Friday, June 29, 2007

THEY WERE ONCE THE RAGE OF THE LONDON STAGE

Henny Jennny, a sexy chick, was the pick of the layer Farmer Brown, the biggest breeder in town, was sure would pay her way laying double yolk eggs that hatched twin fowls.

Henny's older brother raped their mother. That was OK for incest was the best way to guarantee, genetically, what went into the laid laying hen would produce twins occasionally.

When Brown found out the combination of Henny and Rhoad Island Red, sister and brother, produced more twins than any other, they gained fame in the chicken game. Their offspring brought top price in the market place. It meant more twofers for Farmer Brown who owned the hottest cock in town.

Making double bucks off clucks was a yolk stroke of luck. Red's juice produced two in a single shell and Brown's profits soared more and more. Each time Red got laid Brown shouted "Hip, hip, hip hurray! Three cheers for chicken DNA!"

One day, Jenny's mother and father, who also were her sister and brother, got stomach pains. Poppa cock dropped dead, complications of constipation. Red lost her lover and recovered but developed intense flatulence. Gas invaded and inflated her shells. The yolks inside were immense. She still had troubles now and then, left over from when pop popped her repeatedly. But it made no sense to send her to the chopping block just because she lost her cock.

When the widowed hen began laying again everytime she popped she pooped. She thought it best to keep the smell under her breast in the nest. It worked, but she was a nervous wreck. She couldn't take time off to peck. When she moved her bowels she howled. The foul fowl smell, all could tell, resulted from her frequent chickenshit fits.

The chicken twins who shared a shell heard her yell. The foul fowl smell penetrated the shell while they were in the final stages of incubation. Meanwhile, Red sat on her ass and passed vast blasts of gas.

The soon to be chicks got sick, decided to hatch prematurely. They pecked and pecked until they had pains in their necks. Finally, there was a crack in the shell, What do you think? The newborn chicks jumped out and ran away to escape the stink. Momma hen never saw those chicks again. She left one last fart and died of a broken heart.

The chick twins, still plagued by their mother's poop, jumped into a well, washed off the smell, learned to swim, swam to London where they gained fame, became the rage of the London stage.

The brother, who became Cock Rock, was a swinging singer. When he crooned his tune, "Cock-a-doodle-doo Means I Love You," the chicks all swooned. His sister, Jenny Hen, won acclaim and fame in the acting game. But at the height of their careers the fears came true. Both were stricken by passing gas disease that runs in chicken families.

Cock Rock heard about a wise old owl who specialized in stricken chickens. "Take these pills," said Dr. Hoot to Jenny, "and the gas you pass will blow away...unless...unless."

"Yes? Yes? Unless what?" the chicken stars asked Dr. Hoot. The wise old owl wouldn't tell. He just said "Hoo! Hoo!" and went back to the zoo. Chickenshit will get them in the end, the doctor thought. They'll end up in a stew pot, like as not.

The chickens went back to their nest with the blues, checked their mail and were heartened by the news. Rock said to Jen, "How lucky can we get. We've got the leads in Romeo and Juliet." On opening night as they began the famous scene, unseen in the balcony was the ghost of smelly mom. "Good luck!" she clucked vindictively. "I'll fix those chicks for abandoning me!"

The audience waited expectantly. Suddenly, there was a roar followed by an awful smell. As panic gripped the crowd Jen cried, "Where fart thou, Romeo?" A plop-plop stopped the show as Jenny laid a giant rotten egg. Broken shells and slimy raw egg swamped the stage. The audience was enraged. "Put those poopers in their coop! Turn 'em into noodle soup!"

Everybody watched aghast as the cast slipped and fell. Hot spotlights turned the stage into one big omelet mixed with scrambled theatrical hams. And the play turned into the largest breakfast buffet in showbiz history.

Needless to say, the curtain fell. That climaxed the career of the two stars who never graced the stage again. Instead of saying the traditional line, "Break a leg," "Break an egg!" became the toast of every talk show host from coast to coast.

But the stars were immortalized by Chophouse Joe where folks would go after a show for a snack and to recall the time when Jenny passed gas and pointed to her ass. That gaff always brought a laugh. So when Joe wanted to add to his bill o' fare, his chicken pot pie memorialized the lives of Rock and Jen.

Whatever happened to Jenny and Cock? Where did they go? Joe looked with pride at his new menu. It seemed the decent thing to do.

Wednesday, June 27, 2007

DUBYA DOESN'T SHIVE A GIT

There are no iffs, no ands or buts, our nation's in a rut. The Republicans are nuts. The Democrats don't have the guts to face up to what's what. Put thIs GOP putz on the spot for all the rot he has wrought to the slot he stole with a goal to put this country in a hole. That measly mole has no heart, no soul and no control. The creep keeps killing troops and doesn't SHIVE A GIT about the war. He started it and doesn't know a whit how we're going to get out of it.

Dumb Dubya's strategy: "Trusth him while he spends the country into rack and ruin' doin' what he's doin', screwin' the tax payers to protect the oil for TOHELLAWITHBURTON and other corporations here and overseas who paid his fees to fool the you's and me's, thank you please, to seize the White House.

That dirty louse must be unseated before his term is completed. With all we've got against this man of yack-yack-yammer any credible court of law would put this hee-haw and all his gang in the slammer and throw away the key.

Don't we realize our nation's on the edge of doom and gloom And all because Bush breaks the laws and sticks his paws into the cookie jar to finance this evil medieval war he started with a lie while we, the people, were stupid enough to buy his stuff and all his bluff? Doesn't this country understand the time has come, it's overdue, to do what we must do to be through with Dubya and all his crew. We should be aware by now that no matter how, the HIT MUST FIT THE SHAN and dump this chump for once and all.

Dubya doesn't SHIVE A GIT. Do we? We'll see!

Sunday, June 24, 2007

THE EFFECT OFSAME SEX SEX

Two consenting men have sex together. Two women do the same thing whether it's acceptable, respectable or not. So what! If they've agreed to do it and it fulfills a physical and psychological need, indeed, they should go to it.

Why should lawmakers enact acts to make a crime of what's being done all the time? When they do it on a cold winter night to keep each other warm, it causes nobody harm, saves on heat, meets conservation criteria. So why the hysteria? Sex preserves the nation's fuel supply. And that's one good reason why. It's the patriotic thing to do.

Even though same sex marriage doesn't often include a baby carriage, two can share their underwear, their sox and shoes (if they're same size) and other things like wedding rings. And if they opt to adopt, they help stop the population crunch where conventional couples have a bunch and resort to divorce courts to sort them out.

Same sex male mates seldom disagree on sports on TV, the brand of beer they drink, how they think, if at all, the jokes they tell, they swear like hell, they hang the clothes they wore the day before on the floor. There's more, but why bore you with that?

No matter how you seek sex, simple or complex, persist and make it high on your MUST DO LIST.

Saturday, June 23, 2007

WORDS: WE COULDN'T COMMUNICATE WITHOUT THEM

Words are my stock in trade. They were made to convey what's going on in the world today. They tell stories of past glories, are used to compromise, make nice, be precise, break the ice,

Without words there'd be no melodies. We couldn't expound theories, pose possibilities. Without words strung together we couldn't discuss weather. There'd be no dictionary, no Stephen King and all things scary, no Shakespeare or Romeo, no Poe, no plot that thickens, no Charles Dickens, no Bible, no libel. What's worse, no verse.

There'd be no debate, no views on news, no way to discuss what's troubling us, to tell the truth as writ, no way to lie or cheat a bit. Words make sounds, express expectations, vow devotion, describe ocean motions.

Politicians could not reply, imply, falsify. There'd be no words to judge judges by. No pencils, pens or ink to tell what we think. No typewriters, tape recorders, story tellers, English professors, word processors, no nosirs, yessirs, second guessers.

And without words, no doubt, I'd not have the right to write this trite.

WAS THIS HOW IT WAS MEANT TO BE?

Many sleep in a graveyard of the sea who died with pride defending democracy. They rest among the shoals and shells, visited by denizens of the deep who keep them company. How many tales they could tell if they were alive and well. But that will never be.

Jimmy died at twenty-one. He had learned to clutch a gun but not much more, you see. He saw fear in the young eyes of the enemy and hesitated momentarily, seconds too long, apparently. He now sleeps eternally in a foreign land across the sea,

What did he dream as they dropped him in his bodybag, leaving the flag behind? That he was too kind to kill, that he got no thrill from war, that he meant no harm, wished he'd stayed on the farm where the air was warm and there was no sea and a sweetheart waited hopefully. But his country called and he responded woefully but willingly.

There lies Sam, a damn fine man, a mom and dad who loved their son, their only one; a grandchild yet unborn, a wife torn from his loving arms as he was thrust into harm's way assuring her he'd be okay and return to her one happy day.

But then he shipped off to fight an enemy across the sea who also had a family, a loving wife and kids still not conceived and mom and dad who believed their son was doing what God wanted him to do. The same God who protected me until there was nothing more He could do but welcome me to eternity.

How confused this God must be who loves all soldiers equally, but must choose who will lose and who will win when both have sinned unwillingly.

There was Jake, a rabbi born to be, who loved God and humanity. How painful it was when God tried to decide who should die and who will taste the blood of victory.

Was Jake's God served in a very special way by his death that fateful day? Jake didn't even have time to pray, to cry, to wonder why this was his day to die.

Some die in the air, some on the ground, some aboard a ship at sea. All believed their time had come. Was that reality? Was that as it was meant to be? Is life a game with God the referee?

Will we ever know what is so? Who keeps the score? Who minds the store? Or is life just luck and nothing more?

Wednesday, June 20, 2007

DELAY, DELAY, DELAY---THE REPUBLICAN WAY

I don't know a whole lot about climate control or have a solution for pollution. But when I breathe air I know it's there and getting worse. So before I take my final ride in a big black hearse to my resting place, I must face the fact that any pact proposed by Republican hacks who lack caring for millions whose lungs need repairing convince me pollution's got to go.

It's only fair industry should be allowed to foul the air and poison the stinking water we drink and wink at laws they ignore. Anyway, pollution's an awful bore for CEOs who mind the store! We need more fumes and plumes of smoke, more contaminants in foods we eat, more heat, more drought. Ain't that what the bottom line's all about?

It took me time to figure it out, but now I don't have a doubt the Bush deal to kill the UN's G8 climate plan seems to be an exercise in futility that will benefit every utility and corporations who already control polluted nations and will do so for degenerate generations to come. It's dumb, unfair. It's touted by the man who's leaving soon and could be living on the moon before this fanatic act becomes a fact.

A week before the G8 summit in Germany, GBS said this, not in rhyme, but on prime time: "By the end of next year America and other nations will set long-term global goals to reduce greenhouse gasses." He said America will hold a "series of meetings" to work out a plan to reduce emissions 50 percent by 2050. Compliance would be voluntary, of course, which means it would have no force.

Meetings on top of meetings means delay on top of delay. More than forty years is far away. Plenty time to play with more delay, to dump it in the political junk pile for a while. Who knows? So it goes. Maybe until 3003. If anybody's still alive. We'll just have to wait and see.

Monday, June 18, 2007

A WORKING VACATION TO HIS CREATION

This is a story, fiction, of course, about God, in all His glory who, for better or worse, decides that after all the stuff He had to go through to perpetuate the myth of His existence it made no sense for the workaholic that He was not to take time off from the hassle in His castle in Heaven to visit Earth and see if it was worth all the fret and sweat to get it to where, in the far off air, it is today.

God figured, "Oh, for goodness and badness sake, to take an inventory, according to this made-up story, I'm justified the expense to indulge in this nonsense, this humanity/insanity to satisfy my vanity as a selfish God to go temporarily off my nod to learn if Earth's a going biz and let it stay as it or has the time come to end this dumb experiment that's had a trillion zillion years to get its act together and still can't control the weather?"

True, God created a shoddy body, susceptible to every incredible disease He invented accidentally or experimentally. He was sure this newfangled modern science would find a cure, like an answer to why healthy people die of cancer and the poor have more babies than dogs have rabies.

Man still hasn't learned to come in out of the rain when he and his sweetie stroll down Lover's Lane. And the bolloxed human brain? There are more insane today than there will be on Judgment Day.

One night late on a date known just to God who like or not, has forgot, all the Good will go to Heaven and the Bad will shop at Wal-mart and the 7/11 and instead of oil, booze will ooze out from the soil and the world will crash after one last bash and we'll all turn into recyclable trash.

That's probably not how God and His Son would have it done. Buy I'm the one who created this tale of travail and that's how I would do it. So screw it. God blew it. And that's all there is to it.

Saturday, June 16, 2007

LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT TURNED OUT RIGHT

Love at first sight ignites a bright light that excites irrational passion and leads two to do whoop-de-do before and/or after all the fun and laughter leads them to wed and head for the wedding bed where they will test their vitality and originality until the eventuality of reality sets in.

After spending days and nights under the covers the lovers assume the bedroom boom-boom-boom has slowed its zoom to the moon in the merry marrying month of June where money and matrimony collide. They are no longer bride and groom, just husband and wife faced with the facts of wedded life.

They realize through frequent tries The Act is not so romantic, just a frantic antic that must end in instantaneous, simultaneous mutual orgasm spasms or it's not a God-Blessed unrepressed success.

With each making grins and groans they keep on trying to make it satisfying, all the time denying, as a matter of fact, The Act is not all it's cracked up to be. Then suddenly, pregnancy ends all doub. They did make out.

Of course, divorce never enters their discourse during intercourse as the bulge in her belly develops into fingers, toes, a nose, a few of these and those and eventually "IT" will become a He or She for everyone to love instantly at first sight and to say with delight: "Peek-a-boo, I see you!"

Ain't it great to be a family !

Tuesday, June 12, 2007

WHEN YOUR SWEETHEART DEPARTS...

There is no-one left to share our secret memories, to help recall those magic moments that meant so much to. you and me. I, the surviving half of a love affair, am left with the myth that others will nol understand or appreciate the castles in the sky we built together through calm and stormy weather.

The memories---I recall it all. Where were they? Away, building castles of their own. I am here alone with mine. I taste the wine, I see the setting sun. I kiss you beneath a summer moon. We say "I do" and sing a tune we cannot forget on the day we first met and knew that we were meant to be lovers throughout eternity.

It was love at first sight. We knew it was right. And right it was because...just because it was, IT WAS!

Have you ever known that a shooting star was God's own way to reply to a prayer to let you know He will be there to make your dreams come true? But even He cannot assure how long that rapture will endure. Only your heart knows how long that dream will last. When all the Heaven-sent
present will become the past.

You see, God not only watches over mortals like we. Untold trillions await His reply. How many shooting stars are there, waiting for God's reply to their special prayer? He knows better than you or I that we mere mortals do not die. When this life is through, we go to.. a far off world in a kinder sky
where lovers never kiss goodbye.

WHEN YOUR SWEETHEART DEPARTS...there is no-one left to share our secret memories, to help recall those magic moments that meant so much to to you and me. I, the surviving half of a love affair, am left with the myth that others will understand or appreciate the castles in the sky we built together through calm and stormy weather.

The memories---I recall it all. Where were they? Away, building castles of their own. I am here alone with mine. I taste the wine, I see the setting sun. I kiss you beneath a summer moon. We say "I do" and sing a tune we cannot forget on the day we first met and knew that we were meant to be lovers throughout eternity.

It was love at first sight. We knew it was right. And right it was because...just because it was, it was!

Have you ever known that a shooting star was God's own way to reply to a prayer to let you know He will be there to make your dreams come true? But even He cannot assure how long that rapture will endure. Only your heart knows how long that dream will last. When the Heaven-sent present becomes the past.

You see, God not only watches over mortals like we. Untold trillions await His reply. How many shooting stars are there, waiting for God's reply to their special prayer? He knows better than you or I that we mere mortals do not die. When this life is through, we go to a far off world in a kinder sky where lovers never have to kiss goodbye.

Friday, June 08, 2007

A 'WONDER DRUG' TO WONDER ABOUT

There are "wonder drugs" on the market that have no harmful ingredients, no known side effects. You can't overdose on them whether you take one pill or the whole bottle. They might cure everything, anything or nothing. They are sold by many market names and drugstores and pharmaceuticals make billions selling millions.

Most second-rate magazines are loaded with ads offering them for sale by mail. The ad copy is cleverly written to skirt the truth while telling no lies, but making claims and using names that abuse and confuse or sometimes amuse the user. Some are touted as "super strength" or "new, improved" or some other gimmicky phrase to grab attention.

If you haven't guessed by now, they're placebos. These "sugar pills" play an important role when used in clinical studies to determine the efficacy and safety of legitimate drugs.

Some patients know what placebo means, but grasping at straws to find a cure or ease the pain of their debilitating illness, turn in desperation to these unproven pills. And therein lies the real danger.

Those who have lost faith in FDA-approved medications go for placebos. Why not? Maybe, just maybe, they'll work. If their belief is strong enough, a miracle of mind over matter might happen. More often than not, they're just out the money for chasing a dream rather than giving medicine time to do its job.

Remember the apricot pit craze of a generation ago? It was hailed as a cancer cure. Those desperate for a cure swore by it until their dying day. Doctors and more rational people swore AT it. Apricot pits proved to be the pits. The fad faded away.

Monday, June 04, 2007

FLAME FAME'S RISE TO FAME

(A SHORT-SHORT STORY.)

This is the story of a showbiz romance about a talentless actress who tested for the part of a sweetheart in an old fashioned movie with Oscar potential that was essential to her failing Hollywood career.

The director who coached her in the art of debauchery on the couchery said if she did this and that in each scene on the silverscreen, and appeared off and on in the all together whether she could act or not she'd be hot for an Oscar and become a brand new star. She'd be idolized and highly prized and her salary would be super sized. She'd be all the rage. Her stage name was Flame Fame. Talent was strictly not her game.

Success, more or less, came to pass. It is a fact, this lass who could not act had class. She did exactly what she should and that was good enough for Hollywood. When the studio said wed she wed, then went to bed with every handsome clown in town.

When news got around she'd never turn a good man down, the scandal became too hot to handle. So this actress who could not act got a long term contract that forbade her to shame the name of Flame.

Late in her drear career a film was made. On opening night the sign on the marquee proclaimed: FLAME FAME'S RISE TO FAME. It didn't star the star who couldn't act, but by a talented actress who played the Hollywood game and tried her best not to act that made the role exactly what it was not supposed to be. Critics panned the show because she didn't portray the talentless actress convincingly.

She tried so hard not to act that she scored a dramatic masterpiece. But she didn't do Flame right and her star quickly faded out of sight. She was not seen in the final scene which was played by the no talent look-alike, the real life flickering Flame.

"Lights, camera, action. Take One," the director said. Flame, now old, did what the director told her to do. He said "drop dead." She did.

It was the biggest event in Tinsel Town the day they put Flame Fame down in the ground. She played her most convincing role as they covered up her hole. She looked more alive when she was dead, the critics said.

Sunday, June 03, 2007

HAVE WE LOST OUR SANITY?

Are we the people going mad? Have lost the intelligence and common sense we once had? Can we believe a president who
thinks he talks to God? Does anyone listen to what Dubya's saying? Is he ranting when he should be praying?

The Burning Bush is a liar with one desire: to set the world on fire and turn it into a funeral pyre. Says he: "Forget about my AOL (absence without leave.) I've served my country well with my expertise and theories on WMDs."

"Good grief! I'm the Commander in Chief---or is it thief?----I can't remember. Before that fatal September day I was
called an idiot, all full of it. Then the airplanes struck and, boy, was I in luck! I went from dumb cluck to hero of the day, the savior of democracy."

Dubya's done it. He begun it. Hasn't won it. Three thousand-plus GIs dead and growing in Iraq. What more damage can he
do before he's through?

Saturday, June 02, 2007

STOP GWB, GREATEST FLIP-FLOPPER IN HISTORY

Oh My God! What a Flawed, Fraud President is GWB! When he finally faced reality and saw his ratings plunging fatally, he did the greatest flip-flop of all time to try to turn the polls around. MeanwhIle, he and his brain should remain in a deep black hole until his insane reign goes down the drain.

It's plain as the sneer on his face. Dubya will say and do anything to regain his place in the human race. Would you believe, on the eve of the Summit on Global Warming, Dubya did the most alarming flip-flop in his career.

This idiot who tried to cool the debate to create a way to delay green house gas emissions, who opposed Kyoto with a flat out NO!, who gave industry the right to cut down trees and do as they please to violate laws designed to clean the air, who obviously couldn't care less about the mess unrestricted pollution was doing to the U. S. and other nations faced with similar harm from the warming atmosphere, now has the gaul to call on the Group of Eight Nations to cooperate with the Disunited States of America to find an answer to this worldwide situation.

Bush set a goal to come out with a plan no later than a month AFTER the November 8 presidential election. Which obviously is no more than a plot to get the GOP out of the spot they're in, caused by their own incompetence, trickery and preponderance of dishonesty.

Just another dirty GOPolitic trick, Just another reason we've got to can the Republicans.