pick
completely at random.

Well, what’s perfect?

Bud Hesper, after undergoing two weeks
in the Tunnel of Destiny, and screaming himself
almost to death therein, recovered at leisure at
The Hospital for Indigents.

There he was tipped that a judge’s son had
actually been chosen. But much heft and grease
shoved Bud into the unenviable position instead.

He went to the judge’s house and reenacted every
scream in his torture!

The smaller children fled to the bottom of the pool, 
finally bobbing up to clamp their ears

SWAT team finally arrived to a head shot.

Tomato Soup.

“Some always ruins it for others,” summarizes
Corporal Dent.

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Thursday, December 17, 2015


City School

-Hey, let me buy you a Coke!

-No thank you.

-The machine’s here and I got the dollar.
Just...feed it in here. Your religion says okay, no?

-It’s okay, but...why?

-Because you’re too hurt to say the word hurt.

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Wednesday, December 16, 2015


No Man Is An Island?

The Wave

Ernst could take it no longer!
Wages cut in half and all vacation
time cancelled.

Time to speak out! He was a bit
of a parliamentarian, and found
the obscure  provision in the
Employee Handbook that enabled
a single worker to call a meeting.

Couldn’t leave anything to chance,
of course, so phoned all he could
to get promises of support, and
hear the individual grievances he
could get expressed at the right

The Board sent the CEO, first occasion
he was actually caught working.

Ernst rose, and swayed, and began speaking.
The whole surrounding audience seemed
to  leap chromatically.

But he calmed down to deliver his prepared
remarks, mostly to the effect that too
many rights had been viciously stripped!

There were places where he invited other
comments. There were none.

“So it seems,” CEO laughed, alone on the stage,
“that we have a Revolution of One!”

The audience around Ernst joined the laughter
as if their life depended on it.

Then abruptly stopped as the CEO hissed:
“And in this time of serverest danger to
The Nation!”

Ernst’s test then was not to look ashamed.

Not a hint! as he finished strongly to
vast, vast silence. Can silence groan?

When he was alone in his cubicle, with
just the guard helping him gather his
things, individuals dropped by to tell him
why they couldn’t risk...etc etc.

Only Broadwell told the truth. “I didn’t help
because I'm a coward. I watched that
squealing little pisser berate you and
did nothing!”

The guard informed the crying man: “Enough!”

One woman allowed in, and she imparted
that all the women thought of it as just
another male folly.

Ernst went to his car escorted by the
guard carrying the box.

A bicycle stood there, a long legal notice
taped thereon.

The guard helped him secure the box to the
handlebars with the tape, and Ernst shoved
the notice down his shirt.

The bike proved to have an eccentric front
wheel, delighting everyone in the town
who saw him. Most waved.

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Tuesday, December 15, 2015


Golden Turnip Award

Non Persona

-Righties won't even mention last Bush.

-Whattafreak they want? Reduced taxes on Rich.


-And tried privatizing Social Security!

-Thus giving their thieving Billionaires a crack at us all?

-For the Third Golden Turnip, even cloyed the despicable Evangelicals!

-Wanted more!

-Why am I not surprised?

-If he waits long enough, blessings will trickle down from the Right Side of Heaven.

-Angels pissing?

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Monday, December 14, 2015


Endowed By Their Creator

The Speech

-So, what you gonna say to the Jews?

-Easy! We’re for ‘em and against the dirty AY-rabs!

-Dirty? Really?

-Hey! The Jews is a clean people!

-I seem to see a filthy clutter of pushcarts in my
jaundiced, historical eye.

-So they weren’t to begin with? We learned ’em! get into the CL-ub…!

-Everybody must look nice. Period!

-In New Haven, their Woodbridge was the more interesting 
golf course.

-Go back to freakin Yale!

-Old Eli stretched things to admit me.

-Ghinny Quota?

-Something like.

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Sunday, December 13, 2015


Women 101

-Avoid the literary ones. They all wanna be
Fitzgerald’s Zelda!

-Bitch on Wheels?

-For starters.

-How about the non-literary ones?

-They’re her without reading anything.

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Saturday, December 12, 2015


Final Plan

The Same Conversation

-Okay then, you take a cruise. Two-AM, off fantail go you!


-Swim to exhaustion, won't even know when sharks
getting to it. Little guys finishing up, thousands.


-Eventually, bleached bones on  a beach somewhere.

-Great! I'm scenic!

-Here comes the Science! I study charts, currents, decide
which beach, and the whole gang parties there!

-How could it be better? I'm enjoying it now!

-Uh...invite Dorrie? Your call there?

-Why not? Her whole life's been a fuckin gloat!

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Friday, December 11, 2015


Truth Takes Plays Off

-The Dems create Monster Bureaucracies.

-Which we obliterate once we...!

-Not so fast! For our Faithful, Golden Jobs!
Veritable Cornucopia thereof!

-Thus the Ideal crashes again on the rocks
of Real-Politics.

-Jettison Imagery! Leave it for the Fairy-Left!

-Oh, I don't know. We have our own. How
about the TOTAL horseshit of Shining City
on the Hill?

-Shhhh! St Gipper always listening.

-I forgot.


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Thursday, December 10, 2015


Symbols and Goals

Mayor shakes the canister of coins on his desk.

For Little League, but I get the drift .

I’m to meet with those proposing a bridge,
then a competing tunnel bunch.

The tubal legation understood better.

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Wednesday, December 09, 2015


Hey Hey Hey It's the NRA!

A Certain Wisdom

Since National Rifle Association claims none
of its members killed in the daily mass murders,
the entire nation joins.

“Can’t keep up the promise now, completely,”
remarks President Skip Happ, “but you can
DEFEND yourself now!”

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Tuesday, December 08, 2015



The Brides of Larch

From nowhere, Mr Halls, the motel owner told the crew
to “Beware of the Brides of Larch!”

Clifford informed him that they were just there from Lost Key,
Florida to help get the grid up in the smaller parishes after the
hurricane, only one of which was Larch. Replace pole transformers,
and perhaps trouble-shoot a bit for individual home owners.

Mr Halls went on–-and didn’t he? The brides, of course, were
widows now that they had dispatched their husbands with
whatever evil...!

Doc and Evers just laughed. Confirmed marrieds. If something
came their way as a sex adventure, Clifford was up to handling
it for the trio. But, he’d be exhausted as well by the upcoming day.

Mr Halls explained that the whole thing was a kind of irony.
What with their being widows now as he said, and the phrase
compounded from Shakespeare and Down-Home humor.

Clifford informed him that somebody had to get them up at 5AM.

That’d be the missus. And she was going to prepare much
more than the usual Continental Breakfast for the crew!

He thirsted to thoroughly explain what Swamp Eggs were.

Two days later, when the truck seemed abandoned outside
of Lichty Acres, the Sheriff started asking questions.

The New Orleans TV got their pictures from the Florida power
company, and hinted at “Sex Terrorism.” Riding the Brides of Larch
angle for all it was worth.

Not much. Sheriff checked phone records of the three, but cells
were dead in Larch, since a tower had been blown down.

Mr Halls told him about all the joking. And that Clifford was some
stud! “So...lured in! And then the others looking for him then...?”

Sheriff informed him that when they found the truth, probably
be quite dull. He departed in his wiry way.

But, not a trace.

Company sends Hip Harlow. Out of retirement and into the dusty truck to drive it back.

The toll taker wants a veritable mystery novel to explain all the
grim goings on, but Hip tells him he knows nothing, just a driver.

The papers have obviously picked up on the Sex Terrorism angle, and he resumes parsing red headlines when Hip pulls away.

Hip turns off the radio and enjoys the swamp. “Everything’s TV today,” 

mutters he.

Six months later, Sheriff checks opening of the new Super Walmart.
He doesn’t need photos, could easily tell the trio against the usual
stunted varieties hereabouts. The “Brides” there. Beaming.

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Monday, December 07, 2015


Losing to Faith


Though Luke’s parents pounded it into
his head from Toddlerhood, finally asked
“Which one is HE?”

They signed him into St Teresa’s, and Most
Reverend Markham, MD, deposited him into
the “Jesus Ward.”

A joke to the nurses, but true enough.

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Sunday, December 06, 2015



-She threw herself away on him!

-And he declined to catch?


-Where is what’s left of her now?


-The years go by!

-Floating alongside.

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Saturday, December 05, 2015


Ancient Transgressions

-When they still delivered in this neighborhood, went out of a morning to get the milk. Bottle showed black and white, all splotchy.
-Defective? Off?
-Wow! Recall your particulars?
-Blocked to this day.
-What a Catechismal doozy! I'm envious! had Confession. Could be absolved.
-Never took, even up to this more ambiguous time.
-So, really, we got a kind of Major League Sinner here!--if I'm not mistaken. And how does Jill-Ann...?
-She's as pure as the driven snow!
-How nice for you?
-...before the road crew rumbles past, plowing huge
ice boulders into your driveway.
-And making it difficult to get around?
-You don't get around Jill-Ann!

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Friday, December 04, 2015


After GOP Debate Remarked on Wages of Welders and Philosophers

-from Raxxy Mutter of United Fabrication, Philosopher-Welder

Sub rosa!

Eat your Wheaties!


Play Dough!


Auntie’s Honor!

Same with Ma!

What’s new?


Why not?

Hope’s dim tower!

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Thursday, December 03, 2015


Knowing the Competition

Songs, Old and New

Triple-B and Saint Franny showed up early for the picnic.

Monikers for Ball Busting Betsy, and, from History.

Fran once cleaned a shower that had been puked in, saying
“It’s nothing.”

His role of scissoring greens, and hers of tossing and bossing
understood, there was no trouble. Initially. But she began
feeling restless.

Final result: He ends up sobbing and retching under an oak.

Another scalp for her, though much much too small a challenge.

She awaited the main thrust as the gang filtered in.

Uh uh. Everybody as hostile as she.

Jason Terrible snatched the salads away, saying he would
pretty up the work of three year olds! He rode herd on
the Hilton kitchen in real life, so Triple-B overmatched.

“How about you stir your capacious ass and get me some

She did, and was dismissed.

St Franny annoyed everyone, but had fallen asleep.

Triple-B eased past him to the grill people. Where, nobody spoke to her.

She eventually drifted through gossip knots, holding her own, but just.

Oh well, ended up at twilight, sitting over the mud at riverside, her
capacious ass sagging a hammock from the Carter Administration,
and one inch above weeds. Knees shooting up past her ears, bones!

Not a good look.

Sucked on a tall bitter lemon and vodka, half and half.

Passed out.

Jed Aurmel and his former student and present antagonist,
“Hannah” Harks, thought they should do something.

“Maybe she’s dead!”

“Forever bringing up The Ideal, Professor?”

She was actually Millie, but a Hannah had poured water
on a drowning man in an old song.

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Wednesday, December 02, 2015



-As a taxi driver, how would you
compare the party conventions?

-Republicans much more open asking
for whores.

-That's the Free Market. Anything goes!

-Dems want college girls.

-Will seminars never cease?

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Tuesday, December 01, 2015


Gone Commercial

Two Males Fathom It Inside the Golden Ring

-We don’t hafta talk like this!

-You mean like an endless loop of a brainless
TV commercial?

-Oh I’m so EXCITED!  To think that a PRODUCT...!

-Was it ingested, applied, or shoved up your ass?

-All three at once! Then one rides off in a SEXFIRE-8!

-We can escape. Our wives did.

-Left with men sans vocabulary.

-They’ll see the light!

-They don’t want the light. Not what they wanted.
What they ever want.

-But, we’re clever!-–within the limits of the perpetual
commercial we’re locked into, of course.

-If we stay here, we’ll receive other women.

-Approved ones?

-What else?

-But you get tired of hearing the bullshit repeated and
amplified by them!

-I thought they were all Feminists, and therefore...

-That died. MONEY too against it.

-We’ll just leave. Defy tradition!

-Oops! I better get this call. Oh, just a text. “Don’t even
THINK about it!”

-We MUST stay?

-Oh well, there’ll be other and greater commercials.
And funnier!

-Can’t wait? Uh, can I wait?

-We both can and must, and we’ll be loved for it!

-By women?

-A succession, and as sexy as products!

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