Saturday, November 18, 2017

Angry Skin Doctor

My skin doctor was furious. The woman stood there near the waiting area.
I cannot give you anymore refills for this cream. You've been on it too long already. It will make things worse. If you want this cream, find another doctor!
She skulked out of the office.
His next patient went in. Minutes later they emerged, the doctor announcing, I can't diagnose it if I can't find it.
I was next. This was a follow up from the previous month. He calmed down as he examined a patch of skin near my ear. Looks good, he said. The gel is working. Cut it to once a week. Thankfully I don't have to operate, not my favorite word.
I felt like I dodged a bullet. Angry doctor + operation=disfigurement.
Although, a photo of me like that in my books might help sales.

Tuesday, November 14, 2017

Lies, All Lies

Everybody lies online.
Frank posted he was a mercenary. In fact, he was a carpet salesman at Rugs R Us.
Enid saw the post and offered him money to off her husband because she had fallen for Armando, who posted he was a flamenco dancer. Frank had a gambling problem, so he accepted. Then he confronted Ed, the husband and revealed the plan. Ed offered him more money to kill Enid because he had fallen for Christina, who said she was a classical violinist online. Ultimately Frank came to his senses and backed away from the deal. It was back to square one, with Enid and Ed trapped in an unhappy marriage. Until Enid did a Google search and discovered Armando actually was a toll taker on the Penn. Turnpike. Seth, likewise, learned Christina sold perfume at JC Penney.
Meanwhile, Frank liked the idea of being a mercenary so much, he took lessons in close combat and marksmanship. He bought lots of camoulflage.   
Enid and Ed had their first sex in three years. Both lied and said it was ecstacy.

Birds of a Feather

My friends and I are birds of a feather. We tour the country visiting landfills. Not toxic- dumps--Excess Refuse Options, that's what we call them.
Certainly the Staten Island landfill is at the top of our list, We stand there absorbing the exotic aroma, wait until twilight when its true beauty emerges. Gulls scream to punctuate this aural symphony. Sometimes we scream back. Some of us get naked.
There are sick rumors this is the final resting rest of certain local politicians.
Call us odd, but what if we chose beaches as our destination? Sand is  boring. So are waves. Here there is variety and unpredictability.
The sun is dipping below the horizon. Time to get naked.
I won't say if we leap in. You might be eating.

Along the Back Wall

I have all my Hudson County hunting trophies hanging there. Squirrels, rats, insurance salesmen. Also, photos fom my six years in the Commandos where I learned close combat and knife fighting.
I have framed wise sayings like The calm before the storm, Keep your friends close and your enemies closer and do not pass wind on the first date.
There are many shots of people hugging me--the mailman, garbage man, paper boy--all people I tip.
Rejections slips I proudly display to push me to work harder.
Finally, I have a floor length mirror, which I step before as I leave the shower naked. It gives me confidence. No matter how many set backs I suffer I still have this body.

Saturday, November 11, 2017

Spitting Image

My wife is the spitting image of Tallulah Bankhead and people say I resemble Cary Grant. We enter a restaurant and everyone wants our autograph. So we comply and no one's the wiser.
I was having lunch with my friend Carl, discussing the good and bad aspects of looking like Cary Grant when an elderly couple approached. I got out my pen. But they ignored me and centered on Carl.
I thought you got a bad deal, the man said. One bad decision about Cuba and they toss you out, his wife added. Russia has gone straight to hell since. The man shook Carl's hand, the woman hugged him. They left. Carl was upset He sighed. Happens all the time.
Cheer up, I said. You could look like Stalin or Putin.
He smacked ,me.
Imagine Cary Grant and Nikita Khrushchev co-starring with Tallulah. Otto Preminger directs.

Unopened Box

Ed saw the box on the ground near a crowded bus stop. Look at that box, he said. A woman walked over and examined it. Pretty wrapping, she said. Another man didn't like the bow, Does it smell, someone asked. Several others made comments.
One fellow, standing alone, said nothing. He was soon surrounded by the others. It's your civic duty, if you see something, say something, Ed reminded him.
The man shrugged. It's all been said.
Well that isn't helpful, a woman said. Who are you? I've never seen you at thois bus stop before.
The man backed away. they moved forward as voices spoke at once. Let's see some ID. He looks suspicious. Make sure he doesn't run. Look, he's twitching! Murderer! Bomb maker!
They knocked him to the ground and began punching and kicking until he lay still.
The bus came. They got on. The man lay feet from the unopened box.
Minutes later, a pedestrian stopped and analyzed the scene.
He was carrying that box and had a heart attack.
Quite attractive wrapping. A shame, so close to Christmas.

Sunday, November 5, 2017

Not About You

I looked my goldfish right in the eye and said it's not about you.I will find you a good home. In the kitchen, I spoke to my toaster. It's not about you, Frank. I've been laid off and can't afford butter or jelly. I will give you to The Salvation Army. I told my shower curtain I can't afford it because I had to conserve water.
The hardest part was telling my writing group I couldn't afford paper and pen and had to leave. It's definately not about you guys.
We know Joe. The question is, can you still afford deodorant? They had offered me patches of hair when I started going bald, but I wound up with a scalp infection.
I suggested a group hug. They said just shut up and write. I borrowecRalph's deodorant.