Crock Pot Angst

I got a crock pot for my birthday and I've yet to open the box. People expect me to cook something. My doctor gave me a website with hundreds of crock pot recipes. He demands I cook pot roast. My brother gave me another recipe book. Family waits expectantly for results. I'm feeling lots of pressure. Suppose my crock pot doesn't bond with me. They can be tempermental. I might stick pork chops and veggies in there, leave the house for a time, and return to cinders and disgusted firemen.
Having a crock pot means having to buy ingredients, a word that has always frightened me. It took me weeks to trust my micro. I have to eat healthier and drop some weight. I feel I'm burning lots of calories just worrying about this. I must meditate and believe this will end well.
This is why I never use my stove.

Whole Grain Oats

The oat community is in chaos. Partially grained oats are clamoring for equality. We are the 99%. Is it our fault we were grown by lazy farmers who could care less about sunlight and nutrition?
We fed our troops while whole grain stayed in country clubs. We taste just as good, especially with strawberries. Even raw hemp works. We're not fussy. Gobble away.
We create energy and aid memory. Whole grain is so self involved, coasting on its reputation created by paid off researchers. Where is Congress in this crisis?
We are always ready to help our comrades. When Farina was going through depression because it was considered outmoded, we were there to give it a hug. Quinoa was being ignored until we stepped in. We cheered up corn meal. Sadly, we could not help postina. RIP.
Whole grain has kept itself apart from other cereals, preferring to hang with low fat yogurt, pancales, omelets and bagel sticks. Whoever created bagel sticks should be prosecuted.
We partially grained oats will not stand for second rate treatment.
Actually, we can't stand, period. We're oats.

Poets with Problems

Congress has outlawed rhyming because it puts too much pressure on kids. Free verse has replaced it. Poets are shocked. This will put many of them on the unemployment line. Many may try in desperation to write prose. Open mikes will consist of pitchy singers and bad comics. The thrill of rhyming will be forever lost.
A future full of despondent poets sprawled on sidewalks and in alleys, drunk, stoned, useless, is quite possible.
Of course they can resort to flash fiction. God help us.
What we cannot understand is how Congress can ban rhyming and still allow the semi-colon?
If Republicans get elected maybe this law will be repealed.
I would love to end this with a rhyme, but I value my freedom.

Evil Flowers

Flowers are cruel and evil. You can hug trees and talk to them. Flowers flirt, make promises, then die, leaving you with nothing but sad memories. Do not trust flowers. Look what happened to all those bees.
I choose cactus every time. You get what you see. You can stare at a cactus forever and fel no empathy. The cactus could care less about your issues.
Plus it has a very good chance of outliving you. Respect them. Do not toss flowers on my grave. Plant a cactus and walk away.
Now hedges and bushes have a lot less in common than you think. Bushes are essentially hedges who've lost their self respect.

Streaky Mirror

My full length bedroom mirror is always streaked. I emerge from the shower, dripping wet and stand before it. Light streaming in gives me a God like ambience. I let it play upon my sculpted arms, shoulders and chest, my six pack abs, chiseled quads and calves. My neck in profile is statuesque. Definition and bulk balance perfectly.
If my pillows could speak what haosannas they would emit.
But these damn mirror streaks ruin everything. Spraying only makes it worse. My perfection is damaged. Perhaps the Gods are jealous.
Now the puddles created on the floor from my shower are a separate issue.

Things That Murmur

Gossips
People in courtrooms
People in long unmoving lines
Water fowl during a drought
Kids when a sub walks in
Old people in parks
The ghoul in your basement
Teens around adults
Printers starting up
Actors waiting to audition
Golf commentators
Priests in the confessional

Sold As Is

Joe was on a tight budget. If the floor model was slightly damaged, he grabbed it. On his birthday he strolled along Main Street until he came to a small store--A  Piece of Heaven. A wholesale codpiece outlet.
The proprietor, short and pale, showed him their stock, none of which fit Joe's budget. Sighing, he was about to leave when the man called him back. He reached under the counter and brought out a cellophane wrapped codpiece. This one's used, the man said.
He told Joe it was sold as is, no returns. The price was right, but Joe wanted to know how many had owned it before him.
Only three, was the answer.he guy who brought it in seemed clean and healthy.
Joe bought and raced home to try it on. It fit. Satin, of course.
He named it Morey.
After three days his groin began itching. It stretched and developed a hole. Then the strap snapped in the middle of a power point presentation.
Joe got home and stripped off Morey. Into the garbage it went.
Back to tighty whities.
A week later the itching finally stopped.

Paranoia is Exhausting

Marsha was quite upset. Someone had stolen her identity and was posting vicious remarks on social media. She was an exotic dancer and worked days as a personal assistant to a successful writer of erotic romances.
The phone calls were the worst. Creepy messages in a disguised voice. UPS delivered boxes full of decapitated dolls, punctured Beanie Babies, lacerated Minions figurines.
One call contained a two sentence message. "I am the real Marsha Mellow. You are the imposter."
Her dancing was disjointed as paranoia ruled her life. She made mistakes on her day job. Her life was unraveling. She needed help.
Her father had told her years before if she needed help call Rocco.
She called him, explained the problem.
Rocco asked who might hqave something against her.
The only person she could think of was Chelsea Findley, a fellow dancer who was second string, while Marsha was the main attraction.
The next night Chelsea didn't show up. In the morning, Marsha found a package on her doorstep. It contained black silk thong underwear.
The calls stopped. So did the posts. Marsha calmed down. Until another box arrived in the night.
Inside--Rocco's head.
Chelsea showed up smiling. Marsha locked herself in the dressing room. Her nightmare was just beginning.

Strange Custom Item

Yes, that belongs to me. Just returning from Batar. Wonderful people, beautiful land.  That is an air proof container or it will spoil. It's supposed to bring me good luck.
Yup, that lump in the box is yak feces, specifically baby yak feces. I swear there's not a bomb inside. I don't mind the smell. I know it's genuine because I witnessed its production.
This book? I actually brought that with me on departure from the US--something to read on the plane. Interesting title--Wolfden by a Joe Del Priore. Very entertaining. No, nothing Satanic in there. Just flash fiction.
Now this book contains artwork, clowns mostly, by a friend. Good stuff, no? What!? I'm under arrest?? Why? Carrying potentially hazardous material? But they're just books.
What has happened to my country?
I need to call my lawyer.
Be careful with that yak feces. It's fragile.

Book Signing

For authors with books doing a signing. Ways to sign a book.

Head down, mumbling, looking serious.
Head down, snickering at the fool who paid $27 for your book.
Complimenting anyone on any article of clothing except handcufs on the belt.
Speak in gibberish and watch them nod in agreement.
Do not pose for selfies with food stuck in your teeth.
Prtend to be deaf and use sign language you made up.
Hand out condoms with your book's title when unraveled.
Use disappearing ink just to annoy them.
Do not scratch your head and sprinkle dandruff on your book.
Do not hug your book or rub it against you.

Laundry Etiquette

Don't wash your underwear while in your underwear.
Wait 15 seconds after the machine has stopped before emptying another person's wash.
Check around for spare change or forgotten socks that may match your own.
If you spill detergent or bleach use any found pieces of wash to wipe it up.
Do not mix your jockstrap with yur thong underwear.
If you are handling a woman's laundry do not linger over intimate objects.
Nervous, yapping dogs should be sprayed with bleach.
Bathroom rugs get destroyed in the wash.
No matter how thirsty, do not drink rinse water.
Bury your head in newly dried clothes, but do not moan in ecstasy.
Do not wash straw hats.
Empty all pockets of Gummy Bears.

Clownish Things

Making fierce faces at a neighbor's kids.
Blasting another candidate, then supporting him if he's nominated.
Corporations moving to avoid taxes.
Making a fist and shouting after successfully boiling water.
Anyone who shakes his finger at you.
Horizontal rock climbing along gravel roads.
Applying botox to other people's inappropriate areas.
Practicing K turns in abandoned parking lots.
Clipping coupons for items you will never use.
Smiling at grumpy people on public transportation.

James Brown

Another bio on the funk and soul giant two years after a previous one.
Emphasis seems to be on his enormous influence.
I saw him back in the mid sixties in a stadium concert in Jersey City. Was at his peak.
According to this biographer he had 45 gold records, which I can see. But he reports the man made 321 albums, which is not believable even if you count live ones.
Too bad there's such a battle over his will.
Was said to treat his band members badly, forcing them to rehearse even after shows.
He seemed to resent those performers with lighter skin like Sam Cooke and Jackie Wilson.
Despite troubles with the law, his career lasted longer than most.
Live at The Apollo one of the great performances.