My Indian Dentist

My Indian dentist tells me her butt is too big. I ask if she's ever seen Everest. She says no. I ask if Nepal is a separate country from India. She informs me it is, but very close like Mexico to us.
As she drills she asks if I'm okay and I nod. She is in her thirties with a family. Walks very fast. Loves taking x-rays. Two needles pinch me slightly.
I can feel her pushing down with her strong fingers.The way she gently but firmly gives orders and instruction to her assistant is quite erotic. I really need to nap, but she tells me to open my eyes. I do what she says. Her eyes are big and dark and intense.
I am at her mercy. She is a root canal specialist. I assume that is why she doesn't give me a free toothbrush afterwards like my regular dentist. If I discover others got one I will be crushed.
Driving home, numbed up, I contemplate the shape of her butt under the blue smock.

Holiday Family Party

I'm hoping there are no fights or serious arguments. The best way to prevent rancor is keeping serving food and drink. The animosity goes back a long way. I will not choose sides. I just hope I don't become the referee. It helps that there is a big dog bouncing around the living room
I don't know some of the people very well. If they ask what I'm up to, I'll tell them I'm happily retired. That should bore them enough to end the inquiry. I don't like talking about myself. New Year's resolutions are another topic. I'll say I resolve to drink more water. That should bore everyone enough to leave me alone to watch football.
I will be amazed at how youngsters are now teens and young adults and I am possibly the oldest in the group. I will ward off sadness by drinking extra eggnog. On January 2 I will resume my losing battle with keeping up with bills. I got a $50 gift card to Stop & Shop. Now I have to find one. I will use all of it on healthy fruit and veggies and any magazines with Zendaya on the cover.

Musical Chairs

So I went to see The Last Jedi and sat there with a few others at this 1130am showing. The sound on the coming attractions was perfect, but no picture. Then the movie began and still no picture. Then a blank screen. We were told they were working on it. Half hour later, we were moved to another theater witha 3-d showing. I took the glasses with temerity. I heard people get dizzy watching 3-d. Well, I had nothing to fear because that screen went blank. Twenty minutes later we were moved to yet another theater. This time everything worked and we saw this 2 and a half hour opus.
This was senior discount Wednesday and altogether we elderly lost one precious hour of our lives. They should have offered free popcorn and soda.
Mark Hamill can really act. Who knew?

Forbidden Storage Space

One day my neighbor from Haiti asked me to take a spare key to his storage space. If anything happens to me, destroy everything, were his instructions. I shrugged and took the key. He seemed nervous, but in these times who isn't?
Two weeks after he gave me that key his body was found covered in strange markings in a dumpster. Police were baffled.
I was shocked. But I had made a promise and went to the storage building and found his space. I wasn't sure what I would actually do once inside. Destroying someone's property did not appeal to me. I used the key and opened the door. I could lie to you. I could say I found nothing unusual. Sorry. I saw dozens of different exotic dolls and many candles. I heard something in the semi darkness. A low moaning. I looked up. What seemed to be mist on closer examination turned out to be figures of spirits, floating, hovering.
I shot out of there and kept running.
Later, I went online and looked up anything I could find about voo doo.
My neighbor must have offended the wrong God.
I sense his wife knows more than she's saying.

January Sales

I always wait until January to purchase my thong underwear. I get rock bottom prices for my rock bottom. I order by the dozen. An active guy like me runs through them pretty fast. I also order my sun tan lotion at that time. Despite my age, I have the body of a twenty five year old and beaches and pools clamor for me as their lifeguard.
I've gotten discounted poets who sit in my living room reciting their work as I play soft music. A few years ago I found a cold cut slicing machine at half price. I spent weeks slicing pounds of cold cuts and sharing with neighbors. Then I got carpel tunnel syndrome and had to stop.
My church, St. Rocco of the Ho;y Riverbed, offered half price crosses, free confessions and extra Holy Water after Christmas.
The best aspect of January shopping is the slashed price of eggnog. If there were eggnog available throughout the year, I think there would be more tolerance and world peace.
But I said that about guacamole dip and look who we elected.

Savior

Me alone. Flat tire in parking lot. Empty trunk to find donut tire. Me trying to loosen lug nuts unsuccessfully.
Car pulls up. Man gets out. Speaks broken English, possibly Latino. Asks if I need help. I explain the situation. Gym work does not help. He takes instrument and patiently loosens lug nuts. Replaces my tire. I thank him and offer $5. He refuses. Gets in car and leaves.
\Hudson County gets a bad rap. Not the richest, nor the best educated. But once in a while someone will do something like this and give you hope.
Now I need to double my exercises to strength my arms. Thankfully, no woman was in  the car with me.

Men's Locker Room

Rules--
no giggling
no side glances
no communication
no taking two lockers
no peeing without flushing
no humming show tunes
no loud grunts during bowel movements
no coughing fits
no serious farting
no flexing
no comparing body parts
no multi-colored socks
no hair dryers
no mousse
no mention of Project Runway
no more than 4 'bro' references
no combing shoulder hair
Absolutely no squealing

Relaxation Techniques

Benny used relaxation techniques on various animals. He taught a baby sparrow who kept falling out of the nest balance and judgment. A squirrel kept coughing up nuts until Benny showed him better mouth storage skills. He helped numerous flying squirrels avoid slamming into each other mid air.
There was a pig who hated mud and was gradually introduced to it by getting hosed down in dirt. A beaver who hated the taste of wood, who feared his teeth would crack. Benny started him off on oatmeal and gradually introduced harder substances until the fear was gone.
An anteater had nightmares about accidentally consuming spiders to the point where his snout tightened up and closed. Benny held up rubber spiders in front of him until that fear ended. A goat feared a farmer who looked at him strangely. Benny had a frank talk with the man, threatening to report him to the police. A cow was so tense it couldn't give milk. Benny sang soft folk songs and convinced it personality was more important than milk production.
A buzzard suffered from binge eating and he gave the bird a mantra to repeat. He was convinced this would work because it did so with a very agitated hummingbird.
Benny just adored nature.

Crossing Guard

Bart finally achieved his life ambition--he was crossing guard at the Fallupi intersection   six way beast of a challenge. People rushing to work, kids to school, a blind man, vicious feral dogs, a rabid squirrel.
The Kasabi family of eight, led by Mrs. Kasabi, an aggressive crosser who ignored him and almost got her kids run over just added to the tension.
For nine months there wasn't a single incident at his intersection. Other crossing guards practically genuflected before him
Until that fateful day when some old guy, evidently a writer, approached vehicles, trying to get people to buy his book. One actually did, and his excitement was such that he stepped in front of a 16 wheeler and became turkey stuffing.
His fellow writers brought ragweed to the spot afterward, which stunk up the whole area.
Mrs. Kasabi complained about mustard on his yellow vest. Bart almost used his stun gun on her. But he had too much class to follow through.

Basic Training

I hated basic training. Drill Sargents screaming at you. Drop for pushups. Grab those vertical bars. Endless marching, saluting, fatty foods, stupid platoon members screwing up, making all of us pay. Boredom at night, lumpy bunks, tossing grenades, firing rifles, crawling under barbed wire, snorting gas, bayonet fighting, climbing poles, laying wire, lugging 99 pound howitzer shells, driving bumpy jeeps and trucks.
I missed sitting in philosophy class pondering cerebral mysteries.
But looking back, I realize the Army taught me assertiveness and self confidence. Look at how I carry myself. The posture, the facial expression, the walk, the tone of voice.
I have an honorable discharge in my garage near my 14 safe driving awards from the Post Office, my Little League trophy and my 300 unsold books.
This is a life well lived. Learning to kill and maim made me who I am today.

Heated Argument

How was the Universe created? Our discussion group attacked this question full bore. Joe was convinced it was a government conspiracy. How could anything be that big? Everything up there was a brilliant fabrication to keep us from realizing we were alone as a race, certain to cause insanity.
The pizza arrived, temporarily shutting Joe up.
Angie wanted to debate the best mattress. Sharon's obsession was moisturizer and the hives it caused. Robert claimed hives were an optical illusion. Max dropped his pants and proved him wrong. Flo, the host, wanted to explore equal pay for women. The group agreed that was boring.
Marva demanded to know why no one had created a  run free stocking. Men preferred analyzing the strongest ale and cigars. Sally felt it was unfair men got away with cellulite, while women were ridiculed. Soon the beer and pizza were gone and Flo suggested charades. Immediately, an argument started over where charades originated. Wrestling and punching occurred. Police came and handcuffed everyone.
Joe shouted at the sky as clouds covered the sun. Clouds are an illusion, part of the conspiracy!!
Ned was hosting next week's meeting. Ned reminded himself to pick up Mace.

Vending Machine

John decided to get his wife a vending machine for Christmas. He waited until Small Business Saturday and found Ricardo's Vending about two miles away. John had managed his own business focusing on refolding road maps for those minus dexterity. Once GPS came, maps were passe and he went bankrupt. But he rebounded by creating a Keep Out sign business and in these times he was swamped with orders.
Ricardo was a pony tailed middle aged man wearing a Hugh Hefner Lives t-shirt. John explained he wanted something special for his wife.
Ricardo showed him four machines. One only spouted tiny live lobsters. Another had only Victor Mature movies, a third contained various perfumes. The fourth, possibly the only one on the East coast, distributed sex toys and vibrators.
John thought it through. Laura was allergic to lobsters. She preferred Charlton Heston to Victor Mature. There were many bottles of perfume in their bedroom.  No, it would have to be the vibrator/sex toy machine. On long trips attending sign conventions, he got lonely. So did his wife. This machine solved both issues.
As the invoice was being written, John politely asked whether the objects inside were brand new.
Ricardo looked up and shrugged. Shall we say, gently used?

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.

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.

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.

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.

Air Bag System

My check air bag system light keeps coming on. I can re calibrate, but it's annoying. The dealer repair shop said they could find nothing wrong during a diagnosis. I would have to bring it back when it happens without a re-calibration. I knew that's what they'd say. I would have to stop whatever I was doing and bring the car in, wait three hours for the results. They could have just changed the sensor. Everything's sensor controlled now.
Imagine if a doctor said something similar. I can't run tests until you come in with a heart attack.
I refuse to become a bitter Honda Civic owner, jealous of BMW and Mercedes owners. I will suck it up and continue to re-calibrate because that's how I roll.
I wish I could do the same for my love life.

Diseased Halloween Parade

I went to a diseased Halloween Parade today in Hoboken. Why did it fall apart? Simple. candy. Kids began walking down Washington Street with their parents and all was fine. Great costumes, lots of excitement.
Soon, however, things fell apart. Tykes dragged their parents off the street onto the sidewalk because that's where the businesses with candy were.
Why did Willie Sutton rob banks? That's where the money was.
There developed holes in the parade, spaces where no one was marching. Police did nothing as the whole thing disintegrated into greed.
There was a costume contest on a soccer field at the end. Maybe half the participants showed up. I didn't stay for the results.
This happens every year. What can you do? If I were a kid I'd detour the same way.
FYI--If you're observant and quick, you can swipe candy from their baskets and pails in the sidewalk crunch. One year I nailed three Reese's Peanuts, the Holy Grail of candy. I'm saving them dental issues going forward. My conscience is almost clear.

Apologies

I have lusted after Angela Lansbury, Ruth Gordon, Betty White, Cloris Leachman
I want to spank Miley Cyrus, Jesse Eisenberg, Helen Mirren, John Goodman
I fantacize about Alfred Hitchcock, the Coen Brothers, Ida Lupino, Lou Costello
I have impure thoughts about Don Cheedle, Dom DeLuise, Dame Judy Dench, Lili Tomlin

So sorry
Deeply embarrassed
I sincerely apologize
I'm so ashamed
 No excuse
This isn't me
 Totally inappropriate
 Please forgive
I'll get help

I was DRUNK, Damn it!

Icy Stare

Examples of giving or getting an icy stare

Forget to wipe down equipment at the gym
Nose itch causes me to rub it on sleeve
Old slow moving people while I hold door
On a cell while getting checked out at market
Slurping anything, even gravy
Changing seats on a bus for no reason
A fascination with Jimmy Buffet
Switching my inserts into new sneakers at Foot Locker
Squatting to lift a newspaper
When I rattle my Mentos gum pellet container
Borrowing  quarter for the meter more than once a year
When I make a face as you order from the menu
Anyone proudly displaying their coupons
If I regale anyone with tales of six years in the Reserves
A question like 'Have you always had thick ankles?"
When I practice my icy stare in the mirror in public rest rooms
Power walking with tiny hand weights
Counting to myself to pass the time
One long hair on my chin

Favorite Halloween Costume

By Billy Winters, age 6
Miss Dotson's class

My bewt favorite Halloween costume ever was last year when I was five and dressed up as a Praying Mantis and scared all the icky girls on my block and really scared Mr. DeSoto who hates kids and fell over when he opened the door and saw my big eyeballs and I yelled Trick or Treat and they said he had a heart attack and was put in an ambulance and taken to the hospital and the other kids yelled WOW!
He came home three days later and looked really bad and I want to say I'm sorry but I'm afraid to go over there because he hated kids before and now he really hates kids even if he doesn't know I'm the same kid who scared him, but he might and then invite me in and give me poisoned tomato juice which I really hate but mom says is good for me.
The End.

Flunking Out

Ben loved Greta who was amazing with a yo yo. Her tricks brought crowds and traffic tie ups. God, she was talented and lovely. Ben could hardly work a tweezers.
She was polite but distant to him. Hans, with his card tricks, had the inside lane on being her guy. Sometimes they teamed up in the park and performed.
Desperate, Ben found a yo yo school in Jersey and signed up. He was awful. Several times he almost hit other students with it while attempting tricks. He broke strings. He complained of a sore wrist. He showed up drunk. Eventually, Oscar, Yo Yo King of Bloomfield, flunked him out.
Word got out about his failure. Greta kept her distance. His life was over.
Then one day a new student showed up--Suzie the Slinky Savage. Boy, could she manipulate that thing. It was like it obeyed her every command. Ben knew this was a skill he could master. His life had meaning again. He would draw his own crowds.

Salad Dressing

Manoosh opened his restaurant, Salad Heaven, and with all the emphasis on health and diet, he knew it would be a success. He was right initially, but then complaints rose about predictability and blandness in  the dressing.
One customer gave him a slip with a name--Jorge the Salad Whisperer. Call him and he will solve your problem. Manoosh surveyed the empty tables and did just that.
A day later Jorge arrived wearing a sarong. You have made the right decision, sir I will return you to solvency.
First he cleared the kitchen of all personal. Then boxes and boxes came. Jorge would not let the owner look inside.
Soon, Jorge's salads containing bits of meat that could have been chicken, drew a line of patrons around the block. The dressing was thick, pure and tasty. Manoosh was overjoyed. Until authorities came and arrested Jorge. Seems several fresh cadavers were missing and there was a sudden shortage of plasma. Jorge had pushed the salad envelope a bit too far.

After the Rain

My son and I stood by the river watching drowned frogs float by after the hurricane. Rafts containing soaked, homeless people rushed past, one after the other. DPW workers, librarians, crossing guards. Two women screaming. Is that mom, my son asked. Yes, it is, Rob.
What does all this mean, he asked. One of us will have to make the meatloaf, son. The other woman was my mother in law. I suppressed a smile.
What will happen to them, dad?
They will go over the falls, crash into rocks and be broken into pieces, son. He wiped away a tear just as another raft carrying pizza guys wearing aprons blasted past to certain death.
Is there a God, the boy asked.
God is everywhere. I will take you to the dog park and let you watch old arthritic dogs still try to lick their own balls. That is evidence of God.
What will our government do?
Drop supplies from a helicopter and make speeches. Look at the bright side. More parking spaces for the survivors.
Then my son and I sang The Sun Will Come Up Tomorrow from Annie.
He was off key. I was perfect.

Word Scammed

A guy whispers he's got a great deal for me. He leads me into an alley and opens a box. Inside are slips of paper, each with a long word. He pats my shoulder. These are words that will boost your vocabulary and impress everyone. You will sound brilliant. Women will want to sleep with you. Believe me, I've used them to get  their digits. Choose one.
I hesitated, then took a slip. The word was excoriate. I shivered with excitement, repeated it several times. I was hooked.
I bought the whole box for $40. Got it home and began memorizing each word. I loved how each sounded coming out of my mouth.
It was when I went to the dictionary to look up their meaning that I discovered I had been scammed. None of these words--most of them anyway--actually existed. Meaningless gibberish. I cursed my stupidity.
I needed a plan. Just then I heard my mailbox close. I ran to the door and called to Willie, my mailman. Willie! Wait up. Have I got a deal for you.

No Threat

I'm always ready with a comeback for a threatening situation. I use guys like you for refrigerator magnets. Which arm won't you been needing?
I see you have too many teeth and wish to lose some.
Let's hug it out. (That's if the others fail.)
Aging turns you into a non threat, especially if you walk slow with a stoop, which I do around cops. At the gym, I am invisible, no competition for the bodybuilders.Woman don't give you a second glance.
The only place I'm a threat is in writers' critique groups, where I take apart submissions, bring tears. You do what you have to for power.
The best way to avoid threats is to stay home. Just like the North Koreans.
Our President loves threatening. He keeps things interesting.

Things That Confuse Teens

Curfews
Jeans without holes
Opera
Stop signs
Adult diapers
Men with back hair
Food without condiments
VHS tapes
Alarm clocks
Ballroom Dancing
John McCain
Dial Tones
Email
Crock Pots
Dust on Furniture
Boom Boxes
Polaroids
Scrooge McDuck
File cabinets
Plan B

Sand Castle Blues

This is not working. Kids are laughing at my lopsided sand castle. The design lacks something. The turrets are a joke. I must rethink this. All this sand and no ideas.
Finally I decide on a replica of The Hague. Ten miuntes later, some kid says it looks like a bald guy. I explain the importance of this building. He shakes his head and says nothing is more important than Disney World. I am furious and toss sand at him. He retaliates and a little tike is collateral damage. Sand in the eye.
Adults converge on me. carry me to a hole and dump me inside. Pile sand up to my chin. I scream. A lifeguard comes over and calls for help. The Beach Patrol vehicle almost runs me over. I am given a warning for disturbing the peace. It is on a piece of paper stuck in my mouth. They leave.
I have lost faith in God.

Alone in a Crowd

Crowded place. Grab corner table. Look around. Recognize no one. Waitress flies past. Loud talking and laughing. Open my book. Try to read. Eventually place my usual order of oatmeal. One guy alone against the wall immersed in his laptop. No eye contact.
How do they find so much to talk about?
I scribble topics in a notebook in case someone wants to talk to me. This is still better than eating at home with just the radio. My cell buzzes. Yes, this is he. No. I do not want to change my AT&T plan. Sorry.
My food arrives. I chew slowly, pretend to read while I'm watching the door in case someone I know enters.
It might happen.

The Zen of Geese

I was riddled with anxiety.I feared getting out of bed. Everything was a threat.
One day, sitting on a park bench, I was approached by a goose. It looked me up and down.
What is it? I asked. You look like a nervous wreck, it said.
I nodded and explained I had a lot of issues. It extended its neck in disdain. Your problem is ypu are not living in the moment, sir. You regret the past and fear the future.
I scratched my chin and asked it to elaborate.
Study any goose, it began. We waddle on land at our own pace. We swim and cool off. We find food on the ground, copulate and defecate on the walkway when we feel like it. We don't get depressed or have breakdowns. You should imitate the water fowl in front of you.
What about ducks, I asked.
Ducks are screwed up, always on edge, ready to explode. Frogs are dumb and disinterested. Lizards you can't trust. Fish crash into each other. Geese know the secret.
It sounds hard, I said.
Just do it. Don't think of consequences and what others say. Be at one with the universe.
Right then, I needed a bowel movement. The goose stared at me as a challenge. I stood up and dropped my pants. My friend John walked by and commented, Zen, very Zen. The goose turned and waddled away.

Gym Class

Every year we did square dancing in gym. I was awful. No coordination. Wrong direction, wrong arm, wrong moves. The gym teacher told me to sit and watch.
The positive aspect here was getting to hold the sweaty palm of a girl. Afterward, in the locker room, I would secretly sniff my palm. My therapist thinks that is the root of my issues with women.When I hear fiddle music my arousal temperature soars. The caller shouts swing your partner and I shudder with excitement. The glory days of high school.
After I graduated they instituted clog dancing. I guess adults finally made the connection between teen sex orgies and square dancing. Clog dancing is more effective than birth control.

Used Gum

Why does gum have to lose its taste so quickly? How can we extend the tangy experience? My chemist friend, Alonso, worked on that very problem. He mixed chewed gum into a beaker of chemicals. They needed volunteers to chew the previously chewed gum. I wasn't easy getting them, but eventually he did.
Every one of them emerged from the test room smiling and chewing. Alonso was overjoyed. He was ready to market this product when reports came in telling of side effects.
Boils appeared. Some spoke Mandarin. Walked backwards. Yodeled. Smelled like dill pickles. Teeth fell out and gums bled.
The great success was a mirage. I switched to Tic Tacs. Just let them dissolve and experience ecstasy.
Although, I always wanted to speak Mandarin.

Cary Grant's Slippers

I bought Cary Grant's slippers at an auction and they fit perfectly.I took a walk and women swooned. My posture was better, my smile bigger. At my coffee shop I spoke in an English accent and gracefully sipped my brew. I ordered a croissant, not a bagel. I said Good Day and Beautiful Morning. I nodded and chuckled. I never chuckle.
For no reason I rose and did a skipping dance right out the door. People applauded. I just knew as long as I wore these slippers I'd never cut myself shaving or pass wind. I changed the part in my hair. I think I'm getting a dimple.
Obviously, I have to get a tux.
Oh, I've stopped wearing socks with said slippers.

The Secret

Ellen left our group early. She is quiet and modest and comes from money. I did my homework. I needed help to pull this off. Keith is as greedy as me, so he agreed.
In the hall of the library he waited until her back was turned and stuck a needle in, leaving her knocked out. He supported her as they walked right out the front door. Took her to a garage and tied her up. He used a burner phone to contact her parents and demand a ransom.
They want to know if they can pay in bitcoins. Keith and I are stumped.
We want to ask Ellen for her opinion, but she's napping.
This was unforeseen and problematic.
Plus, Keith can't find the needle.

We Walk On These

Really failed meat loaf
Slow moving ants
Elderly napping on rugs
Sidewalk graffiti
Escalators
Goose crap
People's rights
The other guy's dumb logic
The moon when we still cared
Well worn paths leading to evil

Military Diet

My doctor put me on this diet three days a week. He wants me to lose 16 pounds. This is the diet they use on The Biggest Loser.
It would be a lot easier if I had someone to talk to at night when I do most of my snacking.I don't know how soldiers on this diet have the energy to attack any country. Maybe Ethiopia.
Hot dogs without buns. Meat the size of a deck of cards. One slice of bread. Half a banana. Three scoops of ice cream. Half a can of tuna. I can see myself chewing on my own arm.
I will go for my next visit and explain my issue. It will be humiliating. Failure will dominate my voice and posture.
However, getting completely naked and standing on my scale makes my day.

At the Podium

Fellow citizens, this country is now $20 trillion in debt. We must think outside the box.
Sell Alaska. Sell Guam. Sell the air space over Gov. Christie. Sell Puert Rico and the Virgin Islands. Hell, sell Long Island. We already have New Jersey.
Do we really need five Great Lakes. Sell them to Canada. Sell some of our poets to Third World countries. Sell a few of our celebrities. Larry King, Ray Romano, Cloris Leachman, Ryan Seacrest, Michael Strahan.
There must be some rivers we can spare. All those gazebos covered with bird crap--gone.
How will our kids deal with this debt? They may just start selling senior citizens.

New Challenges

Buffalo Bill was bored. Shooting buffaloes was too easy. He tried macrame, but was all thumbs. Hair styling didn't fulfill his needs. Neither did physical therapy.
Meanwhile, the buffalo population increased. People begged him to return to his former occupation. He was entranced by ballroom dancing.
One day a herd of buffaloes attacked a book festival, trampling authors. Only Mark twain survived. Bill was accused of abrogating his responsibility. Finally he agreed, but only if he was allowed to design his own outfits. And so it came to pass that his quest for new challenges was short circuited.
But he wore boots to die for.

Mass Exodus

I was born to dance. I love Union Square Park. Put those two together and you have a performance for the ages. I was graceful and elegant even as a child upchucking. My destiny was chosen for me.
One day I changed into my spandex body suit at the Barnes & Noble across from the park. I marched right to the open space, drawing attention from the protesters, chess players, busking musicians, commuters and those holding Free Hugs signs.
I threw my whole being into the movement. Arms flailing, leaping, crouching, whirling, splitting, heaving my lithe body from one improvised move to another. I heard scream of excitement from the crowd.
Actually, later on in the back seat of a police car, I realized they were screams of horror. How could they turn on me? No matter. Genius will not be denied.
My next target is Washington Square Park. By the water fountain, where liberals congregate.
There will be no mass exodus. Only applause.

In the Monkey House

What do you want to do today?
Why don't we toss feces at humans?
We did that yesterday.
Let's make high pitched squeals that mean nothing.
Yeah  and grab our privates.
Instead of leaping around,
why not do a freeze frame
I can't go ten seconds without scratching myself
Can I groom you?
I don't need it.
Yes, you do. I see lint.
We're naked.
I know what I see.
What about a line dance or making a pyramid?
There's only two of us.
You are one serious buzz kill.
What's that you're doing?
Picking my nose.
Where did you learn that?
Guess.

Drives Me Crazy

Drivers who don't signal
Smoke alarms go off while cooking
Butt crack itch
My safari hat sliding down
Tiny barking dogs
Someone sitting next to me
Public speakers who cannot form a sentence
Inability to match clothes
Running out of clothespins and intelligent conversation
Parents who complain about being parents

Jammed Printer

After Ben filled out an online survey for CVS, he was entitled to a $10 coupon. He clicked on the link and waited for the printout in the next room. A gargling, whining sound came from his printer. The paper was jammed. The coupon was stuck. He tried yanking it out, but only tore it worse.
Needing help, he went across the hall and knocked on muscular Hank's door. Hank opened it wearing a blue caftan and ballet slippers. Music from The Nutcracker played in the back round. He readily agreed to help his friend. Ben asked no questions.
The paper seemed to sneer at them. Just try getting me out, you wonkers/ Hank took his index finger and thumb and pulled. Suddenly the printer engaged, spewing out the sheet, causing Hank to fall backward and hit his head on the floor. He was knocked unconscious. Ben immediately feared being sued. Quickly, he formed a plan. He would dsrag Hank back to his apartment and hope he woke up not remembering anything.
Halfway there, Mrs. Welch opened her door and emerged with her Yorkie. She took one look, shook her head and whispered, I am not judgmental, but you two have to be more discreet.
Ben reprinted the coupon and used the $10 to buy two packs of dental floss. In case he ran short.

Swag Lamp

Wilma wanted the Larry King Swag Lamp, the last one in the store. Hugo thought it was ugly. Especially the garish yellow liver spot covered shade. Wilma threatened to withhold sex. Hugo weighed that against the $85 tag. He ponted to a Bill O'Reilly end table, on sale for $40. Wilma called him a sexist pig.
Hugo was on a tight budget. His job as laundry lint collector had been downsized after Amazon entered the business and caused outlets to close.
Megan Kelly ash trays were $150--evidently she was the next big thing in TV news. Hugo proposed a deal--the swag lamp for her if she let him get the Anderson Cooper cuff links, seemingly a good investment, unlike the Rachel Madow edible underwear, already on closeout sale.
Both went home happy and a marriage survived another day.

Meet Me Halfway

I just want my new printer to meet me halfway. My old printer moans and gurgles when I press Print. I pull out the wire, twist the laptop, yank out the plug to no avail. I speak to it and remind it how well we used to work together. Silence. The ink is innocent--it's the machinery.
A Geek Squad guy tells me either the USB ports are worn out or there is a short on the mother drive. For a moment I thought he was talking about me.
I bought a new wireless printer and a new laptop. Now I get  message that the laptop is not recognizing the printer. Christ, I set it up right next to it. Do I have to introduce them?
I feel impotent. I'm just a writer trying to keep up with technology, which refuses to meet me halfway.

Silent

He remains silent and expressionless. Never smiles or coughs or clears his throat. Immaculately dressed. Hair combed. If he feels deeply about anything he doesn't show it.
One senses that with the same hand he uses to compose poetry, he could strangle a stranger.
He could be a government operative or a trained assassin. All of us sense we'd better not upset him.
I think his father fears him.
God, I wish he would blink.

Thrown to the Wolves

Juanita sacrificed everything for her job. She must have made 5000 omelets for customers. She was always on time and never argued with customers, boss or co workers. She was respected.
One fateful day, as she was preparing a special omelet for a frequent patron, Juanita had the sudden urge to sneeze. It blew out so fast she couldn't look away. Globs of saliva landed on her creation. She fearfully looked around. No one witnessed it.
Going against all her principles, she served it anyway. Except there was a witness--Ritchie, the custodian who lusted after her and was rejected many times. This was his chance for revenge.
No sense going into details. She was summarily fired, thrown to the wolves. She wandered the streets, knowing not what her fate would be. Who would hire her?
One man saw her sobbing and asked what was wrong. She told him the whole story. This compassionate fellow was a flash fiction author of some fame and he took her in and made her his proof reader.
Juanita loves her new life. She even tucks him in at night.

Trump's First Kiss

There are first kisses and there s MY first kiss. I have a world class tongue. A tongue from heaven. I can do AMAZING things with my tongue. Look at these lips. Soft and full and tender. I say this in all honesty--my first kiss was HUUUGE! Earth shattering, thunder cloud of bliss. It went on and on. Huge. Fire and fury. The girl almost fainted.
Spit? Gobs of spit, high quality, top of the line spit. You wish you had my spit, believe me. I carressed her shoulders with these very hands. Big and soft, just like my amazing lips.
That was one lucky girl. Believe it. Not fake news.

David

I just purchased Michelangelo's statue of David on E-bay, all 17000 pounds of it. The seller swears it's the original and who am I to cast doubt? I got a good price, but forgot to factor in UPS delivery cost. I'm going to install it in front of the Hudson County Sewerage Authority building so all can enjoy it. I am truly a man of the people. I may rename it Dave.
Amazing what you can buy online. I bought 70 slightly used vowels for when I play Scrabble. I'm thinking of posting some of my best irony, used only once, just to see what people will bid.

Talking to Cops

I try never to talk to cops unless I'm lost or beaten up.The other day I got lost because road construction blocked my normal path to my breakfast cafe. I stupidly returned to the road I was on and got off at the next exit. I should have just followed the detour signs.
I drove and drove, imagining running out of gas in northwest New Jersey with no food or water and no one stopping to help. I would have to write a farewell letter for folks to find. Who would read my eulogy? I was stunned to realize either my friends were not really my friends or were too long winded and would put the church to sleep.
Luckily I came upon flashing lights. More construction, a cop nearby. I rolled down my passenger side window and asked for the town I was traveling to. He leaned his burly self down, peered in and told me I was headed in the right direction. I thanked him and drove on.
I'm sure he took my license plate down. I do look suspicious in certain light.

Rhythms

Chewing in rhythm...
Samba chewers sensual
Angry hip hop, rap chewing
Jazz chewers improvising fast and slow
Folk chewers thoughtful
R&B chewing bop in place
Soul chewers squeeze cheeks
Blues chewing slow and sad
Salsa spits out food
Punk drools and chews
Classical chewers focused with chin up
Electronic dance chewing makes strange sounds
Gospel chewers raise eyes to sky
Reggae chewing sway in a trance
Pop chewing fast and violent
Rock chewers almost nonexistent
Rock is dead, isn't it?

Underwater

Plankton swaying like sedated palm trees
Exotic alien fish
grabbing octopus
mermaids gliding like ballerinas
sharks sightless and mindless
discarded tire lays like a drunk
the entire cast and crew of the Mummy remake
electric eels signaling Poseidon
bubbles untamed
moss clinging to rocks like children

Destructive Things

termites
toxic people
extreme weather
ignorance
road rage
mold
asbestos
diabetes
arthritis
bad teachers
insults
wrecking ball
tooth decay
dynamite
tapeworms
fanaticism
erosion
stereotyping
gas leaks
school of angry guppies

Crackling Grandma

My grandma crackles. I don't know how she does it. She cackles too, but that's to be expected. All of us will eventually cackle. But no other adult I know crackles. I think it originates in her abdomen. She swears she's not in pain. I suggested meditation or yoga, but she refuses. She's proud of her uniqueness. Most times I'm okay with it, except when she's in the bathroom and I can hear loud crackling and cackling at once. I lose my appitite.
Grandpa just snorts--no crackle. I secretly recorded the two of them and sent the tape to a horror film director who is using it as the sound track to his next film. I thought about sharing the proceeds with my grandparents, but I have my own medical bills. When I crouch, a low whistle is emitted from my butt. I'm told it might be due to excess fiber. Maybe it's genetic. I could use a butt muffler.

Trip to Maine

My name is Adolphis and I am a moose bounty hunter. Each moose has distinctive markings. Once a moose commits a crime I am on the case. This one head butted two innocent campers. My contacts in the large antler species underground informed me the moose, Heinrich, headed for Maine.
I loaded my tranquilizer gun, hopped into my ATV, and headed north, stocking plenty of beef jerky for the trip. I have a moose tracking device based on scent. Sometimes it malfunctions and I accidentally tranquilize some housewife hanging wash in her yard. My bad.
Bringing back this animal nets me $250, barely enough to pay expenses. But this is my passion.
My tracer is lighting up and vibrating.I must be very close. My energy is optimal and I'm ready. One more bite of beef jerky and it's Go Time.

Off the Grid

I found the cast for my new play online. They had been laid off from a canceled children's TV show in Milwaukee. I was cutting corners salary wise. I took them to dinner to get them acclaimated to the big city. They couldn't believe octopus was on the menu.
I had written a musical version of The Winds of War, the Herman Wouk novel. All the cast members were excited to be involved. My director Keith, initially was stoked to begin. But as rehearsals wore on, it became obvuius none of the cast could sing worth a damn. So we changed our focus and I submitted a script of Hitchcock's Rear Window as a light comedy.
It was tough getting investors until The Mob showed interest. We are mounting our first preview very soon. The Boccanocca Family gets 65% of the profits. They made me an offer I couldn't refuse. You do what you have to in this business.

Twist and Shout

When The Lone Ranger took his first yoga class he twisted into the crouching cougar position and shouted Hi Ho Silver! He scared the hell out of the others, especially Arnie Silver in the back row. Afterwards he complained to Tonto he didn't understand the concept of yoga. His back had been bothering him after years of chasing varmints and he thought he had a hernia. He was told yoga would help.
Tonto nodded silently, his go to response when kemo sabe whined about something or other. Tonto, when stressed, just went hunting for rabbits.
He helped The Lone Ranger into his saddle and both realized their partnership was nearing its end. They had discussed opening a saloon, but getting a liquor license was a bitch. Tonto wanted to settle down and raise kids. He had his eye on Annie Oakley.

Waiting For It

Rescue team after another train derailment
Women attracted by my new cologne
The sun rising aftera sleepless night
Kirk Douglas to finally get his screen test in heaven
Hillary's latest excuse
New music from Billy Joel
A Zen pizza delevery
Someone to explain Zen
That hair restoration application to kick in
The first tulips and last snowball

Eraserhead

Eraserhead loved the piles of hair that grew straight up like an eraser. People always commented on his unique look. One day he decided to have the sides trimmed to accentuate his look. He went to Angelo, the barber he used to go to as a kid. Now the man was much older, but his business was steady and his reputation intact.
The problem was Angelo had a rash that itched like mad. It soured his whole outlook. He didn't even want to open his shop, but his dedication won over. When Eraserhead walked in, he recognized him immediately. They shook hands and the young man sat in the chair. Just a trim on the sides, he said.
Not a problem, Angelo said. He marveled at the bushy pile of hair as he trimmed. He then asked if he wanted his eyebrows also trimmed. The fellow nodded. Just as Angelo began, he felt an intense itch down in an intimate area that caused his hand to slip. The entire eyebrow was shaved off. Eraserhead shouted obscenities. Angelo got furious and attacked his pile of hair with the shaver. In seconds Eraserhead became Flattop. He flung off the white sheet, jumped out of the chair and out the door screaming.
All Angelo wanted to do was hide in the bathroom and scratch and scratch and scratch.

Trapped

He had a plan. He would wait until just the right moment. The others would be preoccupied during a busy period. He remembered his lost friends, horribly eliminated. He felt completely alone, but he wanted to live.
Patience. Focus. Finally, the chef was in the bathroom, the servers on the floor. The kitchen was empty.
In one smooth leap, he hit the floor and frantically crawled out the back door into an alley. He made it to the sidewalk and thankfully there weren't many pedestrians and few cars.
If he could just find water. Wait! To his left a park, which could mean a pond. Maneuvering through shadows, he somehow made it and scooted atop the dry grass. He was exhausted, but found what he was looking for. Water. Turtles. Safety. Protection. Camouflage. He was about to crawl in when he heard a child's voice. Mom! Dad! Look1 A lobster!
He saw a net and cursed his luck. Why wasn't I born a crab? He was the one who almost got away.

Umbrella Madness

Thank you so much for seeing me, Mr.Wilomet. I truly believe your company is the perfect home for my concept.
Here is my prototype. Looks like a typical umbrella, right? Guess again. Press this little knob and presto! You have a dangerous automatic weapon capable of firing 40 rounds a minute. As you might expect, this baby weighs more than your average umbrella, but weigh that against protection against the wing nuts out there. Plus, it really does protect you in the rain.
Here, let me demonstrate. That is an abandoned building across the street. Watch me shatter some windows. Well, okay it's against the law, but this is a multi million dollar product before you. Think of how happy your shareholders will be. Think of your bonus. Don't you want to protect your family?
I see. That is your decision. I have other options.
Oh God, I am so sorry. Accidental discharge is not acceptable. That seems like a flesh wound. Perhaps your secretary should call 911. Language like that has no place in the corporate world. I said I was sorry.
I know when I'm not wanted. A tourniquet might be a good move about now. Good day, sir.

Benny the Spider

Four years in a row Benny was voted World's Worst Spider by the International Spider Consortium. He created webs so weak flies purposely smacked into them and smirked. Yes, flies can smirk. Specialists told him to eat more ants for protein. Try lower altitudes like someone's shoes.
After finding a location, Benny would begin work. Invariably he became nauseous hanging upside down and vomited. Female spiders mocked him. His confidence was shattered. One day he was approached by three giant spiders who talked out of the side of their mouths. They offered to supply stronger thread in exchange for 70% of the fly meat. Benny hesitated and they smacked him around until he agreed.
The problem was the new thread was so heavy Benny had to contract out to Alex, a big mouth spider who told everyone where it came from. Benny was humiliated. He had sold his soul for naught.He's doing clean up work for the Praying Mantis community.

Bobo Must Go

We had a good book group until Bobo showed up. No one knows how he found out about us. He showed up a half hour late, sat down and removed his shoes and socks to get more comfortable. He pulled out a knapsack and removed several beef jerky sticks and Velveeta cheese. Any beer? he asked.
Our leader Ralph said no beer. It turns out Bobo had only read two chapters of the book, a memoir by Joe Del Priore, "Huddled Masses Yearning to Flee Me."
Bobo nodded a few times as points were made, then decided it was more interesting to relate stories of his days as a mercenary in South America.
After the session ended and he left, we decided Bobo had to go. Eli, A high school chemistry teacher, said he would cook up something that we could slip into a beer bottle, something that would cause quick death and leave the body without a trace.
We took our book discussions quite seriously.

Ocean Things

Dead bodies from the Hudson River
Buoys that won't bob without a new union contract
Ahab's leg
White caps and pink bubbles to die for
Salt and oregano around Italy
Depressed eels who've short circuited
Laid back sharks too jaded to attack
One very confused platypus
Human pee
Bossy octopus

New Fireworks

People just got tired of traditional fireworks. The town council held a meeting and decided on an alternative. Barges would be sent out on the river as usual, but now they would be firing off stray cats and small pets people got tired of feeding. The suspense entailed discovering which survived the contact with the water and which drowned.
It would have been a huge success except for one disgruntled worker who drugged and dragged his hyper critical mother in law to the barge and shot her out of a high powered firing mechanism. She rose high and fell like a stone.
His trial is set for September.

Reasonable Disarray

The guy shows up with bed hair--strands heading in all directions. Trying to mock my hairless scalp. I hope his tonsils swell up.
My thoughts are also in disarray. I am attending a writer critique session centering on a novel by an attractive woman. She has published before and everyone likes her.
I think her protagonist is nuts. A 17 year old female warrior who is out of control. If the author wanted her to symbolize female empowerment.I beg to differ. She's a wing nut.
But if I express that the group will shout me down. I will be seen as a cranky old man, jealous of her success. They may force me to do hot yoga. Even if I praise parts of it I will not get the hug I seek from this hot lady. So I will not say what's on my mind and take the coward's way out. Anything beats hot yoga in my Spandex.

Selling Connecticut

The President cleared his throat.
Citizens of Connecticut, I know this is difficult for all of you. Congress and I debated this and searched for other solutions. None of them solved the problem. Our country is drowning in debt. Selling one of our states to China will raise billions, especially if you clean up Bridgeport.
I'm sure you will be allowed to keep this country's values. Of course you won't be able to vote, worship, stage demonstrations or consume cheese. Chinese hate cheese. But they have nothing against a good casserole.
Sacrifices must be made. Massachusetts has Boston, NJ has the shore. We offered Delaware and they refused. We offered Puerto Rico and they laughed. As your President, I will do everything I can to make this a smooth transition, but you have to meet us halfway. Learn some Mandarin. Pennsylvania has pledged to donate tons of brown and white rice. Maybe toss in some quinoa. That's the spirit of America.
I'll take some questions now, except about bitcoins, which I still don't understand.

People Who Judge

Neighbors
media
doormen at clubs
banks
Olympic skating and gymnastics officials
choral directors
relatives
landlords
hairdressers
choreographers
cops
medical personnal
Internet trolls
fashionistas
critics
inspectors
interior decorators
teachers
drill sargents
proof readers
jurists
shrinks
wine tasters
beef jerky experts

Dancing in the Dark

So often I feel like I'm dancing in the dark. Where is my life going? I'm doing a tango without a partner, tap dancing around committments, waltzing into trouble. I need a metaphorical flashlight to guide me as I tunnel through my golden years.
I sit alone in a cafe sipping coffee and reading a book. I watch people strolling past in the heat. A short, old Latino man sits two seats away and drums loudly on the counter with his chubby fingers. maybe he is trying to get my attention. I do not speak Spanish.
A woman sits between us. He stops drumming and utters one word--Bella. She thanks him and we sit quietly. Their little dance has ended.
I am dancing with words. Later I will meet friends for lunch and dance with bread and salad.
What does it all add up to? Will I always be stumbling in the dark, pretending to understand the moves? We should have a floor diagram showing all the correct places our feet should be. Meanwhile, I will suck in my stomach, straighten my posture and assume the position--whatever that position is.
Finger drumming may well hold the key.

Summing Up

What have I accomplished?
I got a degree from Rutgers, spent six years in the Reserves, taught school, delivered mail, painted, photographed, wrote everything from stories to poems to essays to theater.
I've made friends and lost enemies. My personal hygiene has never wavered. When I dip chips into salsa others stop and watch. I've taken many pills and eaten hundreds of avocados.
I dip my dance partner deep and long. I have an impressive warehouse of entertaining stories and jokes. A priest, a minister and a rabbi walk into a pet store. What? Heard it? Okay. How about a spooky tale from summer camp? Not in the mood? Fine.
Have you ever been dance dipped? Let me take you through it. First, stretch out. Give me your leg.
You can trust me.
This will add to my accomplishments.

Annoying Sayings

That's a moot point
What goes around comes around
Karma is a bitch
You never stop being a parentWhat will future generations think of us?
It is what it is
You had to be there
I feel your pain
My home is my castle
Do not leave the seat up
It ain't over til its over
Cat got your tongue?
Death and taxes
Freedom comes at a price
Watch, listen and learn
The customer is always right
You deserve better than me
Rules are made to be broken
I've fallen and I can't get up

Daydreamer

Liam was a happy person. He always looked on the bright side. Control only what I can control, he told himself. Liam did have one issue--he liked to daydream. So it came to be one day he was walking along, thinking about the previous week, when, for the first time in his life, he made the 7-10 split during a bowling match.
Head in the clouds, he went right past a sign attached to a mailbox. Next thing he remembered was waking up in the hospital. The sign said, Warning! Circus performers rehearsing. Steer clear.
Doctors told him one of The Flying Walendas--Grandma Eunice--had slipped off the high wire and landed on him. He had a concussion and a neck sprain. She was unhurt.
This was almost enough to turn him into a pessimist. Do they daydream?

The Quiet Ones

They sit alone in cafes, librries, parks, in cars, watching, just watching. Never speaking, they dot our city, creating tension by their very presence. Do they eat? Read? Nurse one coffee for hours?
Faces lack expression. Sometimes they will grab a butterfly and hold it in their palm before releasing it.
Children sense not to approach them. Adults observe warily. Are they working for the government, just waiting for orders?
We should band together and take action. They are different and a threat, these quiet ones. They should be quarantined. No one has ever heard them laugh. Maybe they were put here to pay for our collective sins. Have they migrated from New England where this behavior is normal?
Maybe we should introduce them to karaoke.
You have a better idea?

Marching Band

You have to control the trombones. Talent-less kids honking away, disrupting the flutes.  Goosing the majorettes with the stem.
Thirteen stinking halftime minutes to perform three pieces we've practiced for hours. Half these kids cannot march to save their lives. Parents are recording every mistake and of course I get blamed.
Wally and Melissa are competing for #1 on the xylophone, pounding away like it's the end of the world.
State competitions are living hell. Nervous breakdowns among the trumpets, drummers drinking too much Red Bull, saxophones sliding into depression.
One year there will be a complete meltdown and the kids will return to the band bus and systematically destroy it. And I will get blamed.
Alright, line up, you maggots!

Angry Barber

I asked for my cut hair and he went ballistic. It's on the floor, full of bacteria, he said I want to sell it online if I become a famous writer, I explained. You'll spread disease, you fiend. Where are you going to keep it? In a bowl, I said.
Which you will use to hold soup for guests and they will see one hair floating to the top and vomit. You beast.
By then his face was flushed and he gasped for breath. I told him to calm down. he called me a hair molester. People heard from outside and charged in. One held a crucifix inches from my face. Demon! he cried.
Call my old barber, I pleaded. He fell and broke his hip, the angry barber shouted. You cursed him.
Feeling threatened, I ran out the door, not before hearing the guy ask, sure you don't want a shave, Spawn of Satan.

Dance World

I went out to get breakfast and everyone was dancing. Garbage men, mailmen, landscapers, road crews, cops, EMS workers, all dancing to their own beat.
Dancing is not my strong point, but I hate being left out. Soon I was at the diner watching the wait staff and counter people thrusting hips, whirling and gyrating. There was no music. I tried bopping in place, but spilled my coffee. I snapped my fingers, but that was weak.
Finally a waitress grabbed my hand and pulled me to my feet. She threw me into a fierce tango and I was in heaven. Then the door opened and a man in flamenco garb stood glaring. Her boyfriend. I tried to explain, but he leaped on my back and pummeled me.
How did I get out of this?
I fell to the floor and played dead. It worked for me as a kid with bullies and it worked again. I never got to finish my breakfast.

Mirror, Mirror

I have two large mirrors covering my wardrobe and they keep streaking. I've tried spray, sponge, spit, talking to them to no avail. I heard beer might work and I may try that next.
I need everything in my condo to be in top shape. I'm trying to do a reverse mortgage and the appraiser comes and determines its value and how much the bank will lend me. Streaky mirrors could be a deal breaker.
A friend told me if this mortgage goes through, read the small print. I may be required to enter, exit and walk around inside backwards. I can't sleep thinking about this. Will I be monitored? Will I have to do my feet first in the shower? Eat dessert before the meal? Answer the phone with "Nice speaking to you"?
Is it possible my friend is pulling my leg? I have cataracts and can't read the fine print.

New Jersey Things

Flooding in Hoboken
Sullen gas station attendants
Fear of eye contact with strangers
Potholes imported from Pompei, Italy
Mass arrests for stealing cherry blossoms
Eating unhealthy food down the shore
Parades featuring old people walking slowly
Snappy put downs and snappy come backs
Thousands of self published authors pleading for recognition
Rutgers grads working part time at trader Joe's
Smoke stacks
Dead bodies in shallow graves
Babbling on public transportation by self published authors
Petting zoos full of bacteria
Scam artists breathing the same oxygen as corrupt politicians

Hard Boiled Eggs

My shrink tells me I'm on edge. I need something to calm me. I need an activity. He suggested creating hard boiled eggs.
I trust the man and went at it full bore. I bought eggs. I boiled them. Placed them in cold water afterward. I adjusted the lighting in the kitchen. Put on soothing music by Enya. Donned a surgeon's mask and gloves. Placed one egg on a sterilized tray and took a deep breath.
Carefully I peeled the shell away, taking care not to remove the white with the shell. It took me half an hour for one egg. But my mind was taken off my anxiety.
Just when I reached the very end of the process, a stupid bird slammed into my window. I screeched and squashed the yoke into a hundred pieces.
I wanted to grab a steak knife and attack the bird. Somehow I calmed myself using breathing techniques. I assumed the dumb bird has cataracts.
Now I must begin again with another egg.
Or maybe I'll just take up jigsaw puzzles or adult coloring books.

Dream Team

In school we played murder ball. Others called it dodge ball, but we knew better. We students, full of anger and frustration, sought decapitation.
Our dream team consisted entirely of Mafia kids. No one wanted to face us, especially after certain vague threats were made in the locker room. Our gesticulations all meant 'horrible death' in Italian.
We even thought about starting a pro league. Our gym teacher was a fierce Armenian who claimed his team back home was better than ours. The players all were children of their underworld. We fumed. Contacted our fathers. A match was set up. ESPN coverage. Las Vegas took bets. Publicity boomed. Expectations rose. Oh, the excitement.
Then a bunch of tree hugging liberals passed a law outlawing the sport.
We will go underground. Mutilation in gym shorts is part of our heritage.

SWimming in Ideas

Lately, I've been swimming in ideas.This happens to writers after a dry spell. This morning I stopped at a local place to have breakfast and wrote a flash fiction piece. "The Pessimist Cafe". A guy pulls off the road to stop for coffee and enters this cafe.
Everyone inside, including the waitress, is totally pessimistic about the world. The guy hits "Walking on Sunshine on the juke box and as soon as that song ends, someone presses "A Hard Rain is Gonna Fall".
I think this story is publishable.
When the attractive waitresses see me writing in a notebook this morning, they must assume I'm creating something vibrant and powerful and I really believe their respect for me is growing.
I just wish I didn't have this hole in my sweater, which you can't see because I'm wearing a black sweat shirt underneath.
Yes, I'm swimming in ideas, some of which I'm certain will make me enough money to buy a new sweater.

Piano Magic

Billy Joel was stubborn. He refused to play on my piano. You don't play, you don't eat. I said. You are a criminal fool, he replied.
Look, I'm your biggest fan. I went through hell kidnapping you. He scowled. Your piano isn't tuned. I scowled. So tune it.
I don't do that stuff, he snarled. You should have snatched Elton.
All he does is pound away at the keys. You are a true artist. Play Miami 2012.
You would never let me starve.
You, Billy, don't know me.
So why did you buy a piano if you can't play.
It impresses guests.
You are a dabbler, fella, one who paints a little and writes a little. You should have kidnapped Dali.
He's long dead. Listen, I made pot roast. I am one hell of a cook. Play one lousy song and you get a meal fit for a king.
And then what?
I'm tired of your attitude, Billy. Then I let you go and go after Pearlman. I love the violin more than the piano.

Spice Rack Intrigue

I have been closely monitoring my spice rack. Real men do have spice racks.
I am convinced my spices are secretly mingling at night while I sleep, attempting to create a new, dangerous spice designed to rob me of my cognitive processes. Real men have those too.
I think this has already begun. I sense tumeric is the ring leader.
When I tried to explain this to a fellow writer, he rolled his eyes and looked out the window. A woman came over to our table, hearing my rant, and said she believed me. She was sure her baby stroller was rejecting her child. She also believed recently departed Don Rickles was trapped in the Cloud. I ranted that Al Gore created the Dark Web.  She said her plumber had switched the hot and cold valves so she would burn her hands.
We exchanged phone numbers. Our first date is this Saturday. By this time my writer friend had switched tables.

Apology Letter

458 people who never believed in me signed an apology letter.  They admitted they had underestimated me. Most felt I would wind up in janitorial work or become a squeegee guy at an intersection.
But I became a renowned flash fiction master, in the process, hob nobbing with the rich and famous, a man who makes entrances to charity balls and VIP parties with women named Danielle, Veronica, and Monique on his arm.
They were not prepared for my success. As a child I threw up and whined. As a kid I was always last in potato sack races. My adolescence consisted of big guys giving me atomic wedgies. In college, I joined a fraternity and none of the guys would exchange the secret handshakes with me. As an adult, I bounced from job to job--door knob installer, curtain rod measure person, ball bearing salesman, navel lint remover, etc.
One day I saw a group of odd looking people enter the library. I followed them into a room. Writers.
I burst into tears. I'm so lonely, I sobbed. Can I join you?
May I join you, the leader corrected me.
The rest is history.
I folded the apology letter and stuffed it beneath my insulated underwear. Too little, too late.

Blinded

I'm blinded by my blinds, long, dirty, cracked strips that just hang there in disgrace. Wood blinds in my kitchen embarrass them. Those are Old West, Jeff Bridges blinds. If I have a guest ,they have to pass my living room before hitting the kitchen. I've already lost their respect.
My contractor won't change the blinds unless I have more work for him. So I will have him paint the place, install a new toilet, and buff the floor. It will cost me about $1800 to get those damn blinds up.
I would do it myself except that is not my strength. My strength is thinking up goofy stuff.
I did set up my micro and set the clock on my stove. I suppose I'll have to clean the windows after the new blinds are up. When does responsibility ever end?

Hockey Puck

Help! I'm stuck on this ship. I hate being in the Navy. Get me off. I belong on land.

Oh, shut up, you hockey puck. Go puke your brains overboard. Make yourself at home. Drool. I can't be bothered. I got stomach cramps. The elastic on my underwear snapped. Did you just burp in my face? I'm trying to explain something and he barfs up salmon. Get a grip. This is the Navy. We don't shoot, we drown them. My girlfriend is back home lying in bed moaning she needs a foot rub. That's my life. Don't look at me like that, swabbie. In case you didn't know it, I do standup on the side and I'm the entertainment on this hellhole.
     My back is killing. Does anybody give a damn? Three more years left on this ship. God, that beef stew I had for lunch is coming up. Get me napkins! Sinatra wouldn't put up with this crap.
RIP  Don Rickles.

Possibilities

A blank page is so full of possibility. Anything can happen on that sheet. On my notebook I can doodle in the margins while waiting for my creativity to kick in.
My stupid dog has no possibility to be a watch dog. Doesn't even bark at strangers. Freeloader. I named it Bubba because it looked tough. Mistake.
My wife is another story. A perfectly fine housewife married to an intellectual. Me. I try expanding her vocabulary to no avail. I gave her a list of 250 classic novels to read. So far, she only gotten through Little Women. Limited possibility there.
I understand she has to cook and clean and take care of five kids. But you can't spare an hour to educate yourself? I even invite her into my library. Sometimes.
Back to me. I will fill this empty page with insights as soon as I have my coffee, make a few calls, check some ball scores and doodle a bit more, freeing my mind to expound on whatever.

A Perfect Storm

I have a leaky valve in my kitchen under the sink which prevents me from using my dishwasher. The plumber said he needs the main valve to be shut off before he can replace it. The super says he can only do that between ten and two pm. He needs a day notice to let the other residents know..
I need to use my dish washer or the hoses will rot even though I only use a few dishes and bowls. I had to clean out my cabinets after water flooded them. I lost four rolls of paper towels. I suppose next to getting bombed by drones this is minor. You'd think a guy with a BA degree could change a valve,
At least I figured out how to set the clock on my stove, which is electric and the first time it began clicking when I turned it on I ran out of the condo.
Why don't salesmen tell you these things?

Song to Song

Song to Song is Terrance Mallick's new film. Everyone should see one of his movies sometime. This one is like nothing else out there. lots of odd scenes, beautiful scenes, sensual scenes. A meandering story, many characters searching for love and freedom from their hum drum lives.
Ryan Gosling, Michael Fassbinder, Rooney Mara and Natalie Portman star. Supporting characters are as attractive. At two hours it felt a bit long. I especially enjoyed Mara's wide ranging performance. Many closeups. Lots of graceful movement among them, almost like a long dance.
Takes place during the Austin music fest. Patti Smith and Iggy of the Stooges have cameos.
It's not an easy film to follow as characters come and go. The idea of power through manipulation is central. Who can you trust. There were three people in this early afternoon showing and two left halfway through.

The Bookstore

I'm in this bookstore a lot. I'm a writer, so I notice everything and what I see is this: one or two clerks manning the register, another at the coffee stand--and no one else on the floor.
But there is a door in the back and young employees are constantly coming out and going back in. They are flushed and in a hurry, looking serious. I hesitate to stop them, even to ask a book question.
This has been going on for months since the store opened.
I do not believe this is a real bookstore. I think it is a front for something very sinister. What makes it more curious is all these young people look so clean cut and innocent.
There are a number of possibilities. Sex orgies. Maybe, not likely. Not disheveled enough. A secret police spying headquarters. I can see that. A group of hackers focused on destroying Barnes and Noble. No, B&N is going down by its own self.
Some sort of smuggling operation. Priceless bookmarks? Fountain pens? Magnets?
I sense some of these people are trained killers despite their preppy appearance.
I should find another store, but their coffee is so good.

Book Club Night

It was Alice's turn to choose a book for our monthly meeting and she picked a biography of Bob Fosse. Her instructions came soon after. You simply cannot read about this man without paying tribute to his work. Even the four men had to participate.
The month passed too quickly for the guys. Roy, Ted and Al dreaded the meeting. Joe, however, seemed too excited. The other fellows looked very uncomfortable in their heels and black mesh stockings. Not Joe.
Alice put on a CD--All That Jazz. They began performing the Fosse moves, sensual and sizzling. Lack of flexibility limited the leg kicks, but the quick turns and posturing were exquisite.
They applauded themselves and sat for coffee and light refreshments. Roy chose the next book. It was an account of The Battle of the Bulge from WWII. I hope we don't have to wear uniforms, Alice joked.
Meanwhile, Joe, sitting in the corner, excited by the feel of mesh stockings, was exhibiting his own Battle of the Bulge.

A Madman

Joe was a madman convinced Death was upon him. I tried convincing him this was nonsense. He looked like a Greek god. His behavior became more unhinged. Plus he was lonely. If he saw an attractive crossing guard he began foaming at the mouth.
I finally took him to my favorite cafe and pointed to a group of writers seated in the corner. They were reading from laptops and notebooks. Joe heard them and became wide eyed. You see, I said, you are not mad. Madness is in that corner. Listen to that nonsense.
Joe beamed with joy. As we left, we passed the table full of madness. They were still reading gibberish. Only the guy in the Mets cap looked remotely sane. We exchanged smiles. He knew he was surrounded by madness. But they served good coffee.

Michelangelo's Biggest Complaints

His wife kept interrupting with local gossip while he was painting the Sistine chapel.
He had to pee way too often.
Some clergy wanted Satan included.
Stain glass window light hurt his eyes.
The paint by numbers kit he began with was insufficient.
Come spring, contractors were refurbishing the entire place in stucco.
His agent had lost a bundle of his earnings investing in a Mother of Jesus clothing line.
They didn't tell him the damn ceiling was curved.
He could never draw hands and feet.
The Pope wanted his likeness in there somewhere, minus the belly fat.

Seven Silly Squirrels

This was a writing prompt that stumped me. Then I wondered what Steven King would do with it.

The squirrels could be a metaphor for seven evil children who terrorize a town in Maine.
Keep them as animals, rabid and voracious.
The town sociopath murdered squirrels as a child and now they return in ghost form.
Make them a metaphor for seven evil councilmen behind a series of disappearances.
Or a cabal of seven crazy DPW workers who kidnap people and torture them in the DPW shed where an evil surgeon experiments on them.
The squirrels are very large and eat small pets.
They surround a house where the parents are gone and trap three kids inside by chewing the phone wires.

Nah. Nothing silly in any of that.
But since Nov. in this country the concept of silly has lost all meaning.

Refrigerator Cleanout

She went all Skull Island on my fridge.
"How can you live like this? Open plates and cans. Containers with who knows what. Your vegetable bin looks like Dunkirk. Is that cheese? That brown thing-liverwurst? You cannot just leave hummus for months. I'm afraid to look in your freezer."
I stood there helpless. I thought I saw something move inside the hummus.
She went to work tossing out everything but the bread and butter.
I pity the garbageman.
This woman is a cleaning machine. I accept the humiliation because she is family and won't charge me a cent.

Objections

Lisa's dad was upset. Phil's 17 year old daughter was leaving for school wearing a revealing blouse with low cleavage.
"Go back upstairs and change, young lady. I will not have you out in public looking like that."
"Get with the times, dad. Women make their own choices now. We have the freedom to dress how we wish. We make our own standards."
Phil sighed and fumed. He had raised a stubborn girl.
Lisa strapped on her backpack, grabbed her pogo stick and pogoed 16 blocks to school.
There were four car accidents involving male drivers that morning.
That night, over his objection, his wife led them into seeing Moonlight instead of Kong-Skull Island.
Her rationale was it won Best Picture. His excuse was lots of large beasts eating each other. Women just do not understand.

Scammed

He knocked at 9am. Showed me a badge that said Department of Home Wildlife. He seemed harmless, so I let him in. He said he needed to do inventory, quickly withdrew a plastic object ,that when pointed at something, ticked.
He moved around scanning everything. Sometimes the ticks were soft, sometimes loud. After five minutes he told Joe he was under the approved limit. Of what? Joe asked.
Dust mites ,was the answer. He needed 400 per square foot and was well short.
We can do this hard or easy, the man said. I could fine you and take you in right now. Or, because we're compassionate, I have 60000 mites in my trunk I could sell you for $49.95. Your decision.
Joe swallowed. His body shook.
Do you give senior discounts? he asked
Do I look stupid? the man shot back.
Joe sighed and went to get his checkbook.

Things You Decorate

My walls
Your walls
Small pets
My skull
Slow Moving Kids
Sneakers
Hub Caps
Gazebos
Panhandlers
Wendy's baked potato
Baby's crib
Cannibal pot
Tattoos
Cemetaries
Refrigerator

Germ Town

Scouts informed the leaders of Germ Town their mission was accomplished. Joe had bronchitis. He coughed up phlegm, spewed mucus, ran a fever and felt weak and achy. Success! A carnival atmosphere prevailed.
But then one germ spoke up--suppose he dies? What happens to us? We either get buried or cremated with him.
Moans enveloped the air. All dancing ceased. Stop the Attack! The order filtered down to the warrior germs in his lungs. Joe's symptoms eased and his health improved. He decided to attend a nearby summer festival. His germs lay around bored, waiting for him to sneeze in someone's face so they could launch themselves onto another human and begin a new attack. They would tie up and gag anti biotics.
Joe bought cotton candy from a worker who did not wash his hands after using the facilities. Now a new community of evil microscopic vandals awaited the order to attack.
Joe never knew what hit him.

Last Cherry Blossom

Global warming and pollution had left the world with just one cherry blossom tree. Thousands gathered and waited for it to bloom. Alas, only a single blossom made it to maturity.It was so beautiful, people fainted.
Society is adaptable and decided to imbue beauty on objects never thought of in those terms. Telephone poles, ice cubes, sewer grates, cellophane, rust, shower curtains, and turtles. Parks filled with people photographing turtles on rocks.
Joe avoided that horde, deciding to sit on a bench and observe the intricate beauty of pond scum. He imagined its tactile impression upon his bare skin. He stood and stripped and waded into the pond. Unfortunately, he was unaware of the snapping turtles swimming under water.
He is now known as Josephine.

No Logic

Logically you put the pickles next to the relish and other condiments. But Joe was in a rut, stagnating and decided to shake things up by reorganizing his fridge. Maybe his writer's bpock would end.
He moved the vegetables out of the vegetable bin and spread them on all shelves. He yanked the link sausage out of the freezer and stuck them next to the milk and grabbed the avocados off the top of the fridge and stuck them in the fruit bin. All logic was tossed out and nothing was where it should be.
He still could not write. So he drove to his writer's support group and moved people out of their seats and into the hall.
At one point he saw Rose picking lint off her sweater and it hit him. Attack of the Sweater Lint. A trilogy. Yes, a logical evolution. Rose would get 10%.

Random Sentences

I had writer's block and the characters I had previously created pounded on my garage door, frantic to be thrust into a narrative, ANY narrative. I questioned my identity as a writer. When I called Abe, another writer, he said he had plenty of stories, but no characters and suggested a trade.

On his third date with Ellen, John's hairpiece caused his scalp to itch. He doubted she guessed he was bald, but there was questioning in her eyes as she watched him squirm in his seat, dying to scratch.

Carl, the leader of the workshop, spoke in a confident, authoritative voice about narrative arc. My attention, however, was focused on the hot women wearing peach sitting next to me. If I wanted to sell articles I'd better concentrate on Carl--I had rent to pay.

My fifteenth book was just published and before you get all hussy about destroyed trees, consider that if you invited me to your parties I'd have less time to write and there would be fewer books.

Cooking Ignorance

I was given a crock pot and recipe book, which I opened once and got a headache reading a few. Too complicated.
I gave both to the Salvation Army.
I should learn to cook, but when you are this country's foremost flash fiction writer there are other priorities. My cooking friends claim it is easy. When you're afraid of opening the oven, let alone turning it on, that is an issue.
Ovens are basically evil.
All my serious cooking is done inside my head when I am bursting through a writing project and ideas assault me from everywhere. I am a brick oven pizza above the neck, aflame with anchovy alliteration, an absurdist chef with an apron stained with imagination.
Talk about muscular prose.

Cards on the Table

Will had a poker face, making it impossible to know what he was feeling. His project was to build a gazebo and Emily, his foreperson, was frustrated. I need more feedback, she complained.
Cards on the table, Will. Are you all in on this? A sturdy, elegant gazebo changes a town's personality and creates a meeting place.
Will understood her point, but explained his ambivalence. A gazebo is the frightening gateway to folk singers. They will converge from miles around, singing of clean air and water, pipelines, immigrants, health care, the broken middle class, not enough portable toilets, parks and park benches. Depressed people will stay home and eventually poets will arrive and take over our streetsbecause the folkies won't abandon this gazebo.
Will and Emily hugged. An early arriving folkie applauded.

The Problem

The problem is my bloated belly. A shame that body part diverts attention from my more impressive features. Removing navel lnt is not a solution. My doctor says I must given up potatoes. My existences revolves around that food staple. Stay away from carbs. The universe is full of carbs. Might as well tell me to stop breathing.
At the gym I envy flat bellied creatures. I could suck it in, but that is blatant denial.I am salivating for a Wendy's baked potato with all the toppings. All these young people eating everything they want, seeing me as a paunchy old guy who moves slow.
I hope Obama gets fat in retirement. No carbs make me cruel and insensitive.

Acting Impulsively

Kile's life was completely ordered and planned. He never made a move without analyzing the consequences. Every Wednesday from 10 to 11am he sat on the same bench in the same park meditating.
One day he opened his eyes and saw a squirrel staring at him. Their eyes met and a connection was formed. He was touched. Kile reached into his pocket where he always kept 21 white Tic Tacs and tossed some to the animal. It swallowed them and rolled around in ecstasy. Kile was bemused.
Every Wednesday he did the same thing with what he was sure was the same squirrel. One day, while walking, he discovered a racoon leaping from the bushes. He tossed some Tic Tacs at it, hoping for another connection with nature. This time EMS workers had to be called to tranquilize the beast so they could pry it from Kile's neck.
As he recovered, Kile realized impulsiveness had consequences. When he returned to the park the cold had driven away the squirrels and he was alone with his Tic Tacs and well ordered life.

My Greatest Sacrifice

I had a perfectly good life as a Boy Toy. Women could use me and pass me along to other older ladies. I fulfilled a need without having to go to work at some factory.
One day some of us Boy Toys were having brunch and Allen mentioned an article he'd read in Boy Toy Month;ly by a former BT, who declared this was a shallow way to live and we should be ashamed of ourselves. Much debate ensued. Yes, Boy Toys do debate occasionally.
When I got home I began thinking. It gave me a headache, but I questioned whether there was more I was capable of. It would have been simple to transition to Chic Magnet, but I made a sacrifice. I let my hair fall out, lost my six pack abs and abandoned my perfect posture.
I became a writer. Now I have gravitas, respect and substance.
Sometimes, just for fun, I will flash some chest hair, but I will never go back. Gravitas does not grow on trees.

Sink or Swim

Frank knew opening a garter belt shop was a gamble. They were not as popular as in the past. He has 16 different colors and fabrics. He came up with a novel promotion--edible garter belts. Get the customers in the store, then push the other products.
He discovered he needed something more. Condiments. Once he stocked relish, mustard, ketchup, mayonnaise, in store traffic exploded. His garter belts were flying off the shelf. Now he wants to open a second shop for men--edible cummerbunds. At some point he will try to market edible suspenders and cuff links. Making love and dining will be simultaneous.
This is a gamble, but as with any business venture, it is a sink or swim proposition.

Bikini Rage

So the Suburban Princess posts a shot of her in a bikini on Valentine's Day and I share it, figuring her positive message to other young women is I don't have a guy, but I still feel good about myself.
Bam! Delete that, she messages me. Immediately! No polite request.
Huh? What did I do? I didn't ask her to post it. Once it's out there you can't dictate what others do with a post. They can ignore it, hit Like or Love or Sad or make a comment or share or any combination of the above. Short of making racist remarks, all of that is appropriate.
Before that, she posts an eight year old video of her and a friend learning Spanish. And before that, a photo of her and her brother mooning the camera. I never asked to see this stuff.
While this nonsense is put out there, never does she post samples of her writing, which can then be linked to her website. She ignores all my suggestions to succeed as a scribe.
Plus, with all the stuff going on in our government, she never posts a single opinion about anything. Meanwhile, we have to see shots of her new hairstyle or outfit. This is an Ivy League graduate.
Suburban Princess thinks she's Tyra Banks.
So I un-friended her. She too self absorbed to even notice. No wonder she's single.

Potato Ban

I am no longer allowed to have potatoes. Let that sink in. Too many carbs, my doctor says.
I am doing nothing but dreaming about potatoes. Not just fries and hash browns and chips. Wendy's baked potato with all the toppings. Eat just one there is no need for sex all week.
God, what am I going to do? Beans? Maybe for awhile that will suffice. Pork rinds are his orders, nothing but pork rinds without carbs.
Maybe I'll order hash browns and sniff them.
I want to bury my face in a sliced yam and suck out all the yamness. Without potatoes is there a reason to go on?
I hesitate to ask him about gelato. What if he shakes his head? How will I fit into society if I can't partake of those two food staples?
You will see me wandering around supermarkets sobbing quietly, forced into the organic foods aisle. Even organic potatoes are off limits. I knew thought adulthood could be like this.

Dream Team

Dwight was having horrible nightmares and a medical dream team was called in. The neurologist suggested faulty brain wiring and not enough serotonin. The psych guy thought he was molested as a child. The ENT lady thought it was a sinus infection. The nutritionist diagnosed too much lettuce and not enough fiber. The urologist just want to poke around up there. The cardiologist sensed an irregular heartbeat, while the endocrinologist surmised it was mini stroke caused by diabetes complications.
On the patient's fifth day in the hospital, the custodian noticed a postcard on the  floor in the closet. He showed it to Dwight, who began screaming.
It said "Species Unknown--Paintings by Joe". An illustration of a monster was included.
The mystery of Dwight's nightmares was solved.

PS- I have such an exhibit at a local library.

Ugly Chair

She told the salesman she needed an ugly chair as a conversation piece because she was so dull guests would doze off. He nodded and said we may have something.
When he returned dragging a chair that looked normal, she had doubts.
This looks like perfectly average chair, she said.
The salesman smiled and said, I'd like you to meet Keith. He comes with the chair. Keith gave her a toothy smile.
I don't understand, she said.
The salesman nodded to Keith, who began speaking.
"The Flying Wallendas are down to third cousins due to so many accidents. The average weight of a certified accountant is 183.5 pounds. People in Arkansas pass more wind per minute than any other state. East Honduras is a fake country created by drunken cartographers."
He went on for another five minutes before she agreed that this would do.
The salesman told her Keith needed to hydrate and get enough fiber and he would be serviceable for a decade.
She kissed the salesman on the cheek and left smiling.

Things We Walk On

sand
gravel
hot coals
timid people
dead insects
loving insects
damp bathroom rugs
crumbling dynaties
quicksand is we're quick
someone's back as a masseuse
cobblestones
stick on tile
toes if a dancer
someone's hopes

The Hole Whisperer

I sit before the mirror waiting for my ear hair to grow back, trimmer in hand. Some would say there is a void in my life. I am a retired shoemaker. I have fixed over 28000 holes in the soles. They did a documentary on me. I am known as the Hole Whisperer.
Let me hold up this mirror. Ah, a tiny hair that wasn't there two hours ago. When you stick that trimmer right up your nostril it can be arousing. Really.
I also enjoy waiting for toast. You know the result, but when will the process take place? I will place my fish tank nearby and watch the fish leap in fear when the toast pops. Or maybe it's excitement.
Would it be inappropriate to use my trimmer on my armpits? Why am I asking you? You're sitting there eating a bowl of kale.

By Candlelight

I count my Pimento olives by candlelight. I rub them across my bare chest.My wife doesn't understand me.
Everyone looks better in candlelight. I once bought a Mother Teresa candle, but feared lighting it. Blasphemy. My favorite is one depicting rhesus monkeys with their arms folded. So romantic.
There should be a meet up group for those who like to caress melted wax.  Large dinners with candles and famous fashion designers is my goal.
Enter a cave with just a candle. Gently engage with the bear living there. Experience spirituality. Then run like hell.
One man with a candle can enlighten more people than a hundred government officials on Twitter,
I just created a bumper sticker.

Park Things

Old men slumping on benches.
Old women yelling at strangers.
Mediocre musicians and mimes.
Kids splashing in germ loaded fountains.
Homeless poets with chapped lips.
Important people making vital calls as they stride past.
The splattered pigeon droppings
So much mud.
Religious ranters.
Sometimes a little bit of quiet.
Compassionate folks who straighten out slumping old men.
Locked bathrooms.

Distractions

My glistening body parts as I step ourt of the shower.
Michael Bolton ringtones
The kid upstairs running all over as you pray he will run into an end table
Someone begins a sentence, 'I hope you won't perceive this as a criticism'
A Going Out of Business sale at a porn shop
Loud talkers with soft thoughts
Burning one link sausage in your micro and eating it as a punishment
Waiting for your printer to warm up
Pop up ads for male enhancement
Any fridge minus cheese

Marching

I was a lousy shot in the Army Reserves, but a terrific marcher. Marching kept me sane while I was learning to kill and maim. I haven't marched since.
Here are some causes I might march for:
The overuse of parenthesis by some writers.
Uneven sidewalks geared toward making old people fall.
Slow moving tourists.
Ferris whells in general.
Wearing flip flops in Fanuary.
Crockpots and their recipes.
Strangers conversing with you on lines.
People sitting  in cars in public parks.
Too many different types of apples.
Elvis Costello's continuing career.
The lack of legislation limiting public scratching.

I'll tell you who knows how to march.
The North Koreans. Man, can those buggers march up a storm.
College bands can also get it done. If they rebel and spell out an obscenity, we can always blame the Mexicans.

Good Pitch

Ladies and gentlemen,I stand here with an offer that will amaze you. Three legged dogs as pets. Think of the upside. How much easier will it be to meet people curious about your pet? Also, you can negotiate a discount with the vet.
If your dog falls over in front of kids, they will learn compassion. They will also discover the power of gravity. The pet will remain loyal because it is too slow to run away. If you have a limp no one will notice because of your dog.
I am offering these striking freaks of nature at the low low price of $16.99 each. Okay, I'll knock a couple of bucks for a dachshund. I will throw in a free leash and dog collar.
Well, miss, that is between you and your man what you do with them.

Finster and Krauss

What a song writing team. Never heard of them? Finster and Krauss composed some of the best polka tunes in history. Neither was Polish, played the accordion, wore suspenders, or funny hats with feathers and lederhosen.
But they loved polka.
So why didn't their careers soar? Two words--Freddie Krazewski. He ruled the Polish polka underworld with an iron fist.
You do not get radio play or distribution unless you pay Freddie his dues. When he sent two associates to Finster and Kraus, they were defiant. So they were tossed onto sharp piano strings, causing cuts and bleeding, throwing the instrument out of tune.
The team decided to relocate to Arizona, not exactly a hot bed for polka. Soon they gave up and went their separate ways.
I actually purchased one of the few raw tapes of their music at a flea market. I shake my head at the sustained power and beauty of their work. I heard one writes Geico commercials and one became a funeral director.
I feel like the public got robbed.

Ego

I called in professionals to haul away my ego, which had been preventing me from seeing the reality of my life. My novels will never sell. I will never marry well. A carpet salesman is who I am.
My ego was too big to place in a jar of acid. It took up most of my living room, blocking my flat screen. The men came up on a freight elevator all ready to haul it away. Until they saw it. Even with a hand truck they could not budge it.
I decided to chop it up and sell the pieces on line to insecure people. But I just could not do it. My ego is part of who I am. I thought about going to the circus to take my mind off this. But there is no more circus anymore. What happens to clown egos now? Maybe I could somehow breed my ego with a clown ego. Just brain storming here.