Snow Fort

Being contractor on a snow fort is thankless. Kids are unreliable. Quentin was responsible for supplying supplemental snow in case we lacked enough snowfall. Sarah had to make the snowballs, but her mom said that would strain her pianist hands. Carl was to find the best location, but he became passionate about sledding, the traitor.
Marsha kept complaining of cold fingers because she lost a glove. Bill yelled the walls should be higher. That's why the Fannuci gang beat us the previous winter. Weak walls.
They all want lunch beaks and weekends off.
Tom, the slacker, was supposed to spy on the Fannuci cartel , but he got himself captured and who knows what he spilled about our army?

Me and Linen

I stand before my linen closet bursting with pride. I have not only upgraded my wash clothes with thicker, softer ones, but organized towels etc. by color--dark on bottom, and size-small on top. You cannot shower using flimsy wash rags you have no confidence in.
My soap slivers, over 40, are becoming a problem. I sort hem by age, eight months being the oldest. Too long in there they collect bacteria.
I give my old tooth brushes to charity, making sure they still have bristles. Compassion is my middle name.
I  am missing a sock and I will find that sucker and make an example of it. That's how I roll.

Thanksgiving Thoughts

The day before the holiday I was getting a steroid shot in my back. I noticed the bracelet on my wrist said I was 66 years old. How did that happen?
I suppose getting to senior citizen status with most of my faculties intact is something to be thankful for. Not to  mention I still have some family left that does all the cooking. I sit in my brother's recliner watching football on a flat screen while others do all the preparation/ I got here a day early and ducked all the bad weather.
I've cut out all my Black Friday coupons and am stoked for battle.
Did you know Big Lots sells bags of sweet potato fries?
Yet another thing to be thankful for.

Demon Al

Demon Al created ferocious butterflies released from sinister drones ordered from a military surplus website.
They specifically attacked hedge fund managers on lunch break, ripping off patches a designer top coats, defecating on carefully coiffed heads. Engorged with raw flesh, they flew off into the horizon, police sirens in their wake, leaving Wall Street in shambles.
Dow down 645 points.

Sticky Thorn,

I decided to end it all. My writing career had stagnated. There was nothing to live for. Guns were too violent, pills too unpredictable, a knife too messy. Getting hit by a bus would traumatize innocents. Smothering myself with a pillow took more willpower than I had.
Then I saw a tiny cactus in the window of a flower shop that moaned 'take me.' I did just that, got it home, stripped naked and proceded to begin puncturing myself all over, creating small rivulets of blood. This is how I'd bleed out tragically. This was one sticky obscure cactus and that mixed stickiness with the blood.
Unfortunately I'd forgotten this was the maid's day to clean. Mavis had her own key, came in, put on the light and stared at me sprawled on my recliner, bleeding and sticky.
"Mister, for a writer you can't even jerk off right. Now I have to clean this mess up. Gonna cost you extra. Move your damn leg. Nothing I ain't seen before and seen bigger."
I perked up. There was a one act play here and I'd better jump on it before the muse leaves me.

Cancelled Flights

All flights were cancelled due to the storm. People always told Hal he looked like Bill Murray. Casually dressed, hair askew, sneakers, cynical expression, modest paunch, a certain fetid smell. Maybe it was time to take advantage.
He begged a cabbie to take him to Chicago, a two hundred mile ride, claiming he was the star and was good for it. The cabbie was dubious. Burp, he ordered. Burp like Bill. Hal did as told. The cabbie shrugged. Passable, he said. Now give me a beer fart.
But I haven't been drinking, Hal protested.
You're Bill Murray-- that shouldn't make a difference.
Hal came up with a weak facsimile. The cabbie shook his head.
Just then a BMW pulled up and out popped the real Bill Murray, who tripped, fell down, burped and farted in short order. The key was still in the ignition. Hal gave the cabbie $20 to help him dump Murray in the back seat.
Hal noticed they both smelled of rancid salmon. Maybe we are related.

Roses

Lillian saw the bunch of red roses on her doorstep and became alarmed. She scanned the rooftops, noticed all the snipers in place. How could they not have seen? Last May Abe found a basket of artichokes on his porch. He brought them inside where they promptly exploded causing him to lose a hand. This was followed by Babs discovering a box of Clementine oranges on her stoop. Luckily she tripped carrying them and when they blew up she was feet away and escaped with slight burns.
     One month later, Louie saw a cactus plant by the curb, weant over to inspect and had it blow up in his face, causing loss of an ear. So the rooftop sniper solution was formed. Anyone seen dropping off anything at anyone's house was suspect.
     Lillian's loneliness battled her caution. Maybe she had a secret admirer. She leaned forward, extending her arms.
     "No!" came a shout from the rooftop.
     She turned just as the ticking got louder.

Success

I bought new white and gold handles for my kitchen cabinets, 20 in all. Is there nothing more effective or elegant than a Phillips screwdriver? I am a master with this instrument and within an hour I had replaced my old, decrepit handles with my beautiful babies. I open cabinets now just to feel their smoothness.
     Success.
     I realized a man is not a man without a top line robe, so I went to TJX because I had zero balance on my card. After minutes of searching, I found my treasure. Long, black and soft as cashmere. I buried my face in it, shoppers be damned. At home I saw how it accentuated my shoulders and how I resembled a dictator from a small, but vital country.
     Success.
     I needed pajama bottoms and headed right for Kohl's with my $5 coupon and 15% off. I found a red plaid wool number that screamed 'take me!'. But I made the foolish mistake of grabbing an extra large for unknown reasons. No matter how tight I tie the drawstring, it keeps sliding down to my ankles, especially when I get up to pee. Maybe women find this erotic.
     I had given my old robe to the Salvation Army. Maybe I could do a switch and take one of their pj bottoms that fit me. Not a success.
     But as long as I have my magnificent robe I don't need to leave the house.

Shadow Power

My most masculine characteristic is my shadow. I stand by the shoreline at twilight, my silhouette punctuating the horizon. I have a strong, mysterious, uber male shadow that bows to no one. People shy away from it and give me due respect If I extend my arm holding a screwdriver it looks even more impressive.
On sunny days I am a shadow God. Clouds dilute my effect, so I stay inside, placing my lamps at just the right angle to create distinguished shadows of me. This can last all day or until some sultry woman knocks on my door, a lady who has seen me from the street and wants to control the man with the world class shadow.
I make sure I am in the half light as I answer the door.

Out of Time

Now parking meters consist of machines, two to a block, where you stick in money and get a slip which goes on your dashboard and indicates how much time you have. Think of the pressure here. Five people behind you waiting impatiently while you fumble with change or a credit card.
What if a near sighted Nazi meter person misreads the time on your slip and issues a ticket?  What happened to the old meters? Are they piling up in landfills?
Out of time is a nasty concept, especially when certain body parts seem to be fading in usefulness. What happens when my hips give out? Are women attracted to limping men? I think not. What if I can't scratch myself anymore due to outmoded fingers? Who will scratch me and at what cost? Will there be parameters on location?
I'm going to start scratching myself to get an idea how badly my fingers are working.

Strange Cactus

We ran out of gas and I blame Cleo--she was driving. We were Peace Core volunteers headed for the village of Yana in the Solange providence. All we had were two canteens and a cooler full of Klondike bars.
Figure something out, she said. You're the guy. I got out and looked around. All desert in all directions. Then I saw movement. One of the cacti seemed to turn toward us and before I could react, it shot a laser beam right at my shoulder. I doubled over in pain and screamed, scrambling back to the Jeep.
Suddenly we got hit from all sides by beams as more cacti joined in the attack. I tried reasoning with them through the window to no avail. That's when Cleo opened up on them with an automatic rifle, blowing the bastards to bits. Cleo was from Texas.
We were still out of gas in the middle of nowhere, but I knew I'd come up with something. After all, I was the guy here.
Let's have a Klondike bar first, I said.

Salad

Toss in peanuts, lettuce and bacon bits. Add tomatoes, cucumbers, celery, red and green peppers
Olives, lots of pitless olives. mix it up good.
add my grandmother's special dressing, which i kept in a freezer in my basement for over a decade.
six friends coming over for dinner. ready to serve.
then i remembered grandpa keeled over and died after eating her salad. grandma collected all the insurance money.
oh well. i didn't say they were good friends.

Fashion Barbarism

My baseball cap makes me look gangsta. My fishing hat turns me into Woody Allen. Comfort is my guiding principle. Not so for women, who are dressed by sadistic men wearing ascots and too much moisturizer.
Women should just dress in layers that hang there without regard for hemlines, seams, big shoulders or plunging cleavage, the single biggest cause of strep throat in females. Who cares if it hangs right as long as it hangs.

Paul Bunyon

He was having a midlife crisis. Is this all I am? Destroyer of trees? They say I'm performing a service. Creating jobs. But my nightmares of being strangled by tree branches, being choked by leaves say different.
What else could I have done with my life? I am a powerful man with the intelligence of a muskrat.
No one criticizes beavers, who build faulty,sloppy construction. I'm not a sadist, have never destroyed a single flower. You're thinking maybe my big axe compensates for a tiny penis. Yeah? Stick around and I'll show you some real wood.

Why Balloons Matter

Without balloons there would be no balloon animals, putting kid entertainers out of work,leading to more street crime, desperate people jumping out of alleys, brandishing a balloon platypus, demanding your watch and phone.
There would be an excess of helium and much disorientation. How would we celebrate without balloons? Just saying.

Mt. Rushmore for women

Elinore Roosevelt
Billy Jean King
Rosa Parks
Ella Fitzgerald
Kate Hepburn 

Crumbs

They take turns vacuuming the crumbs off the carpet. There are always crumbs, many from crushed corn muffins. Then they rearrange Garbanzo beans. To shake up other residents, they substitute dried kidney beans.
So the day passes. Evenings, for entertainment, they release the inbred frogs, who have no sense of direction and collide in mid air. Soft smacking, then bedtime, another day done.

Bad Booking

I was a new booker and she trusted me. I must have hit the wrong key. Instead og Buffalo, Talyor Swift found herself tied to a stake in the Rain Forest, natives chanting and dancing around her, me helplessly looking on.
The fire grew quickly. I tried explaining who she was, but English was a mystery to them.
My bad,I shouted to her. She was wide eyed and screaming. I assumed her hair extensions would light up first.
I guess it's Katy Perry's ballgame now.

The Drug

Gwen must have slipped it into my Snapple. She is capable of that. I design gazebos and this drug made me hyper creative, my pen flying across the page. In two hours I had 18 designs.
But a side effect was an uncontrollable urge to line dance. I ran into the street, grabbed strangers and begged them to accommodate  me. I was arrested and Gwen had to bail me out, feigning innocence. I watch her closely now, especially at eating time.
The upside is one of my designs was bought and now I have money for cowboy boots, hat, plaid shirt, thin tie, and a wide belt. I walk the streets late at night seeking fellow line dance impulsive  types. You can tell by the look in their beady eyes.

Farewell Furniture

I am downsizing furniture. a large, unwieldy computer desk, CD stands, my mother's sofa, cabinets, a dresser and bureau, a bookshelf.
I am preparing for possible sale. I actually got paint off one of the kitchen cabinets using Weimer wood cleaner.Those Germans know their stuff.
I gave away two pillows and blankets and knick knacks to the Salvation Army. So much more space. Boxes of stuff in my storage space, all from Staples.
Of course I have no idea where to find anything. I sit in  my new recliner and plan more organization.
My books will be pruned down over months of speed reading. I have a new vacuum. Me vacuuming. What a concept. I might even get myself a duster. Sorry ma, I had to let it go.