Thursday, September 29, 2005


Considering what's happening in Iraq, it's enough to send a sane man back to the couch of his shrink to rethink what he thinks he thought and what he got from Intelligence that ain't even as smart as this falling down clown upstart?.

What if the thinker, who's both dumb and daft, decides he's still leader of the pack and decides to shaft the troops and other groups in and out of Iraq and restart the draft, what he said he'd never do? Who's kidding who?

He won't need or ask permission, just consider it's part of his mission to secure the peace by feeding the beast more bodies of our youth. He can do it, that's the truth, and we the weary must hop to it. All George the Glutton has to do is push a button and it's done.

Face it. The draft is already in place. He's cancelled dates veterans had to return to the states. Who feared when they volunteered they'd be commandeered by a weird big-eared son of a Bush to stumble over the wounded and dead to fight an enemy they can't see?

The draft boards are still in biz. They're just waiting for their boss to get the itch and flip the switch. If you're 18 or more pack your bags and all and await the call. Now part of the dirty tricks, they may extend the age to 46.

There's a lot of what-ifs, like civil wars or maybe Iran has plans. Syria and Korea could rattle their swords. Even if they're just hurling words, that would give George an excuse to turn up the juice and boost recruiting to get more kids to do more shooting.


If you have complications with constipation on vacation at a location where a lax of X-lax compounds the situation a surefire solution to this violation of your constitution, known to make the problem pass, is prune juice in a glass. That should free you of this malignancy. If that fails what ails you, bran is the way to go. This nature's medication works when others of noble intent end in gassy flatulent. Flakes can make you make and end the ache in your bummy tummy.

There is yet another I suggest you try that might resolve this dilemma: an enema All you need is a bucket of water, a rubber hose, a bar of soap and hope. You squirt the liquid in, let it begin to bubble and resolve the trouble. When you can't hold it anymore, relax and let it roar. Don't be in a rush to flush. There'll be more and more and more. When it's over, ah the peace that comes with release!

Now check the menu, what's the fare? You'll be hungry enough to eat a bear. Or a horse, of course.

Monday, September 26, 2005


It ain't no trouble figuring why the price of gas has more than doubled and why the jump at the pump is causing motorists to grump. But they have to pay anyway because that's the way things are today.

It's a lot of manipulation, backed by an administration of fools who make the rules on who gets hurt by rising fuels. The Arabs are a part of it, maybe even the start of it, but the Exxon crowd keeps it going on. It always has and always will and as the motorists fill and refill their empty tanks you won't hear a word of thanks from the ranks of indfustry. They just say, "You buy. We supply." And well, the wells ain't going dry.

Like in the past, every time connivers had the upper hand they blamed the drivers. The Exxon icon was the same: Supply and Demand's the name of the game. Figure it out. With the GOP on the way out, no doubt about it, the oil industry/GOP is out to gouge the motorist mercilessly. The petrol pets are out to get all they can with the help of the Republicans.

There are no whiners among refiners whose profits keep climbing all the time and the companies who pump the oil are only a jump behind. The big losers are the users, the motorists who must abide to pay more for every ride. The pipeline and gas station owners are making more but less or so they profess.

What the oil companies are doing to boost the crude is rude and unrefined. And keep in mind who's behind it all. Their greed exceeds their dollar needs and bleeds the whole economy. Take note the next time you vote.
Return prosperity and sanity to the good oiled U. S. A.


GWB beguiles with a vile style and with sneering smile hears the cheers of fools and breaks the rules to fulfill his mad desire to set the world on fire. He's a chronic liar who finds it thrilling to let others do the killing in a war where troops are duped to do his bidding and he isn't kidding when he takes no blame and proclaims himself the uncrowned ruler of renown of a nation going down. This clown doesn't care as long as he and his coterie get their share after every legally waged killing spree.

George thinks in terms imperial where he's the king and it is immaterial what subjects say. This foxy faker was the maker of a phony baloney war and had no plan when he got us in it what he'd do if we should win it, and even worse, he had no clues of what way out we'd choose if we should lose it.

This leader of a dying dynasty just turned mean and nasty and look how fast he shifts the blame and bears no shame and refuses to play the name game because he knows he'll be defamed when the fit hits the shan and he ends up in the frying pan.

OK, Dubya, you've had your way, you've had your say. Now it's time to put the guns away and return our troops to the U. S. A. Let us have no more calamity. Let us settle down to sanity and amity. Damn it, G, go back to Texas and chop some wood. That's all you're good for. Not minding the store. Not waging war.

Friday, September 23, 2005


A college degree is no guarantee of competency or integrity, especially when you're seeking help medically. Don't just complacently agree to do what the doctor tells you to. Their advice may cure or kill slowly, by degrees. (Pun intended, if you please,)

A symptom misdiagnosed may be the most serious mistake a doctor can make when a life's at stake. So take a doubting view of the advice you follow or the pills you swallow. And get a second opinion or more before running to the pharmacy, and always ask the doc a lot of questions and suggestions, demand in-depth consultation time before you pay the MD a single dime.

And never shrug and say, "Why should I care? I'll send the bill to Medicare."

Some patients blindly trust, just shrug their shoulders and accept the possibly inept specialist whose advice consists of drugs and pills and tests that run up doctor bills. And don't just be impressed by a crowded waiting room or a look of doom upon the patients faces. They're just the type a quack embraces. Doctors can do no wrong? If they live long, the physician was absolutely great. If they die too soon, it was just fate. If they cling to life, live on and on, keep breathing artificially even though they should officially be declared dead, it's just like the doctor said and watches as the survivors nod: "I did my best. The rest was up to God."

In most cases we will never know, could they have survived and thrived reasonably pain free as loving members of their family? Or was it right that they should die? Was it caused by quackery or God's decree?

Thursday, September 22, 2005


(A versification dissertation on scientific theories on the possibilities, pro and con, of what may cause hurricanes. In spite both sides insist they're right, controversy remains. Schools of science are in defiance, as research shows. The bottom line: who knows?)
* * *

Global Warming is alarming but is it harming the hemisphere, the atmosphere? Is it building in the stratosphere, waiting to appear as a killer hurricane? While the jury's out it does remain a possibility and a probability,
according to a study by the Georgia Institute of Technology.

An article in the journal Science (9-16-05) reports, unrhymed, of course:
"..,rising sea surface temperature (could) result in greater hurricane intensity." "But are the rising temps caused by man or natural variability?"

The possibility that sea surface temps (*SST) are a cause may be supported by this:
"Scientists have hypothesized high SSTs result in greater hurricane intensity."

So whether weather caused by nature or by man, warming can be a main cause of hurricanes. But blaming it solely on man's manipulation of the seas? Another theory disagrees:
"...increased hurricanes (have) nothing to do with climate change. It has to do with natural cycles that fluctuate..."

But yet another theory:
"Hurricane Katrina was an indicator of future hurricanes if nothing is done to halt climate change."

Even though the Kyoto Protocol could cost participating countries a lot, to not invoke it soon will cause deaths exceeding Katrina's toll. This is not the whole of it, just a tiny bit. I've taken poetic license, of course. My facts may not be exact. With my words I've been frugal. Want to know more? Go to Google.


With so much to be mad about there is no doubt that if you are glad you have been had. There are those who propose in poetry and prose that you expose yourself to official artificial joy and be just a nice little girl or boy and ignore the reality that's creeping up on you while you are awake, asleep.

Face the place you've been, be wise and recognize the place you're in and train your brain to accept the inept world that waits for you when you've got no place else to go, no room to grow. Life ain't no show just in case you didn't know all the writing's on the wall. We're heading for a sudden fall.

Face it! This world's becoming a pierce of shit operated by constipated, dissipated, lowly rated incompetent CEOs and who knows where they're leading us on this one-way bus to hell. The way the future's fading past the past the last I checked the ruling fools broke all the rules and lost the tools
that kept us on an uphill economic course. Now our force is gone and we are on a downward slippery slope devoid of hope and groping with a prevailing, failing rough sailing trip. It's depressing. It's distressing. We're
not progressing. We're retrogressing. We and the world are falling faster. We're heading for disaster.

If we suffer one more slip we'll have crossed the line---Hello, 1929!

Tuesday, September 20, 2005


Mr. Wind and Mrs. Wind had a daughter named Katrina, the sweetest little fluffy puff ever seen upon the scene in New Orleans. As a newborn breeze she was serene. As a gentle child, she kissed the trees and flowers lovingly. She loved the shore, she loved the ocean. Her family had no notion what was to come eventually.

She and her family lived happily. The devotion they possessed for Mother Ocean and Father Sea was fathoms deep and as true blue as the sky that shared their love for sweet Katrina.

But as their daughter grew it was quite strange. Her gentle demeanor began to change. Katrina grew temperamental, at times meaner than an angry sea. She lost her gentility, her ability to control her rage. Her parents said it was her age, a growing stage. This phase will pass. Alas, it did not. One day the troubled teen Katrina left home and began to roam.

"Why did our daughter who loved the sun and bathing in the warm, calm water of the sea grow angry?" her parents grieved despondently. "Did we mistreat her? Did we displease her? Did we abuse her? Did we refuse her anything? If Katrina is our shame, are we to blame?"

The Winds probed their past. They asked themselves, "Have we sinned? Why did Katrina lose her cool? Why has she become so cruel?"

One night, lonely for their child, they looked in the sky and what they saw made them cry. Their little girl was in a swirl, an insane look on her face, heading for the place she once called home. It was plain. Katrina had become a killer hurricane. A tropical eruption of mass destruction.

Father Wind, in desperation, flew up to confront his child turned wild. He begged: "Why, my daughter, why oh why?" Her reply: "Die! Die! Die!"

We will never know why Katrina changed. Why she became deranged. It was said after she was declared officially dead, she'd succumbed to the same insanity that affects humanity.

Why must millions die to satisfy nature's force? Even God, of course, cannot explain the fury of a hurricane.

Tuesday, September 13, 2005


How could a president with a record like Bush survive a first term like a squirming worm, like an infectious germ that has no cure, like a pile of manure in a reeking sewer be returned to continue control of a nation he spurned and turned from a democracy into the land of Bush hypocrisy?

He stole the first time, got away with it, decided to play with it like a toy and boy! did he enjoy! Like a gift cast adrift after it failed to give a lift to the user, Bush the abuser, the chronic loser turned to the religious right and saw the light and heard the voice of God, that's right, who said, "I choose you to lead this fight to, to use your might to wipe out all who doubt My word, the Word of God."

But Bush misconstrued and what ensued. Bush killed those who had done no evil and they were convicted by this weasel to an early grave. Only those who vowed to be saved could survive to keep their date not with the Almighty we all revere, but the leader of the dynasty launched by a mind destroyed by booze and beer and plagued by fear of those who believe in integrity and human dignity.

Now those who put this mole in power have a chance to redeem themselves and end this nightmarish dream. They committed a sin to get Bush in. They can commit the world to greater glory by ending his reign and sending him to purgatory on his way to a hell he designed and had in mind all the time.

Bush wasn't God's mistake. God didn't make Bush king. He didn't do a single thing to bring this about. God got duped. no doubt. Let Him out. It's time the lout be found out.


Myrtle the Turtle fell in love with Freddie the Frog and they had a daughter named Pollywog. She was half turtle and half frog and fell in love with Jake the Snake. They had a son who was one part each---frog, turtle and snake. Their son fell in a lake and had sex with a pike. They had a freak u unlike all creation and even the parents couldn't tell where the separation began because the pike's father was part salmon and the mother half perch.

The couple decided to wed in a church but the preacher nixed mixed marriages sol they remained unwed. They had a guy who's gay but enjoyed his sex either way. He fell in love with his sports car but they had no kids.

How can you lay a Chevrolet?

Saturday, September 10, 2005


George Dumbia Bush, the master of disaster, the liar with a desire to set the world on fire, the king of the vision thing whose indecision should send him and his lame brain mistrusts to prison, has the gall without the wherewithal to claim he won't play the "Blame Game." He just repeats the tired refrain, "I didn't know." And that may be so since this Texas horse's ass was deep in the heart of vacation land when it all began.

We're referring, of course, to hurricane winds of massive force, that sent the Big Easy easily to a watery grave with thousands of souls it couldn't save because the Grief of State took almost a week to realize and recognize what was happening before his eyes.

Take note: the poor and destitute seldom vote and those who do look to the Democrats to rid their slums and Republican bums of rats and fat cats who know where the money's at. When it comes to election time, the down and outs ain't worth a dime.

I'm not saying that the Powers that Be purpurposly and wantonly ignored the floods and crud and mud that poured into the streets and gutted homes and shattered dreams and everything that mattered, friends and families, precious memories, hopes and dreams and plans and schemes.

All this said, it matters not. What is real, thousands are dead and more are dying and billions are crying. And all the while, Bush is denying his responsibility for one of the greatest tragedies that has ever decimated humanity. An air of despair is everywhere. It cannot go away. And Bush, the leader of the pack, whines he doesn't want to play!

Well, the Blame Game has been played. Now the Shame Game rains on the Bush parade. And the only way justice can prevail is to send the whole damn bunch to jail!

Friday, September 09, 2005


News? Views? Whose? How do I choose? If I do, will I win or lose? Will I become more confused? Should I be excused my naivete?

There are clues the media heaps abuse on free speech. Freedom of the press leaves me at sea and in distress as to what they do to reach their goal, gain control, dig the hole to bury democracy. How can I separate fact from fiction? I'm convinced I lack conviction.

Just because the Constitution says speech and press are free that's no guarantee of honesty. Until we find a way to analyze truth and lies we have to go on what "They say."

But who are "They?"


Meriweather Fairyfeather was his given name
And M. F. to the whole wide world proudly did proclaim:
"I love my mom and she loves me. Happy are we two.
What more could I desire than a mom who loves me true?"
Merriweather Ferryfeather never thought to wed,
But stayed at home with Mommy. Happily, it's said.
Mrs. Fairyfeather was so thrilled with motherhood.
She had a son of forty-nine who always had been good.
"He's never loved a woman except his mom," said she.
"I know my son is true to me and he will always be.
When I die and go to God my son will cry and cry
For his dear mom who baked delicious deep dish apple pie."
When M. F. was fifty-nine his dear mom did succumb
And sonny boy was very sad and he was rendered numb.
"What will I do without my mom?" he sobbed into the night.
"She was my pal, my buddy gal, my shining guiding light."
Merriweather Ferryfeather cringed his way through life,
Never seeking lovers or a loving, faithful wife.
He spent his days and nights alone without a foe or friend
And joined his mom at sixty-five, a virgin to the end.


What is for dinner, for dinner tonight? Oh love of my life, oh dearest delight. What shall we eat, my sweet? Tell me the menu and sit at my feet.

Tonight for our dinny-din-dinner, my lord, I've fixed shish-ka-bob at the end of a sword. So be prepared for a gourmet delight. Gastronomically speaking, this is your night.

Tell me, my good looking, good cooking mate, what shall you place with the sword on my plate? To which of my longings will your food appeal? Will it be beef or tender young veal?

It will not, dear love, be flesh of a cow nor will a lamb die to tempt your taste now, What I prepare will satisfy you but not with the aid of tasteless tofu.

If it's not to be beef and not to be veal to which of my taste buds will this meal appeal? Please let it be fowl. Let this be my luck. Simmered and seasoned. Will it be duck?

Oh, sir, I've made with love and old spice something so nice, all bedded in rice. My shish-ka-bob on the tip of the sword invites you to gorge, not to be gored,

Dearest I wait with the faith of a child for what you've prepared, domestic or wild. I shall no more ask your ultimate choice, but wait for your words. Do I hear your voice?

Tonight, my dear sire, to sate your desire, I've placed on the sword and over the fire small morsels of lemming so lovingly, speared on their way to eternity.

Lemmings! How luscious! What eating delight! With pleasure I'll treasure each bitty bit bite. And what will we do after dinner is through, oh love of my life, oh lover so true?

Lemmings leap into the outgoing tide, never again this world to abide. So go the lemmings. So go, you and I. Tonight we shall dine. Tomorrow we die.

Relish each morsel left on your plate. Then, come with me, my love. The hour grows late. What will be will be. The lemmings are calling us down to the sea.

Thursday, September 01, 2005


How can George Bush and others of his ilk bilk the voters investment of trust in their incompetent administration of a nation at war and sleep at night?

If that were me or any man possessed of sanity, professing morality and living by the laws of Christianity, he would lie awake counting the dead instead of sheep jumping over the fence from life to death and leaving a trail of blood behind.

But men like Bush and others of his kind don't seem inclined to trouble their mind with such frivolities or trivialities. All they know is how to seize the power, seize the hour and build their tower of Babble-On.

Shed a tear for the dead? That thought never enters their head. Says our fearless leader, "Forget the past. Just pray that you will be last to die. Do what I say. Forget the dead. Forge ahead! Three Cheers for the U.S.A!"


The magic world of make believe that children find so real
Is fading from the modern scene and sad this makes me feel.
The fairies, elves and witches. too, someday will disappear
And in their stead men from Mars will populate this sphere.
Satellites and rocket ships and missiles probe the blue.
Humpty Dumpty and his pals will meet their waterloo.
Old King Cole and Jack and Jill and blackbirds in the pie
Will fade like sunshine turned to shade, will wither up and die.
Who can fathom fantasies like cows astride the moon?
Like fiddling cats and laughing dogs, a running dish and spoon?
The stage is set, the players all begin their final act.
Who will buy their phony lies in face of modern fact?