Thursday, May 31, 2007


A growing list of U. S. corporations who, in the past, sent the bulk of their bribes/donations to the Republican administration are now turning to the Democrats. Some are the really fat fatcats. And do you know what that means? The Party in Power can dip into their largesse to reach more voters across the aisle who may dump the donkey and go with Jumbo, the pachyderm symbol of the Democrats.

Have the Republicans read the handwritings on the wall? Do they know their party's going fall? Do they understand when you destroy the land, deny the warming of the biosphere, let nature's species disappear, when you propagate hate and you're party to a power theft, you have nothing left? You've lost control and you put America's economic future in a hole. That's more important to success and progress than party politics.

This elephant, with a trunk full of wisdom, never forgets that the Democrats stand for prosperity and democracy and not the hypocrisy the Republicans displayed as they tricked the U. S. A. They lied us into a disastrous war unlike any we ever fought before, with three thousand-plus dead and growing.

Even knowing they failed on the battlefield and at the voting booth they still refuse to tell the truth and end the illegal Iraq war. Both Bush and Cheney and all his partners in crime don't care a dime for democracy. All they fight for is power, bigger tax breaks for the rich and, with high tech tricks, to fix and steal another presidential election. They'll lose again, but they don't care.

When ballots go uncounted or mysteriously disappear, they'll again declare victory. Do they dare?


Want to end this stupid war real quick? Give 'em a strike they won't like. I say, PICK it to the STRICK, let the stronger sex, lock their box until that dumb Texass ox admits his mistake. It will be a piece of cake if the gals exert the kind of pressure even a dumb bum dummy Dubya can't endure. Let the ladies spread the word to all the hubbies, dads and LORNY HADS it's no-no to their gonads, not a single piece until peace is declared.

In addition, part of their mission must be no more food on the plate, it's the cook's day off until the payoff. Let there be a hunger strike up and down the pike of every street and thoroughfare, fair or not, no hot meals until appeals for peace are met. Let 'em eat the Bush baloney until he ends this phony war.

And finally, boycott the nation's favorite game, don't let the Beeries watch the Series on the boob tube or from the stands until the peace demands are met. That goes the same for every game in every town throughout the land. Let STRIKE THREE resound from blog to blog and shore to shore, no man can score, no gal puts out until there is no doubt the GIs still alive are marching home.

If the gals refuse to release their piece and the guys do their bit to win the PRIZE OF PEACE it may start a trend to end the crime of war for all time.
* * * *

Tuesday, May 29, 2007


Some say Dubya's one big drip and we agree. A pip of a drip is GWB. He lost his grip and started to slip when, as a young snip, he learned his famed name was just the same as his presidental pop, a man who made it to the top because his dad, an also Bush, made his money being chummy, with every crummy crumb bum not so smart but not so dumb who made the cash come tumbling in.

You know, when the family has the dough, you can be boss without a fear of loss from the day you had your first shiper dit until you learned how to screw the population and blame it all on inflation, turn your frown into a sneer and get a report card of straight C's and win your CC degree for being the best Campus Clown in town, by oozing booze and doing anything you choose because daddy paid his dues and served his time at Harvard or was it Jail?

How proud you made your daddy feel when you learned how to wheel and deal and steal the job as president that pop was awarded by the Gipper for fixing him his nightly nipper and bringing him his script and slippers like a good lap dog should.

But Dubya was smarter than Dadubya because he stole the job not once but twice, waged a bigger war that killed more GIs. Wasn't that nice! And he was even more of a Failure, spending budget bucks like a drunken Sailor.

When Dubya goes to where morons go he'll sit on a cloud and suck his toe and all the angels will know he bought heaven for two cents on the dollar from the Iraq U. S. Federal Bank. It was certain, he couldn't afford HELLiburton that was leased by the GOP for the VP D. C. from the Howdy Doodie Saudi Investment Trust in collaboration with NBC, ABC and FOX, represented by the law firm of Chickenpox, Lox and Dirty Socks.

That's the story of Dubya the Drip. That no good so and so will be on an ego trip until it's time for him to go. The war will still go on long after he is gone.

Sunday, May 27, 2007


When you overdo your menu, eat more meat than is good for you, cheat on sweets, get too little exercise and let your butt, gut and thighs rise to the size of pizza pies and you can no longer touch your toes you can play the blame game if you choose, You'll lose.

You'll claim its all the fault of your genes and DNA, but life and death know it ain't all that way. That's partly true. They're part of you. So are the foods you eat, the booze you drink, the way you shrink from exercise. The only guys who buy those abuse excuses are the undertaker fakers and coffin

Suggestion: munch on fruits and nuts between lunch and dinner and you may get thinner. Turn your back on junk food snacks, six packs and flapjack stacks. Don't get hooked on cigarettes. By gosh, don't nosh. Adopt a diet. Don't defy it. If you do you'll die sooner, fatter. It will matter to pallbearers saying prayers while they slave and lug you to your grave. Let others die of smoker's lung, of cancer somewhere among their body parts or some "itis" that starts out with as an "ism" and got them a one way trip on God's rocket ship to that great Whipcream-Chocolate-Banana-Pizza Pie in the sky. Let 'em die. You'll be with them by and by.

Saturday, May 26, 2007


We are a forgetful nation mired in a fretful confrontation. On a critical date we fell for a false debate that gave an ingrate potyentate carte-blanch to sink our ship of state.

At zero-zero we gave an inept Texas dude the word to Go and lead our nation down the road to annihilation. He started upsetting the apple cart and plying his destructive art the day he went and stole the president. That's a gory story, compelling but not worth retelling in the aftermath of that fatal journey down the bloody path to death.

The Pied Piper of politics plays his dirty tricks, licks his lips and seals our fate as he pursues his fiendish plan to turn this Promised Land into an also ran. He wooed our nation to its Waterloo. Perchance we can still end his romance with death and strike up the band for a victory dance by recapturing the democracy he frittered way.

We were once a land of addicted, conflicted amnesiacs. We supported a mad maniac hypocrite. In the end it wasn't worth a bucket of spit.

Let this be the end of it.

Friday, May 25, 2007


When man began to walk upright he looked up at the burning light in the sky and wondered why he knew not what he saw and gazed in awe at that which he could not comprehend. Then, in the dark of night,other lights, quite unlike the ball of fire, fed his desire to understand what placed them them above his land.

And, in deed, he needed to know about the earth on which he stood, was it bad, was it good, and if there were men like he, would they be his friend or enemy?

Though he did not know the words to express his wonderment, somehow he knew a power beyond his comprehension had placed it all where it should be in this vast dimension of eternity.

Man had no way to express the stress that led him to tremble and to fear that if he were not alone upon this sphere, would others like he in time appear? And if they did, would this stranger respond in anger or in brotherhood?

He had a vision of things to come. He heard the roar of a distant drum. The faint refrain of others in pain. Feet on the run. The sound of a gun he could not identify. Lightening lighting up the sky. An insane voice inside his brain. Then thunder and rain that washed away what was to be some war-torn unborn future day.


Goodness gracious, for Cretaceous sakeous scientists discovered in a very ancient dried up lake in Spain where, as we know, the plain mains rainly in the strain, evidence of events that happened, give or take, 125 million years ago, prove that in a now vast lake of the past dinos swam to and fro to take a bath to cool their wrath or lake a teek or slake their thirst or what ever dinosaurs do first after they awake and sake a thit.

A paleontologist named Loic Costeur said he's sure it is true that scraping scratches in a lakebed sediment make it evident that dino was there, splashing around without a care, all his/her tons---perhaps with the little ones---in the all together in the prehistoric weather. Or was daddy dino wearing underwear?

If skinny, wouldn't the mommy monster look cute in a bikini bathing suit! If big and fat, and dinos were known for that, she might have drowned if there was no life guard around to give her snout to snout resuscitation.

Science has cleared up one mystery of prehistoric history. But we still don't know if it is so that dinos could fly. If they did, I kid you not, I wouldn't want to be there when they'd grunt and, to ble bunt, let the flit shy.

Thursday, May 24, 2007


I sit in my favorite chair and stare at the world out there, at the flowers and trees kissed by a breeze that comes from where, I do not know, although I know it is so.

I watch people come and go, on feet that walk as minds give choices to voices who talk and say simple things like "have a nice day" and more complicated, educated conversation about what is happening to civilization and why can not nations get along and why are some so weak and some so strong and some so right and some so wrong, why some die young and some grow old and some, I am told, do not mature and die of ills all our wisdom cannot cure.

Scientists persist and insist the answer is out there in the sky far beyond where birds can fly but man can try and he, eventually, will find out how and why this impossibility came to be a reality.

When? Until when is then? How much longer must we rely on theory? Will answers pose new mystery? How far back in history must we go to learn that the word of God is neither fraud nor fact, that proven truth is not exact, that life itself is just one long First Act in a play. Will it ever end? That will depend. The author never wrote Act Two. There is a rumor he died for lack of sense of humor. Is this false or is this true?

History will leave that up to you.

Monday, May 21, 2007


It could only happen in Hollywood. For years the Disney corporation's claim to fame was animation. You know their stars, Mickey and Minnie, Pluto and Daffy Duck with a yuck-yuck-yuck. Snow White and her seven tiny live-ins, animals who sing and dance. No hint of sex but some romance.

That was back in the good old days and the ways of Walt, perfectionist to a fault. But when he died, movie moguls did decide they could no longer escape putting real live romeos on tape. They hired macho heroes, some obscene, to dominate the silver screen, some to perform sexual effects, others for real raw sex. A brand new scenario stole the show so Mickey had to go!

Now there's lots of hot romance and with stars with desire and fire in their pants, cartoon characters don't stand a chance. They've become outdated. P-rated, relegated to whoopty-doopty Betty Boop and Popeye's "goil," Oliveoyle.

Ain't it strange how things change? What once was smut now is art. To get a part; actors hot to hump must jump in bed and shed their clothes, reveal their these and those and expose whatever goes between their fingers and their toes. No longer can Hollywood win with stars who hide their skin. Mickey Mouse and all his kin became has-beens in this age of sex and sin.

But PR guys were very wise. Portray Mickey gay and all will be OK with hipsters on Broadway. Like, Minnie will become a dyke. And Donald Duck will do, you know. As for the rest, we'll arrange a little Homo on the Range.

Immorality was meant to be. Sex and sin will set us free! As Porky Pig used to say: "Tha..Tha...Tha...That's...All...F...F..Folks. W...W...Will... S...Somebody P...-P...Please P...P...Pass...The P...P...Porn...I Mean Popcorn."


Refugees move around, stepping over the dead lying on the ground, the sound of gunfire everywhere. "Surrender!" enemy loud speakers declare.

Nobody seems to be aware or care what happens to the victims there. Hope is gone. War goes on beneath a blazing sun. Soldiers gripping guns, trigger fingers, trembling, unsteady, ready to explode, goad young and old: "Do as you're told."

"Do as you damn please," an old man groans through gasps of air, pausing long enough for lungs to wheeze, for the dying man to catch his breath, where the tattle-tale rattle of death prevails.

People moan, grown men cry, everybody asks why God won't let his children die. The roar of fire emphasizes the desire growing among the masses of humanity, dreaming of freedom and liberty, knowing it can never be. They exist between two killing fields, neither side willing to yield, both letting pride intervene, come between the dream they share.

Sunday, May 20, 2007


I look in the mirror and who do I see? My enemy and he is me. I see lips in twisted angry, eyes red with tears borne of fears that live inside of me. I speak words I never heard me say before. I never swore, I never cursed, the worst four-letter words were hell and damn. How did I become the foul-mouthed hater that I am? This G-D war!

I was stupid. I was dumb. I bought every bit of it. And look what I've become. A killing machine who slays to stay alive, to survive. To protect the enemy Who is Me. When I look into my eyes the only person I despise more than myself is that president. I resent that bastard, I hate his guts. The man is absolutely nuts. He has no heart, no guts. He has no soul.

I never said bad words before. I prayed to God. I never swore. Until I bought Bush's patriotic shit. I couldn't wait to go to war. I was filled with pride inside. I swore to abide by all that honor and flag meant to me. I tried, I really tried. I killed those I was told were my enemy. But they're better than me. They kill to save their family. I kill to save just me.

I was sold a pack of lies. Super-size. Bush, that bastard, him and those nitwits with brains in their rear. Oh, God, forgive me. When I think about what Bush has done I want to take my gun and blast the bastard, that rotten, no good S.O.B. He lied to me and all my buddies dead he said were fighting to save democracy. They died for his hypocrisy. For his lunacy. For his insanity. Not for the democracy he's robbed from me and what's left of humanity.

I pray God will forgive me for what I say. These are words I don't choose to use, but they just pour out of me. The anger boils up inside of me. I was once a kind, compassionate lad who had only love for his fellow man. Yet, every day I fight and kill I feel no thrill as some do. I just strive to stay alive for my family that loves me and for you, too, God. Do you love me?

I know God gave man free will, but still, can he not explain to Bush that what he's doing is insane? Can't he make our thieving, unbelieving president aware of the pain he's causing all humanity? That he must end this madness immediately!

God, forgive me my obscenities. I do not use them willingly. It's just the killing. It's what this war has done to me.

Thursday, May 17, 2007



AHMED VOWED EARLY in his life, before he'd taken a wife and had a son, there was one thing he must to do to fulfill the will of Allah, to prove his dedication to Islam. One word said it best: Jihad!

His wife knew what he must do, but she wished it was not true. She feared the day he'd kiss her and their son good-bye and he would die, a belt of exploded dynamite strapped to his chest. When that day came, she would pray, "Please God. No more Jihad."

Ahmed was not a stupid man. He was well schooled in Western ways. He knew about the U. S. A., its praise for Israel, its hatred of Islam. He said in English, which he once spurned, then realized he must learn, "I don't give a damn what Americans say. I'm a soldier of Islam."

Sheba prayed to the Western God who loved both the Arab and the Jew, "Bring my husband back to me." Ahmed knew his wife's loyalty was true even though he heard her pray aloud one night when she thought him fast asleep, On the will of Allah they disagreed. He forgave her for he knew her devotion to him was greater than for the creator of their ancestry.

TONIGHT AHMED WAS in the land his people hated but he could understand. They loved their family just as he and sought to be free of religious hypocrisy. Americans would not die for such a cause. They said, "We have laws. We will change if things get out of hand."

He thought of Sheba and their son and tried to blot this from his memory. He prayed: "Allah, understand my doubt. Help me out." Allah did not reply.

AHMED LAY AWAKE till morning light. Got up, got dressed, checked his belt and strapped it tight beneath his garment, went to Yankee Stadium, took his seat behind first base, waited patiently. It was the last inning, last game of the series. Visitors were winning by one run. Soon it would be done. Yanks at bat. One out. A single, Then out two. The Yankee slugger strutted to the plate. Strike one! Strike two! Ahmed knew what he must do. When the crowd stood up to cheer or rushed to go he'd press the button, a cry: "Yankee Die! Jihad! Jihad!" and send the infidels to their God.

The crowd grew tense. Ahmed sensed his time had come. With a crack of the bat it did. The crowd roared. The ball soared. Headed high above the center field wall. It would all be over now. A homer to live in baseball history.
Suddenly, a bird passed by. The ball and bird met in the sky. The ball fell. It landed on the border between foul and fair territory. But not to worry. It's a homer, absolutely. Umpires all agree. Yankees won. But the opposition cried "Foul! We protest. We'll test the ruling in the courts."

AMID THE FURORE OF the crowd, Ahmed cried out loud. "Yankee die! Jihad! Jihad!" He pushed the button, heard a click, nothing more. His cry could not be heard above the roar. Yet, one man heard Ahmed. "You said, 'Yankee drop dead'? He swung, struck Ahmed who fell and hit his head. "Is he dead?" someone said. "Drunk on junk. Who cares! We won!"

Ahmed groggily awoke. His head was spinning. "Just one more inning?" he cried. He pressed the button. Click! Someone tore open his shirt and saw the belt and dynamite, cried out in fright, then called the cops. Ahmed feared he would be caught. He ripped off the belt and shoved it beneath his seat. And Ahmed fled.

THE HOMERUN dispute went to court. What would it be? A hit. a foul? It must be ruled legally. "Our decision's based on a Section Two of a ruling in 1892, blah, blah., blah, the court droned on..." What did it say? In short, the court found in favor of neither team. That play must be replayed.

The date was set. That momentous moment came. The two sides took the field just as they were when the outcome was appealed. Both teams steeled for the pitch. A crack of the bat Again the ball seemed headed over the wall. It soared high above the crowd. Both sides held their breath. This was a matter of life and death.

The outfielder saw the ball in flight, kept it in sight. It was high enough to clear the wall. He leaped, his gloved-hand reached beyond belief. There was a thud. He caught the ball. A shudder spread throughout the crowd. It was the most sensational catch there ever was. A silent pause. Then pandemonium and mad applause.

Who made the pitch? Who hit the ball? Who made the catch? It's no mystery. You won't find it in history. Because this tale is pure fantasy.

LEGEND IS AHMED defected to the West, confessed. Charges were dropped as courts are prone to do. But this much may be true. Ahmed became an American. And a rabid Yankee fan.

Monday, May 14, 2007


The ink is smeared across the page, spelling out these days of rage as rain comes thundering down on a trembling earth and washes away past history of joy and mirth and days of worth. When the harlots of hypocrisy decree the death of democracy and all the freedom that used to be and nobody cares and prayers are heard by minds immune and out of tune with decency.

We must submit unwittingly and unwillingly to impotent incompetence that makes no sense. We, a world once free, have succumbed to this insanity. Losers win an winners lose..

Why did we buy this pie in the sky that sealed our fateful destiny? Is it too late?


Once upon a time in the days of science fiction many writers made the prediction that a mad tyrant giant ant had devised a way to rule the world with a magic electric ray that put all the people on Earth in his power. Boobman was his game and eating virgin blue-eyed blondes in corn flakes for breakfast was his shameful game. Of course, this illogical story couldn't come true, but just between me and you, I kid you not, It almost did.

The leader was not named Boobman. it was his ailingass for Bushman. He ate brunettes for brunch in bran flakes and stewed prunes---"a double whammy!"---and washed it down with something brown that could have been coffee but smelled more like rum from a bum in an election year.

"Where do you come from?" I asked.

"From You get there via the Internet That's the Interstate. Except the traffic there doesn't foul the air and you can pass gas stations as you pass gas and nobody seems to care."

"Are you one of those politicians who lost their positions and now are going fishin' looking for a new mission that will get you on Page One in the final edition?"

"No , I'm looking for my legacy, It fell off when I went in the woods and lost it when I stopped beneath a big oak tree to pee and and an angry squirrel threw acorns at me. "

Sunday, May 13, 2007


The Planet Earth is gripped in terror due to error upon error and the greatest crime of all time that thrust an evil incompetent, arrogant beyond understanding psychotic lunatic into the world's most demanding seat of power. This brainless fool of criminal intent lives by one rule: "I am the President. I answer to no man. I can and will do as I choose."

I, and far beyond the millions, trillions, quadrillions of victims of his wrath, are headed down a fatal path to involuntary world-wide suicide. He holds our future in his blood-soaked hands and we must bow to his demands because, as he explains, lesser men make laws. Only he can break laws with soul impunity. Because he stole the presidency.

Blood was shed, there are millions dead and untold young and old maimed beyond recovery. This, he apparently felt was necessary, to make the point that he has anointed himself as ruler of the universe. And woe be to he who dreams of being free in a disabled democracy. How did all this come about? How did he---a man of limited intelligence, without a doubt, no conscience or integrity---turn such a monstrosity into reality?

Obviously. With advanced computer technology.

By stealing votes and manipulation, he and his partners in a well-planned conspiracy, started with a stupid, trusting population and stole the office he holds not once but twice---ain't that nice!---and his popularity grew among leaders of a majority of dynasties who sought the same legacy he, the master of chicanery, accomplished most casually.

Take the ballots of your enemy, and, with the click of a mouse, switch enough votes to you and your supporting slates, to turn your minority into a slim majority. Not a lot, but more than enough, so that the hordes will buy your bluff and decide to rally to your side.

It's the truth in every voting booth there is a sucker or a sinner who wants to march to the beat of the winner.

Any candidate with corruption on his or her side, lucky to have enough big bucks, cow-tows to the major money makers and shakers who know where the dough is flowing from, and will point their dot-com in that direction. The corporations that make voting machines don't care about making the outcomes fair. They just want to be there when the deals are made. That's just how the game is played.

We, the losers. just don't matter. The winners just keep growing fatter. And the power of the hour? He or she will come and go. The fraud that got them there will grow and grow. And that is so.

Saturday, May 12, 2007


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

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

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

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

"To what?" a mother angel cried.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thursday, May 10, 2007


There are planets Out There everywhere in space. Some are as near as mere light years away. And near and far, there are peanut sized Planters planets salting up the sky.

Is there's intelligent life to worry about? If so, what do they know? Do they mind us cluttering up the space in space around their place? Do they walk in darkness on a starless night looking for a bite to eat?

There once was a MacDonald's down the street but it closed due to a lack of Martian meat.

There was once a Wal-Mart on the block but it closed when its stock ran out of schlock.

There was once a Walgreen but it disappeared from the scene when pot got the okay from the FDA and marijuana flora fauna grows on every lawn and when the light goes out they all get it on.

There was once a glut of gasoline but now there's not a drop to be seen on the scene as electric cars put-put by and rocket buses fill the sky.

There is no meat since cows and sheep and billy goats got the vote. So did the fish and fowl and now a wise old owl gives a hoot as president and Mikey Mouse, next in line, will run in '99. The GOP went flippity-flop and the Democats are the crats meow.

Pollution may be the solution to a nation's growing population. If that's not the cancer answer, give a try to good old fashioned contamination.

If none of these do the job, a new incurable disease or killer bees may be imported from overseas.

So how is the Dow doing now? How high can it get? Check it on the Outernet.


Is it time for God, the Holy One, to rethink all He's done, the good, the bad, the wish He had, what can He do to renew the faith that's fallen away?

When God was created, He wowed the camel crowd with His vow. The world was born and all that happened after that was recorded in Biblical history. It relates the events of His reign, when creatures He created were born, served their purpose on earth, then were slain by others of kind, or Acts of God. or evils of Man.

Since everything in the Bible is the Word of God, I assume He'll find Proom in His heart and mind to uncreate the worst president of the United States. King George the Farced.

A miracle worker as wise as God could delay the End of Days. Wage war on war and crime, temper torrential rains, tornadoes and hurricanes that drain His World of the brain and brawn and quality of humanity we must preserve to serve and carry on the good work He's begun. But If His powers aren't powerful enough, to get up to snuff, He can log on the internet, ask Google to use his noodle. And if God will go on line, bless His e-mail address and bless mine. everything will work out fine. Wouldn't that be just divine!

Wednesday, May 09, 2007


I'm in my eighties and still have a craving for misbehaving ladies. When I reach my nines will I still have designs on female lines? Will I still kick up a storm at the sight of the feminine form? Will I still have an ache for a gal on the make who has what it takes to give what she's got whether she's got it or not? Can I abide her wrinkles and creases, the release of odors from her gastric disorders?

If she's sort of a chronic platonic but hooked on a tonic that fires desires, what is to worry or hurry to bed for fear that my miss in a burst of passion, for better or worse, will in her fashion. Risk her sacroiliac and jump in the sack the minute I say in my indirect way, "Let's go to bed."

And if she replies with a snicker and sighs and smiles, "Wait while I take all the pills for my ills. Then if you still want the prize between my fat thighs, put up or shut up with all those kitchykoos. So come on, get it on or it soon will be gone

"But don't do it fast. Make it last a minute or two, then I must go to my maker. So shake it, I'll take it. Then I'll head for my place in the sky and lay on a cloud and shout out loud, 'Hey angel boy, let's wiggle and jiggle and have us a fling. Let's fly to the moon and dance on the stars and take a slow boat to Venus or Mars. Pluck me and I'll pluck you. What more can we do at a hundred and two?"

Monday, May 07, 2007


Have I lost my way? Is this the game I choose to play? Will I lead a life astray until the final day when they cart me away? Am I destined for eternal loneliness and nothingness?

I am a dues paying member of the "Club of No Recall" who easily forgets and regrets what I might have been if I had remembered what I wanted to be. I expected more of me .

I entered a room where something was going on. The sign said "Rehearsing Room." I asked a man: "Are you rehearsing for a show?"

"No," he replied. "I just died and they're waiting for me. I am to be the star, but I have never been dead before and it's a fact. I don't know how dead people act,"

"This is my first time, too, but I can tell you what I know. I've watched so many people go. And they're all the same. They forget their name, yet crave fame all the same. Just relax. Be who you are. Then you'll be a star."
"But what of lines? What will I say. Where's my script?"
"It all waits for you in your crypt."
"And what if this play becomes a hit?"
"Then you'll live on though you are dead. At least that's what the critics said."


If everybody who ever lived on Earth could return for just a day and then could stay indefinitely if it was decreed they could fulfill a special need to make inner space a better place to be, how wonderful that would be. Those so chosen would receive dispensation and the right to rejoin civilization for whenever an a day.

They'd form a special force for good and growth and both benefit in health and wealth and contribute to the welfare of those of lesser mind they left behind, Scientists left in a lurch when their contribution to a solution of unresolved medical mysteries could have spared millions from fatal disease. After they were gone research went on, but what was still locked in their minds was lost to humanity.

How many unfinished symphonies hid in the minds of musical prodigies and lingered on the fingers of unrealized potentialities of talents still evolving in nfancy? How many masterpieces never created, not even sketched or contemplated? What revolutionary inventions went uninvented?

How many men and women with great minds who could have defined world shattering philosophies, ideologies and possibilities died from a bullet of a gun before their lives had hardly begun?

Just imagine what the Holocaust cost humanity, the insanity of the forced annihilation of nations, wars fought in the name of God over races and religions, the slaughter because of faulty and failed decisions.

Good people hold their breath at each new wave of massive, unwanted wanton death. The earth is filled with bones, blood and bodies rotting in mud?, Tears and fears of thousands of years---is this humanity's legacy?

Friday, May 04, 2007


Where's the shame, can you not admit the blame for the mess since you came to play the game of tricky politics?
Now;. as you the near the termination of your abomination, of your mumbling, fumbling, stumbling failure of a stolen presidency, can't you be big enough to confess, "Yes, I toyed with Constitutional liberty, nearly destroyed our democracy by practicing professional hypocrisy, by turning my back on reality up to the finality of my drear, lackluster career as an idiot with an arrogant insincere sneer,

' I can't wait to get out of here and back to my Texas retreat roping steer and chopping wood and other chores for which I'm good and should have done instead of running for a job for which I'm hardly qualified.

"Well, I tried and I lied and thousands died because I took great pride in my stupidity and incompetency. So now I bid the world good-bye." SIGNED G. Dubya B, the worst US president in history.

PS: The above is not a quote, just a note of what he coulda, shoulda never woulda said. But words like these don't bounce around in his empty Texas head.


Rufus Rastus Moses Brown lived on the edge of town, been here since the court house burned down, living in an abandoned boxcar rusting on a railroad track that hadn't heard a clickity-clack since way, way back. To folks in town he was known as just plain Mose. He liked that name and chose it for his own.

Mose didn't live alone. He had neighbors everywhere. Rats and cats who played catch to his delight. At night he'd hear them running around on the ground and in his home. There were skunks, quite a few. Smelled a bit, he did admit, but so did he and so did we. A lone raccoon who stared at the moon. Bats who hung on trees by day and flapped their wings and soared in the dark looking for a place to park. And dogs that barked in the church graveyard night and day and cried for masters who had passed away.

And a ghost there was. Mose knew. It came out at night in full view when Mose was alone and had no-one to show it to.These, the roaches, flies and fleas, the spiders and the stinging bees, were Mose's family. He loved them all and, in return, they learned he was their friend and would creep on him in his sleep and keep him company.

Mose was poor but was needy, He shared his meager wealth eagerly and what he craved as much as tears were fresh ears of sugar corn. When Mose needed salt for his food he'd think of his lost love and start to cry the saltiest tears his one good eye poured forth.

Moses had a special friend, a squirrel he called "My Girl," even though he didn't know whether it was a he or she. He didn't care. My Girl was his love who talked to him and walked with him and taught him how to store his food like squirrels do so when the snow and winter winds began to blow and he couldn't search for food and craved a snack he'd reach into his burlap sack and put two acorns in his hand. One for him, one for My Girl. And they would munch on squirrel food.

In the spring Mose would plant his rows of corn between the tracks and on the hill and anywhere a seed might grow and all his friends would know not to disturb his corn, to let it grow. Because when it was ripe and ready to eat he'd feed not just them but the folks in town. They'd crowd around old Mose Brown and if the rain came pouring down they'd crowd into his boxcar home to hear his tale about the ghost that only he could see.

"What's it look like?" kids would ask.

"Big and white, not black like me. The biggest ghost you' ever meet. 'Course, I can't rightly tell. It wore this sheet. Not the kind your momma spreads on your bed. Big and flappy. This one had happy, dancing feet."

"Aw, come on Mose. Ghosts don't have feet."

"This one do, I'se tellin' you. Once it stepped on my big toe and...ooh, ooh, ooh! I told that ghost a thing or two. Do you know what it say to me?"

The children crowded close to hear. Mose smiled with a twinkle in his eye started to reply, but from a great oak way up high, they heard a "BOO! BOO! BOO!" More like a roar they'd never heard before.

The kids were scared and didn't know what to say. But they never forgot that day, the day the big ghost went away and never returned to the scene, not even on Halloween.