THE TWILIGHT OF DEMOCRACY

Has the Republican Right nudged us bit by bit into the Twilight of Democracy? Did anyone suspect it with the so-called selection/election of an insurrection-driven president with dreams and schemes to rip the seams of the fabric of our nation? To tear apart the things that were the heart of our free and unfettered society.

Or did it start when baby Dubya was three sitting on his father's knee learning about the evils of democracy from family and the GOP? Was that how the leader we have now formed his views he would use his passion to refashion this land into what his vision thing envisioned it to be if he was sent to Washington as our precident-setting president?

Although we probably will never know the truth, neither does he. The brainwash of Bush was part of the legacy of the Texas dynasty that began long before he ever ran as a puppet of the GOP. As you'll recall, the smarty party started small to take control while the sleeping were as blind as bats.

From school boards to boardrooms of government and industry, slowly the GOP asserted its authority, from local seats of power to state posts where it mattered most. They forged a political machine like one seldom seen in a free democracy.

Then came Bush, born loser, abuser and user of the power he inherited but never merited who, by hook and crook, took the vote that he had not and you know what was the result, an insult to our liberty.

But that "winning" was just the beginning. After raping most historic rights, working to pack the courts with his sort of judicial officials, emerging victorious in the face of a complacent left bereft of leadership, he's on a roll to win the soul and take control of the whole enchilada.

And now I'll make this projection: who will Republicans run at the next election? Florida Gov. Jeb Bush, of course.

OUR PRECEDENT-SETTING PRESIDENT

What's going to happen to the U. S. A. with a president giving our freedoms away? Committing our sons and daughters to slaughter with a smirk and a sneer and a twisted smile and spending our money like it never existed or is going out of style. Creating enemies at every turn. When oh when will America learn?

Bush became our precedent-setting president and it was evident he meant to annoy us and destroy us. He took control of the nation he stole and went on a roll to put us in a hole. If that was his goal, the Texas dude indeed succeeded.

When will this one man wrecking crew drop the other shoe and do what no man in his right mind would do, dare to mess with Medicare, turn social security into an insecurity, bit by bit destroy benefits.


The day of payoff time grows nigh when the groups put up the cash to buy Big Ears four more years are coming to the discount store seeking gifts galore. The pay is go hard on the gay community, give DeLay and others like him immunity, distortion of abortion laws, deliver to the mighty right what they hoped might become theirs by right.

If you wonder what will millions, even billions buy, stick around and you'll soon learn. Big business has the bucks to burn. And the dough will flow to those who show their loyalty to royalty---King George the First, by far the worst leader of the payback pack. That is, unless you're a Republican Party hack.

SECONDS BEFORE A SOLDIER DIES

We cannot know a soldier's last thought after the fatal shot has been fired, to what heights he aspired, what really mattered moments before his life was shattered and his blood was splattered on this foreign ground, his fright as the angel of death, bathed in holy light. appeared in the night of his demise and ascendancy into the skies where God awaited patiently to set him free of earthly pain and misery.

We can not know who he will leave to grieve his passing from this world to the next, what his soul will expect, what complexities will cause a confrontation with his life of memories.

We cannot know. So much will die with this GI who rises to the holy sky with just one unanswered question: Why?

And as his name is deleted from the list of the living waiting to be defeated others still must face the wrath and walk the path the dead once tread and ask themselves as bullets fly ''Will I be the next to die?"

PROUD TO BE THE FATHER OF A GAY

My daughter is gay and I am straight, but that doesn't negate our mutual love and respect. I believe it was fate that this was to be as she met her mate some 20 years ago and their love for each other continues to grow.

And I have grown to love her lover as I love my own. She is family to me as they are to one another. In fact, they were wed and said their vows perhaps two years ago in 'Frisco and although it was not official legally, it was as important to them as it is to me. They are wed symbolically and morally and no matter what politicians and religions say, they cannot legislate true love away.

As the father of two brides who, standing side by side, agree to live in harmony and holy matrimony, I have grown to understand no one has the right to say two should not live together in this or any other way.

I have learned a lot about love and human emotion by witnessing the shared devotion these two demonstrate. This is how the unity of two in love should forever be.

And so, somewhat belatedly, on behalf of my daughter Ande, I welcome her love, Dany, to the family.

DON'T COMPLAIN ABOUT YOUR PAIN

I'm living in an age and at an age of aches and pains. But who complains? When it rains I stay in with my heating pad, my ointment and make an appointment with my chiropractor. When it's sunny I hit the beach and cuddle up with a sweater and a set of wheels and oh how good that sunshine feels! The lucky ones only hurt in spurts and when they spill hot coffee on their shirts.

I limp and scrimp and count my pennies and a big night out is dinner at Denny's with a doggy bag for desert. My eyesight's fine for looking at mini skirts and if I spill gravy on my shirts, can I help it if the chopped steak spurts?

I'm an eater-outer diner shouter and if the waiter waits to bring me extra plates that aggravates. I wage my salad bar war and stuff my pockets with Sweet and Low secretively so no-one will know I shoplift just for fun. While I'm on the line and I see that chick of sixty-six with the swinging hips and sexy lips and the bright red hair she got from a trip to the barber chair. If she has a car and she still drives I'll woo her with all that jive about how she looks just like a movie star and if she replies, "Who are you, a creep from Mars?" I'll respond with the Harharhars and pinch her cheek with an "Ain't you sweet."

When I was young I was a flirt. I figured one more quikie couldn't hurt. Now anything that wears a skirt, even a Scotsman wearing kilts, grabs my eye and I never went for a guy.

Being old is a whole new thing. You can become a ding-a-ling. But as long as I can sleep at night and chew and bite and have a mind and find I still can write, I say at eighty-one I'm still having a lot of fun!

THE WINNING FOOTBALL TEAM

I was a member of a football team than rose to fame and esteem because they never lost a game. They never once conceded and never ever cheated and, of course, were undefeated. Season after season the reason they kept winning was they had a special play that blew the other team away.

The coach was a cockroach, his assistant was a big red ant and the mascot was a poison ivy plant. When the opposition was in a position to win, Coach Roach sent in the second team---a giant worm, a slug, a jitterbug, a litterbug, a black widow spider, two lice, a couple mice, a mite that might bite, a termite that did, a few more bugs who hid in the crotch of a fan on watch from the five yard line.

When the other side eyed the second team on the field, they squealed and didn't know what to do. They had the ball and the quarterback was about to rack up the touchdown that would end the streak of the winning team. This Coach Roach's pride could not abide.

Ants got in the pants of the tackle and he began to itch like hell. The giant worm in the helmet of the guard made it hard for him to see and he responded repulsively. The spider landed on the ball of the other sider headed for a sure touchdown.

The jitterbug and litterbug danced with the mice and their act distracted the fans from knowing what was going on. Then the bugs in the crotch of the fan on the five yard line joined in the fray. And the lice jumped on the heads of the opposition, putting them in such a condition that all they could do was scratch and scratch so when the football with the spider on board soared in the air there was nobody there to make the catch except the mite or termite, which ever it was it was hard to tell, grabbed the ball and ran pellmell to the other goal.

And that's how his team won the Cereal Bowl.

SLEEPY TOWN DOWN SOUTH

It's a small, sleepy, town down south where people talk with mush in their mouth and y'all is something they say repeatedly. Lazy streets and byways, no highways, no billboard signs, of any kind, nothing to tell why it's eyed with pride by those who reside in this countryside.

Ancient trees, Spanish moss waving in the breeze. Birds fill the air with symphonies, showers of flowers everywhere. A town so small passersby never see bees pollinating lilac trees. Glorious greenery, unblemished scenery. Well kept rows of bungalows, dancing, drying just washed clothes. Come see what the garden grows.

Folks talk soft, walk slow, say hello and how-dee-doo with a smile while they pass by. Church bells remind folks to pray. A town clock tells the time of day.

Pets galore. More and more. Dogs on leash or running free. Cats sleep in the sun or climb a tree. A canary sings a melody. A saloon old men go to now and then. A barbershop where gossips meet to air biased views. A weekly that prints just good news. A jail that's rarely occupied. A statue of some guy who died for a cause none can decide.

A town banker who denies he cooks the books. Everybody knows he lies. A mayor short on brains, good with gift of gab, likes to blab. Laws voters disobey, but don't reject. That would be a sign of disrespect. A town cop who stops cars passing by. They know why. They pay, go on their way. Preachers break their holy vow, preach the good book anyhow.

These things happen in the town. Y'all don't spread that around. Town's not perfect, what town is? Had its share of immorality, infidelity, mortal sin. Nobody talks about, nobody lets the secrets out. Scandals? Might as well forget. Yet, they've lived the lie so long folks can't tell right from wrong. Honesty? Integrity?.That's old hat. So let that be the end of that.

OVERSOLD ON OLD AGE

If anybody told you it's great to be old, I'm there now and I declare you've been oversold. Take it from me, longevity ain't what it's cracked up to be. Aches and pains creep up on you awake, asleep, They take their toll on you. They invade the whole of you and take control of you,

Medications, complications of incurable, unendurable uncontrolled diseases take command of how you sit or stand, how and when you'll pass a stool or constantly be frustrated and constipated, whether you'll pee normally or endlessly, unzipped and ill-equipped to aim straight and it may be too late. You may be headed for St. Pete's Golden Gate.

Old age is a stage of growing doubt whether you'll make out with that attractive, active chick of seventy-six with the sexy lips and swaying hips. Do you lust for a gal who still drives a car? Can she tell you who you are? Should your mind stray or flip its cells or lose the use of some elemental mental component and cause you to have a senior moment?.

And every time you're out of breath you know you're one breath nearer death, Or when you cough or shout your dentures might fall out. Or if you laugh at someone's gaff or witty retorts you'll wet your shorts? And every time you bend or stoop you poop.


If these innocent unintentional incidents, events and accidents cause embarrassments and augment comments to some extent you might as well face the fact you are exactly what these acts impart, you are just a plain old fart.

I'M SERIAL ABOUT CEREAL

I wake up long after midnight not quite awake nor sound asleep but in that twilight zone of grunt and groan as the sun is turning on its burning gear and gearing up to meet and greet another dawn.

Weary and bleary eyed, yawn after yawn, I turn on the kitchen light in search of my first bite to trigger my bowels and halt the sound of growls in my round belly. I don't want to watch the telly or read the news, I choose what will turn me on as one by one all the stars are gone, to where, I don't care.

With a fiendish gleam in my eye I become a serious cereal eater and a serious serial cereal reader. As the cornflakes turn to mush in my mouth I intensely read the contents on the box. (You won't find exciting writing like this on a pound of lox or a box of sox.) Or I scan the prose how hockey pros prefer the oaty o's in Cheereos. (Everybody knows, they'd just as soon promote strawberry jam or even Spam if the price was right. But who thinks like this in the still of night?)

When I'm through reading this, how could I miss the recipe that you use easily to bake a cake with rolled oats sold as food for billy goats?

In big type green and red they spread the news of what's inside to keep your body nutrified and certified as good for you, you know they lied. (Then find the small print on the total ingredients, designed to strike you blind.}

Most amusing are the games to play, created for kids but that's OK. Or try the things that you can buy with bucks and box tops. All and all, reading the reading materiel on the cereal box is quite crude and may not put you in a mood for food but it will feed your need until the coffee's brewed.

I'D RATHER BE A BIRD

A woodpecker pecks wood like a good woodpecker should. A hoot owl asks who? and a coo-coo in a clock goes coo-coo but is not coo-coo and that is true. All birds that fly know why they do what they do which is more than I can say for me and you.

We flit around from here to there, in the air or on the ground, all around the square, from street to street on tired feet and arches aching and breaking as a result of this undertaking.

When birds want to fly they flap their wings and the body does many things they couldn't do without them. When man wants to fly he must first buy a ticket. Once he flapped his arms and quickly found that wouldn't get him off the ground. Birds can chirp and birds can cheep and birds can build their nest---a cheap place to cheep yourself to sleep.

Man must buy or rent or lease or cuddle on a park bench with a wench until a cop comes strolling by and gives them the eye and they don't fly but flee or face arrest for vagrancy or, at least, disturbing the peace.

Birds of feather don't fly together as you'll see if you watch them fly in the wide open sky. They're not crammed together in traffic jams or assigned to budget seats where buttocks meet and get not a snack to eat. Birds can halt in their flight day or night to have a bite of worms they sight.

Unlike man, birds don't need a travel plan, they just take to wing and do their thing when and if they can. Man needs a reservation in advance of his vacation, business trip or just to skip the cops enforcing law and order waiting for them at the border.

Take my word. It's best to be a bird if you plan to fly. If you don't, just pass it by.

MY HARD BOILED FRIEND

Humpty Dumpty was a good old bloke. Folks used to joke about his yolk. But they turned sad when they recalled he had all that cholesterol. After he fell off the deli wall it was learned he had no white at all. Just one big belly full of yellow, poor fellow.

I guess the poor guy had to die and his insides were the reason why. Most eggs stick to a diet low in fats and that's a fact . But when HD's friends suggested what they ingested might be good for him and he should try it, h reacted, "I just don't buy it. Eventually I might be somebody's omelette with bacon here and a big fat bagel with a schmear and coffee black and very strong. With a breakfast like that, loaded with fat, what does it matter? I'd rather go out in a great big a splatter."

And as you know, because the nursery rhyme tells says it's so, that's what Humpty Dumpty did. His plan was to escape the frying pan and avoid the fate of just another over light or a late night snack mixed with chives and chunks of cheddar cheese and whatever else you can't believe.

No soft boiled wimp was HD. A hard shelled good old egg was he up to the very end, I truly miss my hard boiled friend,

ONE SENTENCE SAYS IT ALL

When the world is through and me and you and all the neighbors we once knew who knew us too have nothing left to do we'll rest and rot in a parking lot once filled with cars beneath the stars that still are there which, like we bodies down below, have no place left to go so will go nowhere and will comb our hair and shine our shoes and shave if we choose aware we have nothing left to lose except the booze we used to use to cheer us up when we were sad and sometimes make us sad or glad even though we knew it was true that in the end we all would descend into the abyss of nothingness an d eve n less and leave this distressful mess to the bugs and bees and chickadees and all the rivers and the seas and breeze and trees and flowers and waking hours and luxuries all the joys of girls and boys and toys to fill our lonely days as we grew old and knew when we were gone we'd never live again. Amen.

PCs AND BLOGS

PCs have bugs, they have viruses. We blogs don't. They don't wire us. PCs freeze, may sneeze, even wheeze. Blogs smile. They say "Cheese!" They do what the blogger tells them to. PCs have glitches. Their keyboard itches. They suffer from faulty switches. Blogs just sit, wait for a hit, do their bit and that's it. No complications, aggravations, provocations, no blackouts or long vacations. That ain't easee for a PC.

SOME!

Some folks tell jokes, some chain smoke, some just wait to have a stroke or heart attack. Some buy things and take them back. Some hack and yack about their sacroiliac. Some read racetrack news, pick a horse and lose, of course, or worse, pick the winner but forget to bet till it's too late,
Some die from eating what they ate. Some tempt fate and race a freight right to the gate---the Golden Gate.

Some have kids and then neglect them, then expect them to protect them when they get old and God rejects them. Some grow tall and some stay small, some are fat and some are lean and some are somewhere in-between. Some make love and some make war and some don't know just who they are, some make war and some make love and need a shove to do their thing.

Some consult and some insult and won't admit they're at fault. Some will, some won't, some do, some don't, some can, some can't. Some wait for a rich old aunt to die and leave them a slice of the dollar pie. Some love to hate, find out too late hating is debilitating and try in vain to put love back on the plate again.

Blog limericks 4, 5 & 6

A blogger of eighty I knew
said, "Have I got a blog for you.
It will addle your brains
And cause aches and pains.
But will it leave you askew? I ask you."

A flyer who hailed from France
One day got ants in his pants.
He was unaware
Of how they got there.
"It's cheaper than fare," said the ants.

I trot a lot, jog through snow and rain.
I never gripe or complain.
But one thing I hate,
I must slow down my gait
When a turtle stops in my lane.

WAR GAMES

At its inception this war was based on a misconception, a fateful error that if we'd fight with all our might---for we know we are right---we'd win the war on terror. The enemy did not agree.

So war was undeclared/declared based on this uncertainty. At first there was defiance to join the alliance we'd need to crush the enemy. George Bush, the wheeler-dealer squealed, how could they dare not yield to the most powerful nation in civilization? So they hurled their demand in a language Bush could understand: a share of the spoils, the Iraqi oils. But the war didn't go the way George said. And when the dead began littering the desert sand many packed up and headed home again.

There's no way of telling when our troops will start rebelling and then where will Georgie be? All alone defending humanity and democracy and explaining the hypocrisy of torturing the enemy with fun and games and nudity and all the other harmless pranks Yanks play to promote the American way.

Three cheers for the U, S, A.!

MAKE IT OR FAKE IT?

There's a new scandal brewing that's doomed to be the undoing of any trust the public ever had in the news they choose to to listen to, to view or review on radio or TV or in the printed press, no less. It's been around for more years than you realize and now it's no surprise that it's reported on the internet but, of course, not as yet on traditional outlets that we trust. And what about commentators who turn out to be prevaricators, falsifiers and just plain dirty liars?

It's the surging emerging of a worldwide industry devoted to a service known internationally for faking news. That's right, they make fake news and these liars use the wires to report it as legit and not the you know what it rhymes with.

Germany called it the "big lie." If you repeat repeatedly and endlessly the public will be convinced it's true. The Nazis honed it to an art, but all the nations involved in the altercation better known as World War II. War were a part of it. It was best used to convince the losers they were winners, to prove the good guys were the sinners.

All nations lied and maybe in some cases it was justified to keep the public satisfied and hide the facts they denied because the truth was classified. Today fake news is used to hide the flaws in laws or pending legislations, the effectiveness of medications, the explanation of complications and implications of certain situations.

Fake news is used by parties in power to shower praise on their bosses, by corporations reporting profits and losses, by organizations involved in public relations.

The problem is, we read or hear what's real or fake, but how can we decide who told the truth, who lied?

Blog limericks 2 & 3

A blogger who liked to jog
Ran in sleet, snow and fog.
Some called him a sap
As he rounded each lap,
But it was better than walking a dog.

There once was a blogger from Og
Who slept like a bump on a log.
One day he awoke
As a mighty big oak.
The trees were aghast and agog.

THE REMEMBERING MIND

I have the kind of mind that remembers ever every thing I've ever done since Day One or even before, I recall it all, the day my parents went to bed and mother said, "Let's make a baby, " And my father replied: "Maybe. It's not we haven't tried " "Try again." my mother said. "Try harder." "This hard enough?" he laughed and kissed her and they began.

My father huffed and puffed. My mother laughed and cried and then she sighed and I knew that they were done and soon would have a son and that newborn boy would be me

I know it's hard to believe. but I was there the moment I was conceived. I felt like I'd been shot from a cannon into a wet and watery cave but a sense of loving warmth came over me and I fell asleep peacefully.

I knew without knowing that I was slowly growing, changing and rearranging, that wondrous things were happening to me, from a tiny seed in a magical sea into a what I was meant to be. It was a thrilling time for me, the He who was yet to be.

THE FALSE ALARM

He shouted "FIRE!" Terror gripped the crowd. He shouted loud: "FIRE! FIRE! FIRE!"
They turned manic, frantic, began to panic, sprang from their theater seats and tried to flee. Hordes jammed the exit doors, pushed and shoved as the maniac cried his warning more and more, louder than before, feeding the craze. A massive maze fled a blaze that none could see.

Terror gripped the crowd and bodies crushed as hundreds rushed to get outside. Exits jammed. A lobby crammed. Women, children, old folks cried. Trampling feet led the retreat. And many died.

Out of control and not a soul took time out to wonder, what in thunder was it all about? They saw no smoke. There was no flame. Is this a joke? A hoax? A madman's game? Who's to blame? Who would do a thing like this? All the same, it could be real.

A heel dug deep into a face. Bones and teeth crushed beneath the weight of those still standing, demanding "Get the hell out of my way!"

People hurting, blood spurting like a fountain in the park where sparkling water flowed. Here, the color red. The source, of course, from the living and the not yet dead,

No time to doubt. Just get out!


He shouted his false alarm once more, then sat back to watch the show on the screen and the panic scene he'd choreographed. He laughed at peoples' cries. He thrilled at the terror in their eyes. This was the prize he anticipated and waited for. No film director could want for more.


Hollywood said he was no good. All washed up. Should retire. He'd prove them all a liar. He'd show them he could and would, as they say in Tinsel Town vernacular, produce a spectacular.

And as the cops rushed in and the fire engines roared outside, he said with pride: "I was the first to produce a masterpiece, totally unrehearsed."

.

EQUALITY FOR GAYS

He was gay, always wanted to be that way. But he was sad because his dad, his brother, his mother and every other member of his extended family, who were straight. couldn't understand why he was the other way.

They never accepted it, rejected it and never expected it because he was everything a man should be. In looks in manner, in physique. He was the type that women seek. He was every inch a man. And he was. Then why did he want other men?

Somehow in the process of impregnation, at the moment of creation, a long dormant gene determined his formation as to what he'd be. In every way sexually and physically a man. Visually, genetically, emphatically a male.
But where did nature fail? Or did it?

Since millions are gay, who's to say they're less normal than the other way? It's just a difference of desire. Something their needs require. All are part of creation. Not all are meant for propagation.

Who's to say two males or two females, benefits of mutual attraction, cannot achieve satisfaction sexually and emotionally? Isn't it time they should be treated equally as part of the nation's population?

Blog limerick 1

One morning I woke in a fog
And decided to check out my blog.
While I was looking for hits
My PC had fits.
A bug in my blog was chasing a dog.

FOREVER AND A DAY

This is a wonderful world we live in. I want to live in it forever. How long is that? It's forever and a day. Even if I'm granted that extra day I'll still plead for more. I want to see what's going on after everyone is gone.

Why do I want to stay? Because there's so much I've never seen, never heard or tasted, pain and pleasure I've never experienced, so many places I've never been, so many people I've never met, so many books i've never read, so many poems I've never written.

There's a special someone I want to meet in every town along the way. An old man contemplating the fate of a troubled world. Students seeking answers to questions not yet posed, I want to probe minds that possess more wisdom than I could ever know.

So much awaits me down the pathway of life and the road grows ever longer, I fear my forever and a day will soon be here. I've heard the music, read the words, seen the brush strokes on canvas and in the sky, tasted the sweetness of pure air, inhaled the aroma of a pizza and an apple pie, a Thanksgiving turkey roasting to perfection, the lonely softness of new mown hay, the nectar of a rose in bloom.

Who chose the colors of the gently curving rainbow in the sky, the brilliance of a setting sun, the multicolored falling leaves, the magical wonder of a child just born?


I want to kiss the world farewell. I want to bid my friends good-bye and hold firm their trembling hands. I want to travel onward until the last forever and a day when the world must disappear.

BE TRUE TO YOU

To thine own self be true How can I do that when I don't know who I am? Oh, I know I'm not Bill or George or Sam. I know my name but not the me who hides behind a face of unfamiliarity with an identity given me accidentally.

If my sire's sperm had turned left instead of right I might have been a female member of humanity. If it had hit the egg the other way who knows what I would be today? Maybe this or maybe that or a combination of the two. You might be Me, I might be You.

Sex, you see, is quite complex. It takes one of each to perform The Act But if the sperm and egg react at the moment of impact, pregnancy may or may not occur. It did and I became a kid. Will I be a Him or a Her?

As it turned out I became a He. What kind of He will I be? Thanks to the force of Intercourse, for better or for worse, I am A He Me. But who am I and why am I and what am I, I do not know. This is so. Should I be witty? Should I be wise? Or should I be just like the other guys. who tell lies to disguise their true identity? Should I put myself on a shelf, never giving a tinker's damn what other people think I am?

JACKPOT JERKS

You put your money in the slot and if the you're hot you may not win a pot but you might win a lot in the beginning. Think you're winning? Stick around, hypnotized by the sound of falling silver, hoping this device will treat you nice and deliver more of what you came here looking for.

So just let the dough flow. You know you're on a winning track and have the knack that will send you home with a sack of loot so shoot the works, you greedy jerk.

You should have known at the start that the slot machine has no heart, no soul. It's only goal is to. bit by bit; give and take but take more than it gives. until you're done and the fun is gone and the machine has won and there's another sucker to carry on.

You've got to hand it to the one-arm bandit. You'll find, It has a sharp commuter mind. It ain't kind. It doesn't trust in luck to steal your hard-earned bucks. It knows its tricks and how to fix its give and take and make the gambler go home broke, but not quite. It gives him fare to go from here to there and back again to assets his right to spend another night and day losing all his hard-earned pay.

So here's the moral to this tale. The slot will never fail to come out the winner with seasoned player or beginner unless you mark what has been said, "Always quit while you're ahead."

IF! IF! IF! WHAT'S THE DIF?

Who came first? Adam and Eve or, I do believe, the prehistoric? Which was invented first? Bagels, bialys or hot tomalleys? White sliced bread or the color red? Funny money or the Easter bunny? The Model T or the horse, of course? Gasoline or the teen-age scene?

What's the diff? History's just a great big IF. IF saccharine was in and sugar was out, would there be a doubt about our weight and what we ate and in what amount and would calories really count?

IF the wheel was square, how would we get around? IF we all smoked Cuban cigars and drove electric cars and lived on Mars would we still be fighting wars and be at odds about whose gods deserve your prayers or theirs?


IF I'd sold before the bubble, I'd be rich and not in trouble. I'd be worth my weight in gold. IF I just had stayed the course I'd not be better, not be worse, IF I'd hedged my bet I'd be much deeper now in debt.

It seems what irks folks the most is why did the cook burn the breakfast toast? Why is my coffee not hot? Why is my beer not cold? \Why am I growing old?


IF! IF! IF! What's the diff? You choose. You win or lose. You pay your dues, You pray things will go your way. IF they do, good for you. IF they don't, they won't. The truth be known, I don't own a single share and I don't care. I'll never be a millionaire.

WAR. PEACE. PEACE, WAR.

Why war? People die. We. The Enemy. We kill Them. They kill Us. Such a fuss, All die gloriously. Victoriously. Immorally. Who bad? Who good? Who decide? Depends on side you're on. Who won? Whose son succumbed?

What's it all about? Who has doubt? Who clout? Figure it out.

Peace? Release. The Deceased. Police police the Beast. Winners. Losers. Abusers. Accusers. Choosers. Set the fusers.

War again. When? Depends. Leaders, Conceders. Propaganda feeders. Readers. Deceivers. Believers. Achievers. Grievers.

Peace once more. An open door. Who the Stud? Who the Whore? Who's minding the store

A DAY THE WORLD DIED---ALMOST

One day the sun failed to shine, the moon refused to glow, I watched the stars all disappear---where did the heavens go? I went to sleep and had a dream the world had died. When I awoke there was a sky without a single
cloud. It was gray. it wasn't blue. It covered Earth like a shroud and I heard God cry out loud, "They've taken my world away from me."

Farmers wailed as crops all failed and rivers dried and cattle cried for water The grass turned brown, no rain came down, and all over town homes burned down and there was no way to fight it.

Churches filled and people willed that God would face the blight and right it, But rumor spread that God was dead and it was said his son would rise and succeed him. If ever he was coming back, now was when he was needed. But day after day all was the same, he never came. People looked around to spread the blame but could not name the source of evil.

"Blame the devil," someone said. "He must have caused this havoc, this mystery of misery unlike any time in history. We demand a confrontation."

A commission was sent to hell to see what could be done. But when they rang the bell of hell there was not an answer, "Smash it down!" roared the crowd. And they did. What they saw were devil's advocates everywhere, people eating, drinking, having fun, naked dancers lolling in the sun, everyone as happy as could be, no sign of any misery.

And then they spied the devil's throne. He sat there talking on the phone. A television awaited his command. He returned the receiver to the hook, opened up a small black book and said, "I've been calling you. I just made a deal with some big wheel in Washington. He sounded like a lot of fun. I said I'll turn the sun and moon back on, replace the stars that now are gone. and with my big gold magic wand, turn what happened into one big nightmarish dream if you agree to George's scheme of which I approve explicitly. George will rule the universe and split the purse with me."

With that the devil flicked on the screen. And there was Bush with ears replaced by horns and all the GOP and defenders of democracy, bowing down to the man who wore the crown.

"He's my man," the devil said, turned off the TV and went bed.

IN IRAQ, WHO OWES WHO?

It happens again and again. Nations owe dough to each other but, oh brother, when it's time to pay, you can bet they look the other way.

Whatever has happened to the cash we "loaned" to lands that never owned two dimes to rub together? Never did we ever think they'd pay us back. We assumed they'd become our friends. But money 's the place where friendship ends.

Iraq's a good example. The amount we spent defeating them, to say the least, was ample. Now we're spending more to continue a war we never won. We paid in guns and our sons, in ammunition and commissions to U. S. firms who crawled out from under rocks like worms to cash in on the endless flow of dough we're spending to end a war that's never ending defending a land we say we that we defeated.

And when it's over, if ever, we're never going to get it back. Iraq will say, our economy's gone from bad to worse so reimburse us for what you spent on us as you cursed us and wasted on us to devastate us. At the time we said it was bucks well spent because we'll get back every cent by confiscating all their oil. WMDs were never found. There's plenty Iraqi oil in the ground. More than enough to go around. The enemies of our enemy, now theoretically our newfound friend, sound more like the victors while we embroil them and spend our spoils.

The enemies of Hussein and, by the way, also us, are still around while the beast of Baghdad, comfortably incarcerated, lolls around waiting while our allies are debating and Bush expounds how Iraq will be a great democracy if we pay the endless fee to see that his dream of peaches and cream comes true.

But who owes who? Nobody knows.

WHEN GOD CREATED

When God created snow and rain He didn't tell them why. He just explained: "I have my reasons."

When God created seasons. wind and storms and other forms of blowing things, the angels asked and He replied, "I know what I'm doing." Then He came up with snow and rain and cold and hot and dry and wet and yet, when they inquired, He said, "I was inspired. I desired more to do, just like when I created you. When I'm through, I'll put it all together and I'll call it weather. But first I have in mind different kinds of this and that,like bats and rats and pussy cats and..."

The angels didn't understand what God planned. He held up his hand and patiently replied, smiling wide, "Trust me. Soon you'll see. Have I ever lied to thee? Have I ever kept thou in the dark?"

"In the what?" the cherubs remarked. "What's this thing that you call dark?"

God nodded. "Just wait. When the time is right all I've said will come to light..."

"To what?" a mother angel cried.

God laughed and then He said with pride, "I must be careful what I say. I'm using words I just created on this day. Like dark and light, day and night, black and white, early, late, just you wait..." God was amused. They were all so confused. And then He said. "I have another inspiration. I will give you all the benefit of my creation."

Again God waved his hand and vowed, "Now you understand the words I use and what they mean so it is time I set the scene." God pointed here and there and everywhere, "See, the grass is green..."

They all repeated, knowingly, "The grass is green."

"Right," said God, "the snow is white, the night is dark, the day is light, meet my little friend the pig, and here's the horse, of course..."

"Gosh, the horse is big," they giggled as it swished its tail and wiggled its nose.

"And now meet my friend, the elephant and his tiny fiend the ant. One is big, the other's small. But they are brothers, after all."

The folks in Heaven understood as He knew they would. And as God went on creating, elating old and young, they looked in awe at what they saw and they knew what God was trying to do."

Finally, God sat down on a cloud and He said, "Whew! I'm through. Now children, tell me true, what did I teach you?"

And they all shouted with joy and mirth, "God has just created Earth and sky and we know why. He created all the birds that fly. And by and by, so many things He will create and we'll know why. God created us and so we know. If He says it's so, it's so."

It was the sixth day of God's chore. God had so much fun doing what He'd done and He and They knew there'd be more. For He and They knew what God was for.

An angel shushed, "Now I don't want to hear a peep. God's done His work, let Him sleep."

They all crept away as God slept at the end of day, singing their song as they walked along, "God is good, God is great, only God can create." And as they faded out of sight, God awoke and winked his eye and said, "You bet! They ain't seen nothing yet!"

THE EGG THE HEN COULDN'T CRACK

Henny the Hen was the barnyard glutton. There was nuttin' she wouldn't eat. Her pecking speed could not be beat. She didn't scorn cracked corn and ate her fill as chickens will, but that fare was not enough. She filled her craw with all kinds of stuff. She'd spot a snug bug sleeping in the sun. One quick peck, that bug was done. Once Henny found a dish of meat. Peck-peck-peck, not a speck was left on the dish. With a swish, she ate the dish.

Henny went pecking down Lover's Lane where necking was a favorite game. She found a condom on the ground and gulped it down. Henny grew so fat you'd think she'd become somebody's Sunday dinner, but besides her mighty appetite, she was the winner of every egg laying competition in sight.

One day Henny met her match. She laid an egg she couldn't hatch. It was not egg-shaped. It was round. When it plopped out on the ground, it bounced up and down. It had a strange elastic shell. The more the chick grew inside, the more the shell would swell. When it tried to peck its way out the newborn chick would bounce about and shout, "Get me out of here!" The full-grown chick got no reply. Oh well, it thought, the hell with it. If that's my fate, I'll just stay and grow until I suffocate.

Henny figured I've worn out my beak, all this pecking's made me weak. I'll ask my rooster friend to try his pecker. Maybe that will do the trick and I'll get my chick. The rooster was a good necker, but it had a lousy pecker.

"That's a hell of a tough shell," the rooster sighed. "I can't break it." Henny replied: "You helped make it."

A farmer's son went walking by. He saw the egg, thought it was a ball. He bounced it once or twice, and once or twice again and again, then he heard a peep. A crack appeared in the shell and sure as hell a giant chick fell out of the so-called ball and that was all.

The boy took the condom, not the worst for wear, and showed it to the farmer girl. Nine months later, to their joy, they had a bouncing baby boy.

A WOMAN IN A TREE

I met this woman in a tree. She sat on a high branch staring down at me. I stood on the ground, about to pee. I wondered, what was she doing in the tree? Bear with me and soon you'll see. As she descended from the tree to the ground, her beauty and vivacity astounded me. Her openness and honesty, her personality and vitality captured me immediately.

But I was embarrassed and chagrinned and began to walk away when she called to me, "Hey, don't go away." She laughed in a devilish way. Her long, uncombed hair tossed uncontrolled, sparkling like strands of gold in the bright sun overhead and said. "My name is Glory." She said it simply, invitingly.

I stood transfixed as she talked. She was strange, seemed deranged but not insane. Her words spilled out fast, she cast a spell on me.

"The reason I climb trees is to relive my childhood memories and, at the same time, forget what troubles me. Can you understand?"

I nodded yes, tried my best to figure out what she was all about. She laughed, said, "No you don't but you will. Say, what's your name, anyway?"

"Pete," I said. She laughed. "What irony! Do you believe in coincidence? Do I make sense? Your initial's P. It rhymes with what you were about to do and T for tree and G for me. It was meant to be. But now I'll tell you about the tree, Mister P."

For the first time I saw her frown, her lips turn down, her blue eyes glisten with tears as I listened. "My father and I were at the sea, Dad had taught me how to swim until I was as good as him and he swam professionally, He spotted an island far from shore. A sandy beach, a tall oak tree. The water calm. the ocean blue. 'Want to try it?' he said. 'I dare you.'

"We dove in. 'Let the race begin,' he shouted loud. I never doubted he would win. He always did. But suddenly the sun hid behind a cloud, the sea churned, the waves tossed high and suddenly we were lost. Then the sun returned and burned our eyes, I lost my way. Dad did too. The mighty oak faded from view. waves heaved high as Dad and I plowed on without hesitation toward our island destination, uncertain where it might be. We swam and swam and treaded water, dreaded that we might drown as the sun came down and night consumed the once bright sky.

"Dizziness robbed my consciousness. I felt my self plunging down. Was I asleep or was I dead? Suddenly, I was on the beach, the mighty oak overhead. I called to Dad. He was not there. I climbed to the top of the tree and saw Dad futilely trying to swim to me. I shouted into the blackened sea. Hopelessly. I watched the Dad I loved go down. I saw him drown. And that was all. Well, not quite. When night gave way to a sparkling day the sea was calm as a plate of glass, as smooth as a new-mown field of grass.

"Now. when I'm high in a tree. I can see and hear my Dad calling me. 'Glory!' was his name for me. I wait for him longingly. And now you know why I climbed that tree."

THE GIZMO GOD

God created gadgets galore and will dream up a billion more before He closes up the store and calls it quits. But back when there was nothing there, not even air, and nobody and no bodies to use it, why did God choose air as His first creation?

He didn't know what air was for, and what's more, He didn't care. He just saw this empty space some place and figured it would be a waste not to use it. After all, He was the God of Gizmos and Heaven knows, eventually, even unintentionally, potentially there would be a purpose for this surplus oddity commodity.

Then lo and behold out of the blue God knew what to do, create something and someone to use it. But but who or what would choose it? He'd create something that sucks and this was Man. But what's a Man and how can man fulfill the plan to inhale the air here and exhale it there and share it with others who'd dare to sniff this stuff called air not knowing what its effects might be?


Of course this was all speculation. There was no indication or inclination of what might result from this experimentation but they'd have to try. If Man would die they'd know the reason why but it was worth a try.