Wednesday, August 29, 2007


There's so much evil everywhere, but recognizing it is hard to do because the devil has many faces that separate him from the norm in shape and form, in the way his lips turn up or down to form a sneer or a frown. Like a circus clown, he hides behind a mask which makes one ask, "How can I tell the devil is my enemy?" It's difficult because hIs evil resides deep inside his hide, controlled by a corrupted soul.

Truth be known, evil has many faces the devil alone owns. Like the face of God, the devil's true face has never been seen. Artists paint him red with horns protruding from his head. But this is only a conception of a deception to delude Bible thumping preachers who claim to have met him face to face. Even the ministers have been misled.

The devil embraces different faces according to his need to succeed. He can rearrange his strange features to become unrecognizable even to those who read about him in the Bible. It's odd, but even God does not know the many faces of his faceless foe. But there's a surefire way to spot this hot shot. When asked, "Are you the devil?" he replied, "On the level, Dubya's my name. Incompetence is my claim to fame."

Hot damn! You've got your man! That devil can go to hell!


After all wars ever fought are won or lost, after trillions are thrown away and millions of lives are blown away and idiotic patriotic exotic words written and orated have contaminated communication at some far off time the crime of war will be outlawed, not by God or prayers, but by players on a stage in a golden age of peace portraying tragic scenes of ancient twenty
first century history.

The stars of all wars ever produced will be introduced and the show will begin about the greatest unresolved, unsolved mystery of history: Why do humans kill against their will? Sadly, It will have an all too limited run on the Theater of the Absurd.

Critics will carefully choose the words they use to accuse the author and actors of insulting the audience intelligence with a drama too unreal even for a fantasy which this presentation will certainly be.

As the final curtain comes down a two-faced clown will appear on stage in the theater dark but for just one last spotlight of the night. The clown will bid the disappointed crowd "Goodnight, sleep tight." He'll pause and laugh, then with insane delight add: "And don't let the bedbugs bite!"

With these words said the clown will nod his head. A shot will be heard. The clown will drop dead.

Saturday, August 25, 2007


Retired, once powerful, successful politicians, executives in demanding, commanding high positions, respected decision makers, movers, shakers super achievers in private and public life, men and women who anticipate changing conditions and make snap decisions based on wisdom and insight and just because they're very bright, multi-warred, battle scarred men of military might, scientists and scholars reinforced by proven facts and history, a mass of mental capacity all agree and publicly admit:

President George Walker Bush, is a walking, talking suicide bomb who could blow this world to Kingdumb Come. He is a bonafide, certified, verified IDIOT.

They and We, the trillions of very wary, caring, ordinary, tax paying, God-fearing praying, voting Republicans and Democrats, men and women old and young of every stripe, without a doubt, would surely feel more secure if Dubya were wiped out. Not with a gun, but by worldwide shame that would put this lame-brain on a one-way train to obscurity, Oh, what a glorious day that would be.

That's a dream, a fantasy. But it's a well-deserved fate to which GWB and his partners in crime, that collective slime, would never submit to willingly. Not that they don't hate his guts, but what if he was proven functionally nuts? The rest of the gang would not be far behind.

Anybody you have in mind?


Dubya, that dumb upstart upset the applecart of peace in the Middle East that, at least, meant fewer dead and a better life for Iraqis under the Hussein reign than we, with all our troops, our guns and planes and our insane no-brainers could ever maintain.

The mounting demand from Them and We is End This War that GWB began to prove he was a macho man, to convince his dad he had the nuts and guts to decide what was what, that he could kick Saddam's butt and show the world that he, the Decider, would decide.

Dubya's alleged reasons for attack was because Iraq had what they did not, but they had a lot of you know what that could sweeten the pot of HELLFORBURTIN and certain other warmongering conglomerations. The confrontation cost the US a tril and still no black stuff's poured to our shores and it costs us a helluva lot more tfill our tanks, no thanks to WGB, than it did before he took us to war forever more.

Our Cowboy Leader still says "Stay the course." Let him kiss the ACK BASS of his horse when he's retired to TexASS, of course.

Friday, August 24, 2007


If denial was a crime Dubya would be on trial and be sentenced big time to pay for the thousands of GIs dead who he said were needed to stem the tide of the suicide bombers from the other side.

As things get worse and worse he still keeps saying, "Stay the course" to force the enemy to retreat, accept defeat because they can't compete with our president in the driver's seat. But do you know what? They're not. And they'll keep killing as long as Bush is willing to provide the fodder.

Nothing could be odder than a president intent on making the same mistakes over and over again. When oh when will Congress learn that this Chief of Grief, this coward scrammed and took it on the lam when North Viet Nam was the foe. Dubya didn't want to go and said so and Daddy G. got him off the hook with a comfy nook in the Texas Air National Guard. That was a hard pill to swallow for this frat brat and campus cruiser who learned how to be a big time loser. Did this time thusly spent qualify him to be the president? No. But he got selected anyway. It could only happen in the USA!

And now, somehow, this loser who went AWOL when our troops were fighting in the living hell of Nam. dominates the news telling us why we must justify his lie that sent thousands to die and the wounded who came back maimed to face life without limbs and minds scarred forever by the war that did not have to be, but was waged on demand by gee-dubya-bee,. the worst president in the history of our democracy,

Now he has the gall to call the shots. Lots o' luck, Donald Duck.


I admit it. When I was young and strong of heart and lung I never dug old folks, their silly jokes, idiotic smiles, drooling lips and inane quips. I was smug. I knew senility would never take hold of me.

I would never dwell on ills, pills and doctor bills, morning chills, updated wills and bookkeeping skills my sleeping wife seems to lack. And I knew I would not be back to straighten up the mess my mate will make of our estate.

I would never be one of them. coughing, choking, smoking until that croaking moment rears its ugly head and they're dead. I always said, that's not for me. I'll still be myself at ninty-three.

I'll never complain of aches and pains or worry what's happening to my brain, face the fear of going insane. I know some oldtimers, even a few younger than I, get Alzheimer's disease, but that's not for me, thank you, please.

I took great pride in the vitality of my mentality, my common sense and intelligence. I knew some experts say all that won't delay decay of a brain on the wane, but I am no damn fool. I'll be the exception to the rule.

Some claim it's dementia, but whatever they name it, all it means is St. Pete sent word, like it or not, I'm on God's waiting list. One day when I least expect, I'll be next. I may have time to say goodbye before my soul soars in the sky on its way to Judgment Day. And I, my butt. my gut and big fat behind will all be left behind.

Tuesday, August 21, 2007


Mike the termite roamed the countryside in search of rotten wood. If he found decaying pews of birch in a church, he'd chew the whole week through. But Mike would stay away Sunday so folks could pray the way they should and would. And that was good.

Mike gave up wood for Lent. It was not his intent to bite and incite the wrath of God on this most holy day. He loved all wood from sawdust to planks, expressed his thanks but would not chew a pew until services were through.

On day Mike found a knothole with a five dollar bill in the collection plate and accidentally ate the bill. Since it's a sin to chomp a fin he went to confession. "Father," he said , "I have sinned. I ate out of the collection. What must I do to compensate for this transgression?"

"The next time you defecate, my son, if it comes out with the wood you should return the fiver to the plate. But if it is a phony bill you will eat it with a piece of pie and pass it at a Wal-mart super pooper store."

Monday, August 20, 2007


Once upon a time crooks were in their prime during a wave of electoral college crime. America lost its soul, bought pie in the sky lie of a no good guy on a roll who stole control of the whole dang shebang. He put the nation in a spin but the fools stuck with him and he gained fame as King of the USA.

At his crowning he declared: "Forget today, wait and pray for a new tomorrow. The secret of our success will be borrow, borrow, borrow. Nations and corporations who invest in our rehabilitation we won't reimburse. As things get worse our debts will soar as they loan us more. They're sure we'll repay. That's the US way.

"They'll string along, right or wrong, and when we agree to repay a dime on the dollar, they won't holler. That's what they'll have to do to renew the faith in the Yankee dollar.

"Any expert of high finance with his brains in his pants would advise: Take a chance. Don't turn your back on romance with democracy. They may be deep in hypocrisy but that's the only way to go."

In the end, their friend, America, the rubes, went down the tubes. The pros foreclosed on D.C. and every major bankrupt city, They caught us asleep at the switch, thanks to that dirty bun of a sitch, The GOP. through graft and greed, through dissolution of the Constitution, practicing sedition with permission, disobeying laws "just because" put our freedom out of reach. Now we cry "IMPEACH! IMPEACH!"

Is it too late? The last two times we had the vote. But the robbers sank the boat. They took the prize. They sure did gloat. We were the goat. It happened then. It can happen again. Quote, unquote!

Sunday, August 19, 2007


It's time we face the fact, the election of our presidents is just an act, a rigged reaction of faction versus faction and choreographed inaction. Take note; It's all about the votes and who will be the scapegoats and does it matter when the outcome comes in and the end ends with enemies becoming friends again?

What began as a fake debate on who should run becomes just a humdrum ho-hum moment in history plagued by mystery: who won? who lost? who paid the cost? who bossed the boss? who caused the loss? In the latter, does it really matter? Take note:. pity not, the scapegoat will live on in remote and return one day for a replay after fading away.

The last flawed presidential election did not result from party rejection or imperfection of the idiotic electronic count that did not amount to a hill of beans. The guy to blame was the crook who cooked the books with one quick click of the White House mouse. His name: Slicky Dicky Cheney. Sharing the shame in this guilty game was a guy named Rove who drove the get away car.

Pardon the delay and stay with me. I say there is a better way to choose who's the best qualified to decide. Why not select the president and his vice based not on hearsay, but documented resumes? Can the candidate with the polka-dot tie, the toothy smile and the stereotype style, or the gal who stayed with her mate even though he strayed because that's how the political game is played.

Instead of voting, I'm promoting give the job to someone who won't rob or steal or make a deal, controls the national debt and won't let dollars go astray, away, make rich and poor pay taxes the same old fashioned way and will stay as long as he gets a big OK from the Board of Directors of the USA. Who are they? All taxpayers who pay his wage so he can star on the political stage.

If he proves to be a Dubya dud his name is mud and he can be fired before his contract has expired. No speech. No impeach. Just kick out the leach! Replace the creep.


The drums go bang, Cymbals clang. Tubas go oom-pah-pah. The crowd goes ooh and ah! It's the greatest thing they ever saw. Marching feet repeat the beat of people on parade.

The music played, the floats displayed are hip-hip-hoorayed by the crowd that fills the avenue. Flowing flags red, white and blue and banners of most every hue passing in review instill in you a patriotic feeling that sends the senses reeling. The pride you feel inside you could not hide even if you tried. It's parade time in the old hometown and folks pour in from miles around to share the fun with everyone and bask in the sun heaven, sent for this event.

There are parades of many kind to satisfy all states of mind---for soldiers marching off to war, for limping men returning home again. Circus parades with elephants and dancing clowns performing to a small American town, parades for kings and queens and rock stars wearing faded jeans, for preachers on a sacred mission to save mankind from perdition, parades for dogs and cats and women wearing Easter hats.

They're great to watch, there is no doubt. But marchers will find out, if they march in too many marches they'll wind up with fallen arches.

Friday, August 17, 2007


I awoke half past two. Did what nature told me to, went back to bed. To my surprise, I couldn't sleep. I counted sheep and hoped shuteye would welcome me. This was not to be.

I tried counting other things. Telephone rings. Swinging swings. Romantic flings . Ding-dong-dings. Imagination only led to more frustration. Then I asked the inner me: Why not imagine a symphony to serenade me to slumberland?

That didn't bring the sleep I sought but, oh the sounds it wrought! I was at Carnegie Hall. I held my breath at every pause, joined in the wild 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.


Why should death be final when vinyl lasts forever? Why must I be forced to sever all connections with those of my affections when I or they die? Just because the mouth's no longer eating, the heart's no longer beating, the voice no longer repeating words I love to hear, and the kidney and the liver, the heart and all assorted parts cease to be the giver of life sustaining functions, mortal mechanization need not end communication with those on an after life vacation.

There should be no compunction to enforce a non-function injunction against communication with bodies six feet under, dumped into the sea, cremated belatedly or frozen temporarily. Let us all be made, finally, of vinyl.

How can God defend his intention to resign us to another dimension after we are dead? In this age of technology, you'd think theology could convince the Creator to be more than spectator in the case of our mortality in this century of reality. Why not switch from blood and bones to ever lasting vinyl?

Let science take man to a higher level. But if you plan to live forever don't live with the devil for that's a hell of a place to be in a vinyl birthday suit.


Once upon a world ago there was a world that grew quite weary and all its children were sad and teary because they knew it was true their friend the earth was near its end.

The birds and bees, the towering trees, the rivers, lakes and all the seas were sadder still because they were aware there would be no one left to care for. They would be the first to go.

Creatures great and creatures small could sense the pall that filled the world from wall to wall, The clouds were shrouds above it all. The moon soon would disappear, the sun was done, the stars had gone the way of Edsel cars, there was no snow, not a flake of real or fake, wind and rain were on the wain and Mother Earth had gone insane.

Words had become passe and passed away or gone astray for there was nothing left to say, and why pray to God who gave up the ghost and became the host at the devil's weenie roast.

Wednesday, August 15, 2007


Thousands of families in our nation and portions of populations throughout civilization---if you'll pardon the expression---do not have a pot to do what in. Millions live in poverty from hand to mouth in the south, north, east and west in the US and large sections of the rest of Earth. There's a dearth of what is needed to make an ideal place in space for the human race.

There are the destitute everywhere over here and over there who haven't got a cent to spare, living in poverty without a dream to rise to solvency. But there's ways to give these millions what they need to live a better life, perhaps not devoid of all strife, the omnipresent essence of all who exist, but enough to encourage them to more than just subsist.

Charity's the grease that lubricates the wheels of upward mobility. We're not talking here in terms of dollars or pounds or francs or other exchange of similar rank. We're dealing with loose change in your pocket at the end of a non-stop shopping day.

So when you go to bed at night separate coins from cash, stash it in a jar or drawer and COIN-tribute it to a favorite church. charity or non-profit agency. This "chicken-feed" you and others donate will grow to amounts you can't count or estimate. For charities strapped for dough it will go a long way to pay the bills. You must concede, indeed. it will fill a need.

One idea to think about. When you travel abroad you may return with loose foreign change. Instead of keeping it as a souvenir this near-worthless coin, multiplied, supplied to charities of places you've been will feed the needy, reduce the cost of living, make giving a painless way of telling friends abroad: "I loved my stay. As I return to the USA I say to you, have a nice day."

Friday, August 10, 2007

"A real gi-ant"


God created many things, like spring and bells that ting-a-ling and bees that sting and birds that sing and even telephones that ring. The angels asked him why. Said He: "I have my reasons. I will tell you, by and by."

When God created seasons, winds and storms and other forms of blowing things, angels asked why. He replied: "I know what I'm doing." Then He created snow and rain, hot and cold, dry and wet. "When I'm through," He said, "I'll put it all together and call it weather. But I've got other things to create like bats, rats and pussy cats. Now, children, meet my friend, the ant,"

"Very, very teeny weeny-weeny."

"And my big friend, the ele-phant,"


A mole came out of its hole, A funny bunny twitched its nose. The angels didn't understand what else God planned. He waved his hand. A newborn baby wiggled its toes. A deer walked on tippy toes.

"God loves us all, big and small," an angel said. "Even me!" a cherub giggled gleefully..

"Even thou and thee. Soon you'll see. I won't keep you in the dark."

What is dark? They wanted to know. God said: "Soon you'll see the light." He thought they might not understand. I should be careful what I say when I use words I created just today. Soon you'll know. OK?" He paused and shrugged. "OK means just OK."

God had an inspiration. He waved his wand and made a vow.. "Now you understand my words and what they mean. Let's set the scene.

God pointed here, there everywhere. "See! The grass is green. The snow is white. The night is dark. The day is light, Meet my friend, the little pig. There's a horse, big, of course. The monkey has a real big tail. There goes a whale! He lives in the sea. Watch out for that stinging bee!"

They all shouted with joy and mirth. "God created Earth and sky and birds that fly and even us and we know why. He created us so we'd know. If God says it's so it's so."

God neared the end of His chore. The angels and cherubs knew there'd be more. A mother angel shushed. "Quiet all. I don't want to hear a peep. God worked hard, He needs His sleep." They crept away as God slept at the end of day. As God's children walked along they sang a song. "God is good. God is great. Only God can create."

God winked an eye and said g oodnight. . "You bet! They ain't seen nothin' yet."

Tuesday, August 07, 2007


Our world is in pain, ruled by insane men leading us down a dead-end road to hell. They believe peace will be achieved only if we kill all those who refuse to obey, not the will of God, but of a fraud who says he was chosen to lead the way to Judgment Day,

Only when the world ends will it be reborn, ruled by fools who make the rules we must live by or die. So say those who preach to the weak who seek incompetents who make no sense and compound unsound reasons for war. They are self-appointed peace police who commit crimes they pledged to prevent.

There is a way to save the day, to turn the out-of-control world around. "Make love, not war," so said the old cliche. Too few listened as nations invaded nations after failed negotiations destroyed amicable relations.
When talks break down and compromise can't be found, is war the only alternative to give peace one more chance to advance the cause of democracy?

Love, of course, is the force that keeps this old world spinning, winning converts to its side. Love of nature. flowers, trees, an ocean breeze, a sunset at the end of day, children at play, individuality, spirituality---and, above all, love of family---are the glues that hold the world together.

Don't let an upstart tear the world apart.

Monday, August 06, 2007


I was a on a trip on a Greyhound bus bound from New York to L.A. when we made a stop on the way to pass gas and get gas and rest ass from this bumpy ride that shook up our inside and bruised our outside backside hide nationwide.

The driver, a conniver, got a hot meal free, a steak, spuds and suds of Buds, his favorite brand, and an extra can for the road while he rode in a way that showed he didn't shive a git for his human load.

Well, we rolled on from dawn to dawn and yawn to yawn through jerkwater towns hotter than a Harry Potter tale or the tail of a frail with sex for sale for a male to rate on a scale of one to ten for a guy on a high who hadn't had it as rapid as an Easter rabbit, a horny hare with energy and time to spare.

How this script slipped from an account of a trip coast to coast to a roll in the sack with a beast in heat is hard to fathom but the fact of the act is that most boast they frequently have 'em. But enough about lust, it's back to the bus, I trust you can't wait to know what happens next.

A couple flats, an almost wreck, and what the heck, a peck of trouble with a cop who hollered "Stop!" but the brakes wouldn't work so the driver jerk just drove away with a "Have a nice day!" A summons comin' in the mail. Our driver's in the county jail.

So, if you gotta know, pay your fare and join us somewhere between here and there. If you can bear the fumes, the single restroom and the doom that looms when the bus goes boom and falls over a cliff, what's the diff!.

If the driver remembers to shift to low to slow the descent on a hill going down out of town we just weren't meant to have an eventful event and we'll get to L A. OK. But going back the driver might have a snack attack, get off the track, take a dive on the drive and the Greyhound bound to NYC might end the trip with a dip in the sea. We'll see, Amigo, Si! Si! Si!

Wednesday, August 01, 2007


From the earliest days of Creation to the dawn of civilization devastation has stained the land. It remains today a place where brutal death holds sway. Must it forever be this way?

Will God say one day "Enough's enough!" Will He decree we shall be one big loving family. Sharing, caring, living free? Will we end the bloodshed that has led to trillions dead? Will we, the living, let life run its natural course and let death remain the
guiding force?

If it be so we have a better place to go when life is done, will we be granted golden memories to ease the way from here to there?

Will friendly angels smile as they fly on their way to Eternity? Will my soul survive in the heart of a newborn child asleep in a cozy room in the womb of a young woman, wondering what her child will be? He or she will be my responsibility. The future of the world could be up to me.