3--D Copier

Luigi, his restaurant barely surviving, fired his chef and some staff to cut expenses. He bought a 3--D copier online and tried duplicating ravioli and lasagna in the machine. The result was less than tasty. Same with clams and mussels.
The sad end to his experiment came when he tried duplicating grated cheese and the copier exploded, creating a small fire. He tossed the machine to the curb where it was found by a destitute writer. The man took it home and did his best to repair it. He then stuck in a piece of paper with titles for 60 stories. He flipped the switch, the machine hummed and whistled until a book came out.
The book was Wofden and that author, Joe Del Priore, went on to success and acclaim.
Eventually he learned how to duplicate spaghetti and meatballs with his own special sauce. He sold the recipe to Luigi for a song. He was, indeed, a compassionate writer.

Missed Stop

I missed my stop. Just dozed off. The train just kept going and going until the brakes hissed. I got off, assumimg I was still in Brooklyn. Instead, it seemed like a huge abandoned mall parking lot. Hundreds of elderly, dressed in black, moved in a circle. I was told they were waiti g for someone.
In the center was a stark maypole.
A car pulled up. Three burly men dragged a smaller man out. He was handcuffed and blindfolded. Others brought over boxes of books. The man was tied to the maypole, the book scattered around him. The people began chanting in a strange language. I backed away slowly, not wanting to draw attention. I must get back on the train.
Suddenly a fire was lit and smoke enveloped everything. I could smell burning flesh. On my way back I saw one of the books lying on the ground. I picked it up and looked at the title. Wolfden, by an author I'd never heard of. I put two and two together. This was worse than a bad rev iew. I said a prayer and raced to the platform just as the train arrived.
I guess even the elderly need a hobby.

Morning Things

Navel lint
Toe lint
Butt Crack lint
Ear wax
Nose mucus
Blurred vision
Eye Stye
Mouth Spittle
Armpit yeast
Scalp Cooties
Fingernail grunge
Thigh chafing
Back Boils
Cysts, Polyps, tumors, carbuncles,fistulas, pimples and rashes
Overnight scrotum hair
Ten more liver spots

Orange juice and sunshine

I Knew It Well

I walked past what was left of the Montclair Library. Moss around rotting benches outside. Cracked glass doors. Darn and musty inside. Nothing worth stealing anymore.
I knew this place well. Hours reading papers and magazines, debating issues in the cafe, watching movies, attending art openings and lectures. A damn shame
This is the place I discovered a fine local author--Joe Del Priore. Wiah I could have met him.
It all ended quickly. FBI charged in one day, ordering us outside. Sobbing by workers. What was happening?
Eventually they escorted a group from the conference room out. Media said they were posing as writers, but secretly were studying to become mimes. The plan was to flood our streets with mimes, driving citizens inside, destroying our freedom. A deadly mime cell right in our town.
The library never recovered from the bad publicity and soon closed. One distraught librarian could not find similar work and wound up becoming Mr. Del Priore's personal assistant. On the surface, not so bad. But, rumor has it, the man never uses deodorant and talks to himself.

Shreiking Woman

The woman upstairs keeps shrieking, driving Charles crazy. She told him her therapist suggested it to handle stress. This was unacceptable. Shriek into a pillow, Marge, he suggested. That defeats the whole purpose, she replied. It's shrill, he said. All shrieking is shrill by its very nature, she offered.
Earplugs were useless. So was turning up the TV. Sometimes it was one long shriek, sometimes short quick ones. Humming or whistling would have made more sense. He thought about calling his councilman.
Marge was otherwise a pleasant lady who always greeted him warmly.
Suddenly the noise ceased. Nothing for several days. Joy gave way to concern. Suppose she had a stroke. He went upstairs and knocked. Muffled voice. Charles called police, who broke down the door and found her tied and gagged. A burglary.
They took her to the hospital--she was weak and dehydrated.
Charles found himself pacing his apartment. The silence was driving him crazy. A void. He needed her shrillness.
He did the logical thing. Went to a vintage record store. Bought up every Ethel Merman record in stock. When Marge was released he would have stereophonic shrieking.
You never know what you miss until it is gone.

Leave These Alone

Pastry sitting brfore you
Anything foaming at the mouth
Your child's math homework
Someone's undershirt sticking out
A pulsing growth on your body
Workmen in your house
A stranger's shower curtain
Footie pajamas
Exotic food you can't pronounce
People who smile at nothing
Ice sculptures
Ear wax, yours or othwers
Sausage sold on the street
Sausage that doesn't quite resemble sausage

The Rapture

Morris popped out of his hole and asked 'Where is everybody?' All he saw was bubble wrap and confetti.The pigeons look lost. Where are the old people? Why are those birds circling? Cats hide in bushes, dogs whimper. Am I in a dream?
Maybe I came out the wrong hole. Wait. There's Elinor  and Rudy popping out of their holes. Everyone looks confused. It smells of burnt human flesh. Did they blow each other up?
The four groundhogs could figure out nothing because they had very small brains. So they played cards while the rest of the animal world realized they could defecate wherever they wanted.
They did notice lots of shoes and sneakers. Whoever took the humans must have had lots of suction power.
Morris wondered if there was anyone left to tickle him.

Visible City

They come out after midnight when all the bars and restaurants are closed. They come holding books and pamphlets, reading aloud to each other. Rain moistens their paper. Lightning causes howls and genuflecting.
Readers take over the streets, words rule sidewalks, climb buildings, leap back down, mixing poems and prose. The city becomes one long paragraph, as musical as a string quartet.
When there is momentary silence readers stop in their tracks, eyes closed, meditating on the magic of literature.
One voice breaks the silence. A women with a guitar in the middle of the street. She wants to sing folk songs. Moving as one, the writers charge forward and beat her senseless with their books. Then we resume reading, moving ina stately manner.
Musicians need to get their own city.

Adult Easter Party

Seth only allowed Ukrainian eggs to be colored at his Easter parties. His sophisticated guests debated the concept of Resurrection. Instead of chocolate bunnies, he provided chocolate figures of German philosophers and Franciscan thinkers.
No one could explain The Holy Ghost.
The door bell rang. Standing there in a bunny costume was large man wearing a smile. Remember me, he asked. I built your compost heap last spring. Composts R Us. Roy the Compost King. You mentioned your adult Easter parties. I brought you a gift.
He held out a basket full of maggots. They work wonders in the right environment, he said.
Guests screamed. Someone choked on a jelly bean. The maggots made themselves at home.

Camping and Hiking

 Camping and hiking.What a great way to spend time outdoors. Oh, that clean freah air. heart pumping, the sounds and smells of nature.
Word of advice. Don't go camping with someone who stores duct tape and twine in his trunk. Just saying. I mean it could be used to tape holes in the tent and tie down the pegs tight. But not always.
Fishing is another great activity. One must respect the fish. Although sometimes feelings come to the surface. Stress, bad memories, rejection. Sometimes the way those fish look at you in the boat, complete disdain, no respect. I just want to duct tape them together and go to work on them, Just saying. Let out some steam.
And I am not crazy about putting up a tent in a wind storm or driving rain.
Now that I think about it staying inside and playing pool makes all the sense in the world.

Beep

The most important beep in the world does not come from a smoke alarm. It is the beep that signals the beginning of a free ten minute shopping spree at a local market.
Unfortunately, I picked a day filled with strong, quick women who were far more focused than me.
I wound up with one dented melon, six boxes of Rice A Roni, a cucumber, tabasco sauce and pimento olives.
Plus bruises all over my body. I think my cart was rigged so it went sideways. I kept colliding with displays and almost ran over a senior. The referees were all paid off as far as I'm concerned. Besides, I prefer black olives, but kamikaze women got there first.

Poet Problem

My gotee is under performing.  It resembles a tiny Japanese cactus tree. My fellow poets look at me askance. They all have impressive beards or gotees. The ladies all have bangs.
I tried sculpting it with a razor but now it's uneven on the sides.  It's growing down my neck. I also tried wearing suspenders to our meetings, but no one was impressed.
Scratching it does not help. I have three long hairs from my chin that I won't touch. I'm hoping the other hairs will use them as role models.
My prose writer friends don't understand what the big deal is. They wear heavy sweaters, ill fitting dungarees, lots of stripes and plaid and, God help them, sneakers. Many have comb overs, including the women. Who let these people in the library anyway?

Happening Shortly

Before I had my laser prostate surgery I would stand at the urinal waiting for something to happen. About 48 guys would come and go while I remained. My legs cramped up. Nightfall came. I missed most of the movie. Someone would steal my popcorn. My dates would leave without me. It was hell. But I just kept pushing until a few drops came out.
There is no moral to this story. But for those in that situation, I feel for you. My prostate has been tamed. For the time being. Young guys chuckle and think it won't happen to them. Prepare for stoppage.. Roto Rooter is not the solution.

Guatemala Vanishes

No one can find Guatemala. One day it was there, the next disappeared. All news outlets led with this story. Fevered theories abounded. It fell into a black hole. Someone covered it with dirt. It was always a figment of our imagination. A sink hole swallowed it up.
Experts were consulted. Specials were hastily put together. Family and friends in other countries mourned its loss. Our President vowed to send aid, but there was no one left to receive it.
 The laws of physics were turned upside down. Philosophers and spiritual leaders argued different explanations. A moment of silence was held.
No group claimed responsibility. The world pondered this mystery.
A week later a story came out about a woman accidentally suffocated by her own Spanx.
The world turned its attention to her. Guatemala was yesterday's news.

Reasons for Flowers

Express sympathy.
Express love.
Easier to carry than cactus.
They smell good compared to your family.
They never talk back.
Help mom and pop floral business.
To put on graves of those you miss or those you couldn't stand.
If flowers go un-picked our environment is threatened.
If we do not buy flowers the terrorists win.
To decorate one's home and give the impression you are sensitive.
The Rose Bowl Parade floats would look silly without flowers.

In a Dream

A very strong woman is carrying me inside. I am bleeding from multiple wounds after having defended her against an attack from hooligans. She considers me a hero.
She lays me on the couch. I hate bleeding on her furniture. Perhaps you should call an ambulance, I suggest. She shakes her head. I can heal you, my savior.
She goes into the bedroom and returns wearing a black caftan. She begins chanting something I do not understand and dancing around the couch. She sprinkles me with some foreign substance that makes me sneeze.
Amazingly, the bleeding stops, as does the pain.
But then one of my feet falls off.
I point to my foot lying on the floor. She shrugs and says, hey, it's only a hobby.

Hold My Beer

My friend Death told me to hold his beer. You do what Death tells you to do. He shifted to the next stool. A woman sat alone sipping her brew.
Death has game. He can charm the whiskers off a walrus. I can hear everything. She is explaining her situation. A bad breakup. He is buying her hard liquor, going to work on her. Death is a good listener, nodding at just the right time.
Death's beer is getting warm in my hand. Fifteen minutes have passed. Their conversation has become animated. She is giggling. I know how this will end. Her name is Lauren. She says something about being expected at her writing group.
Death stands and motions for her to precede him out. She will not be attending any meetings tonight or any other night.
I left his beer on the bar and walked home.

The Next Teardrop

I will be there to dry all your tears. But I need $20. What?? I just made a beautiful promise and you give me grief. You're always crying, Cynthia. You cry watching The Bachelor, when people are eliminated from the Amazing Race, Survivor, Dancing with the Stars, The Voice and America's Got Talent.
You wake up and go to sleep sobbing. I have hemorrhoids. Do you hear me crying?
Your teardrops could water a garden if we had a garden and now you cry because we have none. Haven't I offered support? So because I'm a little short and want to meet the guys at a bar you act like I'm not a giving person. I'm giving you my hankie to mop up those tears.
I never signed up for this. You were so peppy before we got hitched. What happened? What do you mean I never take you anywhere? I take you everywhere. Come to the bar with me. Sing, dance, drink. Laugh.
But I still need that $20. Don't blow your nose in my handkerchief! I keep my hemorrhoid pills in there.

Pigmy Love Queen

I fall in love easily. On one of my research trips, I fell hard for a pygmy tribal queen. I hate using that word pygmy. I prefer my pocket love buzzer.
Her boyfriend, a Prince, did not like what was happening right in front of him. He challenged me to a poison dart tossing competition. The queen's warriors were loyal and prevented any such thing while the Prince seethed.
We all went skinny dipping one day. I made the mistake of eyeing some of the other women. She caught me and became furious. Next thing I know, I'm tied to a pole while hot cheese is applied to my sensitive areas. I screamed--they chanted and danced.
I could not understand how they got Limburger and Mozzarella into the heart of Africa. I was eventually released and banished from the tribe. James Cameron bought the rights to my story. Leo will play me. Linda Hunt auditioned for the pygmy queen. I'm thinking, too old, too white. But in Hollywood they work around that.

The Words

I have a mouthful of veggie burger when Benicio asks my opinion of Heigel's Fifth Law of Physics. We are having our monthly High End Intellectual Discourse group at a high end diner. I almost choke trying to reply. He shakes his head. I'm trying to impress Paula, an Impressionist with 14 exhibits on her resume.
She expounds on that subject while I try to get a word in edgewise. I know nothing about painting, but intellectuals mask their ignorance with superb vocabulary. At some point a piece of dill pickle I'm chewing flies out and lands in Paula's hair.
Everyone sees it. God, can this get any worse?
Just then, a group of drunken writers from the library enter and begin getting obnoxious. Maybe if I stood up to them Paula would forgive me. I pick a tiny woman poet I know vaguely and get in her face. She knees me in the groin. I collapse.
I don't even like dill pickles.

Igloo

Mr. and Mrs. Warner, look at this face Is this a face that would lie to you?
You will never find an igloo of this quality anywhere else. Certainly not with a 3.6%  30 year fixed. Storage space? You can fit an elephant in this hole in the ground centered perfectly. Dirt is full of nutrients. Look at this terrace. An igloo with a terrace. I choke up just saying that.
Okay, no windows, but who needs windows? The architect, Olaf Gunnaffson from Iceland, a genius, has provided space heaters to heat everything. We have technology, too complex to explain, that keeps you cool in the summer. Maybe half a wall might melt. Easily fixed.
Ever see counter tops that pretty? And in the morning you can rub your naked body up against a wall of ice. Talk about starting the day off right.
I've got four other couples waiting to see this beauty. Rugs? Absolutely not. You cannot blaspheme the concept with raggedy rugs. Well, excuuuse me. Now I'm thinking maybe you're not the adventurous folks I thought you were.
Fine. We are done here. And put back those ice cubes where you found them.