Sunday, January 31, 2016
Whatever
Well Enough
Dr Kildeer Madesty had been
convincing.
Renz signed on to the "Revelation"
Weekend with his two exes.
Sweet Betsy too, his present
Off-and-On, but she had to
go back to Pike to nurse a
sick mother.
The other two left after the
second session for Ruthie's
place, "Whatever."
Adirondack spread left by her Dad.
“So, you were lesbians all along?”
he asked Detzy before they
departed in the singing cab.
“Whatever!”
Then the good doctor o'd on severe
uppers, and raved in the ambulance.
Thus, Renz remained. Fell for the
waitress by trying to decide her
degree of cuteness.
Mega mega cute, he concluded.
Helbore, the manager, presented
him with the bill for all.
He paid it and left with the waitress.
Been a year and she remains cute.
He bought a cake and she cried.
Labels: cute, ex, lesbian, psychology, therapy group
Saturday, January 30, 2016
Barbie, Broad of Beam
To you fine, to me not so much
-It's Barbie Abuse with your little
granddaughter!"
-I'm sad to hear that. How could
Alicia do anything wrong? Anything!
-She never puts any clothes on the doll,
and drags her around by her hair. So filthy
by now, it'll never again be clean.
-I'll speak to her. I was to tiny tea
not that long ago and Barbie came in
her golf outfit then. Quite spiffy!
Whatever did she do to...?
-You got that nice toy store downtown.
Walk over and get her a new one for
Christmas.
-Done! Got ten cabs in the shop and my
dispatchers going nuts, so I should take,
leisurely, such a walk? Well, back I go!
-Just a second. Have you looked at your
granddaughter lately. She's chubbing up!
-Great! Like you she might end up.
-Rubensque?
-Like a woman! Beautiful! I'll say no more.
-Well I will. Listen. There are more Barbie
models now.
-I'm shocked!
-Including one with a wide rear. Get her.
I don't want Alicia growing up with impossible
female ideals. We've had anorexics and bulimics
in our family already.
-But they've straightened themselves out, yes?
-Oh? Have they? Not that you've paid attention.
-Woman's shit! Give me a break!
-You've gotten a big one. You don't hafta
understand! Not a male requirement. Anyway...
-Don't worry, I'll buy Fat-Ass Barbie!
-Is that what you'll ask for?
-I don't know. I'll figure something. The girls
in the store will help. Everywhere I go, girls help.
It's beautiful!
-I believe that. To you they're fine, to
me not so much.
-Why is that?
-A long, long history!
-Some other time.
Labels: anorexia, Barbie, beauty, bulimia, cultural standards, doll, female, female beauty, ideal female shape, male, sex
Friday, January 29, 2016
Inside
The Planner
Bert awoke at 6, somehow missing his
appointment with The Pee God at 3.
After the hurried bathroom, he lit a
cigarette.
Whispering to the expiring match,
“Well, who or what to avoid today?”
Then he laughed. And smoked.
And coughed.
Outside, the outside sided with itself.
Labels: anxiety, fear, loneliness, paranoia, smoking, work
Thursday, January 28, 2016
Western Protest
Federal Courthouse but the Freedom sign hanging
outside it.
Here, Dust Hoxey makes his stand.
An overhead shot taken by CNN shows the seated man
criss-crossed by bandoleers, At least two leaning assault
rifles.
“I don’t use the toilet but the normal amount,” he explains.
“Can’t wash in it, of course.” He explains further that negotiating
the use of a sink has broken down.
“No real guarantee they won’t nab me then.”
His brother has been reached by local media. Shrugging:
“Good luck to him! Every time he explains his government shit,
comes out different! I just know Sheriff busy with traffic there,
so I can beat my bitch like a drum!”
Labels: FBI, government ownership, land, occupation, protest, right wing violence, Sheriff, sovereignty, violence, Violence Against Women, West, women
Wednesday, January 27, 2016
The Future of Just About Everything
After the hockey game, jerseys
and girls hundred each.
We indulged. What else can we do?
Answered by Chips, whose uncle
had a book.
We gave the jerseys to the girls.
Always do the generous thing, no?--
noblesse fuckin oblige--and ported
to a place called Paterson.
A poem was named for it once, or
vice versa.
The girls had looked mega-cute, but
the book is boards, like. With paper
inside? French and Indian War. I kept
hitting it to change the topic, but
you're stuck with the one.
“Must be the only war the French won,”
mused Chips.
“Sachem is dying under the Eiffel Tower,”
I prompted him, “and Pierre, his noble
murderer in the American style, speaks.”
"Tough merde, mon ami."
We couldn't stop laughing.
All right, all right: babies! Wastrels!
Bums! The worst of everything and pretty
ignorant too.
Though I'd like to point out that we have many
degrees between us. Forgot most of the Majors.
The government put a limit on them, so we do
nothing now.
Live on the Dole, Pineapple!
Please laugh. We just die if people don't.
Gets too, whatchallit, existential!
Worry not of the Future of the Nation,
Messy Amis, because we're promised
jobs next year.
Forty considered a good starting age,
according to most Sociologists.
Hafta curtail the women then. Patriotism!
Well, it was great fun but it was just
one of those thongs.
Labels: American Future, assing around, education, future, patriotism, thong, unemployment, waste time, wastrel, women
Tuesday, January 26, 2016
The Daisy
Laid off from the latest.
Got three-month contractor gig,
starting next month.
So Jensy and I and her little Rita
took a week in the mountains,
before the ski bums even thought
of marching in.
The boy at the desk told Rita:
still a few flowers in the little
copse next to the hotel.
He had seen a daisy.
Rita itched to go there, but
we held her for breakfast.
She had insisted on wearing
her pink party dress.
Kind of frilly pinafore thing, and
so Jensy asked her to change
before...
But no go, so off she went
as we watched from the
almost chilly porch.
We could see pink swatches,
mostly bending, and irregular
snow bits shaken loose.
Returned with the daisy, scarlet
face a mass of triumphant tears.
We joined in.
Labels: contractor, contractor economy, employment insecurity, fired, laid off, ski, vacation
Monday, January 25, 2016
Round and Round
National Review assembled the usual righteous circus to whip Trump round the rings. Much cackling. Unearthly, somehow.
Why won’t he leave? This, the last possible humiliation! Midst the Sawdust Hell of True Believers!
The trick ponies. Seedy costumes of sliding glitters. Rising dust in the tracking spotlights. Manure.
Buckley and I lived in New Haven at the same time, me a townie
without a fake Oxford accent. (Was OK, most Yalies spoke that way.)
He went on to be a great political entertainer, like Reagan and Goldwater.
If there’s a Right Hereafter...well, sadly, how could there be?
Labels: Buckley, Circus, Goldwater, National Review, New Haven, Reagan, Right, true believer, Yale
Sunday, January 24, 2016
Wordsworth
Entirely by accident or Fate?
They meet after a year. She has
softened, and would no longer
say such vicious things.
And he would check his thick head
at the door!
Now the old sickening chaos of their both bolting the apartment at once! hung in the present air.
Neither in a relationship presently, though
the recovery period was over.
Both made excuses not to, but they
ended up in their Chinese Restaurant.
Where the waiter looked puzzled,
but said nothing.
The evening went well, if hurt still tugged.
Until. "How is Wordsworth?" asked he.
The most devastating question possible.
"I thought YOU took him!"
“Well...” she finally concluded in tears,
“somebody adopted him or he’s dead!”
“When you came back for your stuff,
he wasn’t...?” He had to pin it on her,
guilt too horrible.
The evening ended. Both too shaken.
Wordsworth not deceased, but feral.
A table in a cramped room off the kitchen,
where the waiter left plates, before scraping
the contents into the trash.
Wordsworth, gray rail, squeezed in
nightly from the alley, but moved quickly
out this one after sniffing the chopsticks.
Labels: breakup, cat, chaos, Chinese Restaurant, feral, fighting, former lovers, guilt, personality
Saturday, January 23, 2016
Winter Tale
Jammy
didn’t know how to say goodbye.
The name had stuck from childhood, something
to do with pajamas.
One drunken night we taught him exit lines on
the order of Well, gotta get going. I’m already
in trouble with Cynthia, Belle, Brennan, Ruth etc.
...few more reasons of that imaginative ilk.
“But you guys don’t understand. I’m so ferociously lonely!”
We pretended not to. Pushed him out the door into a wind
of slanting ice.
Resumed.
Labels: drunk, exit line, friends, gregarious, ice, loneliness, pajamas, snow, talkative, wind, winter
Friday, January 22, 2016
Art in the 20th, 21st Centuries
-He stuck a finger up his ass and smelled it.
-Good Lord!
-Lingeringly!
-I wouldn't go back to the aesthetics of that time
for anything!
-Not without the violence of this one.
-Combine the two?
-An American Solution for sure!
-What's a European one?
-Leave the finger in
-An Asiatic?
-Praise the finger from the viewpoint of the asshole.
-Haiku?
-The preferred small form of the largely pretentious.
Labels: American Art, art, Art Criticism.haiku, Asiatic Art, cynicism, disgust, European Art, experimentation
Thursday, January 21, 2016
Developmental
Then, "Blabs" stuck over the angry years, and their offspring will soon enough be inspired to rob liquor stores
Labels: armed robbery, criminal, juvenile delinquent, Limbaugh, wingnut
Wednesday, January 20, 2016
Street Life
-Her old man owned Risque Birdbath.
Over-named! Just nymphs and satyrs,
and Mr Cupid too.
-Buy one, and the little birdies sporting
among them wet!
-Consolidated Birdbath absorbed us, and
the new firm, Artform Birdbath went
public then. And Wall Street was ecstatic
by the timing!
-And your timing around there?
-Forgot my hat, and could have waited a
day, but went back late. Nothing left
of Laurtrelle's party but her.
The whole house was ticking from an ice
storm by the time we finished our hot
chocolates, and the old folks sawing
wood to beat the band! Well the slanting
ice--couldn't go home in that! So we
giggled, and fooled around.
Long story shortest, I marry into birdbaths.
I'm Vice-President when Rajon Industries
reels us in. "The lawn from ornament to
gazebo!"
-We got one! The latter.
-A year later, they force the old man into
retirement. I'm to be President, but Rajon
insists we make only Cupids.
-This move makes Wall Street happy also?
-Ecstatic! But really. Last time was a fake.
-Anyway, they had become sad with the previous setup? Setups?
-Emotion rules! Anyway, Rajon forced all these
moves, and the Wall Street Journal hailed it for
going on a diet.
-Gorge, disgorge!
-Then in a move that got praise all over
the street, Rajon expelled us totally!
So we're more or less back to the old man's
firm, though he's dead. And listed under
the old name: Risque Birdbaths or RQBB.
Then Laurtrelle expelled ME in favor of
a Line Dance Instructor!
-It’s an epidemic!
-Binnie came in to demonstrate new accounting
techniques, and they were the least of her
talents. So, New Lady!
-Did Wall Street applaud?
-You can screw your brains out for all it cares!
Labels: Big Fish Little Fish, Buying and Selling Companies, hostile takeover, listed, takeover, Wall Street
Tuesday, January 19, 2016
Sides Of Coins
-He calls me Baby!
-What’s this? Forties noir flick? Sam Spade to
some blanched apprentice whore?
-I like it!
-What does he like? Have you shown him the
fanged feminist yet?
-He has seen--ahem!--all of me! And it’s not bad.
-Question of time!
-Yeah? Well it’s all on my side. It’s love love love!
-Stupidity in thirds!
-The total package!
-Yet another apostate! No matter: We go on!
-Hey, Seneca Falls a tremendous town, but you can’t
live there 24-7!
Labels: "Baby", Elizabeth Cady Stanton, feminism, film noir, pet name, Romance, Sam Spade, Seneca Falls Convention, Susan B Anthony, women's rights
Monday, January 18, 2016
MYSTERY DEATH OF WHEELCHAIR
The Federal Government outsourced most of its
work to the Dresden-Solliday Corporation, but I
didn't see any change, at least in my unfolding
experience that day.
Runaround then, runaround now.
After the fifth office, a round man, silky gray,
coiffed, manicured, DS-USA badge containing
tiny depictions of American flags.
"Are you the person looking for Bellsome Narraway?"
Said I was.
“May I ask the nature of your inquiry?”
“Personal.”
“Well this is a Dresden-Solliday US Government
Installation. It is therefore a workplace. According
to USDS regulations...!”
I told him Mr Narraway was homeless. And I
had evidence that he lived and worked there.
“That's impossible! Oh I'm so horribly horribly busy!
But...I'm authorized to make an exception. Tomorrow.
You're to stay at DSUS Hilton tonight as our guest.
It's quite lovely.”
He evidently held memories of its restaurant meals.
No complaints. And the next mid morning a very
luxurious bus appeared. The driver was strapped in
with his wheelchair and was quite jolly.
Appearing. He never spoke.
Mozart's The Abduction From the Seraglio played,
with interweaving patriotic songs.
We spend an hour negotiating the potholes of a rusty
old refinery.
I’m the only passenger, though iPads fall down at
every seat.
Mine says. Welcome to the Dresden-Solliday USA
Corporation. Please help us evaluate our service.
Only one question: Driver was a) Unfailingly
Helpful...all the other responses are ghosted out,
so I naturally check a.
When I do, the iPads, including mine, suck back
into the ceiling.
And the bus stops, the driver rolling off, an immense
submarine sandwich in his lap.
At the parking lot, and my car.
So I leave.
Unfortunately, the driver, searching for a decent
spot to eat his monster sandwich, gets lost in the lot’s
furthest reaches.
Waylaid then by a quartet of starving juveniles, who
incorporate him in their play.
All the while inhaling the ripped-apart sandwich, they
knock over the wheelchair several times, stealing its battery.
Abandon him, and chair, pre-natal in a muddy area of soda
cans, some glinting from scrub bushes.
Couldn't possibly crawl out of such terrain.
A cell left to him, but they have taken its battery also.
I become the number one suspect in MYSTERY DEATH
OF WHEELCHAIR–-the news-sites omit the victim's name,
but no one had taken mine either. The Hilton registered
me as Teddy Roosevelt, their little joke.
Law Enforcement finds me anyway, and a bureaucratic
nightmare...does not begin.
They take my statement in my kitchen, and assure me
that’s the end of it.
Though one political party later wants me to testify
anonymously of the vicious incompetence of the other.
I refuse. Not partial to the newly-favored Bag On the
Head look. Even the Ralph Lauren’s.
Labels: bureaucracy, Capitalism, government, juvenile delinquent, outsourcing, Ralph Lauren, wheelchair
Sunday, January 17, 2016
In There
"It’s too bad you can’t de-install a wife," remarked
Clancy at his computer. Who had none, but liked the idea.
His point of reference was Carlotta, one of his
waitpersons, married twice and widowed the same.
First, Cardiac, second Big C.
“You can always give reasons for things, but she’s
a Fatal Woman! Archetype!” maintained my Host
at his Guinness tap.
My tour ending in Copenhagen, and I had hopped
over to Ireland to what I called The Repair Zone.
I do the lighting for music groups, last the Middling
Maniacs. Nothing was middling, especially the drugs.
As did Carlotta, I stood out. Being of Italian
extraction in my case, and Hungarian Gypsy in hers.
Back to the States for a series of one-night stands.
“Nostalgia Ninety Tour.” Nearly a year, and worn out.
Then to Clancy and Carlotta. Married! Would you believe?
“I decided to take a chance on her black magic. Got some
of me own!”
They did a lot of joking this way, and Carlotta claimed
of me: “Maybe thiz new man, he iz next!”
"Well, you gotta kill ME first, and that ain’t gonna happen!”
maintained Clancy.
What happened is that Carlotta, after I had taken an
assignment in Germany, died in an auto accident.
Clancy emailed as to always always having driven
her before!
When I got back there, the new staff member, Bridget,
had taken over. Literally. A bossy, if beautiful, redhead.
“Absolutely no romance!” she swore to everyone.
Clancy whispered that he was afraid of her.
But there was a romantic aspect. She danced after
closing time, solo. Usually enacting her previous life.
One night, Clancy was asked to join in, which he
did reluctantly. Playing her dead husband, an
American like me, helicopter pilot shot down
in Afghanistan.
The next time they danced, she acted out Carlotta!
He, her two husbands. They were very good, my
dancers, a rough draft of ballet.
“I’m quitting the dance racket!” laughed Clancy the
following evening. Or she’ll have ME be Carlotta!
I'm making up reasons to get out of the weirding
there, when a week later, she compels me to dance in
his place. But...warmer.
Well, story short. He takes me in as his partner after
she and I marry. She dances solo redhead, taking all
the parts. I’m too busy. When she plays me...!
Well, creepy.
By now, I’m bringing in small rock groups from all over
Europe, and lighting them. Business has tripled.
Bridget has taken over the management, and Clancy and
I are pretty much PR men, often traveling separately.
No more dancing for anyone!
But it’s in there.
Labels: dancing, Fatal Woman, lighting, pub, Rock, women
Saturday, January 16, 2016
Sally and Mr Adventure
took a while to do it, so her girlfriend changed the
topic from sex to bs.
His latest: Cultural Correspondent for several
European papers.
Sally asked the girl in her smartphone about Surrealism.
Friend Dorothy later became enraged re a fur-lined urinal.
“Most disgusting thing I ever heard!”
Mr Adventure turned to Hollywood Stars he knew, with
detailed accounts of queer behavior. So, titillating.
The girl in the phone didn’t know the special pervert
from silent days, languishing in The Old Actors Home,
but still scandalously active. Somehow.
His account of climbing Everest followed. Oxygen.
Near Death. Sherpas!
Uh huh?
When Sally, in the midst of a tiff over his drinking
gallons of coffee and getting up to pee every
hour or so, scoffed about Mountaineering,
Mr Adventure slapped down his top card with
equal fire.
CIA.
If she revealed a thing of what he told her, she could
be killed!
Early on, so she didn’t ask the smartphone. What say? Russia?
His frenzy led to pneumonia.
Her old grammar school chum, Betsy Loper, RN, let her in
before work, and she mostly stared at him in the Oxygen Tent.
One gray morning with just the light coming in from the glass
pane of the door, he held up a sign he had prepared:
GREAT BULLSHITTER!!!
Sally then made one herself.
GREAT GUY!!!!!!!
Dorothy teared up after she told her.
“That was a super nice thing!”
“And I haven’t done enough of them. Don’t try to persuade
me otherwise.”
Her cell sounded then. Theme from Star Wars. The sister
who had just flown in from Portland. He was dead.
Sally swore off men after. But Mr Earl managed to break
through eventually. He proved truthful, one dull account
after another.
Labels: affair, bs, bullshit, deathbed conversion, humanity, Romance
Friday, January 15, 2016
What's In One?
Name
-I’ll tell you again. It’s Laurelthea.
-Her parents came up with that during their
most rancid screw!
-Whatever. She’s old news.
-Did you call her Laurel? Or Thea?
-She insisted on Laurelthea. “My name is me!”
-Did that pass for profound back then?
-Everything did!
-Grade Inflation.
-Well I get F!
-Uh uh! SHE does! Circe the Ruin Girl!
Job she did on you belongs in textbooks!
-I’m a Jimmy Buffet fan.
-(sings) Some folks claim that there’s a woman
to blame!
-(sings) But it’s my own damn fault!
-So you take responsibility! Why?
-Because that’s the greatest con there is!
////
Would smell as sweet? Really!
Budge said that Gwen was
really a Cynthia. It caught
on with the gang and her
real name all but forgotten.
Even her parents took to calling
her that. A brother and sister
had moved out and never phoned.
Of course, she was still legally Gwendolyn.
In filling out college forms, paying taxes,
driver's license.
When she came of age, she decided to
change it in law.
But in a gigantic screwup, the petition
stated she was Cynthia, changing to
Gwendolyn.
She's back officially Gwen, and all have
left her. Parents for some retirement
heaven in Equador, gang peeling off.
Her brother and sister emailed her once,
and that was it.
But a boyfriend came weaving down the pike,
a drunk, of course. She's afraid of losing him.
She does smell sweet by the way. He? Don’t ask!
Labels: a rose by, Circe, Fatal Woman, friends, Jimmy Buffet, name, parents, person as name, siblings
Thursday, January 14, 2016
The Farming Life
Acting Their Parts
-Is there bullshit in Heaven?
-Do you mean actual droppings?
-You know what I mean!
-Well, a misdemeanor here, so practitioners could get there and
spew their endless nonsense.
-I'd hafta hear it?
-Nah! Must be a lotta tune-out mechanisms there.
-I just happened to think, real farmers when they talk about bullshit,
the metaphor, must have the actual stench in their nostrils too.
-Thus meaning much more! But I didn't know that farmers are big
on metaphor.
-A lot we don't know. You be Farmer Joe and I'll be Farmer Jim.
-Like we played as kids?
-But better, fuller. By talking we'll discover Truth! Of others and ourselves.
-A definite first! uh, Farmer Jim.
-Farmer Joe, what do you think about all that space in Space? Does it prove God?
-Moving ahead too fast there, Farmer Jim!
-Maybe so, Farmer Joe, let's give it time.
-A week.
-And Gwen and Ceci?
-Farmers' wives! They'll do their chores and shut up!
-Don't think so. Modern wives regardless.
-That means they'll try to ruin it for us farmers!
-Why change anything?
-Well I don't wanna come off a blistering afternoon
plowing the North Forty, and listen to her complaining about…?
-Lack of similar attention? I’ll speak to her.
-Who put you in charge?
-As always, someone must pick up the reins!.
-But we're tractor guys!
-Okay, I'll lead in my John Deere.
-Right behind you in my HUGE Massey-Ferguson!
-See? Know a lot already!
-I’m brutish!
-Noted!
Labels: farming, John Deer, marriage, Massey-Ferguson, role-playing, sexism
Wednesday, January 13, 2016
Recipe
-In political life, you Blacks hafta learn: You get
your half a loaf and run like hell!
-Half? We get the burnt cornmeal grains from
the bottom of the oven!
-Your problem is that attitude.
-Thanks for nothing, Mr Democrat!
-Republicans wouldn’t give you the sweat from
their balls!
-Too bad! Coulda made American Jive Negro
Johnny Cake! (dances)
-Look at you! They say it’s not Natural Rhythm,
but I see otherwise!
-Dead-gaze on with ENVY!
-(in response to individual moves) Hot!
Diggity!
Dog!
-Ahs, like, re-VEALED !
Labels: "Natural Rhythm", attitude, black, Democrat, politics, prejudice, Race, Republican
Tuesday, January 12, 2016
Carrots
-David Bowie refused a Knighthood.
-That's their shit! We've got our own.
-Symbols of Prestige?
-Else why would John Q work his ass off
for a pittance? Awaits the Pewter Watch
of Sublime Recognition. De Man owes him!
-I was Cub Scout of the week.
-But you never rested on your laurels!
-Was up and doing with a heart for every fate!
-And boy did you have the latter!
-Win some lose some.
-Win none lose all?
-There's always tomorrow.
-Not always. Not the way it's set up.
-Then, you meet Saint Peter at the Golden Gate.
-And tell him to wait ‘cause...
-I just hafta have another cigarette!
Christ I miss 'em!
-Once in Heaven you can smoke like Beijing.
Labels: award, Beijing, Bowie, David Bowie, Great Britain, knighthood, recognition, reward, smoking, United States
Monday, January 11, 2016
Languages
-Mine just talked a good game!
-Took all my breaks at rich uncle's with this humongous garden.
I'd get lost in there! One night I met a simpleton he allowed to roam.
"I know your name! Your uncle told me! It's a song too! I dream
of Jeannie With...Hair."
"Jenny! I am. And you're Carl."
"And I'm not mean!"
"Well, I'm not either. But I'm Jenny. Isn't that a nice name too?"
"No. It's a mean name!"
"Well I'm sorry. It’s in a poem. Jenny Kissed Me!"
“That’s not as nice as pretty hair!”
“Is to me!”
"Shhh! The flowers are talking. They work hard all day, you know!"
"Can you teach me how to listen if I promise not to be mean?"
"Not this time, but when you come back from the college next
other time. If you promise to teach me something too!"
-A deal? So, did...?
-He died.
-Oh!
-My last opportunity to be human!
-God! You're so mean to yourSELF! Cold!
-Just starting.
Labels: animism, college, divorce, flowers, garden, masochism, sex, simpleton
Sunday, January 10, 2016
Mail Ego
The Plan
Marty asked if the mail had come. “My box empty,
so I can’t be sure.”
Girlfriend Brill snapped while extracting catalogs from
hers: “Self! MY box...my freakin everything! Ask how
to SERVE!”
“I know! I’ll patrol the lobby, day and night! Whenever
the erratic mailman arrives, I’ll know. And knock on
every door!”
That’d be a start, but it’s all too late!” she hissed.
He laughed insanely. Secretly planning Tuesday,
a week: The Kissoff!...his part in rehearsal.
Elevator came. Farewell, Brillo!...nearly.
Exulted deeply he in thought as she pushed the
buttons for their two floors.
Labels: altruism, female, mail, male, power, relationship, selfishness, service
Saturday, January 09, 2016
Hope’s Finale
Shopping Through Sister-Brother Lens
-Dad got stinging reprimand!
-As shopper, or Mickey-Mouse handyman?
-She sends him for those little chocolate
puddings, and he misunderstands. Two bucks
in Walgreens and half that in Winn-Dixie.
-Store brand the latter. Their house full of em! An Extravaganza of Thrift!
-Oh well, what else do they have to do but scissor coupons? They're trying to
get them over the web now, and they've screwed up the computer doing it. Expect a call.
-There goes a day!
-Anyway, they show love with the ridiculous things they do together.
-That's what love is, huh? No wonder I prefer a sharp stick in the eye.
-That department in temporary lockdown?
-Permanent!
-Oh come on!
-Tried and tried as you know. And the last
a beauty I gave heart and soul!
-What jinxed it?
-Why the Man On the Flying Trapeze showed her his repertoire while I worked out at the common Y. She swooned and the rest is stupid history!
-Don't get bitter. It's the tights. His best look. Crotch. But hardly yours.
-GET bitter?
-Always Hope!
-Took its final shit!
Labels: brother, coupons, hope.crotch, Man Flying Trapeze, shopping, sister, web, Y
Friday, January 08, 2016
The Old Order
-You served in the last excrement of
an administration, and the new one
properly pariahs you!
-Even worse!
-And loath to leave Washington for
a region where people actually work!
-The horror!
-Thus, The Institute For the New Ideal!
-Proudly!
-What IS the New Ideal?
-Haven’t the least!
-Will you ever?
-We’re cogitating it.
-In the meantime?
-Money pours in!
Labels: 'work", money, old administration, think-tank, Washington, work
Thursday, January 07, 2016
Two Caffeinated
Connoisseur
-You’re pretty European with your French Press,
but it’s just making coffee the old-fashioned way:
dump it in. Add hot, but no no no no!
NOT scalding water! Dearie Moi!
-Well, then...apres ze suitable wait, plunge ze
grounds to ze bottom.
-That’s the sissy part.
-Uh, European, as you say.
-When Great-Grandfather worked at the
railroad yards, they had a huge enamel pot
always on. Boiled, reboiled. No filtering.
-But, the grounds ultimately sunk to the bottom.
-That's when the real roughnecks liked it! Ones with
muscles in their shit? They said the last few cups
cleaned them out!
-Good Lord!
-Were on to something! Ever hear of Coffee Enema?
-If it comes to that, I want Kopi luwak!
-What could possibly be the dif…?
-Six hundred bucks the pound! Only the best!
-Golden asshole too?
-You peeked! Thus my modesty doth encore fail alas!
-Such a Drip!
-Another preferred brewing method.
------------------
Coffee Nerves
Plumber Hop quit the business finally.
Opened The Sump Pump Bar.
JERRY
Knocked off the decaf. Left Zombie Life thereby!
HOP
And the nerves presently? Fueled by 200% Columbian?
JERRY
Jingle-Jangle! Jangle-Jingle! A-screech! Shake, Rattle
and...Tremble! Tr-EMBLE!
HOP
And your Lorna?
JERRY
I’m here, ain’t I?
HOP
That bad?
JERRY
May I vulgarly quote?
HOP
I’ll cover one ear.
JERRY
“I can’t stand you one more fuckin second!
Out! Nervous Norvis!”
HOP
Coming from that pretty mouth!
JERRY
She’s not bad. Next to a dog’s ass I’d choose her.
HOP
A special category of praise.
Labels: bar, brewing, coffee, coffee nerves, enema, European, French Press, marriage, railroad, relationship
