SEPT. 11---- A DATE TO REMEMBER

We shall not forget, we shall long remember that brief moment in September when grief and disbelief rained down from the skies, when evil from the East rent our lives asunder and made us realize we are all the target of a terrorist attack that turned civilization back to the "Day of Infamy."

It's a day we must commemorate, not let the sinful celebrate, not let the enemy mark as a date when their hate lit the spark that turned our lives from light to dark. Set this day o in stone in every memory.

Let it remind the world that we are not alone, but live or die as one, that the sun shall shine for everyone who craves peace and release from the jaws of terror, from the bearer of the most lethal weapon in any arsenal, the will to kill and kill and kill until each champion of humanity will simply cease to be.

Terrorism is a prison without bars, it locks the world in endless wars, leaves its scars on every family that believes in democracy, that prays to be free of tyranny, untouched by mindless misery but is now faced with the reality of day by day fatality.

This shall be a day when all humanity remembers the insanity when highjacked planes dealt death blows from the sky. Why? The world may never know. But this is so. We cannot have lasting peace while terrorism is our foe.

THE STORY OF THE MAD COWBOY

Mad cowboy disease was once rampant throughout the nation. Milions had it. How bad it was we didn't know. It infected more than anyone suspected it might. The first symptom, urge to fight those we thought had led the attack--Iraq, that oil glutted Moslem land in the desert sand of the Middle East where a beast named Hussein reigned with iron fist and an arsenal of weaponry poised to attack our unprepared land of freedom and democracy.

We saw what they did to the Twin Towers, not in hours but in minuets. With hijacked planes they slammed into these massive structures with destructive force worse than man could conceive. Thousands died, millions cried. The Towers became funeral pyres, victims trapped inside its walls.

Hundeds disappeared beneath mounds of cement and steel in an unreal rain of death. Others drew their final breath, jumped a hundred floors to their death to escape flame and smoke that was intense. It was a cruel joke that made no sense, but panic forces the sane to do insane things in moments of frenzied frustration and desperation.

So George W. Bush, a new and failing president, declared it his intent to vent his fury on Iraq he said had led the attack. We would pay them back and even up the score in a few short weeks of war. Forget lack of evidence, forget expense, Iraq possessed dreaded weapons of mass destruction, WMDs. His plan: defeat the beast of the Middle East, bring the country to its knees, seize its oil, make them pay for what they did to the USA

As you know, none of this was so. Why did he vent his wrath on Iraq? He knows why. So do we. Avenge his dad's defeat, steal their oil, become the hero of a two-bit war and the first American czar,

Thousands of GIs died because he lied with a sneer from ear to ear. Now he's in a hole out of control. The Dems must win big in November so the nation will long remember what Dubya and the GOP did to destroy democracy.

WHAT IS WAR WORTH?

All the billions and bombs and blood won't buy a bucket of mud when the killing is over and all that is left are roaches and clover and a few scorched trees and dead honey bees, a fridge filled with rotting cheese, dried up seas and a few of that and a few of these and who will be left to say, "Thank you, please."

There will be no disease and nobody to catch it. There will be no chickens and not even an egg or a hen to hatch it. And who'd hit a fly when there's no one to catch it?

Wall Street will be overjoyed for there will be no unemployed when the world is a void and neatly, discretely and completely destroyed.The immense expense in dollars and cents for uncivilized and civil defense to cover the cost of all this destruction won't really matter because there will not be a need to proceed with reconstruction.

There will be no love, there will be no hate, it will be too late for caring, compassion and brotherhood will be out of fashion. A lifetime of friendship will fade in a second, even much sooner than man could have reckoned.

After the crash of creation, the end to what once was called civilization, there will be no today, no tomorrow, no sorrow, no birthday bashes, only wide open fields of dried bones and ashes.

ANOTHER PLACE IN SPACE?

While we send probes to Mars and other stars faraway from where we are, searching space for another place where there might be intelligent beings just like those we are seeing every day, chances are it might be worth all the time and expense to unlock the secrets how some planets began and ended and descended into nothingness.

The guess is there were other humanoids in the void of distant space who sought a place just like theirs a trillion light year away. Did they perish in their endeavor, never to achieve success?

Is intergalactic exploration going on? Will it continue when we are gone? When Earth's life has expired and all the wealth we've acquired is worth less than less, when all that's left are empty plains and flesh-stripped bones, working cell phones, melting ice cream cones and fossilized remains of Bush's brain and evidence of a once-great civilization, will explorers be wise enough to surmise what the message of our demise implies? Will they vow not to allow what happened then occur now or ever again?

FOR TWO, A GIFT FROM GOD

The desert sun was in his eyes. It was also flashing off the gun the Arab carried by his side. He mustn't see me, otherwise he'd try to hide, but where?

"Ain't nothing 'tween us but a lot o' air. Easy pickin'," the GI said. "Like catchin' chickens back on the farm." But the minute he eyed the enemy they both took aim and fired. Two lone targets in the desert sand. They both heard the double crack as they fired. Instantly. Like they both were wired to one brain. The bullets took flight. One would die, maybe two.

The bullets met head-on. There was a link. Both shooters saw the bullets sink together gracefully into the sand. The two soldiers shook hands, thanked their gods neither was dead. "It was a miracle, " the GI said and cried. "A gift from god," the Arab replied.

IMPEACH BUSH A DREAM? IT CAN COME TRUE!

After the nIghtmare of the Bush affair it's fair to hope the dream can come true. But it's up to me and you and every voter in the land who understands what this nation has been through. True, there have been ups and downs in the economy, even hints of turnarounds from the early years when there were fears that Dubya's obsession with favoring the rich and not the poor was the cure to avoid depression. It was not. So a war is what we got.

What Bush spent to invade Iraq, his spending spree to turn it into a GOP-style democracy has boosted our economy while GIs die for no damn reason why and lies are told to tighten the strangle hold on the oversold war Bush wrought and we, the stupid people, bought.

The proof this is a false economy is there for anyone to see. Mybe it put a few bucks in our hand, but it's buying the blood of our troops in a foreign land. Our basic rights are being denied as we rebuild the losing side that we bombed to kingdom's come and then some. Billion dollar corporations, awash in profits, benefit those who invest. Tax breaks enrich the filthy rich. The rest are denied basic needs to bloat corporate greed. Oil's a good example. Everybody knows there are ample supplies, but motorists pay through the nose for everything they have to buy. War boosts the economy, keeps prices high. Dead GIs are the reason why.

It's a win/lose situation. Blame the Dubya administration. Bring back peace, prosperity, democracy. Bring back our GIs. The time has come. Don't be dumb. Let Republicans pay for all their lies.

R. I. P. TINKLE TINKLE RIP VAN WINKLE

When Old Man Winkle died the undertaker, with approval of his maker, buried him on the shore beside the tree known locally as the resting place where he had slept and snored for twenty years. Tears were shed in the lake he created when he urinated that mighty stream.

Townsfolk stopped by his grave and gave thanks for his boost to the local economy he'd created with his pee. Farms and homes along Lake Tinkle's shore increased in value, you see, because they were now water front property.

Over the years the lake lost its yellow tint and turned mint green as rain and snow added to the flow that had begun when Rip, in front of everyone, exposed himself to empty his bloated bladder. But that's another matter. It was now the home of fish, the source of delicious dishes where many a skinny dipper wished to pish. It's reputed to be polluted but folks don't care. It's where they wash their underwear, their hair and derriere, drain water for irrigation and sail their boats on vacation.

The old guy's stone is known as a redundancy in the history of urinarial biography. The old guy as years went by became a poet and, wouldn't you know it, don't laugh. He wrote his own epitaph:

Here lies RIP, may he R. I. P. and pee throughout eternity.
Van Winkle's tinkle brought prosperity to the community.
So if you have a sudden urge to purge, let it flow
Because when you gotta go you gotta go.

IS PLUTO KAPUTO?

Scientists who ply the art of planetary commentary stare at stars and decide which are, which are not planets like the one we've got. Why did you do to Pluto what you did? After all these millions zillions years in the stratosphere, you measured it inch by inch and ruled it no longer is a planet on the scale of Mars and ours.

Are you just a bunch of telescope dopes playing a ccmmic cosmic trick to kick Pluto out of the solar system. And if you succeed who will go with them? Will Earth be next? If it is, will we object or subject our planet to ridicule for fooling astronomer all these years by claiming we are something we are not? And if not, what?

We are dealing with the feelings of possible Plutoites, intelligent beings out of sight on this block of ice. What if they exist and insist on a recount of the counting of what's amounting to a threat to the moon and stars, the Milky Way and candy bars like Mars? Would we go to war to free Pluto from the grips of spaced out drips behind this plot to rob whatever oil Pluto's got? Are Plutonians. like we, facing a November election surprise, where they won't compromise their size to those not so wise wiseguys out to rule the galaxy? GWB and the GOP are playing a game of wait and see if by undeclaring war the USA will free them from solar insanity. Would victory lead to Pluto's ORBITUARY?

There is a dog of Disney fame who answers to the name Pluto. He's so angry you don't want to know. He wants to be renamed Uranus, even though it rhymes with anus. Better to go down in history linked to an exploratory space lavatory than one not stinking but on the brink of shrinking.

Asked to comment, Pluto the Dog said: "I'm so sick I think I'll barf. Arf! Arf! Arf!"

THE BAD AND GOOD IN HOLLYWOOD

What's produced in Hollywood is bad and good, clean or obscene. rated X, PG or in between depending on the bottom line -- influx of bucks that suck the suckers in, the frequency of absurd four-letter words, of dialogue inane and plain asinine and unrefined seen and heard on the tarnished silver screen.

When it comes to movie-land morality forget about quality. Producers, other excuser play it loose, turn on the juice, glorify abuse of man and beast to release a box office piece when dough is low. They know it might stop the show but not the flow of idiots who go to see it.

That's my summation of Hollywood humiliation that assaults the nation. There'll be no censorship on this or any future trip as long as Hollywood flips, flops, pulls out all the stops to cop top reviews that please the indiscrete movie industry, already replete with subjects too offensive to mention to grab attention of a demented, discontented clap-happy hypnotized, mesmerized segment of those who go to movie shows.

This didn't begin recently. Indecency began when silent films turned violent to capture the mood of a nation fascinated by fame and lack of shame of those with names like Jesse James and Pancho Villa that filled the media of the day with six-gun justice just as they do today.

WOUNDS OF WEATHER

The wounds of weather, all together, portray the gory story of thousands dead, hurricanes that, in their wane, leave behind tales that will come to mind after they've been born and died---legends told and retold from now until today becomes one of the "days of old." Historians will recall the cold statistics, horrific and specific, the trouble and travail that left a nation in devastation.

Unlike storms and winds that innocently begin, grow strong and linger long, tornadoes strike without a sound, do their devastation, then go on a brief vacation. Where they go you can't know. But there remains the fear they'll reappear far or near the site where they unleashed their might. When you view that funel tunnel bearing down on your town all you can do is pray the twister tornado will go away.

Floods have a personality and vitality all their own. It's known they can start with gentle rains that adorn parched fields of wheat or corn. An end of drought? Farmers doubt as storm clouds shroud the sky and empty straining bladders, raining down on lands that cry for that first burst to quench their thirst.

But then there is a thunderous roar and more water continues to pour. The fields become a muddy mire and the land loses its desire for water to slake their thirst. Lakes replace greening fields and yields of crops near harvest time are reduced to worthless slime.

Like all of nature's force, floods will run their course and then subside and when the sun begins to shine again the farmers, a hardy breed, will reseed and eye the sky as days go by and when the corn is six feet high they'll have the best harvest they can recall. Rain will fall and sun will shine and everything will be just fine.

But in the hearts of all who depend on the vagaries of land and seas, on clouds that vie with wind and rain, on mighty powers that erupt mysteriously the scars of wounds of weather will remain.

DOES ANYBODY GIVE A DAMN?

Does anybody give a damn about somebody else's body? Do they dread the ever mounting dead, counting into the millions now? Do they care how the dying keeps multiplying? Do they share the pain of loved ones crying? Do they relate to the fate of those who died and passed over to another place in outer space, be it heaven, be it hell. Who can tell?

The biggest waste is death by war, a deadly fate hurried along by greed and hate, by flukes of nature and mistakes by state and federal stupid legislatures, by acts of God which are not insured and acts of man that can't be cured and must be endured or by dread disease and lesser maladies that can be spread by as simple an act as an unprotected sneeze.

Death occurs when airplanes crash, when homes burn down and dreams are all reduced to ash and rubble and endless trouble when insurance firms
delay and delay even though in the end they have to pay.

The only time there'll be no rage is when people die of old age, that is, unless one relative inherits more, another less and even some who get no dough. That's when a will gets contested and all the money the dead invested winds up wasted on attorney fees and complicated legalese.

Since you can't take it with you when you go, spend the dough while you're still here. Drink a lot of high priced beer, eat at fancy restaurants, satisfy your whims and wants, give in to every urge to splurge, take a trip and tip lavishly, spend up to the bitter end so foe and friend will sigh and cry and say when you die, "There goes a real spendthrift guy. I didn't benefit a bit. But this he taught me, this I learned. Spend every cent you've ever earned. Keep in mind, don't leave a dime behind."

THE SAME OLD SONG

There's got to be something wrong with a government that keeps singing the same old sing-along song, composed by an exposed, incompetent president who can't be ejected because he's been elected/selected, and the Constitution of the land be damned.

If a candidate gets in by sin, an act of fraud, a pact with God and/or the Supreme Court, the powers that be in consort with the GOP are selling the voters short.

Why have we, the land of the politically free, never sent a president to jail or tossed him out on his tail when he failed to obey the laws just because he was a personal friend of Santa Clause?

Mayors and govs and assorted pols, even some high in the polls, considered untouchable, got in trouble and were served their just deserts behind steel bars for wheeling, dealing and stealing. But even they won out on appeal and were freed to feed their greed and steal more of what they'd stolen before, cash and stocks hidden in a safe deposit box.

Agnew quit, Nixon quit. Both got hefty pensions out of it. But the current White House twit just won't git. Dubya told a pack of lies that sentenced thousands of GIs to die so he could stay high in the polls.

When voters have had enough of his bluff and guff will he start another war? Is that just the way things are? Or this time, will King George, the would be czar, finally go too far?

DUBYA'S CONFESSION

I am the Master of Mediocrity, the defector from a dying democracy, the champion of hypocrisy. I break the laws legally and surpass all previous devious proponents of pie in the sky diplomacy.

I am the instigator and the perpetrator, the prevaricator who lied to send two thousand-plus just like us to die. Through dint of force, I did, of course, harm our relations with other nations and, eventually, among our own voting population.

Isn't it strange how one small war I assumed would not go far could go from boom to doom and quickly multiply the possibility of a mushroom cloud in the sky?

By falling for the lies I spread our country's deep in the red, out troops are dead and instead of marching in to win it quick, as I foolishly did predict, we're now in the thick of it and my once loyal constituency is sick of it.

In case you haven't guessed, I confess I'm the president that trickery, dishonesty and a lack of integrity won for me free rent in a great big house, a
super-jet get me to where I choose and, win or lose, I can't be fired for my incompetency. In one thousand eight, no matter how rich I be, I'll be home free with a pension no one can take away from me. And even if I go to jail, the life-long loot will pay my bail.
* * *
I wrote all this to get my guilt off my chest. I did my best to fake it through a job I knew I couldn't do. Even though I'm now ashamed, I loved the power and the fame, lying, denying and people buying what I said, walking, strutting like John Wayne, hiding the fact I'm insane without a brain, waking to sneer in the mirror and seeing the mirror sneer back at me. Now that I have said it, I'll shred it into tiny pieces and give it all to my friend, Jesus.

BEGINNING OF THE END OR END OF THE BEGINNING?

Many fear and many cheer and many deny and defy the prediction of the coming of the End of Days. The Mayans predict the day and year--Dec. 21 in 2011--historians and theologians are not as precise as they envision the rebirth of Christ. To some, the date and time grows near, but when Jesus might reappear is still uncertain. Disbelievers deny the prophesy as the ravings of the Religious Right.

But then, again, there are those who say nobody knows. It just might happen in the darkness of one night when a light so bright burns the eyes and turns the skies into an inferno that rivals hell. Who can tell?

Ancient writings, in translation, cause speculation as to the validity of the illustrations and ancient scrolls which predict the end of life on earth, For what it's worth, believers believe they will achieve eternal life if they accept the son of God while still living on this sod.

It's predicted those who got saved will embrace salvation, experience reincarnation and live forever at the side of the Lord. But those who defy the Word will live in a world grown deadly grim. Fire and flood, oceans of blood, cries of pain, rational men and women gone madly insane, drought and rain, a sun intense and events men of science cannot explain--these are the envisioned punishments awaiting those who spent their lives debating the predictions and convictions of the blind believers.

Who's to know who's right, who's wrong? Who's to judge the judgment or what was meant by ancient script? Were those of grace lost in space or did they land in that holy place? Was the trial and tribulation that plagued all civilization, if it indeed occurred, just a phase of nature's ways which had nothing to do with the so-called End of Days?

The world will go to its doom with an atomic boom or when there are so many people and too little room or when water and air are fouled beyond repair or when birds and bees and trees and all those and these from sea to sea are no longer anywhere. But until that happens don't despair. In a trillion trillion years we've gotta go. When it happens just remember, I told you so.

THINGS THAT DESTROY, ANNOY OR...OY!

Life is filled with hacks and quacks, phony facts, packs of lies, cloudy skies, stabs in backs, heart attacks, strokes, warm Cokes, cracker snacks packed with killing fats, cancer causing calories and prescription remedies, crack and smack and six six packs.

If none of this makes you sick, high carbs might do the trick. Then there's
sugar and salt to fault and what about assault and terror you can't escape?
And sex and rape and being out of shape. How about pollution. revolution and destruction of the Constitution, famine, poisoned salmon. mad cow disease, Chinese food and solitude?

I regret, there's still more yet. Dictatorships, sinking ships, starvation, constipation, soaring prices, vices, dangerous devices. guns and planes and hurricanes, floods, mudslides and suicides, drought and gout and making out with HIV a possibility, the high cost of fuels and just damn fools.

Jivers, connivers and drunk drivers, under achievers and blind believers, burned toasts, overdone roasts, flat tires, dead wires, nasty notes, uncounted votes and leaky boats, melting chocolate bars, smelly cigars and undeclared wars.

And lists like this.

IF

I took a trip in a brand new car, not too far but far enough to see that all this stuff about why gas has to cost a lot is just a plot to rob us of the money we've got to have to feed our families and pay for other necessities.

The oil gougers know Dubya is their man and they've got to make all they can while they can. And that as long as they shower the powers that be in the GOP with unlimited dough-rey-mee they'll be free to steal from every driver behind the wheel and that's the deal, guaranteed.

But do you know what? There are are many little iffs that can make a great big diff:

IF we defeat the crooks in command and win back the presidency that will signal a return to sanity and a rebirth of democracy.

IF we end the war in Iraq and give the country back to the inept puppet hacks we put in power there'll be a civil war and then all sides will eventually find a way to live without the meddlesome USA.

IF we bring our forces home no more GIs will die and without the senseless expense we wasted on the Dubya war we can invest in what's best, America.

IF we defend our friends in the Middle East and negotiate a lasting peace
we'll cease the death, destruction and disruption of life as it was meant to be.

IF we all realize that each person who dies by crime before their time might have contributed a worthy gift to this earth in science or the arts or a special skill that could be the salvation of our dying civilization.

IF...IF...IF.

WHEN LOSERS WIN WE LOSE

According to the latest poll, guess who's taking control of the whole damn nation and will lead to damnation of democracy and the Land of the Free. The name of the force changing the course of history is the Conservatives. Why? Because the majority fear surprise attacks from insurgents in Iraq who do not lack the will to kill and destroy the life we enjoy.

Iin spite of proven fact, Conservatives put their faith in the Patriot act and the ability of our militancy to keep the enemy on their foreign shores away from our Wal-Mart stores, our buses, trains and planes and anything that drains our driving, thriving, conniving, surprising rising economy.

The masses aren't quite sure but they believe we're more secure if we give up our liberty and Bill of Rights. Terrorists believe they can break our back with an attack on Big Mac, super-size and pizza pies, backyard grills and diet pills, free refills, cheap thrills, dollar bills and all the fluffs and frills that make us what we are, a land of guzzling cars, Star War stars and corner bars, and candy bars, popcorn porn and scorn for the foreign born, faded jeans, smart-assed teens and the sexiest scenes you ever seen on the silver screen.

All this is what makes America great and it grates on others to admit they ain't got a bit of it.

IT ALL BEGAN AT BIRTH

To this couple a child was born, a male who would prevail until he became cannon fodder. Then war began and the child they raised to mankind to be good and kind and sharp of mind, unmindful of the tragedy eventually they'd have to face as members of the human race.

When he was twenty-one, a man who never touched a gun, who loved the sun and sea and all of nature's majesty, was called to arms to harm and kill a foe he didn't know or hate. The fate of the enemy was in their hands until both sides realized killing served no need except a madman's greed.

He knew he had to do what the military ordered him to--become an unclean killing machine. No longer a raw recruit, now a human robot who would point and shoot and forget the targeted mother's son he had slain. His only fear, would he be next, dead with a bullet in his head?

Would this son, loved and respected by everyone, smart in school who lived by the rule of law, saw only good and loved his god, who found it odd some did not share his love for life and liberty and found thrill in killing wantonly?

But here was he, crawling in mud and crud and spitting blood and cursing the insanity of humanity.

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.