SYMPHONY TO A SLEEPLESS NIGHT

One morning I awoke at half past three which I did occasionally. Nature called me, as they say. Bleary eyed, I did what I had to do, then crept back to bed to resume my sleep as I always did before. But not even a hint of snore, not the relaxation that precedes deep sleep, not the heaven blessed rest that is prelude to quietude.. I shut my eyes. To my surprise, I could not sleep.

I had read that if I counted sheep in my head by and by shuteye would come. I'd give it a try. I started out---one, two, three, four until I'd totaled enough sheep to fill a mutton store. You'd think shuteye would welcome me. That was not to be.

I tried counting other things. Telephone rings, swinging swings, romantic flings, ding-dong-dings, My imagination only led to more frustration. Then I asked the inner me, why not imagine a symphony to serenade me and land me in slumber-land? That didn't bring the sleep I sought but, oh, the sounds it wrought! I thought I was at Carnegie Hall. I was so enthralled by what I heard I forgot to do what I needed to. I held my breath at each pause and joined in the applause.

I thought I was wide awake, but when the conductor came out to take a bow my clapping startled me out of my hypnotic spell. I opened my eyes and to my surprise I was not front row center at Carnegie Hall, I was sitting on my toilet seat keeping time to the beat of the orchestration with my squeezing, displeasing flatulent sounds of constipation.

DARWIN WINS

Come along sinners, disbelievers, you believe you are believers, you doubters, want to find-outers, Intelligent Designers, Creationist insisters, evolutionist enthusiasts. Come with me on a spin to Darwinland and maybe you'll understand why the chicken came before the egg way back when the world began and there wasn't even a rooster or a hen.

But keep in mind if you find find mistakes in the claims I make take them with a gain of salt. It's not my fault. I've never kissed my therapist and I'm not a scientist. If that makes no sense I guess what I'm about to spout will make even less.

Let's begin. When the beginning began there was no man, no electric fan or garbage can or anything else that rhymes with "an." There was not a dress, no no or yes, more or less, but there was a mess caused by God who got the blame which was a shame which was odd because there was no word that rhymed with Lord or God or whatever which was odd because nobody ever read Webster's Dictionary or books on prehistoric history. But I digress, As I said there was a mess and for what it's worth, somebody somewhere named it Earth.

This mess was just a lot of smoke and fire, ice and maybe bugs like roaches and lice and tiny mice but no dinosaurs or carnivores or baseball scores. There was a lot of swirling slop that would be named protozoa long before Noah built his ark or the world turned dark or God destroyed what He created and that word led to "creator," then "creation," which rhymes with "constipation," which started all this consternation over whether the Creator got the credit for creating Earth or that anal irritation.

For may a millenniums everything was hunky-dorey because everybody believed the story, that the Creator created it all and that led to Creationism which became the wisdom of the times. Then came Darwin from some foreign town who turned everything around who said Evolution did it all and he started a revolution which robbed God of his fame. But all the same, even Evolution is a game proponents and opponents of theory, science and the Bible play. But who cares, anyway? It does appear we all got here and we'll all stay, at least temporarily.

TINKLE, TINKLE: Update on Rip VanWinkle

Tinkle, tinkle, poor Rip VanWinkle, creator of the Supreme Stream, he was so sad and blue. At the age of one ought two he could no longer do what he ought to do. You know, no doubt, what I'm talking about.

Rip loved this chick of ninteysix who still could make it and didn't fake it, loved to shake it, snake it, earthquake it. You know what I mean. And her lover Rip could drip but just could not make the scene.

It seems that after his long sleep he couldn't keep it in another minute and so he poured in a rush and an historic gush filled the valley down below with his overdue overflow. But what's so sad, he now had a worn out blad and it meant he was impotent. Tired of being an apologist, he went to a urologist to get the Viagra Cure which he was sure would restore the power that he had before his long, long sleep that led to his finest hour.

Dr. Joseph Schlonk----a good old Joe---said, "I know what you're going through at one ought two. I am only one ought four and I can't do it anymore. But take this pill and I'm sure you will be able to fill the bill and give a thrill to Lover Lil until she succums."

"That doesn't happen often," Doc Joe replied. "But if it does, have no regret. I bet you will go down in history as the greatest lover that ever be. And Lil will spread the word in heaven's all night Seven Eleven that when you come---pardon the pun---all the angels will forsake their harps and pluck, pluck, pluck."

THE COMPASSIONATE CAT

The cat found out that it could think and thought about the rat it caught and as he got set to take a bite the rat cried out in frantic fright, "Please, Mister Cat, don't eat me! Just think, if you were me and I were you, what would I do? I'd wonder, do you have a family that would grieve if you should leave your wife and kids to satisfy my appetite? I, as a cat, would be much touched by that plea to me from you, as a rat, and I would agree, I'm not that hungry, anyway.

"And I would open up my jaws just because you If you I ate I would create great sorrow when your family awoke tomorrow and you were not there. Cats should care about their rats bill of fare. It's unfair of we cats to sate our greed just to feed our need. And so I beg, please spare me, Mister Cat."

The cat considered what the rat had said, the sincerity with which it pled, and did consent to set the rodent free. And as he let his prey get away it said to him, "Have a nice day."

The cat went home, his conscience clear, smiling from ear to ear, and checked his dish. He'd granted the rat its wish and felt an inner pride. He satisfied his appetite with a drink of milk, a bite of cheese, a bit of meat, some delicious delicacies his mistress dropped intp his plate. He felt great as he ate. His gourmet meal made him feel quite satisfied. Each bite was sheer delight. He was in the mood for people food. And that cat never ate another rat.

THE LITTLE THINGS

ONE DAY my late wife and I wandered down a country lane, not talking, just listening to birds and cows and wondering would it rain. Breathing in the new-mown hay on this very special day that soon would pass away.

WE WERE walking down a New York street, wondering where to eat in this town of gourmet fare. Suddenly the air was filled with hot dogs on a grille. We stood still and breathed in the aroma and my wife said with a grin: "I'll settle for a banquet on a bun." We had so much fun. I wiped some mustard off her nose. She spilled soda on my clothes. I bought her a long-stemmed rose.

OUR FIRST kiss. I remember this. It happened unexpectedly, I saw her cross against the light. I saw a car loom out of the night. I pulled her free. She looked at me tearfully. I held her close and kissed her eyes. That moment I knew I'd fund my prize. I can' t forget those youthful tears after all those wedded years.

IT HAPPENED in the early spring. A little thing began to grow. What could it be? She looked at me tearfully. The way she did those years ago. "I know," she said. Now she is dead. I have my own tears to shed.

SO MANY memories. Children. A girl for her. a boy for me. Two we loved lovingly. Anticipations. Expectations. Graduations. Vacations. Not all went right, not all went wrong. Through it all our love grew strong. It's not gone. It all lives on. In my memory.

CORPORATE AND OTHER KINDS OF CRIME

Corporate crime is a dangerous game to play. Even if you get away or serve only minimum time for your crime, does it really pay? The fame, the shame, the devastation of the family name, can the future ever be the same?

Once a convicted thief, will you and yours suffer grief beyond belief? What is the expense in dollars and cents, in the consequents of unanticipated events that haunt your years, augment your fears, brand your children's reputations, affect their expectations, place in doubt their true intentions? Even with your remorse and full confessions, what chance have they for professions untainted by family indiscretions?

I often wonder as I read of men who plunder, steal the thunder of those under their control, seize ideas and take the credit, will they one day regret it? Will they suffer shame if they built their name and fame on the backs of those they denied the pride of creation and self realization. Thievery of any other kind cannot compare with the theft of creations and inspirations of the inspired mind.

WHAT MAKES A MALE A MAN?

Technically Man is born. Not all Males become real Men. I'll make it clear if I can: A Male becomes a Man when he is grown and known for performing like a real man should.

A Man, by definition, is not a male with hairy chest, muscled arms and natura. A Real Man achieves with brain and brawn, he does not boast on and on about his prowess and his success nor does he profess that his manliness causes women to sigh "Yes!" to his well practiced professional caress. He gives and responds to tenderness and does not try to second guess a woman's weaknesses.

A true Man does not refuse to change his mind when he finds a better way to deal with day by day adversity. He does not ignore the views of those who disagree with his once rigidly held philosophy. He is not mentally blind. He keeps an open mind and invites deep-thinkers in. He does not embrace danger but will face adversity when it becomes a threat and lets tormentors rule the meek and weak. He will not turn the other cheek when insults assault the truths that he holds dear.

A real Man can cry when there is reason why. He does not lie knowingly, but admits when he was wrong and went along with views so strong that he did not weigh their worth intelligently and logically.

I have listed some of the qualities which make a male a Man, I have not insisted I am always right. I stand ready to fight when something is worth fighting for. But I will never fight just to settle a score when I know there are wiser ways to compromise.

What is your measure of a Man?

THE FIREFLY

God goofed when He gave the firefly
A tail so bright and glowing,
It always shines where it has been
Instead of where it's going.

WHAT DID SHAKESPEARE MEAN?

To be or not to be? Shakespeare asked the question. Would he accept the answer? Would he regret saying it and resent others conveying what they thought he meant? Will endeared himself to Thesaurus and a chorus of those who chose to use his phrase to create an itty-bitty witty ditty or a very literary commentary?


It has been said Latin's dead. If that's so, did Will kill it? Was his amazing way of phrasing so unique that those who seek a way to speak would take a week to understand it? Those who yammer in perfect grammar stammer when they try to hammer out an explanation . If you know it don't show it or you'll blow it.


Cliche is the way to go, Just let the Bard's words spill it out. Be dumb, be dense, Make no sense. Just vent and you may be our next president.

BELIEVE WHAT YOU BELIEVE

You are entitled to your belief. If it provides relief in our troubled, befuddled war, so be it. This is just the way you are. You might be right, I might be wrong. But I must go along with me. This is how I happen to be. I must write what I think right or I would not be able to sleep at night. You must abide by what you decide is true. You must be You.

This piece I must write to shed some light between the true believers and me. I present my views respectively. I do admit at times I envy those whose faith is blind and find peace of mind I will never know, This world troubles me so, I fear where it will go if things go on and on the way they're going, showing scant regard for human life, finding joy in others' strife, and what I find most odd, both sides killing in the name of God. Where is His might to fight and smite the growing blight that embraces wrong and erases right?

Yes, I still pray but not in the traditional way. I shut my eyes and improvise a message to someone more wise than I could ever hope to be and trust that the He will hear what I will say in my head when I pray: "Please bless those who oppress me and help them find a better way by far than war to resolve the differences where we and the enemy disagree. "

It's as simple as that. Know where you're at. Be honest and at peace with your heart. It's the place to start. Good will replace evil eventually. Trust in the Powers That Be.

A BITE IN THE NIGHT

I awoke one night, I got a bite, right where you might expect. In the vicinity of my former virginity and in the spot where I was scratching, my girlfriend thought I had something catching.

Yes, I found the critter on my mattress. I sprayed with Raid and the bugger made a fast retreat on a dozen tiny little feet. It sped out of my bed. One more squirt and it dropped dead.

On Night Two, what did I do? To play it safe I slept on the couch and sure enough at two past two---OUCH! OUCH! OUCH! As you'd expect that insect had cousins by the dozens. They met for their convention in a section of me I am embarrassed to mention.

The bugs were lodged in my rear posterior. I was determined to rout them out. I inserted a tape in my tush with a recording of a speech by Bush. The strategy didn't chase the bugs away. Instead I heard a mighty hip-hooray. They wanted Bush, the bug, to stay.

Now that I knew where they hibernated I was determined they be exterminated. I went to the famous terminator, a former bug impersonator, Dr. Arnold Schwartzenegger. He refused to help my cause because he was their friend and would be a bugger to the end.

I tried this and I tried that. Ointments were a disappointment. Preparation H ended in frustration. I found Ex-Lax lacking. Prunes fresh, or turned into juice, were of no use.

I was not to be denied. Every thing I tried to evict them from my inside failed. Then I went on a diet of Boston beans. After a month of constipation, while on the pot in a mood of frustration, there was a blast and the bedbugs ran gasping from the bean scene. As they rushed, I flushed and flushed.

To my delight, I slept that night without a bite.

HAIL KING BUSH!

All hail King Bush, the Imperial Serial Killer. Thousands dead. Blood runs red. But it must be said in defense of this all-time slime of crime, he doesn't actually shoot the gun that slays them more than one by one. He's gets a whole damn lot in one shot and that's not an exaggeration for a nut who rules a great big nation.

You see, he doesn't actually kill directly. But he plots the spot and sets the time and is the necessary accessory to the crime. The GIs kill on his command while he turns his back on Iraq and makes believe he's in control of the former Hussein hiding hole.

Dubya has no shame and takes no blame as GIs aim at those he claims are our enemy. But he enjoys the fame for what is done. All GIs who die at his command, by gun or bomb, CD ROM or dot com or some other way are credited to Bush who likes to play God while he is actually the buddy of the fuddy-duddy devil. And that's on the level.

Have you ever seen how he can laugh when a GI's body is cut in half or blown to bits after an Iraqi enemy on the other side commits suicide and boom, boom, bang, bang hot dang another dead adds to Dubya's score. As an accomplice he's accomplished what he had in mind: don't leave a single living GI behind.

Well, the hell of Dubya's illegal war goes on and on and as each deal is done Bush, the serial killer, says:

"Ain't I havin' heaps o' fun foolin' 'round! But they can't prove I did it direct since, I suspect, my fingerprints can't be found on the dead on the ground or on the guns that mowed 'em down. That's OK. I know I done the deal and how proud I am of me! I'm a genyewine hero.

"So pin a medal on my chest when you lay me down to rest next to Hitler, Ho Chi Min, Stalin and all us guys in the killin' line. We're all kin under the skin and know how to make a war begin. We won't win but we'll have fun as long as it lasts. Ain't war a blast!"

KILLING WILLINGLY LEGALLY IS EVIL

When you stop to think about it, if you fought in a war and you killed willingly, protected by the legality of "I'll you before you kill me," it still was murder in the first degree.

You went soaring through the clear blue sky, dropping bombs and watching decent people die. You asked why you were up there destroying what took men blood and sweat and years to build and then were killed. Your attack and their defense made no sense, no matter how justified the homicide.

You lived, they died and loved ones cried bitter tears that would flow for years. Their ache, asleep, awake, when they remembered Jim or someone just like him who saw a bomb bearing down seconds before it hit. Just time to cry, "Oh shit!" That was it!

Should the end be greeted with an obscenity? Is that all there is to say about a life that's blown away? It seems apt that a life wrapped in hopes and dreams is worth much more. But this is war and that's what wars are for. Four letter words say it better. There is no more.

VAN WINKLE HAD TO TINKLE

It happened years ago that an old man named Rip took a trip to Sleepy Land where he doze and was in repose for twenty years. It appears Old Man VanWinkle got drunk on booze and lay down on a hill to snooze. When he awoke his beard was two feet long and his clothes were tattered which didn't matter because he was the slob of the Town of Handymedown..

Rip fell asleep and awoke on Christmas Day with a headache that could choke a horse. Of course, after all those years in a somnolent state first he had to urinate. He was consumed by thirst but his bladder was about to burst so the urge to pee came first.

On that cold day in December, a day the town will long remember, he began. First a drop, start and stop, then a dribble and a drip and old Rip waited for the anticipated flow. You should know, when it began, no man alive could survive the rush, the flush, the endless stream, that poured and poured into the valley of the town.

Flood filled the lowland ground and a surging stream knocked down every tree and house, drowned every mouse, boats of every size capsized. People who survived climbed the church steeple and prayed for the flood to subside. God complied and it did and as the flood slowly receded townsfolk needed to know how it began. Then they spotted Rip up on a hill and watched until he dripped dry.

With a sigh of relief he addressed the distressed in a speech quite brief:
"When you gotta go you gotta go."

THE OBSCENE PRICE OF GASOLINE

The obscene price of gasoline is the highest we have ever seen. Even the slightest jump at the pump dumps millions more green into the hands of the oil barons who will carry on this gauging game as long as the demand for fuel is strong.

Shortage is not the reason why the price is high and will grow higher. It's the knowing that the buyer will buy because he needs his car, his tractor or his truck on the go to earn the dough to feed and house the family. So he or she is squeezed in a vice and must pay the price. The scapegoat of note is always war and that's the biggest lie by far.

Let's clear up this confusion. It's the collusion between the Arabs who have the crude and the oil foilers who create the mood and spread the myth that they can't deal with the Egypt gyppers who set the rules that fuel the scams that justify the price that we, the fools, are forced to pay for the gallons we must buy.

Under normal circumstances, price controls are not the answer. But when a nation's faced with the cancer of an industry gone amok, we must get the flaws out of the laws and find a system that works. And when the powers that be shirk their responsibility the time to change is overdue.

The oil industry can get away with this chicanery as long as the Gouging Oil Partners (also known as the GOP) are calling the shots. They know and fear if this becomes the Democrats' year and it foretells the Republican fate in zero eight, they'd better make it while they can, before the fit hits the shan.

CREATURES LARGE AND SMALL

All creatures large and creatures small, those with two legs or four or none at all, are born with hearts and other parts like minds and brains and veins through which blood must flow to keep the system on the go. The more they clot with plaque, the less chance you've got for coming back from a heart attack or stroke that could leave you dead and broke. And that's no joke.

When you add up all the doctor bills, the price of pills and refills, the shots and lots of therapy, it's rare Medicare or Medicaid, aided by health and other kinds of insurance will reimburse you for the expenses that must be paid.

If all the medications, unexpected complications and unintended consequences add up to more expenses than you've bargained for you'd better head for the coffin store and opt for dead instead of spending all that bread for the jazz and jive it takes to keep your insides alive.

In the end no matter what the doctors do, how they scam and pamper you, when they're through there's nothing more you can do but pay your keep and creep, then fall asleep, into the six-foot deep heap of earth that's been awaiting you since your birth.

PETER RABBIT'S HABITS

Of all animals in creation, none have a better reputation for increasing the population with a flare for copulation than Peter Rabbit. Does he ever take time out for a vacation? Or is cohabitation his avocation, occupation and preoccupation?

God gave all animals juice to reproduce so they have no excuse if they fail to seduce the female of their species who otherwise would stay in the kitchen baking pies to surprise their mate when he gets home late from a date with a horny hare, The bonnie bunny must submit and permit her counterpart to perform his art and is in the mood to start a brood.

Lambs have kids, katydids think it cricket to make it in the thicket, hens have chicks and ducks do what ducks do to make more ducks. And animals carry on from dusk till dawn to spawn future furry or feathery families.

STEM CELL SAGA: A STEP ALONG THE WAY

Significant results of stem cell research is the hottest issue of the day. But the payoff is at least a decade or more away All the breakthroughs in science didn't happen overnight. They took time and patience, often trial and error for the problem to be solved. Was it worth waiting after all? Ask the patients now cured who endured the pain and uncertainty while scientists worked endlessly to unlock the secrecy of a medical mystery,

Like every labratory story, the stem cell saga will one day become another step along the way to a world free of disease. To those who say, "It won't help me, I'll never live to see a pain free day. I'll be dead before they know how to cure what I endure," to this I will reply:

"It's probably true, but you might see things in a different light if you realize what's achieved today, tomorrow or in years to come, will help someone who thought the same as you and, lo and behold, a beakthrough changed their life because of you."

Perhaps you volunteered to take experimental medications to see if they could enhance and advance knowledge of your dsease. Your contribution toward the solution should please and comfort you.

Perhaps your heir or someone you care about contracts a dread disease like yours and is reassured he may be cured if trials underway point to effective medications. That will cause a celebration because you and others shared participation in long-range studies that made recovery not just probable but possible.

You will thrill in knowing this will be so for someone who suffered just like you and yearned to have their dream come true.

LET THE RESEARCH GO ON

Throughout recorded history scientists have probed the mystery of the human body, of disease and myriad maladies, of why some endure and respond to cures and others die without a discernible reason why.

Exactly why does each body react one way or another between sister and brother of the same father and mother? What makes them different as night and day in looks and talent and personality? Some short, some tall, some fat, some thin, all with varied shades of skin that significantly set each apart in the same family?

Are intelligence, common sense and temperaments qualities that maturate genetically or are they shaped by susceptibility to events influenced by environment and experiences that abound? Do you let setbacks confound you or do they help you grow profoundly?

All in one family are born of identical genes but what this means is beyond understanding except by those who explore and know more about such lore than we of ordinary ability. And so the mystery of life goes on and will still be unanswered long after we and all our genetically controlled family are gone,

OF BIGOTRY. HATE AND THE HEZBOLLAH

It's happened many times before, it's happening now, it's sure to happen again and again. When Israel and its Arab enemies go to war anti-Semites, like termites, crawl out of the woodwork and accuse the Jews of anything that will light the fuse of explosive hate that lies in wait, ready to spread their pent up bigotry.

There is the ever-present fear democracy could fall viciim to this hypocrisy. Those who love liberty and equality recall the once powerful Nazi Germany that created the hated Holocaust.

Major media concentrated on alleged atrocities and resultant deaths created by the Jewish state whose planes bombed housing where innocent victims were led, many who soon would be dead, killed instead of the terrorists also hiding there What the news neglected to report, Hezbollah used women and children as a shield, hoping Israelis would yield to spare the innocent.

This recalled earlier uprisings when Arabs placed the young in the line of fire with bricks and stones and riflemen hid behind the youths. Israelis had to repel the young to confront the armed who threatened harm to Jewish forces. What is worse in this assault, the innocent in harm's way were killed and buried in bombing debris, sacrificed to shield enemy forces from Israeli planes.

Past incidents are documented by TV news-clips of the day that showed Arab youths throwing rocks at Israeli soldiers and running away. This has long been their M. O.: Sacrifice the innocent to create hate in the hearts of the ignorant and uninformed who will buy the lie that all Israelis want to do is kill and watch the helpless die.

The same thing goes on in Lebanon when Israelis bombed a shelter they knew terrorists and innocents are equally vulnerable to violence. What else can the Israelis do? The enemy is the Israeli's prey. They put the innocents intentionally in harm's way.

The shame and blame belongs to the Hezbollah who ignored the accord of the Geneva Convention that states civilians may not be used to shield the military. They did. Their soldiers hid behind the skirts of mothers with kids. They were guilty, not the Israeli.

But the news media didn't play it that way. From reports I read, it was never said that Hezbollah broke the law. Only graphic accounts of the attack. No mention of the missing facts. Why did they portray Israelis as the bad guys? What ever happened to objectivity? Journalism's not what it once was. Only this will always be: war is the ultimate tragedy.

WHEN WILL THE KILLING END?

When will all the killing end and mankind vow, "Never again."

Assassinations, illegal, unjustified invasions, nations attacking nations, power hungry politicians, religion-driven contradictions, greed-fed, insane mad ambitions, uncontrollable conditions, asinine generations of upheld traditions, manufacturers of munitions--all these and treason are but a few of the reasons men abandon daily labors to kill their neighbors.

In times of war crimes make heroes of those who, for years, will be haunted by what they've done. Whether they have lost or won, the cost will not be measured by billions burned, but by human fodder slaughtered and never returned.

Many among us, so filled with promise, hopes and dreams. now sleep for ever more in lonely graves on a distant shore. Some will make it home in a box or a body bag to leave his parents to brag about their dead hero son and all the good things he has done to make the future safer for---no one!

Wars are never won by those who fight or diplomats, Republicans or Democrats who might be wrong, might be right, or those of us who write and theorize and, no doubt, don't know what we're talking about. But then, who? I don't know, do you?

The answer is: wars are never won. They begin with lies and end with compromise by frightened men forced to admit they were wrong all along and swallow their foolish, ghoulish pride.

THE CONSTANT CRY, THE ENDLESS END

Like all would-be czars, dictators and kings. war brings them face to face with many things. Their personal war began with a plan to set an oppressed nation free, to end a reign of terror and make the world a safer place to be.

But with victory the populace was soon to learn another revolution was the way to go. Although they won they soon would know the truth of the lie at the election booth. That the blood shed, the thousands dead had not assured the free the right to liberty and democracy.

The cry Revolt! rang out again. The men lined up, signed up to fight another war and the rising star of the aristocracy was soon to see that his ultimate, unrivaled power was not to be.

The House of Cards fell and hell would reign as right fought wrong. How long it would last, no one could tell. But the die was cast. There could be no turning back and again the cry of the desperate mass, haters of the ruling class, rang out: Death to the enemy! But most who gave their lives died for a cause they thought was the same old dream, to be free. They soon realized it was buried beneath the debris of hypocrisy.

When will the free be truly free? When will words like Equality. Integrity and Honesty mean what Webster had in mind when he defined them in his dictionary?

A SIGHTLESS WORLD AWAITS

Now that I have left this world behind I wonder what kind of world I'll find, perhaps a world where all are blind, where all perforce must look alike and share a singularity of mind, who in their sightlessness do not seek to impress those with less or envy those with more.

Since none can see, in no way will others be better off than me. They, like I, will share the inability to see. Our sense of taste will have gone to waste and how can a sense of smell tell if the first bite on a plate will sate a sightless appetite?

We will know the color of the sky is black. The clothes we wear, our skin and hair and whatever else out there is also black. Even what we obviously cannot see must be at least in shades of ebony. My neighbor's black and so am I and that leaves no room for bigotry. Our blessed blindness and our blackness will set us free. Thus, all of us will have no cause for bigotry.

I am black and you are black just like me. And the world of darkness we will share is a rare and wonderful place to be.

THIS EARTH I GIVE TO THEE

To my children's children's children I bequeath a world our forefathers would not believe, a land called Earth that had its birth in unbridled fury and flame and overcame it all and saved the gift God created. In a world deep in debris God saw not what was but what could be.

The world was was not to be a monstrosity, but a land with trees and seas and birds and bees and creatures great and creatures small and bugs and insects, wind and breeze and the greatest prize by far, a heaven filled with sun and moon and distant stars.

Then, according to the master's Master Plan, came Man. This is when the trouble all began. God's plan got out of hand and to this day bloodshed has led the way. Marching in step behind the lethal leader are dread disease, illegal drugs that please but kill wantonly, those in denial that are eating and drinking all the while their bodies waste away as they await Judgment Day.

We can't tell when. We can't know how. If might come now or then it might not come for many years. But there is one certainty. One day Judgment Day is meant to be. The inventor won't alone be you or me. It will be US, the dumb who let the world grow warm enough to destroy our pride and joy, the world we know. It's gotta go.

So go ahead, you dunderhead, drive that gas eater super heater till life is dead, Smear the atmosphere with poisoned air that spawns monster hurricanes and unessential torrential rains and thawing glaciers that will fill oceans to overflow. Earth's bounty will fail to grow and wildlife will starve and few will understand why we planned our own super-size demise.

When the trial of those in denial, who resisted proven fact and refused to react to warming warnings, are proven guilty, will we have learned our lesson and lessen our messin' 'round and restore the ground and all around it to the way our forebears found it way back when? Will this planet come to life again?

HY AND KATE HAD A DATE

Hymie Hokuspoukas had a toukus. Oye, was it fat. At least five feet wide when he was erect, I expect ten when he sat. His thighs were wide as pizza pies, his gut was, you know what, round like a blown up balloon soon to go ker-pop. Hymie's hands and feet could never meet and greet because there was that more-so torso that blocked the scene in between his nose and toes. He had no idea what he weighed because there was no scale made that displayed a dial he could see. It was his estimate his weight was a thousand three.

Hymie had a date with Kate who was just skin and bones. Her boobs were shaped like toothpaste tubes. Her neck's the size of a duck's and her rear end waddled like one, too. She was the thinness ever featured in the Guinness book and what she looked like you wouldn't, couldn't want to know.

Well, to make a short story long, they got along like ding and dong and it's said they wed and then is when their wedding bells went bong, bong, bong, Kate said Hy had done her wrong. They got a divorce, of course, and Kate married a little horse. Hy said bye-bye. He didn't cry. With a sigh, he ate a ten pound pizza pie, a ham on rye, a great big suckling pig, a t-bone steak, a chocolate cake, then realized he was super-sized. He heard about a diet and decided to try it. By fall he was trim and ten feet tall and married a Barbie doll. And that was all.

ABOUT GEORGE BUSH'S WATERLOO

Remember Napoleon Bonaparte who fiddled while Rome burned? He had a dream to rule the world he knew, but it was shattered at a place called Waterloo.

Now there lives a twice selected president with similar dreams to rule the world as he knew it but he blew it. After many failures this prevailer is all but through and soon will meet his Waterloo in Iraq, the land where there's no turning back.

The truth is this: In politics, the rotten are soon forgotten. But not in Dubya's case. Scientists couldn't wait till he was dead to find out what was in his head. George okayed to be x-rayed if they'd keep the findings top secret. No doubt they tried. But inside leaky D. C. news has as way to get out. You can bet it did, I kid you not. And it was hot, the rage of a featured place on the funny page.

In spite of what scientists expected to find, Bush does have a mind and brain. But, as reported in the news, the mind was awash in a pool of booze and the brain was made of limp spaghetti, two meatballs and a Barbara doll. That was all.

DUBYA DITTIES

DUBYA, DUBYA, once a comer, now a dumber, prone to slumber while the voters do a number on his wrecker crew plumbing down while this clown still wears a crown as the self-declared King of Ding-a-ling. No doubt this Texas horse's ass should get out.

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THIS TWICE selected president, illegal White House resident, this loser boozer, accuser diffuser of the truth, burglar at the voting booth, has made a mess of the U. S., aided by a bought and biased press and the far right fright. no less, should confess and face his doom and vacate the Oye-vay Room. He and his phony baloney cronies gotta go. All the surveys say that's so.

BUSH MORALITY: MAKE ONE BABY, LET MILLIONS DIE

Every time I read about that worthless lout (you know who I'm talking about) I am ashamed we have a president who sent GIs to Iraq to die for no damn reason why. And he did it with lack of plan to bring them back.

Oh yes, one way the US will send a GI home is if he dies or loses an eye or limb that makes him no longer qualified to be living fodder for democracy. If war gets them, which happens often, and they are certified dead, they won't have to suffer from jet lag as they sleep comfortably in a coffin or a body bag.

If you or those you love true are stricken with a disease doctors aren't sure how to cure but know, with stem cells they'll eventually find an answer. (Cancer, anyone?) Forget it. You and yours ain't gonna get it because that VETO SCHMOE won't allow our dough to make it so. Why? Because the religious right, of which he's a part, says each frozen embryo might maybe make one baby instead of aiding science in its plight to do what's right. Isn't it more morale to sacrifice a life not yet conceived to find a way to someday save millions who would go to an early grave?

Good grief, you Thief in Chief, you're beyond belief. You're an unmitigated unabated dirty crook who not only cooks the books but even hooks the books while Congress looks the other way and the media says it's A-Okay.

In your zeal to steal our liberty, you rewrote the Bill of Rights, dilute the Constitution and mocked democracy and replaced it with idiotic hypocrisy, Isn't it odd that when you try to sell our American Way abroad they sigh, "For the grace of God, there do not go I."

Dubya, don't preach against Stem to them. In foreign lands they stand behind this research no matter what the far right church has to say or fills the air with unanswered prayer.

Leaders of Science came to D.C. to beg George intelligently to give the stem cell a chance to prove its worth. They were met with a sneer that said, "Get outta here. I'm committed to morality, not to saving lives through scientific trickery."

File Dubya denial in a garbage can. He's not wise enough to realize there are s many ways science paves the way to a brighter, healthier tomorrow, to an end to suffering and sorrow, to a better, longer life for all. Why should this incompetent president with a brain the size of a grain of sand have the power to halt the advance of science with his moralistic poppy cock? We should put him in a locked, padded cell and free the stem cell, immediately!

It can and will eventually be in spite of Dubya's moralistic stupidity. Trust me.

NEVER ENDING SEARCH

When you're eighty plus like most of us and still looking for a lady who's looking, too, remember you can pick and choose because the laws of longevity are on your side. You are old beyond the threshold of life's expectancy and she's still young as widows go. But she'll be bed weary and oh, my deary, she'll never recover from a lover just like you.

If you die first, she'll get the worst of the deal. She's cursed and nursed you, fed and bed you, heard your boring stories of youthful glories until she can't stand anymore. You have learned how to cut her short without resort to a "Yes dear" reply followed by a weary sigh. Just point to your ear, make believe you can't hear, bury your head in the racing form and sip your beer.

If she's the first to go you know there's many a fish in the sea waiting to be hooked who will cook and bake. mop and shop. drive you here and drive you there, wash and repair your underwear. She'll yes, yes yes you, bless. caress and undress you. What happens next is anybody's guess.

To your surprise, she'll fire and inspire you and no matter what size you rise to. she will praise and amaze you. This you will miss until you woo another mam or miss who will mother you and smother you with love and kisses and then you'll know what true bliss is. Each wife, a different life, a passion fashioned to your advanced romantic age.