Saturday, September 30, 2017
Salty Altzy
The white lie delayed things a bit, but the
new Accountant waited still, finger poised
above iPad.
“Had to remember my cell number twice
today, and that pushed out my home number,
somehow. Uhhhh?”
Beat or two, thuds, and then Del recalled it.
Accountant acted as if it were quite natural,
but Del felt crushed.
Couldn’t even make a joke about Alzheimer
Moments etc.
What he imagined–-his personality–-was the
worst possible scenario. Like “Bury,” the
Undertaker, who roamed the seaside town
looking for fresh corpses not called in.
His daughter had caught up with him at
Murcheson Hardware, where old Clint
informed him that he’s not dead yet.
“Try in a couple of weeks, though.”
Sheila drove him directly to Dr Destiny
(name for real) at Bide a Bit.
He presently has a corner room full
of funerary knickknacks.
Quite tired each evening, since he
believes he works there.
Del leaves early that day and walks to
the cove. Sails are blinding.
His two sons arrive in daydream, bright
yet fuzzy.
“Wasting time?” asks Bink.
“What’s the difference? Long’s he
still knows he’s Dad!” adds Rentz.
They laugh. The bright sails laugh.
The whole salt day seems to.
Labels: Alzheimer, dementia, Family, forgetting, memory
Friday, September 29, 2017
Pillars
Knot's Wife
joined the porno site,
Any Twosie for Tuesday.
As “Auntie Knotty.”
But...not much variation on a pair
doing it, you'd think.
But you'd be wrong!
And Gay Stuff nearly three
quarters of the whole.
She cracked that it was
the hetero's way of being
gaysie-waysie!
God predicted to end the filth
by some conservatives!
But southern towns, even in the
Modern South, stlll lethargic.
Even the porno, and its opposing
Christian Soldiers, being more
sideways than firm.
Until, He did step in after a brisk
warning, just like the biblical story,
spelling the end of her!
Ladies Association wanted her
moved from Delnuns Park, where
so many children play, to Harner Quad
in the midst of squat office buildings,
but Hurricane Irma's drenching
left two little rills of salt, and Parks
and Recreation sent a crew to scrape
them away.
Black, so a lot of joking.
Labels: black, gay, Lot's Wife, pornography, salt
Thursday, September 28, 2017
The Man Who Put Everything
in Impeccable Order
has it all go bust
one Summer day.
It’s still and hot
and he grieves
in icy sweat.
Concludes, rightly, that
he’s a born Snicklefritz.
But, what can be done?
Letting go of the microscopic
as an initial try.
He does this, and his breathing
improves. Been holding his
breath in fits and starts
for many years.
Great progress, really!
Then...Gretchen...
a disaster to both organized
and scattered, she shreds
BIG PICTURES!
As a result, he Snicklefritzes
everything! She, endlessly
amused. He
has done the world a favor tak-
ing her! (Three men contemplated
suicide. A fourth stopped play-
ing with himself.)
A monument to him might
someday be erected...
or erased.
At uncertain time.
Irredeemable place.
Labels: chaos, female, female power, order, organization, screw-up, sex
Wednesday, September 27, 2017
RFBB
-No surprise: I’m an athlete.
-Climb out that window and jump
twenty feet! Wow!
-Closer to ten.
-Should I know you?
-Played eight years for Kansas City Royals.
-Oh God! That’s the center of Republican Fascist Bully Boy Territory!
-So what? It’s not here.
-But our own branch will be back here tonight.Your escape was a slap in the face!
-Tough Luck!
-Yeah. For us. They beat up the children first!
-You’re kidding?
-Would you volunteer to be beaten up?
We can make a deal and spare the kids.
-I might.
-Don’t worry. It probably won’t be Smasho-Basho in your case. More like something cruel.
-Such as?
-One fingernail pulled out--as an example.
Republican Fascist Bully Boys are best at that.
Black finger for a while, but that’s it.
Black finger for a while, but that’s it.
-You know, my father was a Republican.
A great and honorable man!
-Too bad he never piped up!
Labels: Fascsit, intimidation, political intimidation, Republican, Republican Fascist, Republican Bully.Fascist Bully, violence
Tuesday, September 26, 2017
Death of Cat
The Woman Who Knows Nearly Nothing
is tutored by lovers and friends
to their warm views of themselves.
As result of such expansion,
she knows even less etc.
And when help maxes out:
how very nearly catatonic she!
Her last teacher, Tyrone Everyslee Dolanest,
Irish Performance Artist, hits a cat with his Audi.
The death of a cat
must be accounted for,
and no one is willing.
All eventually insane,
but the woman
who knew nothing
to begin with gets
a pass, yet a gain.
Labels: cat, knowledge, performance, Performance Art, teaching, Woman
Monday, September 25, 2017
The Man Who Fell Apart
The other partygoers pitched
in and put all his components
in a rolling bin.
Doc and Physiologist Bernie
supervised us.
Hippy was the most diligent,
singing
"There goes my eyeball, right into
my highball," and such nonsense.
Lou was about half artificial to
half human.
“It might have to be Louise if we
don't find...”
“Be worthy of your balls, y’all!”
Hippy again.
Doc laughed as his bloody hands
plucked out what he sought.
Next day, Doc and Bernie gave a talk.
MEASURES FOR HOLDING TOGETHER
The rest of us wanted to avoid Lou’s
embarrassment, of course.
Labels: artificial body parts, body, fall apart, future, future norms, human, human parts
Sunday, September 24, 2017
A History of High School
Unfortunately, although Randy had graduated in the following Crestview class, he quipped,“Panthers? THAT'S what we’re called?”
“We won State Basketball during your Sophomore year!”
“Bully for us!”
“You MUST remember The Watusi Pair!”
Black twins leading the scoring. He didn’t, but liked diversity generally.
“Brain Damage--pretty old fashioned. Shame! Ole Rand once THE Panther Sports TROVE!”-Chief Programmer later confides.
Gives him number of the Japanese man in Kobe who received Randy’s Panther circuits when things went South.
The translation program can barely keep up with his enthusiasm!
“Nineteen and Forty-nine, team best nation-country: two-hand set shot!”
“Don’t even see those anymore!”
“Then, lots. And all Jewboy team!”
Labels: black, high school, Jew, robotic circuits, Sports, sports statistics
Saturday, September 23, 2017
The Man Who Lost His Mind
...and no one noticed
I am he.
Oh, perhaps there’s a brain stem
or something left.
Enabling me to operate on a
primitive level.
To fake it.
I wonder if I had relied on this
for the many years before losing
my mind.
I still work the same job, my
colleagues just as boisterous,
or cutting, as usual.
Live in the same messy studio.
With the exception of one desk,
the surface of which I keep
uncluttered.
A special art has developed
where I space objects on it
weekly.
Enabling me to breathe
much more freely.
Go figure!
About a year into my 90%
brainlessness, I sought the
advice of the wisest man I
know. My old professor of
Interpersonal Problems.
He listened. And then laughed.
“Welcome! My mind left over
five years ago.”
So! A reunion of sorts of the
brain deficient.
All we could do for the whole
conversation was chuckle and
guffaw as to how we’ve fooled
everyone.
But then I turned serious!
I had so many questions!
Chief of which: Do women lose
their minds proportionally?
He couldn’t stop laughing then.
Five minutes elapse, my thinking
he’d need medical treatment.
Finally he breathlessly blurted out “Not...
in the least. They...never do. You see,
they had none to begin with!”
Stop here! Feminists, please.
And plot no revenge of any type!
Especially intricate, quite above
my head!
It was a joke!
Actually I love women more and
more tremendously since I’ve
lost my mind.
I gravitate to their conversations in
the office.
I seek places where they congregate
and I bathe, bathe in their loveliness,
and non-threatening wit.
One of these for lunch. An old paneled
establishment where the chef rules.
He makes me a thumping cheeseburger
that defies gourmets. It shouldn’t succeed,
but does deliciously!
(I should say here that when I possessed
a mind I was a vegetarian.)
I hardly come up for air when I devour it!
Then burp and discretely fart with some
abandon, my chin greasy which I
darent napkin-dab for a while in my
gustatorial ecstasy. Ahhhhh! Shine on,
wondrous chin!
Then I turn my attention to the women
dining there. The lovely, bubbling
conversation. The buoyant laughter.
I could swim therein forever. It is
flawless!
Until...she without flaw!
Enters!
Drop-dead gorgeous! an understatement.
Sitted at a corner table, and draws all eyes
towards her as head waiter leaves maroonly.
The other women make excuses to each
other, and fairly quickly depart.
Just me and her.
And do I walk by her and stumble and
shyly apologize, and this awkwardness
the beginning of great romance?
Not a bit of it. Grow up, o Hollywood
Infected.
I flee too! But linger outside to watch
her through the window, street life
shoving at my back.
Alone, she is breathtakingly beautiful
in a shaft of rancid light.
I can take no more of her looks.
And loneliness. So walk away fast!
I’ve been promoted at work, thus
lacking most brain power helps.
Have a new, spacious apartment and a
cleaning lady, an ageless babushka.
Also, about to marry.
I’ve been honest with Tess.
She quips “Who needs a freakin
brain anyway? Or even much money?
Kind hearts are hardly witty, but
they’re purest gold!”
Labels: faking, feminism, humor, kindness, lose mind, marriage, wit
Friday, September 22, 2017
Reaction Time
Philora
Thereafter we used Philora as a shorthand
indicating any Apeshit Fit over a trifle.
They never disappointed.
Ora, unfortunately, unchattered by
some express train of a Big C.
Departed, she, six months.
Phil grew morose.
But enter Betty!
Corn On the Cob and Apple Pie wholesome!
Calming all around her. Cow-eyed Goddess!
He returns to panic mode nonetheless.
She is rereading her pile of Alfred Hitchcock
magazines.
Labels: Apple Pie, Cancer, cow, death, nerves, shared nerves, wholesome
Thursday, September 21, 2017
By and By
But the Republicans--
as they couldn’t stop
pointing out, furiously--
finally delivered!
Anyway, there it joyously
was, and blocking the stars,
horizon to horizon.
Some said apple,
some blueberry, but
depended on where
you stood.
And the winds.
The children went to bed dreaming
of eating it, Adults did too.
Next night shown sliced,
nice animation
Who gets what.
Most of the hovering
world wept. But
religious people eternal-
ly grateful! For crumbs...
Secret of Life:
Less you want
more you’re loved
Labels: delusion, Democrat, Economics, pie in sky, religion, Republican
Wednesday, September 20, 2017
Future Rocks!
Word just received of the death of
Adam Sheeshman.
Frontman for group, Bomba Gibi.
His mangager, Lute Fen, to release
details soon.
(Please be patient with our researcher.
All male babies named Adam Sheeshman
during the presidency of Adam Sheeshman.
A numbering scheme was lost during
the Afro-Korean Wars.
The hope is that Mithatpasha Caddessi,
his media company, will clarify matters
with an extended biography later today.)
President Adam Sheeshman said
this at 7 AM:
“Musical Genius! I grew up on
Slutmax! Know every word.”
Labels: dictatorship, ego, Musical Genius, Rock, war
Tuesday, September 19, 2017
The Controller
-That Ratchel-Ann Romphe
will drive me up the highest
possible wall!
-There to say a few...
-Very few!
-And...?
-Plunge to my death sans women!
-Especially controlling ones!
-Curse! My White Whale!...and very
nearly as big.
-Ah hah! But she does you good too.
-Name one instance!
-She makes shy people grow some balls!
-That’s not an instance!
-Okay. When the dining room only had
orange juice?
-Which wrecks my stomach! Oy it does!
-She needled you until you got them
to stock Apple.
-Oh I would have fought that through
myself.
-Probably. And in slow motion. And...
many stop-frames.
-What’s always the hurry? How nervous
do you wanna get all the time?
-Anyway, lots of apples would remain
uncrushed!
-All right all right! Point taken.
-God sent her.
-Not enough is said about His triply
wicked sense of humor.
Labels: ;, Battle of Sexes, controlling, friends, identity, rationalization, shyness, timidity
Monday, September 18, 2017
Stay Misty For Me
--or the odds matter
Misty a bright acquisition!
Judge was optimistic about her
sticking.
He gave it 70-30.
But after the first week, and her
pouting after he couldn't obtain
tickets for Slammo & Chutzy...?
50-50.
After all, wasn't real anger, but
severely funked disappointment.
Even odds held another week.
Then she announced she was moving
to Freeport, and, thank you, needed
no help in doing it.
“Let's stay in touch!” brightened he
anyway.
“I'll be awful awful busy!”
So, not a chance. Plus, she put on her
determined face. Which, pretty as she
was, could still horrify children and
small dogs.
Well...plenty other games in town!
He was a realist in realizing the breakup
was partially his fault.
15-85.
But, really, what a Foursquare Bitch!
He had actually lucked out!
His new date, Larsy, asked him repeatedly,
"What did you say?"
She out-vagued the field.
Odds would take some thought in her case.
For their next good time, she showed up at Early
and Marcom, instead of Four Corners!
How long before she’d forget his very existence?
Anyway, he finally decided on 100-1 they’d
ever arrive anywhere.
About right. She finally left with a high junkie
as woefully scattered.
Our hero, yes, cried.
Isn’t it the accumulation of things that leads
us there?
10-1 we’ll all do it at some murky stage.
Or acute.
Will of the Almighty? I heard God and the
Angels washed their hands of relationships
worldwide.
Satan, though, keeps his oar in.
Propelling his Rowboat of Fools!
Labels: date, dating, fools, friendship, God, odds, rejection, relationship, Satan
Sunday, September 17, 2017
At the Meeting of Stuffed Animals
Peter Panda in Charge. Though few pay attention.
He doesn't either, falling asleep.
Topic: Proper Maintenance By Families
Garfield Cat pipes up “I can take care of myself!
Longggg brushing can help. But a spin in the washing machine
scrambles my brains!”
Boo Boo Bear shrugs “Everything is worth it for the hugs
of boys and girls!”
“Why not put girls first?” quacks Deborah Duck.
So the Bear repeats, with girls first. Then, “Are all
ducks feminists?”
“They’d better be!”
Peter Panda wakes! And all the stuffed
animals laugh as he rolls twice, and
then asks “Anybody got any bamboo?”
Labels: bear, children, duck, panda, stuffed animals
Saturday, September 16, 2017
Secret Amour
more important than the person.
Delilah puts forth a list of three.
Hortense asserts that all smell, but
Del quickly attributes that to Irish
Spring Deodorant!
Hortense’s old dance partner,
and present husband
(team of Northy and Hortsy)
snorts “Melody, huh? Be like
dipping your wick in ice cubes!”
(Pretty Patter and Dizzy Dancing!)
Did a stumbling Buck and Wing,
then, for irony.
(New York and Paris!)
Left him scarlet!
(PARIS, TEXAS THAT IS!!!!!)
Labels: friends, lover, New York, Paris, secret lpver, Show Business
Friday, September 15, 2017
Expanding Left
-Thoroughly! Fried chicken and fiery speeches
-Heard you complained no fois gras!
-That’s effete stereotype! When I got the mike
I gave them one joke playing to it, but told
them, firmly, we must make common cause
against Fascist Republicans.
-Went over?
-Many smashes on back after!
-You like being with the boys, no? And…is it…
all girls at work?
-You could say that.
-Anyway, Junk Yard Dogs, the Republicans!
-The milder ones.
-They really fight for the cause!
-Yeah, comforting the comfortable, and
afflicting the afflicted.
----------
Back from Hurricane Irma
----------
Back from Hurricane Irma
Labels: Democrat, Fascist Republicans, Labor, Republican
Wednesday, September 06, 2017
Rt-Lft
-I wouldn’t screw her with your dick!
-What a lovely figure of speech?
Then again, you’re a lovely
figure of speech!
-Fuck the Fairy Talk!
-Heil Hitler!
-For sure! Hey! Some ball-less minister
says you’re spose to love me!
-That God is dead!
-Don’t you think Heaven is Open Carry? Really?
-If it is I’ll keep going!
------------
Hurricane Irma halts things after this, a bit.
Labels: God is dead, guns, Hitler, Left, open carry, Right
Tuesday, September 05, 2017
Details in the Locale
Fixing Up
-His girlfriend dumped him so
ceremoniously–-everything but
a brass band!--hardly a corner
in this fair city where they’re
not on Humiliation Watch.
-There to laugh at him uproariously?
-The poorer sectors, yes.
-For richer?
-Thrusts, sophisticated and exquisitely
cruel.
-So, bottom line, everywhere he goes he’s
shamed? Piling on to his wretchedness?
-Whammo! Or weewee.
-People are disgusting!
-Since he won’t but speak two words
or so in his depression, I’m trying
to fix him up with Jolly Judy.
-She’ll lift him!...or talk him to death.
-She’s the only choice. A normal girl
not into therapy, but fun!
-How come you always need to have
fun with other folks, and they’re usually
the worst?
-What’s that movie? Death takes a Holiday?
Well, people let go of their sour funks from
time to time.
-Catch ‘em on the upswing?
-The only way!
-Is the ordinary condition misery?
-Screw you!
The Definition
-They call me dumb. Everybody calls me dumb.
-Okay, now let’s just examine what that means?
-You’re right about that. They’re awfully mean!
-No, you misunderstood.
-See!
Labels: breakup, cruelty, dumb, fix up, friendship, humiliation, mood, piling on, society
Monday, September 04, 2017
Even-Tempered
Brelle and Lindsey befriended him at
his new job.
But the two women went missing the
following week.
He had enjoyed their chats at lunch and
on breaks.
They were found murdered in the fresh
apartment they had decided to share.
He dealt with mostly automated
systems at work, and now discovered
he had spoken to practically no one
in the past few days.
At breaks, he read his tablet as to
the murder. Felt uncomfortable
talking to anyone about it.
Hate Crime. Was the hateful slayer
nearby?
It all hurt him so.
In one particularly grinding
stretch of a couple of days,
he spoke to nobody at all.
Went home to TV and bed.
For those two full days, no phone
calls either.
His mother hadn’t buzzed since
arriving in Spain.
The detectives, asking questions
in a nearly empty office supplied by
Human Resources, thought all this odd.
His mother reached his cell during their visit.
Insisted on speaking Spanish.
He had to tell her that he’d get back to her
manana.
He did agree with the detectives as to
his isolation being strange.
That evening phoned his old buddies from
the former job and they decided to go to a
hockey game.
Detectives Max Herkle and Dora Moriarty
had meanwhile ruled him out as a suspect.
Dora: “That man has no motives, good or bad,
for anything!”
Labels: ., friends, friends at work, hate, hate crime, isolating work, lesbian, passive, personality, sensitive, suspect, work
Sunday, September 03, 2017
No Business Like
-When you get famous, everybody
and everything serves to soothe
your ego!
-Be a welcome change! Since I’m
down in the dirt and dust alongside
the dogshit presently.
-Just wait. Patience.
-Uh huh? And even in my oh so
reduced and laughable state,
gunners are stalking me!
-Oh come on!
-My murder would be their Wheaties!
-“This is a required announcement:
Paranoia Warning...Paranoia Warning!”
-Oh yeah? Just one soft moment and
the dogs are shitting on ME!
-Forget all that! Someday, I’ll say I knew
you when!
-When’s a killer. All the whens. Killers!
-Just time.
-You can’t freakin relax!
-Will you never ever be happy?
-Speak English!
Labels: career, ego, fame, insecurity, paranoia, Show Business
Saturday, September 02, 2017
East Sun, Sister Baboon
East of the Sun
and West of the Moon…
I gotta sister who’s…
unfailingly sweet.
She left with another
of her species.
Emails me now as to how
lousy people are.
Her mature views
don’t interest me.
Labels: baboon, Family, sister, song parody
Friday, September 01, 2017
Debaters
First at bat, Hercule,
a weirdly-accented
Belgium who knew
literally everything!
Ask him, he'll tell you.
Our Irishman, Large-Mouth
Cass, labeled him “Poirot
without the Brains.” --This in
his middle range: he speaks about
four octaves usually.
Mostly the keening upper one.
The argumentative trio rounded
off by Belle-Claire, an American
Midwesterner warmly calm, until
a final rapier thrust to win her
the day.
Last Thursday's donnybrook
left them exhausted! No winner.
The topic?
What's the difference?
Since it always devolves to
Personality.
Then Cass whispered "All in all,
I'm glad I went to school.
Glory to the Brothers of Saint
Ambrose, and to Trinity College!"
The other two nodded. And they
never, ever, did that!
Labels: argument, Belgium, education, Irish, Mid-Western, personality, Poirot, Trinity
