Wall

Understand, I had my sofa taken to the dumpster, creating more room in my parlor. I loved my new space. The other night I shut off the lights and TV and strode toward the bathroom. I proceeded to walk right into the wall. Twelve years I'm here and I still don't know where the damn walls are.
My nose hit first, then the wood shelf jutting from the wall smacked me right above the knee. I'm too much of a man to howl. But I cursed up a storm.
I lay in bed with ice on it, praying there was no serious damage. I was limping around the next day, gritting my teeth. There is no way I will ever trip over my coffee table or the excess quilt on my bed. Luckily my nose looks the same.
I believe at this rate I'm two months from assisted living. If humans had a check engine light mine would be on all the damn time.

Wonder Woman and Ant Man

Wonder Woman has as much strength and dexterity as a man.
Her lariat is an awesome weapon.
Her hair and lipstick are perfect.
She can climb anything.

Ant Man has height and weight issues. He stuffs tissue in the groin of his suit.
Periodically he gets beaten up by roaches.
He has no secret weapon and no cool auto.
He seems to have a problem with alcohol.

Men are intimidated by Wonder Woman
Many nights she sits home alone watching Netflicks.
Ant Man almost had a date with her
But he got buried in a glob of mustard from her hoagie.

Blotch

Laura was so beautiful I almost went into a swoon. Perfect hair, teeth, and posture. Very toned body. Amazing eyes. Except there were these blotches on her face. Very colorful, I must say. I viewed them as genetic artistry; tiny artists working feverishly under her skin, mixing and matching colors.
When she coughed or sneezed little drops of color sprayed out of her mouth and onto my Old Navy shirt. People stared at us like we were performance artists.
Once, I got drunk and painted blotches on my skin. Laura was not amused. In the process of removing the paint I went into Turpentine overdose shock. Laura gave me a stern lecture in the hospital, but my mother hugged me. I'm not sure I'm compatible with a  blotch challenged woman, as colorful as they are. At least warts are all pretty much the same color.

The Boat

You can't escape from a boat very easily. Rocco invited me onto his and I was flattered. I had been involved in an investment involving a race horse with guys who might be considered shady. But Rocco wasn't one of them. I didn't like what the plan was and removed myself from the situation.
These guys wanted the jockey to throw a race, but he had too much integrity. They found him in a dumpster with several important body parts missing.
The weather was gorgeous. Nothing like fresh sea air. Gulls fired off their sharp messages. I was ready to take a nap after lunch.
Suddenly two guys stormed out of the cabin pointing guns at me. Rocco moved aside. I recognized the guys from the race fixing scheme. Tony and Paulie Walnuts. I could jump overboard and drown trying to swim back. Or I could just say a prayer.
Guys, I said, I removed myself from the situation. Remember?
Loose ends, is all Tony said. Paulie grunted.
I sighed. One request, I said. Not in the face

Card Table

I destroyed my old kitchen table, which I've had for eons. It was shaky and too big for my kitchen. I replaced it with a card table. It's lower than the one it replaced, back, square, with four folding chairs. Folding chairs are so easy to operate.If someone says why a card table, I will deny its essence and claim it's a kitchen table.
I also got rid of my computer chair, which I used in the kitchen. It rolled between fridge, sink and shelves. I'll miss the excitement.
I also bought laminate floor covering with underlay, which you must have for support.
I continued upgrading my condo by removing my sliding doors in the shower. Tragically, one frame ripped off four wall tiles. I tried gluing them back on. Now I've taped them. I just hope the tape is waterproof.
What can I say? I'm on a roll.

Organized Chaos

I'm trying to organize all my writing, a massive undertaking. My ninth book is coming out soon and there are five more in the flash fiction series. I fear I will somehow lose track of which story appeared where. I do not  want the same story in two different books. My readership will feel cheated.Distraught.
So many similar titles. What was I thinking? Of course the solution is placing each genre in a separate file. My nephew set it up for me and all I have to do is drag them over.
On the one hand, I'm proud of my prolific output. On the other, It makes me wonder what else I've been doing in my life. Some of these stories I don't evn remember creating. Add in almost 1000 blog posts--man, I need to get out more.
Seriously, I keep pushing fellow writers to finish their project and move on. Needless to say, I'm not popular with other scribblers.
By the end of the month, Aghast will be out there competing with Harper Lee and her new book. I do not feel competitive. In fact, I think she's kind of hot.

Caught in the Act

Stupidly, I left my laptop open next to my notebook. I had been finding strange changes to my polished writing on the Toshiba. Was someone sneaking in and fooling with my text?
I set up a recording device to monitor my work space.
I am a rational man who believes only in what I see. What I saw left me speechless.
Crossed out words and sentences from my notebook were crawling off and into my laptop, insinuating themselves in my edited text, in the process pushing out better word choice and imagery.
Evidently, rejection infuriated them. I locked up my notebook and assumed the problem was contained.
However, when I attended my next writer group meeting, Cecelia showed me her screen. My work is disappearing and is being replaced by total silliness, she said.
I immediately recognized my own work.
It's hard to keep a straight face when you're throwing up inside your mouth.

Crumpling Wrappers

The issue is people crumpling wrappers when I'm trying to focus. There is quiet crumpling and loud crumpling, mostly by Republicans.
What should be the response? Depends on the size of the person crumpling. Did he offer you any of the candy? Suggest there is a place for this, but not here and now. Settle it in the hall. Except if there's a snack machine there the temptation to buy some and engage in a competitive crumpling contest might be too great.
If it was a granola bar, which is supposed to be healthier then all bets are off.
Slurping in public is beyond despicable. If you are in a confined space like a movie theater and people are crumpling and slurping ask for your money back.

Bored Ghost

My ghost is bored with me. I used to scream like a little girl, but that was then. I've gotten used to it. It appears as a Chinese warrior around the time of Genghis Khan. It mumbles in Chinese, which means I do a lot of shrugging. It doesn't grasp phone apps.
Sometimes it stands in front of the TV just for spite. It's like living with an angry spouse.
This one cannot move big objects. Instead, it focuses on toothpicks and thumb tacks. I'm just as bored with it as it is with me. It bumps into furniture and once got caught in my ceiling fan.
I tried to convince it to haunt Eloise Farrell down the block, but unsuccessfully. She keeps asking me for lifts to the store. Annoying woman.
My ghost is moaning. It claims it has hemorrhoids. I may clear out for Sarasota, supposedly a ghost free zone.

Squirrel

I need a squirrel in this photo of trees and leaves and blank sky. I need a story, a theme. Technically, this is a perfect shot. But it is good craft not art. Art has to move me.
Maybe if there was a Goodyear blimp in the sky. Someone leaping from the blimp. Or a monkey eating the squirrel. Violence. Tragedy. Evil.
I want to like this photo, praise its creator. But this is no different than looking up while walking in the park. Damn it, there should be a vulture in that tree. Or a falling leaf so I can stick in a metaphor about the fragility of life.
Yes, a vulture waiting for the guy who fell out of the blimp to land. That would give me a story.

Dexter

I love the show Dexter. He's a scary guy with a dry sense of humor. Love his foul mouthed sister. Love his bosses and co workers, love guest stars David Carradine and Jimmy Smits.
Lots of tension every episode. Dexter is a blood spatter expert with a horrible back story. As a child he saw his mother brutally murdered.
He kills only those who deserve it. A part of him knows he'll be discovered eventually. His relationship with a divorced woman with two kids complicates things.
Nothing is as it seems. What is normal? What is justice?
Michael C. Hall can look evil one moment, leading man handsome the next. And what amazing writing.
Miami as you've never seen it.

4 Knots

I don't know any of the bands at this month's 4 Knots concert on Pier 84. What has happened? I got old.
I don't get contemporary music. All I see now is cover bands centering on older music. Credence, Stones, U-2, Joel, Zeppelin, Bruce, Elton, The Who.
I still enjoy a powerful guitar solo. Electric violin, sax, keyboards, not so much drums. I can still bop in place, eyes closed to Can't You Hear Me Knocking.
Love the bongos.
Maybe it's comfort. I don't like sitting on grass. Give me a chair to stretch my legs. I hear a Neil Diamond tribute band is playing around. Hey, he's not Roy Orbison, but his early stuff rocks.
Am I allowed to say rocks?

Love Letter

Dearest Betty,
This is difficult for me. I am a man of pride and specific tastes. I treated you badly. I criticized your high pitched voice, your constant vamping, your short dresses. I was a fool. I should have appreciated who you were and counted myself lucky.
I've changed my attitude. Why? Two words. Olive Oyl.
The woman is driving me nuts. Binge eating, forced vomiting, body issues, long dresses down to her ankles, a ridiculously skinny neck.
A nightmare. I was a fool to cast you aside, my sensual, dynamic Betty Boop. And now I have lost you forever, lost you to Dondi.
Just drag me over to Beetle Bailey's strip and leave me among the other losers. My life is over.

The Smell

I smelled Raphael as soon as he emerged from the elevator. A mixture of spaghetti sauce, musk and seaweed. He was a travel writer who went all over, absorbing the aroma of each place. The women in my knitting circle gasped when I opened the door. We scrambled to squirt ourselves with our favorite perfume.
There he stood, covered in seaweed, sauce stains on his leather vest, the scent of musk emanating from his nether region.
Needless to say, we put aside our knitting and drank in the aroma that was Raphael.
Sadly, his breath would kill a wart hog.
We felt an impulse to salsa and drink sangria.
Do not judge us too harshly. Knitting can only provide so much release.

Bird Watching

I just assumed Milton liked birds. We had many conversations about them through the years.  So I brought him to my bird watchers group. There we were 26 of us hiding in the bushes, training binoculars.Several of the leaders made bird calls, trying to attract the creatures.
Right then I realized Milton might have some issues. He stood and began making walrus sounds. Frightened every bird within a three mile radius.We pinned him to the ground and stuffed a scarf in his mouth. They rolled him down a hill into a ravine. I had to carry him back to the car.
Turns out he had a bad experience with a walrus at an aquarium as a child and it stayed with him. He revealed women were aroused when he did full out walrus during intimacy.
I'm thinking of going that route.

Folding Chair

If  you take a folding chair with you, you can go anywhere and people will trust you. Wear a floppy hat, sunscreen, open a book and look relaxed and you can enter even private parties. No one will question you. If you doze off people will just smile. However, if you are sitting on grass and fall over asleep, authorities will be summoned and you'd better have ID.
I do some of my best thinking in these chairs. If there is music playing I can bop in place without embarrassment. The chairs that slide way back are as close to heaven as you can get.
Where do you think I wrote this from? Now that it's done I can simply stare at the sky.

Ramble On

Why does everything have to have a point? Interesting people ramble. I'll bet Churchill rambled like crazy. The mystery lies in where their ramblings will take us.
Why must every musing be coherent? Can't we as listeners wallow in bafflement without the speaker being judged harshly? The journey is more important than the destination. I know birds ramble all the time. And it sounds beautiful.
If some anal scribe hadn't created periods, sentences could go on and on exploring multiple topics and finding surprising connections.
Sadly, the Ramble Police interrupt our most artistic monologues, reminding the speaker others would like to express themselves.
Others.
A depressing concept.

Losing This Argument

I am losing this argument. She is talking so fast I can't get a word in. She accused me of not sharing my feelings. I shared my disgust at the Knicks draft pick. That doesn't count.
I wish I could call a time out to regroup. She is pacing around the kitchen, voice rising and falling, gesticulating. I just sit here trying to finish my coffee. Maybe I should rise to my full height, which is still two inches below her.
She went back about 32 months, citing instances of me shutting down. Women have freakish memories. She continues to cluster bomb me with logic and determination. I have lost this argument. Luckily The Bachelorette comes on in five minutes. Her favorite show. People gushing out their every thought and feeling.
If I spent time sharing, I'd have no time for Fantasy Football. Is that so hard to understand?

Just Married

All around me people are getting married. I felt left out, so I called my long time friend Wilma.
Do you want to get married?
I'm not sure. Do you have a penis?
Of course I do.
Because a penis is very important in marriage.
I sense you doubt me.
What if it doesn't work out?
I'll rent a bigger penis.
I meant the marriage.
We'll desolve it.
Who pays for the lawyer?
We split it.
It was your idea. You pay.
We'll do it at city hall.
I want a bridal shower.
I would have a bachelor party, except I don't have any friends.
What day should we do it?
How about Wednesday?
I have my book discussion group. Thursday I'm getting my hair done. Friday I'm visiting my sister in long Island.
Maybe we should think about this. Marriage is scary.
I;m expecting a really nice ring.
I was thinking along the line of a firm handshake.

Asia Climbs

Asia is a strong young woman who likes climbing. On her lunch break, she climbs the outside wall of the restaurant where she works. All over town she climbs. A laundry, the Post Office, a floral shop, a boutique, a large statue of Eleanor Roosevelt in the park, a mausoleum, a hardware store and the local high school.
There are no mountains or cliffs in the area, so she attacks abandoned warehouses and factories, a Dunkin Donuts, and a pizza parlor. Asia just keeps climbing. Her family says this is healthier than smoking, drinking or drugs. However, they felt uncomfortable when she climbed Uncle Mort, who is 7'2.
One challenge that has thus far defeated her is the flagpole in front of city hall. Shimmying is much different from climbing--a whole other skill set.
The town has begun a campaign to raise money to send her out west where the real cliffs are, which is a good thing.
Unfortunately, her focus on climbing has affected her concentration on the job. How can you make an omelet and forget the egg?

Closet Space

I must reorganize my closet. The Milch's, a family of four who lost their home during the housing crisis, have a legitimate complaint about space limitations. In my defense, I'm only charging $150 a month and got rid of several suits and a raincoat to open up more space. Marge, who was priced out of her apartment with a rent increase, is in my spare bedroom adjacent to the closet. $75 a monthly for her. She complains about the noise coming from the closet as the kids fight over nothing. I tried opening the windows to bring in more fresh air, but she says she gets a chill at night.
I let them all watch my second TV and even got them their own toothbrushes. Of course they must share a bathroom upstairs with Al, who lost his condo in an underwater mortgage and now sleeps in the tub. I stay out of their arguments as long as they pay the rent.
I have room on my couch for one more in case you're interested.

Take My Seat

Another person offered me their seat on the bus. This is getting embarrassing. Do I look that bad? I am awkward carrying bags on and off buses.I can still shower, shave and dress myself. I can operate a microwave. My posture can use some work, but i trim my nose, ear hair and scraggly eyebrows.
I switched my watch to my right wrist where it looks more impressive. My proctologist said my prostate felt like an apricot, which I guess is good.
I can still pee straight most of the time. I do take 8% more time than a decade ago. Yes, I have a NJ Transit senior citizen discount card, but if people could see how toned my glutes are no one would offer me their seat.