15 Year Old Girl? Or a Member of the Media?

"Ok, like, I've heard that there's this guy who's, like, going to the place tomorrow. And they're gonna, like, inuberate him or something. I totally don't know what that is, but, like, I saw his picture, and his wife too. OMG!!! My mom said he's going to, like, make the world a better place and stuff. *sigh* And he's taking over for this meannie-poopy-head who was like, like Hitler or something? But anyway, he was so hot!"

Distance Reduction

This morning my Cashew was 1,072 miles away
Tonight she is a mere 12. I would just like to say
That this is a wonderful development.
Ahh, she is heaven sent.

Good and Proper

Bacon for breakfast is right,
Like thousand watt bulbs are real bright,
Like darkness is lack of the light,
Like cowards are prone to take flight.

Pondering....

Here's a question:
Does anyone use that phone between Thanksgiving and St. Patrick's Day?
Here's an idea:
Let's make it into a snowman!

A Bit of Silly

Me and Jangletooth were hippin' to the jive of the ever merciful and cooth Charlie Mingus. Man did that man have sass to the nth and ever higher levels, like butterscotch dripping skyward.

Mm, but when he slow down? It's like seeing a shell-back mourning the loss of his legs and don't he ever got the blues? Mmm.

So anyways, Jangle he say to me, "Pick up the bass and slap out a happy rhyme for the walkin'. We'll pack your mirth into our back pockets and smooth it far.

The Tale of Horace 1

"I think it's clear."

To Horace Jones everything was always clear. He lived in a place of perpetual certainty, able, with nary a grimace of reflection or strain of thought, to conjure up an effortless, if not admirable, clarity of purpose. Often enough this natural ability was a boon to the young man. While others of his friends might tarry over inconsequential decisions, ruminating with their feeble brains much like a cow might ponder what she was chewing again, straining to find the best possible answer when several possibilities would do just fine, Horace would dive right ahead and choose. And so he did.

"We will have the stuffed mushrooms."

"But I'm not entirely..."

"Silence," said Horace softly to his friend Beltran, "If I wanted to wait until you were entirely sure I would have to start gnawing on my elbow for sustenance and we both know that is unlikely."

Horace and Beltran were at the Olive Garden reaping the rewards of their passivity. Beltran's mother had gotten so sick of the pair making a racket in her basement that she had begged them to leave, furnishing them with twenty dollars and a very firmly worded request to not return for the rest of the afternoon. Firm in this case was a very relative term, as Beltran had not inherited his proclivity for vacillation from a vacuum. Still, the two ten dollar bills were more than enough motivation for the seventeen year olds who had not as yet landed, or indeed even searched for, jobs of their own with the attendant remunerations. Twenty dollars was a tidy sum indeed and in the afternoon no less! Usually such bribes were reserved for the weekend, but the long Christmas vacation with the boys home from school had Beltran's mother frazzled down to a nub and she wished to nap in peace.

"After the mushrooms we shall dine on the soup and salad," declared Horace. "And if that is not enough to convince you, dear Beltran, we shall feast on bread sticks as well. Shall we squander the funds that your mother has so kindly provided us out of the fruit of her labor? Nay, we shall eat to the full and be satisfied!"

In addition to Horace's native certitude, he also possessed a measure of grandeur. Or so he imagined. Beltran simply rolled his eyes and acquiesced with a snort. He didn't much mind. He sometimes felt it necessary to assert his independence by indulging in some passive aggressive body language or letting loose with a word, maybe two, of protest, but he was only too happy to avoid any decision making of his own. Decision making entailed responsibility and Beltran had been trained from a very early age to studiously avoid that like a dirty diaper on a hot day in a locked car. And that is not so much a simile as a story that will remin untold for the time being, the soiled baby-ware that is.

As for aversion to responsibility, that started with his father who upon being told of his son's conception immediately uttered those three words, "See you later." Southern Ohio hadn't seen a trace of him since, but before you start feeling too sorry for Ms. Honeycutt, Beltran's mother, please realize that she was no more interested in responsibility than her erstwhile boyfriend. She had promptly enrolled herself on welfare and had kept herself there through thick and thin; seventeen and a half years on the dole was a testament to her indolence and her ingenuity, one of which she had passed along to her son.

He looked over his shoulder towards the kitchen and let out a soft whine, "When are those mushrooms going to get here? I'm hungier than..." he huffed rather than complete the comparision. No sense in taxing himself when he was suffering so grievously from hunger.

"My dear Beltran," replied Horace, "we have yet to order the delictables and I think it unlikely that they should arrive before the order is made. There are some leftovers on the table behind you. Taste and see that the breadstick is good."

Beltran's hunger, though strong, was overcome by his sloth and he slouched an inch in response.

"Very well. If you do not care to sate yourself on the abundance all around I shall blaze the trail for you. I tell you that I shall rise from this table and return victoriously with booty and treasure..."

Horace's building triumph was cut short by the appearence of their waitress who looked askance at them briefly, steeled herself for what was sure to be a very slender tip, and introduced herself, "Hi, my name is Wendy and I'll be your server today. Can I get you guys anything?"

"My dear woman," started Horace, "'You guys' simply won't do. Messieurs Horace and Beltran at your service. Or rather, you're at our service isn't that right? Bring us the mushrooms and make it quick. Beltran is feeling weak."

Sensing the hopelessness of the situation Wendy made a note, turned on her heel and retreated towards the kitchen, grabbing some dishes from the neighboring table. She well knew that Messieurs Horace and Beltran would not be proffering a tip that would merit much effort on her part.

Horace waited for her to disappear, arose with dignity and walked over to the next table. "Why, the shameless hussy has stolen our breadsticks!"

{to be continued}

Hope is in the Bitter Cold

Every year there is much talk of hope renewed,
The passing of the old year and its failings,
The coming of another set of days.
Might they be different this time? Better?

But hope does not reside in the artificial.
There is no new hope in a number;
That is but a stale wish for last year's rebellion
To finally succeed. Not by hook or by crook, but by digit.

Pagans.

But there is hope of new life in this world.
God sustains his creation by his word;
He has written this hope all around us,
In the flower, by all rights dead in bitter cold,
Only to be raised up to new life in Spring.

This is indeed a time of hope renewed,
For the bitter-cold-power holds sway;
And we have known this day before,
When death mocked life and Satan laughed.

On Seeing Crows For What They Are

A murder of crows is a sight to be seen
When all of the crows are be-ribboned.
It makes the black birds seem so festive and bright
Obscuring the fact that they're evil!
Naughty old birds! We see through your ploys.
Get out the shotgun; let's make some noise!

Orbs

Glowing orbs that light the dusk,
Pushing back the creep of dark,
Burning cool, no warmth but light,
Letting travelers know the path,
Burn your cool-fire through the night
Urging those to travel on
Who would ponder your chill glow,
Who would colder ever grow.

Nice and Warm

I've found that sleeping while it's cold
Increases the fortitude of my general disposition;
It centers me between either side of the bed,
While I tuck in my head,
And if I have been sloppy in making that bed?
Well then I reap the drafty whirlwind about my toes,
Forcing me to action: Fixing the error of my ways
or Inaction: Huddling closer and telling myself fables about how it really isn't very cold and that hypothermia is very unlikely for people inside.
Really the inaction is only the lazy man's delay; it never lasts long,
It cannot, for hypothermia cares not a whit for indoors or out,
Only for low-riding mercury and making the lazy man wise or dead.
Now don't for a minute think that there is complaint in any of this;
It is interesting beyond these rambling words to think about sleep and how one procures one's portion. There is a certain joy that is dispensed in want that one savors in plenty.
Plenty cannot live without its poorer cousin.
And the splendor of a warm bed?
Play footsie with Frosty and gratitude will well up in your heart when next you lie warm and comfortable.
I'm off to bed now.
Nice and Warm.

Cuban Holiday

Today is Boxing Day,
The poorer cousin of Christmas.
It is for cleaning up
And not really making a fuss;
Except in Cuba,
Where they lace up their gloves
And go to their in-laws,
And show exactly who they loves!

Nuts!

I got nuts for Christmas
In a 5 pound bag.
If you will imagine
And see my tail wag.
Pistachios are gorgeous,
Prettier than gold
I think I will go eat them now
Before they e'en get old.

Wind

The wind was cold,
As cold as ice,
But less solid,
And more vapory.
Nevertheless
It beat me about the head
Like I was Gerry Cooney.

.45 and .22

I shot a gun.
It went boom.
Shells on the floor.
Smokey room.
On down the range,
Piled up high,
Spent bullets stretch
T'wards the sky.

Nursery Rhyme

There was a reporter who threw a shoe
He had so many freedoms he didn't know what to do.
So he wasted them on insults, without any class,
Then got tackled by the secret service
And fell on his ass.

3 Years

Three years ago today I saw the future and didn't know.
Three years ago today I kept my hands low.
But now great love is growing
And the future is glowing.

The Gym Rat

I went to the gym
And there was a rat.
I can only presume
He thought himself fat.

Minnie-soda

The wind bit like an enraged terrier
Not enough to kill, but more than enough.
And the sun shone like a 15 watt bulb,
Tepid and weak like like a pound of bird fluff.
The similes buzzed around like fruit flies
Alighting on the inappropriate
Areas, while avoiding the apt ones.
The weather? Screaming like a chanteuse
And changing like a tarted-up floozy.

Fish and Socks

Fish and chips are good to eat.
Socks look good upon your feet.
If I'm feeling underclad
I just eat some fries and shad.
That's just silly, there's no doubt.
At least I don't eat eelpout!

Onward White Stuff, Onward!

Tis the first of December
And all through the state
There's a blanket of white stuff
And boy ain't it great?
Just a dozen more inches
Then out come the skis.
The trails are a-beckonin'
Who cares if we freeze?