A Molecule Affair

Maria was the very first molecule created. She was surrounded by darkness and silence. What was her purpose? Sub atomic particles bounced around inside her. She wanted answers.
One day Anthony appeared. Another molecule. Soon they were a couple. They wanted to merge, but had no extremities and sex hadn't been created yet. Their particles were getting more restless. Maria and Anthony decided to take a break.
Soon, however, billions of other molecules appeared. They lost track of each other. Maria wound up in Cleopatra and Anthony was placed inside Napoleon. Two different, but exciting lives.
Life became more complex. Time as a concept became important. Particle accelerators destroyed sub atomic particles. Maria and Anthony never did meet again. This tragic couple was lost to time.

Francis

Nunzio knew being a good father meant teaching your son. Francis was frightened. He looked up at the 40 foot tree and cringed. You got this, his father insisted. It's in your DNA. Go ahead and climb.
His son tentitively grasped the tree and started climbing. At ten feet, he lost his grip and fell. His big eyes pleaded with his father to take him home, but Nunzio was determined to finish this task.
Ten, fifteen times Francis tried  and the resulys were the same. Nunzio despaired. Was he a failure as a father?
Suddenly a tour bus pulled up full of people with cameras. Francis spotted them and impulsively scampered to the top of the tree and hung upside down on a sturdy branch. One tourist became so excited, he got off the bus and walked toward the tree. The tour guide ran up and stopped him. Koala bears look cute, but they can quickly turn vicious. Get back on the bus.
Francis eventually dozed off up there.

Husky Revolt

The eight huskies stopped dead. The sled came to a halt. The maniac driving it cursed them. Walt, husky leader, told his crew what they already surmised--the human was insane. Crossing Antarctica alone in sub zero temperatures was suicide. We didn't sign up for this, he barked. The others howled in agreement.
We need to turn this baby around and head back to civilization. I want to have kids. My balls are frozen. So is my tongue. Eight of us, one of him. Plus, you're sick of staring at each other's butt hole. We were ready to sacrifice in the name of exploration, but not this insanity. Even Polar bears are huddled together.
Let's shift our weight and do a reverse. If he falls out, not our problem. See that? He just spit on Malcolm. The swine.

Dracula

Dracula was getting impatient. His watch said 315 PM. Five more hours until daylight. His idiot caretaker insisted on leaving his coffin in the living room with the TV on.
Dr. Phil was a blowhard. Ellen was silly and immature. He knew all of Rachel Ray's recipes. Got annoyed at soap operas. Judge Judy scared him. So did the women on The View.
He was consumed with nightfall and blood. His caretaker sometimes played music. Metallica, Radiohead, Connie Francis and Barry Manilow. Dracula especially enjoyed the Andy Williams Christmas album.
But the days dragged to the point he wished he weren't the un-dead.He wondered what blood type Dr. Phil was. The only real celebrity he'd bitten, bit him right back. It was Dick Cheney. Dracula respected that man. How could he not?

Silence

I live in silence. My condo has no parties, my neighbors are quiet. Sometimes it is so quiet I play with zippers and call credit card customer service just to hear menus.
People who live out in the country must go slowly insane. I think that's what happened to J.D. Salinger over the years.
Last night I was alone in a coffee shop except for a guy sitting behind me who didn't make a peep. I hardly knew he was there as I wrote in my notebook. Maybe the glare from the top of my skull drove him into a trance.
There was mercifully no piped in music, no scrambling, giggling kids.I closed my eyes and thought about my legacy as a writer. Then I thought about chocolate as I remained in my quiet little bubble.It was so silent I prayed I wouldn't fart and have it heard by the teenage counter girls.

The Journey

Eldon was exhausted, as was his family. The covered wagon bounced and jerked sideways. His kids cried. His wife was a pillar of strength, which kept him going.
He had the paperwork giving him a stake, a piece of land he could farm. His cousin Josepi was already established out west with a pizza parlor. Business was popping, although he had to make his own cheese.
His son asked about Indians and Eldon could not betray his own concern. Day after day they trudged on through freezing cold and wind. One day it rained hard, causing serious mud, which the horses got bogged down in. They were stranded. Off in the distance they heard music growing closer.
Out of the rain and fog emerged a mariachi band. They were lost, looking for Mexico.
Eldon pointed south and told them to keep going in that direction. In return, the band offered a maracas player. Cannibalism crossed Eldon's mind for a moment. He shook his head. Even here in the middle of nowhere, a man must keep his principles. Eating one of the horses was not off the table however.

Dissent

The idea came to me as I drove past a Chuck E. Cheese. Why not a similar place for adults. where they could engage recklessly. I'd call it Dissent, a place where adults could gather and do nothing but argue.
Light refreshments would be served and admision would be $20 a head. Get all of it off your chest. Make it clear you are right 100%. Lung power was vital. Listening was not. Anyone caught agreeing would be tossed out.
For a $100 yearly membership you get a black card entitling you to join any Dissent group anywhere.
Who needs understanding when one has a perfectly good position?
I personally believe not all body fungus is bad. Go ahead, argue that.

Moving In

James was excited about moving into his condo. He decluttered from his old apartment and cherished the storage space next to his bathroom. Perfect for keeping his beloved paintings.
However, he didn't know how to store Sally, Elsa, Gretchen and Lupita. He could just leave them in their containers. Maybe leave just one inflated and ready for romance. Lately he felt a strong attraction to Lupita. Elsa had sprung a leak, leaving her less than satisfying. Sally seemed bored and Gretchen  was simply not as flexible as in years past.
James decided to table this decision and focus on matching his throw rugs with his drapes. If he had guests he wanted them to assume he was just like them. The bank certainly would not give a mortgage to someone strange.

Poised Pen

Everyone was jealous of Nicky for being such a prolific writer, turning out one book after another. He'd sit alone in a cafe typing away, oblivious to everything.
We must distract him, they thought. But how?
Rhonda was the answer. Stacked, beautiful and willing to help, she asked if she could sit across from him. Nicky nodded without looking u p. She leaned forward and cleared her throat. Nicky look ed up and froze. He couldn't breathe.
She introduced herself, asked what he was writing. A bio of Frederick Douglas, he stammered. Do you also write?
No, she answered. I'm an exotic dancer at Club Carnal on Route 46. Nicky swallowed. Perhaps you can write about me, she suggested.
Nicky nodded quickly. You would have to see me dance first. Nicky kept nodding and breathing hard.
His concentration was shot. She leaned forward even further, giving him a good look.
Are you single, she asked.
Nicky nodded and closed his laptop and opened his heart.

New Language

The toxic culture in the office had to be addressed. Too much friction, insults, cruelty. People hated coming to work.
Manager Naomi opened a large cardboard box and began handing out hand puppets. This is how we will communicate from now on, she said. Use your hand puppets and smile as you speak. Wiggle it, rub it against your coworker's face. Communicate!
Joe kept to himself. Naomi cornered him. What's wrong, Joseph. He frowned. My puppet looks like Harvey Feirstein. How can I imitate his raspy frog in heat voice? Why didn't you give me Michael Buble or even Pee Wee Herman? You just added more stress to my life.
Naomi sighed. Give it a chance. She walked off. Joe rubbed his puppet against his cheek and whispered,Sspeak to me, Harvey.
Later, he rejoined the group, a strange smile on his face.

The Namers

The Namers stared at the object before them, trying to contain their excitement. Sniffed it, examined it from all angles. This was something completely new. Puzzlement. Consternation.
Possibilities were tossed out. None semmed to fit. Brain block. Mind fog.
Maybe we should taste it, one suggested. No, that's against protocol, another responded. Just then one member coughed and sneezed simultaneously. A collective light bulb went off. That's it! That sound is this object.
The leader took a deep breath and shouted Falafel!
The group broke into applause. Another project successfully completed.
They then devoured said project in seconds.

Insect Threat

They are watching us. Trillions of insects just waiting to destroy mankind. Not birds--birds are harmless. Insects. Crawling, hopping, buzzing, staring with nightmarish bug eyes.
We've let our guard down, focusing on global warming. Nonsense. We're blinded by the grace of the mantis, the flash of the firefly, charming crickets, lovely ladybugs, industrious ants, undefeated roaches.
Outnumbered, we must do what the Russians do--strike first.
I've written letters, distributed leaflets, texted and emailed the authorities.  Insects are our mortal enemies--that's my message.
They feed me well here. The bed is a bit uncomfortable, especially with the restraints, which come off if I'm good.
They think I'm going to harm myself. Fools. Right there in the corner I see a tiny spider watching me, forming its nefarious strategy. If necessary, I will eat it.

Brain Cells

Out of billions of brain cells, it's been established men only use 11 for decision making and judgment calls. That's right--11.
Women use about a billion. But they also use at least that much for discussing each decision with their friends and with men.
Guys use those 11 for guy things like--
smashing beer cans on their foreheads
playing video games until they lose consciousness
revving their motorcycles really loud
skinny dipping wearing only neck jewelry
refusing to collect clipped toenails
nuzzling thes dog too long
running against traffic
scratching in strange places
offering to light a woman's cigarette with a flashy lighter
trying to look thoughtful without getting a headache

Sorry

I'm sorry I missed your wedding. I'm sure it went well. I didn't come because I'm sitting here in a grungy Motel 6 room with no job. I punched out my boss. My car was repossessed. I'm broke and am mainlining smack. My bank account is a myth. My friends abandoned me after I refused to get help.I haven't shaved or showered in days. I don't smell too good. My landlord changed the locks.
After you broke up with me, my life took a bad turn. If I weren't on the first floor, I'd leap out the window.
So I missed your wedding. Have a great life.

Cataract Hell

They don't tell you everything beforehand. 1% of cataract removals cause problems. Fine. I'll take those odds.
He removed a big one from my right eye. Done in five minutes. Assembly line office. I get home, take off the plastic see through cover as instructed. Can't see anything but white light. Not even a blur. I figure the cause is a dilated pupil. Hours pass. No change. Pupil still dilated at bedtime. Next morning pupil is back to normal. But I still can't see out of the eye.
Must call friend to drive me to doctor. They show no alarm. The doctor looks into my eye. Tells me the size of the cataract caused swelling in the cornea and fluid accumulation. A not uncommon result of this surgery.
I'm given beta blocker drops which should lower the pressure in my eye and ease the swelling. Online, it says recovery can be anywhere from two days to much longer. Right now I have 50% vision in te eye.
They don't tell you everything.

Between Us

Just between us...
I peek into public bathroom stalls to make sure the previous occupant flushed.
I'm wearing black fishnet stockings right now.
I never watched Mr. Rogers and fear those who did.
Every time I eat out little kids come up to me and stare until their parents call them back.
I use way too much shampoo for the amount of hair I have.
I lust after women in yoga pants.
I have a sensory alert system that detects when someone will pass wind.
I use people with blank expressions as inspiration to feel good about myself.
I am afraid of unicyclists and carnival music.
I fear animal trainers dressed in cache.
I also fear pauses in conversation, which is when I remove my shirt to get things started again.

SWitched at Birth

Sometimes I think I was switched at birth. None of my brothers understand my sense of humor. I honestly think Bob Newhart was my father.
I wonder if nurses secretly check out ugly parents and match up ugly babies with them. Who would know?
Where did Obama really come from? Was his mom white? What about invitro fertilization? How does that fit into this discussion?
I'd enjoy hearing  a
duet between Pavarotti and Ernesto Invitro, the great Spanish tenor.
Call me a lot of things, but do not call me shallow.

Woke

I have more than one thing on my mind. I am interested in a woman's history, thoughts, choices, philosophy. I am a good listener and ask questions. I want to know what makes her laugh. I almost never notice cleavage.
I am mature, respectful, sensitive. I just wish women would appreciate all these qualities and cease undressing me with their eyes.
There is more to life than making money. My books are not selling much. But I'm content publishing for future generations to salivate over and cellebrate my work and life.
Can I borrow a quarter for the meter?

Turquoise

The Chorde family loved that color. Their clothes, drapes, paint and car were turquoise. They dyed their dog that color. When a relative died, the casket was that color. Martin and Julia told their kids The Founding Fathers wore turquoise socks.
All was fine until the Catholic Church declared the color turquoise Satan's color. They abolished it from the churches and any Catholic who associated with it would be excommunicated.The Chordes consulted Father Ned, who pointed out no fruit, vegetables, fish or meat was purple. Not even pickles, cole slaw or mushrooms.
Look what happened to circuses, which employed the color without limit. Gone, all of them bankrupt.
Martin and Julia considered creating a gas leak and ending it through carbon doxide. But suicide is against the Church, she reminded him.
But, he said, if we go to hell, we'll be surrounded by turquoise!Yes!

Boy Scout

Larry lay awake in the tent, certain snakes were sliding in. Everyone else was asleep. He hated the Boy Scouts. Hated camping, hiking, merit badges, itchy uniforms, silly caps. His parents forced him to join. All he wanted to do was play pool and win bets.
Too warm, he climed out of his sleeping bag and went outside. He decided to pee in the bushes, wild life be damned.
That is where he found fellow scout Elmer, who also hated this situation. I want to go home , he sobbed. They kept each other company until dawn and fell asleep. Scoutmaster Willis searched all over for them next morning in vain. Police were called in.
All they found out of the ordinary was the largest garter snake they'd ever seen. Absolutely engorged. Weeks later, Larry's parents still believed he had run away to Portland or Seattle. Elmer's parents assumed he was eaten by wild ferrets. They moved on with their lives.

Final Warning

Bill got a final warning letter demanding he make friends. A three friend quota was required and he was remiss. The authorities were concerned about the populace focusing on tablets. Businesses were empty. So were parks and streets. Bill's neighbor, Joe, a writer, also got the letter. They decided to be each other's friend, meaning they only needed two more.
The barber, mailman, street cleaners, crossing guard all turned them down. So did  Mr. Mann, their old gym teacher.
There was a theater group in town. Actors could pretend to be their friend.
A woman answered the door at the theater. Looked them up and down. Will you be our friend, they asked. She smiled and invited them in.
I'll be your friend if you'll do something for me.
What would that be, they asked.
Come inside and I'll tell you. They hesitated and shrugged. Bad mistake.

Trimming the Fat

I needed to declutter and trim the fat from my life. Simplify things so I could have more time to write.
I informed six distant relatives I was dead to them. I unfriended 420 people. I only wash one armpit each day and do not shave under my chin to save time. My gym workout now consists of flexing my calves and stretching my neck. I tossed out my Futons for Dummies book and old photos of frat buddies holding wooden paddles.
I've cleaned out all my belly button lint. Extracting my butt crack lint is an ongoing process.
What's that? You'll never shake hands with me again? So be it. Writing comes first.

Furniture Sale

My neighbor saw the SOLD sign in front of my house and inquired if I was selling furniture. His was old and in bad shape. I let him in and he toured the place, making a list. As he calculated what he was willing to pay, I suggested we check the basement. I hit the light switch and we descended the stairs.

In the middle of the floor was a bare metal gurney with thick restraining straps hanging where the arms and legs would be. A power saw lay on a stool. On the wall hung cuffs, chains, whips, a ball gag, a blow torch, among other items. In the corner sat a gallon of bleach and a vat of acid.
I can give you everything here for $600, I said.
I turned and he was halfway up the stairs, screaming. But, of course, the entire area was sound proofed.

Hopscotch and Hula Hoops

Let me explain something. As a kid, while others were outside playing their stupid games, I was reading 19th century philosophers and thinking about the meaning of things. I did not come near a hula hoop until I was 32 and coming off a bad break up. It soothed my depression.
I did venture out and played hopscotch one time. First, I calculated the geometry, physics, wind condition, barometer, torque and other factors. Then I went out and destroyed those snotty ignoramuses, absolutely annihilated them.
The reason I had no friends growing up is jealousy. They resented my superiority.
Now, years later, I have 14 different medical conditions and stress like you wouldn't believe. I spent hours searching for a hula hoop, but no one stocks them. Maybe I should try to find a hug somewhere.

Downstairs

They asked me to come along. I was lonely, so I said yes. Five of us walking into the night to a small pub. We went downstairs in almost complete darkness. It smelled of fresh cold cuts. People sat around in a haze. Trance music played. I drank something and got dizzy.
The lights went up and I saw a small stage. One man was dressed as the Mad Hatter, another as the Cheshire Cat. A beautiful young woman came out dressed as Alice. She smiled and slowly removed her Mary Janes and knee length white stockings. A woman in a rabbit's costume approached her.
Things got really interesting. Let's just say this fairy tale had happy endings for all of us.

Coveted Membership

I wanted to belong to Narcoleptic International so bad. Twelve times I applied and was turned down. The qualifications were stringent. One must have proof one fell asleep on public transportation, in church, on the toilet, at the podium, showering, walking the dog, eating, having sex, beach combing, etc.
If you have recorded proof of snoring, that helps.
Finally, on my 13th try, I was accepted. I got the notice from Brussels. I was so excited, I had to pee. As you might expect, I dozed off in the middle. That's a downside of this condition.
Now I am going to try to get through this post without...ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ.

Tow Job

The bastard had my car on the hook, ready to drive off. The sign said no parking during office hours. This was well after office hours. I raced up and asked WTF? He said he was only following orders. He would drop my car for $150. What could I do? I should have called the cops, but he would have been long gone with my car. So I got the money from an ATM and forked it over.
He dropped my car and took off. Six other cars were left untouched.
I wrote the mayor, explained everything. I was at the town flea market when it was towed, supporting a local event. I did not even get the courtesy of a response.
Numerous online complaints against the company, accusing it of towing for no reason filled my screen. Guess who's not voting for this clown of a mayor?

Upstate NY

Among the beautiful rolling hills, there are monsters, white men from Albany led by the salivating ogre Cuomo. They charge downstate, howling and raging for more taxes from the citizens. Insatiable, they rip through Gotham, driving people underground. They ate the mayor and his council.
People fled to NJ, only to discover they had their own monsters from Trenton. NY monsters declared it a sanctuary state, allowing refugees to stream in, providing more tax nourishment. One of these interlopers ate Liza Minnelli.
If only the good people of Buffalo and Syracuse would band together and destroy the Albany monsters. Who will protect the Five Boroughs from economic devastation? One voice calls out--I WILL!- Bernie Sanders rises above the rubble.wielding his statistics like a saber.

Private Island

I have many private islands where I go to think and write. A park, coffee shop, diner, a hilltop. Here is where I create the literary equivilant of Wendy;s 4 for $4 deals. Fast, easily digestible, cheap reading.
Libraries have become problematic. People nap there. Adults bring noisy kids. Librarians speak loudly, castigating patrons for various infractions.
When I am with others, I nod a lot while listening, but my mind is miles away. In my private island I imagine myself receiving all sorts of literary rewards, maybe even Wendy's coupons. Sometimes when I speak and people nod, I wonder where their minds are. Are  they tuning me out? Probably just a neck spasm.

Dirty Politics

I can't take it anymore. TV ads featuring voice overs eviscerating political opponents. This one took bribes, that one was with an underage girl, who voted for what that hurt this group.
What they do not mention is what exactly a candidate will do to make our lives better. Do they think we're idiots?
It starts at the local level.Thousands of flyers sent to homes. Ugly accusations.Who do you believe? What can we base our choice on?
More women are running for office than ever. Maybe that will cause more civility. It seems each newspaper or outlet has their favorite and the vitriol directed at the opponent is disgusting. They fabricate stories, cartoonists ridicule targets.
Why would anyone with an ounce of sanity run for office in this divided mess of a country?

Pause and Reflect

Why are we here? Are ceiling fans the answer to our problems?
I shut off the TV and radio, sit back in my recliner to pause and reflect. Where have I succeeded? Where have I fallen short? Am I lovable? Capable of giving love?
Is my sense of humor appropriate? Sometimes I blurt things out before realizing words hurt. So does a blow gun. Meditation should be part of my evolution.
I have lost my hair, but gained wisdom and ear wax. I feel the impulse to hug someone. Maybe that woman sitting over there alone.
My problem with reflecting is preventing weirdness from taking over. I don't think she wants me to hug her. Instead, I will extract that wax.

Simplify It

You need to get help. You give yourself wedgies. I don't like the way you look at squirrels. You scratch too much. You violently slice avocados and spit the pit at me. You glue gunned my grandmother's armpits while she napped. Did the same to my granddad. Old people in pain is not funny.

You toss adult diapers in my shopping cart. Grope my on the checkout line. You removed your shirt at an Engelbert Humperdinck concert. You put our youngest in the hamper to drive me crazy.
Your flaws are obvious. I think you need a hobby. You used to be an attentive  spouse and parent, but you've lost your mind.
Do not go to the zoo. I don't trust you near the flamingos.

Ignorance

You don't know how I disposed of the body of my financial advisor who told me to invest in the Tesla. As Elon Musk suffered a breakdown and the stock plummeted, he assured me to stay the course. Good riddance.
Now I'm broke, but what you don't know is I've created a concoction that will make me wealthy. Pizza and yogurt. Only I know the mixture of ingredients.
All the time we were friends you never knew I was a puppet master. I created puppets in the image of Supreme Court justices, including Ruth Bader Ginzberg. I will present sophisticated puppet shows and charge $50 a pop. I will address all the important issues of our time.
What else don't you know? That they've changed my medication and I am no longer delusional.
Consider yourself woke.

Future Car

Comes with a six foot tall model.
Emits powerful perfume if you pass gas.
Responds to your meaningless babble.
Can elevate over traffic.
Can play recording if stopped by cop explaining driver doesn't understand English.
Automatic shift direction for small animals
Clean up system for small animals who move too slow
Never runs over traffic cones without an apology.
Lets you know if you are leaking.
Plays Twitter posts of Elon Musk.
Refuses to play Michael Bolton music.
Heals its own scratches.
It's horn sounds like Adele.

Hurricane Displacement

The damage was immense. Entire buildings moved from one spot to another. The drugstore in K Mart's lot. K Mart blown into the river. Trader Joe's slammed into a mountainside. A hair salon blown into a palm readers home. An entire strip mall vanished. The police station sandwiched between DPW and a firehouse. A bus depot went flying into a Marriot hotel .Boy Scouts on a camping trip lost their tents and scoutmaster who was found in a dumpster.
All the municipal offices were squashed into pancakes. Dogs and cats may still be air born. A Best Buy wound up blocking the flooded highway and Geek Squad members wandered around in a daze.
The library was demolished, leaving several librarians blown into a giant sign advertising homemade fritters.
A few days later the local high school football team played in front of 10000 citizens because, miraculously, the field was untouched. Football heals all wounds.

Great Minds

Great Minds Inc. created pre-recorded messages, the elliptical machine, Spanks, self flushing toilets, electric flossing sticks and hands free vibrators.
At their yearly convention, inventor Carl Anders introduced his concept of reversible underwear, designed to cut laundry costs in half. Carol Lemon presented her creation edible foam to help fight world hunger.
We taught owls how to stay up in trees without falling and parrots to yodel. We brought Spam into this century by combining it with Jello, creating an indescribable taste.
In literature, we created flash fiction with the aid of its master Joe Del Priore. Genius comes in so many forms.
Now we are working on disposable irony.

Debate Team

Our debate team was crushing the opposition. The audience gasped at our logic and arguments. The topic was fracking and we were for it. The others were conservationists. We pointed out gas prices would skyrocket without fracking. Our leader pounded the table and stated if he wanted to drive to Ohio for no reason, he should be allowed.
The audience applauded. It was all over.
Except for Alice, who sobbed, I'm pregnant and I don't want my child to grow up in a world of fracking. We looked at each other. The judges wiped away tears and awarded the victory to them. Cheaters, we yelled. Appealing to emotions is against the rules. But the ruling stood.
Outside, Alice came up to us cackling. I'm not really pregnant, she said. Then she skipped away.
I'm voting Republican.

Starting Over

At some point the workers on The Leaning Tower of Piza had to take a step back and recognize it was time to start over. The calculations were off.
Italy attacked Ethiopia in 1939 for reasons that remain a mystery. With all their fire power, and the natives having little more than rocks and spears, Italy was driven out. We need to start over and attack Holland, the generals decided before Mussolini put an end to that nonsense.
The human spirit is always looking forward and seeking achievement, except my friend Elizabeth, who is always depressed and shows it. Every day is Monday to her. She needs inspiration. Darts, pool, Parcheesi.
Someday she will wake coughing up phlegm at age 86 and realize it's too late to start over.

Elegance Personified

Everyone points to Audrey Hepburn. Or Cary Grant. I prefer John Wayne's lopsided gait, Bogart smoking, the exquisite absurdity of Steve Martin and Martin Short. Can you imagine Lauren Baall burping? That is elegance.
Elegance to me means high end gel pens that swirl and loop across the page. I feel like Henry James when I use them. My posture is elegant. When I walk across the room people notice. Even bending to pick something up I am graceful. I'd like to see Audrey scoop up grapes without falling over.
Now I am going to squash this bug crawling across my keyboard, using my immaculate trimmed index finger. One beautiful movement, one less bug.

First Morning Thoughts

What is that thing crawling on my pillow?
Who farted in my mouth?
I could have sworn Jennifer Lawrence was right next to me.
I hope that bump under the blanket is part of my body.
I hope the highlight of my day isn't shampooing my scalp.
Am I late for something?
Which side is safest to roll out?
Did I snort myself awake?
Oh, my neck hurts.
What is my finger doing sticking in there?

Foaming in Anticipation

It's come to this--anticipating my first cup of coffee in the morning makes me foam at the mouth. Retited 11 years, two cups a day times 365 days times 11 years equal 8030 cups. Add in tea and it's easily over 10000 cups.
Knowing all those other adults are at work mid-morning and you're in some coffee house reading and sipping is what retirement is all about. I've reached the poingt where I fearfully anticipate my first pee, praying something comes out. Small victories. As a senior, you've been through so much it's hard to look forward to anything. No real surprises. Especially on Facebook, where everything is fabrication.
This morning my breakfast was egg in a cup with tomato and onion bits. Someday I will take a chance and order a fruit smoothie. Not right away, I have to work up to it. Today I stared at someone's orange juice with lust.  That's stronger than anticipation. Foam accumulates.

Implants

Implants are the answer for frustrated parents. Insert them in every kid so you can monitor them 24/7. Kids are crazy, wild, no control. They are stubborn and talk back. Get those implants early, like four years old. Know where your kids are, what they're doing, who they're with.
Rights? Kids don't have rights. That line of thinking is what caused this parenting mess.
Here is where it gets sticky. What about putting implants in grandparents? Older adults losing cognitive skills. Who get in the car and proceed to get lost. Or what if they get a nutty idea like bungee jumping. A red light flashes on the console you keep handy. You immediately race to them and put the kabash on it. Bridge and bowling, knitting and pool--that is the extent of activities you allow them. Safety first.
If they whine about their freedom, hold back food. They'll come around, believe me.

Mugged

Fred, leader of The Downtown Squirrels, confronted Ozzie.
Where are your nuts, fella?
Ozzie explained: I was mugged by a racoon. He flew out of the bushes, knocked me down, kicked me until I coughed up every nut. Look at these bruises.
Fred snarled, what about the self defense course you took?
Ozzie stared at the ground. My legs cramped. I was out of breath. He took me by surprise.
So you brought back nothing for the group. You are an embarassment. I'm thinking iof kicking you out.
Ozzie suddenly brightened. Wait, I did return with something. I found part of a Twinkie.
Where is it? There's nothing in your pouch. Where did you stash it?
Ozzie smiled sheepishly.
Well, that might be a separate issue.
Then he bent over.

Gel Pens

I bought four more gel pens today. I can't help it. I feel I can do anything with one. All different colors. My doodling has improved ten fold. Just thde feel of it across the page. I can fill notebooks with high end gel.
Regular ballpoints just do not do it for me. I've gifted them to friends who do not understand my obsession. These are the same folks who live for e cigarettes and vaping. Gel pens will write on anything. There is deep sadness when one runs out of ink.
God, the flourishes I create. I must begin hiding them. They are filling my drawers and cabinets. I have no room for soup and veggies. Perhaps I will take out a small storage space.
If I begin writing on my body I will seek help. If I write on your body while you sleep, you have every right to unfriend me.

Author Perks

Writing is its own reward, but there are perks to being a successful author.
The friendships you make.
The exchange of opinions and ideas.
The respect when you enter Arby's.
The free meals and drinks from grateful readers.
The awards and citations.
The legacy you leave behind.
The money deposited in your bank account.
The intense massages from Nerada, Empress of Massage.
The drugs offered to you at high end parties.
The sensual six foot women who throw themselves at you.
The calls from Bezos, Zuckerberg, Gates, and Buffet asking for advice and counsel.
The hugs from strangers.
Even the rash you get from people rubbing your head for good luck.

Yes, one must love writing, but it is not shameful to enjoy all the perks that accompany world wide success.
I wish each of you the same success I've had, and sincerely hope you can keep yourself grounded like I have.

Hammock Challenge

Joe circled his hammock several times, trying to relax. The previous night he spent hours calculating various approaches to getting his body inside this object. He considered angle of launch, his height and body fat, wind and soil conditions, the stationary swing potential of the hammock when hit by a flying object.
He wanted so badly to lay there in the shade reading a soft core porn novel. On eight previous attempts he was thwarted, bouncing to the ground in humiliation.
Now he had had a nutritious breakfast of oatmeal and sausage. He took a jogging leap and flew toward this adversary. Unfortunately, his calculations were thrown off by a gopher hole in his line of attack that threw off his timing. He flew right over the hammock and rolled into his flower bed, all twisted up.
Cecil, his neighbor, looked over the fence and asked if flower garden yoga was a new trend.

Avocado Rage

Manny was fed up with either rock hard avocados or soft, spoiled ones. One day he just snapped and threw the hard ones at the produce clerk and squished the soft ones into guacamole.
People shouted and screamed at first, but then their own anger took over. Anger at melons that never ripened, peaches with rotted cores, wilted celery, bruised fruit, mangoes lacking juice, bacon bits that failed expectations, on and on.
A near riot ensued, with people punching foodstuffs. Police came and made arrests, including Manny.
As he was led away, a woman sobbed, 'at least they didn't attack the cole slaw.'
Manny snarled. 'This isn't over. Not by a long shot. And that includes the potato salad.'

The Cherry Tree

The Father of Our Country as a teen would spend hours staring out his bedroom window at his personal cherry tree. It was so beautiful and in its own way powerful. He named it Hugo.
George liked wearing tight pants that caused friction in his intimate area. One day he simply could not control himself. He looked down, saw an erection, and began pleasuring himself.
A gust of wind bent his tree and he came violently in his pants. He felt shame and embarrassment. He swore he would never view his tree in the same way.
In future years, as President, when he and Martha became intimate, she could never grasp why in the throes of passion, George would scream, "HUGO!"

Marlowe

Marlowe took a hard hit to the head, knocking him backward. Groggily he got to his feet and chased his assailant. The punk ran down the hall and just before he reached the exit, Marlowe took him down with a vicious tackle.
He pinned him against the floor, raised his fist and was about the break the thug's face when recognition hit. This was the same kid who had been following him all day, a kid probably fifteen. The boy shrunk in fear and flopped like a baby flounder.
Marlowe grabbed him by the collar.
"Spill it, buster. Who hired you? Why are you tailing me? Start yapping if you want all your teeth in the same place."
The boy sobbed. Marlowe's cheek ached. This was not a good day.
The boy gasped one word. "Ariana."
Marlowe flinched. His day had just gotten worse.

Bowling Teams

The Mulch Marauders
The Split Decisions
The Pin Lickers
Gutter Gurus
Three Hole Ambassadors
Spare the Rod
Beers On Us
Stinky Bowling Shoes
Foul Line Strikers
Pin Pulverizers

Semi Colon

There are points where I just roll along and complete my project without a pause. Other times I must take a step back and reevaluate my position for a comma like moment.
But there are other times where things get convoluted and I really have to actualize a stoppage to re calibrate my position. These are semi colon moments.
An example: when I was younger I spent time combing my hair and the only decision was on which side the part will be. But another issue popped up. How to hide my large, manly ears, which some describe as protruding. It took me awhile to figure out the spatial components between hair and ear, but I did it using spreading techniques I learned from my ancestors.
Of course, that is a moot point now. Now it's all about fluffing up my arm pit hair on beach days.
I'm putting a period on this blog.

Drizzle

I love drizzling olive oil. I could just drizzle all day and not mind it. Hand control and feel are vital with expert drizzling. You don't drizzle ketchup or gravy. There is something European about this action.I love smelling the oil as it splatters over my food. I will drizzle anything. popcorn, hot dogs, chili, tacos, pizza.
I'm sure the food on my plate looks up and thinks yum, yum.
I drizzle olive oil on my beef jerky.
Get your mind out of the gutter.

Brilliant Idea

Here I am driving along, and as often happens, I get a great idea for a story. I pullover at a Shell station and shut off the car. I begin scribbling in my notepad, trying to get everything down before I forget it. A few minutes later the attendant comes over and knocks on my window.
Are you alright, sir?
Yes, I'm just scribbling down an idea.
Okay. Because from where I was standing it looked like you were pleasuring yourself.
Oh no, that comes after it's published.
What if you get a book published?
Use your imagination.

Cootie Terror

White moving spots on my arms, my neck, my chest! Cooties!! I'm covered with them. How did this happen? Did they get onto my clothes? Look at them scurrying about. How am I supposed to get dates?
I called Harry for advice and he said go to the Cootie Wash Off place uptown. I did just that, paid $50 up front and went through the entire cleansing process. Was I scrubbed and sprayed All sorts of creams applied. I was then hosed down with salt water.
I resolved never to buy clothes at Salvation Army.
I joined my writing group and I feel like several are breeding in my ear. I noticed when I scratched myself they all took note. Word travels fast. I must have killed 500 cooties. Many stuck in my hair mousse.

Team Efforts

Keeping the audience awake when I read at open mkes
Chasing endangered species and forcing them to procreate
Those responsible for daily clarification of our President's announcements
Moving Chris Christie fron the Barkolounger to the hammock
Helping me in and out of adult diapers
Those needed to perk up Mark Zuckerberger after Facebook crashed
Those keeping food away from Candice Bergen during reboot of Murphy Brown
The ground crew who cover the field with tarpolin.     
Eating a giant hogy.

Secret Salad Dressing

Phoebe loved experimenting with salad dressing. What is life without adventure? Her neighbor, Joe, was the opposite--safe and predictable. Take a chance for once, she told him. Joe suggested he try sneakers with a Velcro strap instead of laces. Not enough, she said. I could rearrange my nick nacks, he said. Stop it, Joe. Have dinner with me. I've come up with a new dressing concoction.
Joe decided to push the envelope and that night found himself sitting in Phoebe's dining room. In front of him was a large bowl of salad. It contained the standard fare--cucumbers, lettuce, tomato, peppers, bacon bits, olives, celery, croutons.
She carefully drizzled the new dressing on his salad. It was created in her super blender, which liquefied everything. Joe gobbled forkfuls. It tastes like something barbecued, he said. Very exotic. He looked around the room.
Where's Scooter, your cat?
Phoebe just smiled.

Words

Rudy discovered someone named Phil Landry wrote 175, 154 words in June. Rudy had only written 124,897. Rudy prided himself on pounding out more words than anyone. There was only one solution--less sleeping and eating, more writing.
At 6am next morning he attacked his laptop, ripping off page after page. His novel focused on flesh eating bacteria that eat nails and hair too.
Officials visited representing The Word Count Institute and were impressed. At this rate he would clear 200000 words in July.They shook his hand and he assured them there was more to come.
One fellow agreed, but mentioned the writing itself was sloppy and cliche ridden. Rudy shook his head. Long ago, he said, I learned from a wise man that none of that means anything. Snappy covers and titles are paramount. He held up a book by Joe Del Priore. This is my God, he said. Some of his words were actually two syllables.

Groan

Mario stayed home all day groaning about his life. His friends Rocco and Roberto came over every Monday night to join in the complaining. Rocco had an ingrown toenail and Roberto's investments were sinking. Mario had broken up with someone and went to movies alone.
The men drank and sobbed, sometimes so loudly it transitioned to moaning. Neighbors called police when the noise was too loud. Women accosted Mario in the street, telling him to grow a pair. If he had to give birth, he'd be a slobbering mess. Mario promised to start behaving like a man. He joined a boxing gym and learned to fight. He grew a beard and took up two seats in the subway. He stubbed his toe and ignored the pain. He wore his belt under his belly and snorted for no reason.
Soon the groaning meetings ended. Mario was ready to attack life, fearing nothing and no one. He was in full control of his emotions.
That was in November of 2016.
Then an election took place.

First Things First

First I will save the whales. Then I will solve global warming. Then I will find the missing bees. Followed by Jimmy Hoffa. I will save the redwoods and find a cure for pattern baldness. I will fight for clean air and water, immigrant amnesty, smoke free environments, cancellation of Blue Laws, improving compression stockings, revamped TV shows from the 80's, unexplained pauses during parades and the use of prepositions to end sentences.
Before all that, I must master the Velcro straps on my shoes and reorganize my rubber bands by size.
I can't seem to do anything about those chili stains on my shirts.

Judgmeent Call

Calvin, Mosquito King,  had a judgment call to make.  His underlings wanted to attack Sophia, all curves and soft flesh. But the overall mission was to expand targets across the board. That included Joe, all bones and hair and possible fungus. Union head Lawrence claimed he presented a disease threat. Calvin understood the danger and after careful consideration, sent in his top squadron to attack Joe, with explicit instructions to back off if nausea or dizziness occurred.
What he overlooked was Sophia's perfume and hair spray, toxic enough to wipe out half his warriors. Meanwhile, the Joe bloodsuckers returned, stoned out of their little minds. What drugs has that human been taking, one asked. They'd never tasted blood that pungent.
Joe actually liked mosquitoes more than ridiculous ant colonies, which accomplished nothing in his view. That was his own judgment call.

Last Five & Dime Sale

my 17 published books
14 leisure suits fron 1977
muddled MTA announcements on schedule changes
Stale Gummy Bears
A three color kaleidescope
Spray on mustache spray
A collection of rejected cartoons by the New Yorker
muscrat recipes
a Wanda Sykes inflatable doll
a Do It Yourself kayack kit
Old tapes of the Mike Douglas Show
A pogo stick used by Eleanor Roosevelt
Cuddling for Dummies
certified butt lint from Andre the Giant
a spittoon used by Fidel Castro

Our Gang

Our gang is built on morals and civility. We help people, especially the elderly.
Ben is well into his nineties. He's always nattily dressed and smells of earthy cologne. One day we invited him back to our clubhouse. We gave him juice and an apple fritter. He sat there regaling us with stories from his life.
In the middle of one about landing at Normandy, he keeled over. He had no pulse. He also had no wallet, so we had to make a decision. If we called the cops, they might think we did it. We brainstormed, except for useless Joe, who was counting Ben's liver spots.
We were about to call Rocco, a local mob cleanup guy, who went to hit scenes and erased all evidence.
Suddenly Ben passed wind. He's alive!we shouted.
Ben sat up and spoke.
Jesus, somebody open a window.

Out of the Shadows

Out of the shadows they came, the once mighty power brokers. CEOs of Sears, JC Penney, K-Mart, Macy's, Radio Shack, Sports Authority, Pathmark, My Space, Toys R Us, Woolworth's, Sleepy's etc. Tossed away, disgraced, pariahs.
Here they are, begging for a second chance before Emperor Bezos, sitting on his throne.
How dare you incompetents waste my time. I should have all of you tossed in a dungeon. But I offer you a second chance.
Help me corner the avocado market and take down Haas.
They had no choice but to agree to combine their talents.That market would soon belong to Bezos. They marched into the sun chanting Iococca!!. They had been given a new lease on life. Except Wally Needs, CEO of Beast Burger. Burgers from sloths never quite took off. Wally was led away in chains.

Forest Upgrade

As your new Sec. of the Interior let me reassure you we have the world's greatest forests, much better than Europe. But I think we can get better.
Here are some suggestions:
Paint all mushrooms to eliminate blandness
Train flying squirrels to perform dangerous leaps in tandem
Carve sculptures of dead celebs on trees like Don Rickles
Subsidize bow and arrow hunters
Name every bear
Organize frogs into choral groups
Create an elite tic fighting team
Declare Dragon flies a national treasure
Establish one taco stand somewhere in each forest

TV at 3AM

Shows at 3am.

Tunneling with the Stars
World of Smells
Weaponizing fruit and vegetable peelers
How Do mangos Procreate?
The Mike Pence Hour
Clogg Dancing for the Blind
Exploring Hudson River Sea Life
Mobsters in Love
Fungus is Our Friend
Uber Drivers Go Commando

Worlds Apart

Marge Mango was in love. She lay on the bottom shelf pining for the object of her affection. Artie Yogurt was concerned. Why so glum, he asked.
She paused and said, here I am, young and succulent, wasting away. Becoming overripe. Marge gathered herself. Two weeks ago the human went shopping and I found myself tossed into a bag with...Christopher.
Christopher?
Oh, yes. He was hard and firm, pressing against me. Rough, beautifully curved skin. When we arrived at the human's house we were separated. I thought, no big deal, he's on a different shelf.
But I was wrong. The human placed him atop the refrigerator. I screamed inwardly. We were worlds apart. I had no idea avocados are not refrigerated. They must ripen in open air.
Marge broke down. He is probably in the human's digestive system. Artie looked closer and saw small blotches on her skin. Soon she would be overripe.
If it makes you feel better, he said, I was thrown into a bag with Styrofoam cups. Laugh if you must, but I was smitten. They were put in a cabinet. It may as well be Mars.
Marge and Artie both began sobbing. The saddest words in the food universe...what might have been.

Dirty Scavenger

I had run out of ideas. A blank slate. A writer's worst nightmare. I slid into depression. Who was I if I couldn't write?
I sank to leaning over at Starbucks to see what others were creating.Term papers. An MFA thesis. A Grocery list. Pathetic. Visiting friends, I'd scour their rooms, looking for scraps of paper with ideas. I grew desperate. My health suffered. Personal hygiene disappeared. I looked slovenly.
One day, I found a copy of Poets & Writers and saw an ad for an Idea Landfill in Garfield, NJ. For $5 one could spend hours searching piles of discarded or damaged ideas.
Finally I found a gem. It centered on a writing prompt group that met every Saturday. Ten serious scribes. But one was evil. He'd invite one of the others to his home for a home cooked meal. Then he'd slip something into the wine to knock them out. Then he dismembered the body and cooked and ate them. This way he gradually eliminated the competition.
I had to create an ending.
At least my mind was spinning again.
Later, I found out James Paterson bought out the entire Idea Landfill. The man is insatiable.

The Wild Card

Leo was always the wild card. We'd be hanging at the Dairy Queen parking lot waiting for girls to show up. Leo had a better idea. Kidnap his cousin Joey,  the crossing guard. We protested. It's 8pm. Too late. Leo assured us the guy would still be there, dedicated, crossing seniors well into the night.
Where would we take him and what would we do with him?
Leo had an answer ready. That abandoned warehouse on Sullivan. We tie him to a chair and terrorize him.
Why? we asked.
Because he pepper sprayed me at Mary's birthday party. I was trying to get her attention.
Guess you did.
In the worst way. I want revenge.
But he's your cousin.
So what? He's evil.
We took a vote. 5-0 to wait for girls. Leo was pissed, but we stayed friends.
He's now a juvenile court judge. His cousin is still a crossing guard.
Me? I'm a writer. Take your pick.

No Bars

I am lost in this forest with no reception and a dead battery. Night is coming and I am frantic. I can hear chainsaws from far off. I begin to move in that direction when a man bursts through the underbrush. His has white hair, perfectly combed and carries an axe.
Are you a Christian, he asks.
I hesitate before answering, I'm an agnostic.
He frowns and takes a step toward me.
Do you believe in God, he asks.
I think there is a higher force that exists.
He seems confused. I think we have a problem here, he says.
I'm just lost. Can you give me directions?
He pulls out his cell and says something to whoever is on the other end. Minutes pass and he eyes me suspiciously.
I have an open mind about God, I break the silence.
You may wind up with an open chest cavity, he responds. I realize I'm speaking to VP Pence. Suddenly the bushes part and several men carrying chainsaws emerge. I recognize the leader--Rudy Guliani.
Please, sir, I'm Italian on both sides.
He smiled big and jabbed me in the ribs. Not much meat on him, he says. Pence nods and thinks.
We have a method of dealing with atheists, he says, indicating the saws.
But that's illegal, I cry.
They double over in laughter.
I never once voted for Hilary!
They close in. I pray Bernie Sanders is nearby.

My Reader

My reader is so beautiful. I am in love with her. I think she loves me. She reads all about me in her pajamas and looks like the girl next door.
I hope she reads slow. I want this relationship to last. I am young Zorro, before he became famous. I am just learning how to use a sword. The writer has made me 18. I look so handsome in black. The clothes are tight. I wish she could see my butt.
In Chapter Nine I finally display serious sword play. My yellow kerchief sets off my orange scabbard and leather boots. I am an icon in love with my reader. I hope when she finishes my book she will leave it on the night stand and occasionally open it Her skin is so white, her eyes so brown. I had better attend to business. The author will be furious. This erection does not move the story forward.

Luggage

I'm a bag handler at Newark Airport. I take great pride in accuracy. Our crew wants nothing less than perfection.
So I was upset when a man came complaining that his luggage was missing from the carousel. I looked all over to no avail. I made a phone call to a neighboring area and sure enough, one of our guys called back, shouting they had an emergency with one of the bags. He described the luggage and the complainant verified it was his.
The problem was, the man had come from Singapore and purchased a number of characters for his planned novel at a discount. Somehow, they escaped from the bag and were scrambled all over the terminal, seeking freedom, I guess.
Writers. Spare me. We finally captured all of them except the one playing the lady in distress. I'm sure he will sue us. Frankly, I never heard of the guy. Can't be all that successful. And why didn't he buy his characters from the US?

Dancing in the Dark

All over the city the lights went out. People emerged from homes confused and on edge. Was this an attack? Sobs filled the air. No microwave popcorn. No Netflicks. No juice blenders. No CNN.
At some point humming occurred. Others joined in. Couples began dancing in pitch dark. Even kids whirled awkwardly. Longtime couples who hadn't danced in years swayed gently. This was magic.
Dawn came. People were tired, but happy. Slowly, they returned home. No one went to work. They climbed into bed. Streets were quiet. It all seemed like a dream.
The power eventually returned, along with depressing news reports, argumentative TV panel discussions, and endless foot fungus commercials.
I had danced with Alonzo, who owned a pizza parlor. Who knew he had such hidden grace?

Rooster

Ernie the rooster stood atop the barn crowing away. Helen, the hen, shouted for him to pipe down. We're having a meeting in the barn and you're too loud.
What meeting?
We are protesting a 10% increase in egg production quota.
Not my problem. My job is to crow all day.
You are self centered and repetitive with your noise.
What about my issues? I have rooster problems. Afraid of snakes. Can't lay the bagpipes. Sex hasn't been good.
If we don't meet our quotas we get shipped to Ottowa.
What does that mean?
We'll be hunted and enslaved. Canada has no egg shortage. We're expendable.
Okay, I'll be quiet.
Thanks. Can I get you anything?
Some spritzer would be nice. This dry heat kills my tone and pitch.

Tooth Chaos

My tooth is driving me insane. It cracked. I had a crown cover it. It got infected. I had a new root canal done and treated the infection.
Three rimes in the past three weeks that crown has broken off while I'm chewing. The jagged edge of the remaining tooth rubs against my tongue creating a sore. I will need a post shoved in to stabilize that new crown. The build up broke off with the tooth. My dentist says he has a backup plan. I think it involves euthanasia.
Now I place a cotton ball over the space to protect my tongue and I sound like Brando in The Godfather, which isn't necessarily a bad thing.
I'm thinking of returning to The Church and prayer.

Blossom Stamina

Blossom season is here. I must photograph every single one. They are all different. All deserve my attention. I must push people away from the trees so I can get a clear shot. Hour after hour until my arms ache.
Then I must shoot all the other flowers lining the pond at the botanical gardens. Especially the tulips. Flowers bring people together.
At one point I ran out of batteries and had to beg another fotog for his extra. She gouged me for $20. but it was worth it.
I barely have the stamina to take the train home, but if you're doing something you love, somehow you find the energy. Like kids jumping rope. Although kids don't do that anymore. They over turn garbage cans and mug the elderly. Which, in its own way, involves stamina.

Weapons

The sign said Leave Your Weapons at the Door. The hip hop concert was packed. Marlon got patted down needlessly. He saw a pile a guns and knives near the entrance. The noise inside was deafening. Too much loud talking.
Marlon hated hip hop. It killed soul music. None of them knew who Otis, Jackie, Marvin, Sam, Carla, Isaac and Jerry were. Fools. Ignorant fools.
Tonight he would strike a bloww against this nonsense that was supposed to be music. This toxic sluge of bad poetry.
Marlon took deep breaths and clenched his stomach muscles. He had eaten four large tacos before arriving. He was ready. His timing was perfect. His weapon undetectable.
He unclenched his buttocks and let loose, one after the other.
Screams, pushing, panic. Choking. Chaos.
Vengeance is mine! he shouted.
Taco revenge.
The perfect crime. Long live James Brown!

Sloppy Waitress

Tabasco sauce on her uniform.
Forgot my menu.
Chewed gum.
Made a face when I asked for water.
Spilled said water.
Suggested the tuna melt when they had no tuna.
Thought Rueben was the cook they fired.
Brought me diet soda.
Mentioned my belly fat.
Refused to serve me fries.
Tied my bib way too tight.
Made me lick honey mustard.
Had a squashed tomato stuck to butt.
Probably spit on my sandwich.
Forgot to say have a nice day.

What Do I Burn First?

That is the question.
Not my writing. Not my paintings.
Not my photographs.
Not my furniture.
Not my mattress.
Not my pets.
Definately not my fanny pack.
What I will eliminate first when it comes time to flee from the authorities are the leeches.
The people who only want favors.
Who use me to hear their complaints.
Who mock my acheivements.
Who never have my back.
Who expound on things they know nothing about.
Who disrespect my wardrobe.
Who don't get my literary references.
Who can't handle my success.
Who don't appreciate my compassion for my fellow man
Who hate my blog

Undiscovered Land

I found it on a hiking trip in West Canada. I had on my snow shoes and used ski poles to propel myself through rugged, snow covered terrain. About an hour in, I stood at the crest of a hill staring down at a green expanse of land, nothing like anything around it.
I descended and traversed this strange, bucolic field. I saw a cave. About 30m feet away from it I spotted a man exiting. He wore a suit and tie and was followed by two dozen others, similarly clad.
I overcame my shock and asked who they were. The first man spoke for the group.
We are laid off book editors, he explained. We have survived out here ever since our severance packages ran out. There is nothing to edit. The world is one giant tweet.
I nodded and assured them their secret was safe with me. I told them Phillip Roth retired three years ago and they sobbed as one.

Tweezers

Years ago, people's eyebrows were scraggly and out of control. Hairs flopped into their eyes. Insects found a home there. Itching was common, as was scratching. Children had nightmares about parents' eyebrows. Adults seemed like fierce wilderness creatures.
Frowning could blind some folks. Plucking using index finger and thumb was ineffective and painful. Infections occurred. Pus developed, which sometimes spread to eyelashes, beards and mustache. A face full of pus.
One day a little boy saw a battle between Praying Mantises for turf. Each used their pincers. The boy thought of a lobster. He found a thin piece of metal and bent it in half. He then tweezed a hair from his little sister's eyebrow. She screamed. He was disciplined. But his mother saw potential in the idea and went on to create tweezers. All women owe that family a debt of gratitude.Splinters were no longer life threatening.
But some men stubbornly let their brows grow out as a sign of masculinity. Like our President.

Polite Conversation

Will and Tara loved engaging in polite conversation. Nothing depressing or controversial. Many enjoyable lunches centered on innocent exchange of opinions and information. Boy, we can really use some rain. Property taxes are crushing. I'm getting a new car.
One day their casual acquaintance, Joe, spotted them lunching and shot right over. Joe launched into a diatribe on a botanical gardens place nearby.
Where the hell were the cherry blossoms this year? Why don't the turtles move off their damn rock? What's the point of that dirty pond. I didn't spot a single swan. The food is crappy, the museum stuffy. All those damn cacti. Did I mention the bathrooms? I bought a sweatshirt that doesn't fit.
Then he blasted Earth Day. All those lectures and slide shows. Why? What's the point? This is one huge garbage dump. Besides, we're all going to die after the meteor hits.
He excused himself to use the facilities.
Will and Tara scrambled out the door. Wordlessly.

Tall People

Tall people annoy me. They always seem like they're looking down on you. They block views at events. When you're in line behind them and they pass wind, you get it right in the face. They have huge hands and feet and you can't keep up with them. They get promoted faster than short people.
I prefer socializing with folks my size, the ones I can hug. We make good wrestlers and gymnasts. Snipers can't target us as well. My four month old nephew sucks his foot. I've been working on that and come pretty close.
Plus we don't bump our heads as much. Tall people should have their own territory away from the rest of us.
God, I hate when they pat your head.

Hanging on Every Word

Wisdom is everywhere.
I was hiking in the woods and came across a zombie staggering toward me. Because I had sprayed Zombie Off all over myself. The thing stopped a few feet away and opened its mouth. I saw rot and dried blood. A sound emerged, then another. I can't understand you, I said. It seemed frustrated. Try again, I said. I'm in no hurry. This time I leaned forward, hanging on every word.
It calmed down and again uttered something. This time I got its message.
Buy Netflicks stock.
This was back in 2015. If only I'd listened.

At Seventy

Here is my 70th birthday

breakfast, TV
rain and more rain
outside, coffee and newspaper
gym workout
check email
buy groceries
read book, ice tea
another gym workout
backing car out
forgot concrete girder
crunch
crumpled side panal
no left signal
home
watch Yankees
how not to begin a decade

Yoga Lust

Charles decided to try yoga. He wasn't very good at it, but which ever pose he adopted he could see other bodies at strange slanted angles. This gave him inspiration to try different positions with his wife, He bought her orange yoga pants and convinced to go along with his experiment.
Poor woman. The geometry used caused her pain and she wound up being diagnosed with a convoluted vertebrae. His mother in law was furious. Medical bills caused them to fall behind on their mortgage. They had to pull their kid out of private school and enroll them in a public hellhole where said kid had his phone stolen and got a black eye.
Charles gave up yoga and took courses in auto mechanics. His own dog hated him. He lost his sex drive. Charles, not the dog.

Tied to the Past

Bill enjoyed bondage, but not just any dominatrix. He wanted his to costume themselves as historical figures. Consequently, he was spanked and whipped by Joan of Arc, Annie Oakely, Eleanor Roosevelt, Golda Meir, Marlene Dietrich, the Andrews Sisters, Harriet, Tubmann, Joan Crawford, Bella Abzug, Zsa Zsa Gabor, Helen Gurley Brown, Mother Teresa, and Hilary Clinton, who was most animated. Oprah was most compassionate, barely tapping him.
We are all tied to our past, especially if you were smacked on the knuckles by attractive nuns with stern expressions and thick rulers. There you stand, 14 years old in your starched uniform getting disciplined while your pecker is bursting out of your pants.
If you went to public school you are clueless.

Monte

Monte was a turkey who refused to believe turkeys can't fly. Is it our destiny to be slaughtered by human butchers at Thanksgiving? The flock grew depressed thinking about this. One of us must tempt fate and leap from that hill and test our limitations, he stated. Since he was the one asking the question, it had to be Monte.
As the others gobbled and fretted, knowing death was near, Monte waddled to the top and prepared to fly. So much drama, he thought. What's the worst that could happen? I crash and break my neck.
His parents could not look. Hiss niece thought he was crazy. His girlfriend thought it was sexy.
Monte spread his wings and lifted off. At first gravity was winning, as he dipped straight down. Then,miraculously, as he pumped his wings, he soared high into the clouds. He was so excited he evacuated a load that landed atop an innocent crossing guard.
I wish I could say the others followed suit, but because they didn;t believe their eyes, they were sacrificed for the pleasure of man. Monte  kept flying right into a rogue flock of tattooed geese wearing leather caps. They surrounded him, refused to listen to reason, and busted his wings. He screamed like a  baby turkey all the way down.

Ahead of the Curve

Gerry was a man of ideas, ahead of the curve. He watched as grocery deliveries direct to houses took off. A light went off in his head. A delivery service aimed at blocked writers. A van pulls up full of ideas, story arcs, characters, metaphors and even punctuation. He advertised and within dayd he was flooded with requests for his service. All he needed was raw material.
He knew a writer who was prolific. For 20% of the profits he would make him a partner in exchange for his writing skills. This would be the future of literature similar to bitcoins being the future of currency.
He went to the man's apartment and rang the bell. Minutes later the door opened. The man stood there wearing nothing but a towel around his waist. On the bed behind him was an inflatable doll resembling Wonder Woman.
Great to see you, Gerry. What's up?
Gerry gave him a big smile. Joe, have I got a proposition for you.

The Wrong Man

Sally knew she was being followed. He wasn't very good at disguising it. One day she saw him enter a flower shop. I'm turning the tables, she thought, and proceeded to follow him. Maybe if he had someone to gift with flowers he wasn't a creep.
He kept walking out of the business section into the residential area. To her shock, he made his way right to her house and rang the bell as she hid behind a tree. The mailman came by. They spoke. The man showed him a sheet of paper and the mailman smiled and patted his shoulder. They actually hugged.
Sally watched the carrier continue on his route. This is a violation, she thought. Fearlessly, she marched right up to the man. He met her eyes. He looked familiar. He showed her the sheet of paper. Sally read it and began sobbing. This was her son, kidnapped many years ago. On the paper was a poem he had written in the fourth grade. Her copy was upstairs in a box under her bed. Mom, he whispered.

Blackboard Nonsense

Phil stared at theequations on the blackboard and got dizzy. The Professor kept scribbling letters and numbers and none of it made any sense. The other students were just as baffled. Why did I take this course, he asked himself. Kardashian Theory 101. Why were they so popular?
Surely it couldn't e very complicated. Botox, luxury, big butts and whining entitlement. There it is in a nutshell. The Professor droned on about pleasure centers lighting up whenever one of them appeared on the screen. Phil cursed his stupidity. He should have taken another course in the syllabus.
The Meaning of Pee Wee Herman's Playhouse in Relation to the Elevation of Child's Play Within the Post Modern Parent Consciousness.
Yeah, that one he could have aced.

The Showdown

No one could manipulate a fidget spinner like Barb. She was known far and wide as a master. Crowds gathered to watch her on weekends in the park. She was special. People greeted her in stores. When she mentored others, they got so much better at this art.
Long an outsider, fidget spinning made her popular and changed her life.
Then one day Reggie arrived, him and his yo yo. This young man did amazing tricks.. People were awed at his creativity, the sheer complexity of his tricks. Everyone knew there had to be a showdown.
Memorial Day, with a park filled with onlookers, Reggie and Barb faced each other. There were no rules. No judges. No time limit. They would go at each other until one quit in pain. They stood glaring at each other, ten feet apart.
Everyone took a deep breath. The contest began.
I've been sworn to secrecy regarding the result.
Sorry.

Laundry Card Blues

I lost my laundry card just after I put $5 on it. Disappeared from my pocket in CVS. I asked the girl at the front end if she saw it. No luck. Actually because I used it in the washer there was only $2.40 left. But I had to invest another $5 in my backup card, which I found in said laundry. If I want a new card I have to insert $10 in the machine. It comes with $6 already on it, so my new card only costs $4. But that adds up to $6.40 I had to shell out. That's three cups of coffee.
Which brings me to my next point. The loud guy in Dunkin' who shouts his order from a seat in the back. His explosive white hair is Einstein squared. His Spanish accent is kind of charming. Kids love him. But I can't read, write or concentrate with him exclaiming every sentence. He talks to anyone except me because I keep my head down. I wonder where he works. Maybe a really loud factory.
After months of forced listening, I know more about him than family members.
I should find another Dunkin', but that would be surrendering, no?

Me and Satan

So I said to Satan, can we get some ventilation in here?
Walking around naked, sweat rolling off me, I'm getting dehydrated and may pass out. Satan sat in his recliner staring at a screen, monitoring humans going about their business, calculating which souls are vulnerable. Ignoring my question.
Frustrated, I wandered around the huge cavern filled with naked, sweating souls. Manson squatted in the corner mumbling. I tried again with Satan. How about central air conditioning? Too much paperwork, he replies. Installation in an area this big is problematic. A water fountain? No fountains in hell, fool.
I guess it could be worse. I could be burning. That's a myth. Only bankers and some lawyers burn here.
God, what I wouldn't give for an ice cube. Oh I forgot. God isn't listening.
Is that Richard Nixon? Boy, I thought he sweated while alive. He's just one big puddle. Seeing someone like that naked may be worse than burning. Who am I to judge? I look down. Who knew extreme heat causes shrinkage.

Annoying Jennifer

Ten reasons Jennifer Lawrence annoys me

1.She thinks everything is about her
2.She's 27 and still thinks getting hammered and vomiting is cool
3.She claims dieting and working out are not her concern
4.She dropped out of Middle School, yet lectures reporters
5.She reacts to every tiny negative thing written about her
6.She dates men much older than her
7.She never takes time off
8.She's a complete hypochondriac.
9.he railed against nude photos of her online, thwen stripped for Red Sparrow
10.She watches the Kardashians instead of reading books

Spider Angst

Will never got the hang of being a spider. The first time sticky string came out of his butt it scared the hell out of him. Things went downhill from there. He hated the taste of flies, was allergic to dust, and never could create intricate webs that won awards and impressed female spiders. His peers considered him inept. Will spent his days sulking in dark corners of the sock drawer, his sanity hanging by a thread.
One day he met a Praying Mantis whose bad knees prevented it from kneeling. Will didn't realize hoe depressed his friend was until it asked for a silk thread. The next day he found his friend hanging by the kitchen faucet. Sicide.
That image propelled him to take a more positive attitude toward being a spider. Immediately, his webs became stronger and more elegant. Eventually female spiders took notice and his romantic evenings multiplied. He even developed a taste for small gluten free flies.

Bulleted Sunrise

You enter a room like a bulleted sunrise
I shield my eyes as you circle space
Rays of mystery strafe the walls
Other guests vanish in your shadow
Out on the veranda
Your spare words like sunspots
I can not decipher
My feeble effort lost in an eclipse of blended color
I bask in your corona
Fearful of being singed by your exquisite lava
Why must you ever set, my luminous sunrise?
Men would die for you sun goddesss
Now I must return to the party
My wife is calling me
I'm out here, Marsha!

HMO Hell

Rivers of blood
Ruah to your head
A gasp of pain
Splash of crimson
Covers the operating table
The floor, the attending team
They yank and yank on the arm
Someone forgot to change the saw blade
Sinew and flesh rip
You scramble off the table
Crawl to the door on one arm
Realizing
Some HMOs are better than others

Bedroom Eyes

I want Armand Assante, Charles Boyer bedroom eyes. Droopy, sensual lids. Hooded and mysterious. Smoldering. Marlene Dietrich eyes.
I need a woman and eye contact is my best bet. Right now I have vestibule eyes. Even my cat turns away.
I want to be world weary and cynical. Robert Mitchum. But I am constantly surprised and wide eyed. I resemble comic Richard Lewis, who looks like an electrocution in progress.
Why do women always go for sleepy eyed?
I asked my doctor for help. Perhaps a lid operation. He said I wasn't getting enough oxygen or fiber.
I finally did meet a woman as wide eyed as me and she seems interested. Her name is Betty Boop.

Fashion Immunity

I wear strange hats and clothes. Always have. No problem, except after I bought a house in the suburbs. Now angry neighbors demand I upgrade my wardrobe. I'm frightening their kids and driving down property values.
They hit me with fresh tomatoes from some lady's garden.
I released the following statement:
"I understand your concerns. But I am an intellectual with too much on his mind to worry about clothes. Did people complain about Einstein's baggy pants and stained shirts? What about actor Nick Nolte, who walks around in pajamas and slippers?
You have given me warnings and offered to shop for me. I appreciate that. But I have to be my own man. Do not banish me from this area. I am asking for amnesty. Don't I get credit for good posture, close shaves, hair combed, no undershirt sticking out? Do I look unclean?
Children can tell whether someone is good. Bring them to me and let them decide. And hold off on those tomatoes. People in Appalachia are starving."

Holding Together

I was falling apart. Couldn't finish a sentence. Couldn't listen to others. Should I grow a beard or not? Cheese did not help. Baked beans neither. Meditation made me dizzy. Watching porn only a temporary stopgap.
I was diagnosed with splintered personality. Too many thoughts at once. Too much sensation. I was told to focus on one thing, like someone's neck. Wear earplugs, close eyes, slow, deep breaths. Change my socks twice a day.
Mindfulness. That's what saved me. Live in the moment and enjoy every second. Right now there is a tiny stream of mucus leaking from my left nostril. I am fully experiencing this, total focus. Soon I will be able to converse normally, I really believe that.
All I need is a happy place for when things get too intense. Perhaps your spare room?

Start Up Business

Everyone loves candy. My start up involves candy. A gumball machine where you can choose your color with a phone app. A suction machine at parades which sucks up all the candy thrown by the marchers before those field mice kids get to it.
Gummy Bear politicians or Kardashians. Cotton candy shaped like world leaders or Lady Ga Ga. Circular candy canes. Edible suspenders. Giant paper weight gum drops.Chocolate Easter ground sloths. Licorice topping pizza.
Peanut brittle shaped like countries or body parts. Meat loaf with icing. Avocado lollipops. Initialized candy corn.
The possibilities are endless. I'm looking for high end investors. Who's in?

Chair Exercise

I stared at my chair. You bastard. Look at you, all innocent. Waiting for me to do my triceps push ups. Laughing at me, knowing I can only do six before my arms burn.
Then I lie on the floor with my feet up on the seat, attempting crunches. Grunting like a pregnant pig. Then there's the hamstring stretching, holding your back support and extending my leg. You'd love to tilt over, leaving me sprawled oon the floor.
You pitiful excuse for a folding chair. Jealous of me. I have opposable thumbs. I can type, play the trombone, change radio stations, quilt. All you are is a folded up piece of metal collecting dust.
Where would you be if I joined a gym? Left at the curb with the other garbage.
Now I feel better and am ready to do those hellish triceps push ups. At least I have a triceps. Bitch.

Credibility Factor

I went to the clinic with a headache. The doctor entered, unshaven, eating from a bag of Doritos. Crumbs covered his white jacket. He gave me a high five and asked what was the matter. I told him about my headache. Who doesn't have one these days? Have you been following the news? Take an aspirin.  I told him it didn't help.
Just between us, he said, you know what releases tension? Masturbation. Hey, this morning I woke up all stressed. So I did the weed wacker with my Mr. Johnson. Felt so much better.
Let me see if your shoulders are tight. Don't worry, I washed my hands. Both of them. Here, let me yank on your earlobe.

Decision Tree

I pity those who depend on the Decision Tree modal to determine choices. Sad. Me? When I walk into Dunkin, I know exactly what coffee-medium, two creams, 2 Sweet & Lows-- and what donut--either Old Fashioned or plain stick--I will order. I sit in my usual seat in the back. If it's already taken, I have a back up in the corner.
Okay, sometimes I'll get adventurous and order a latte and apple crumb. When I leave the house I know exactly what coupons I will use at what store and where I will gas up my car.
My only hesitation before making a decision comes when the temperature is around 60 degrees and I have to decide among boxers, briefs or thong underwear.
Recently I have decided my personal trainer, Brunella, will be my wife. She tells me to grunt while exercising and gives great massages. I will write Marry Me in black letters on one of the exercise balls. Who needs a Decision Tree when true love is involved?

What's for Dinner

Rita sat across from Dr. Lector, slightly intimidated. She was quiet in his class and couldn't understand why he invited her above all his other students.
They discussed many topics as they sipped wine and butternut squash soup. She had no idea he was such a good cook.
"Dr. Lecter, this is delicious."
"Call me Hannibal."
She got up nerve to ask him about Roger, his teaching assistant, who vanished one day without explanation. Truthfully, she was attracted to the young man.
"Ah yes, Roger. Quite an inquiring mind. Asked lots of questions. Let us say, he has moved on to greener pastures. I did notice you seemed to have a thing for him."
Rita blushed and nodded.
"What is our entree tonight, sir?"
He rose and smiled. "An unusual concoction, my dear, I'm sure you'll enjoy. Every tiny morsel."
He went into the kitchen. She could smell the aroma, and despite her best efforts, saliva filled her mouth.

Bomb Cyclone

I went out in the midst of the storm because I couldn't stomach me staying in bed while others had to get to work. That is how I roll. I drove to the strip mall, got stamps, mailed letters, got a prescription, sat in Burger King sipping coffee and reading the paper.
Periodically I'd check outside and watch fools try to control their umbrellas. I knew power lines would go down and children would be frightened. But I was a mailman and faced terrible storms with complete manliness. Today I gathered up all my testosterone and faced the monster.
By 1pm I was home watching Netflicks. But at least I made my presence felt. Courage doesn't have to exist all damn day.

The Watchmen

They swarmed over the city bearing watches. Small, quick and fast, they struck before you could blink. Stripped you of your wristwatch and replaced it with a Bulova. After initial annoyance, people realized getting a free Bulova was a God send. That brand owned the upscale market. The strategy was once you owned one you never went back. It worked--their stock skyrocketed.
Eventually The Watchmen were stalked and cornered, people pleading for a watch. It got nasty, with pushing and shoving. Bulova changed it's marketing to a more acceptable TV ads.
Of course smart phones killed off the wristwatch. Some Watchmen tried delivering phone books, becoming meter men or driving trucks. All those were replaced by computers and other technology.
Now they are old men, sitting around dive bars talking about the old days. One fellow predicted one day they'll come up with frozen pizza. The others scoffed. What would we do without pizza parlors?

The Lie

Daddy, where is Willie?
He went to visit relatives, honey.
He always licks my face and wakes me up Does he know the way?
I'm sure he does, sweetie.
When is he cominh home?
I'm not sure. Why don't you get your coat and we'll head to Chuckie Cheease?
What if Willie comes home and we're not there?
He'll just wait for us.
Daddy, I heard you digging in the yard this morning.
I'm sorry I woke you.
What are you burying in that hole?
Why don't we get some ice cream?
Is it a secret?
I don't like secrets, sweetie.
So why don't you tell me?
You might cry.
No I won't.
Honey, Daddy didn't quite tell you the truth before.
About what?
About Willie.

Draining Training

I couldn't take it any longer. I was Assistant VP of Acquisitions at a prominent bank. I loved my job, but the women in my office could not keep their hands off me. Very stressful. So I quit. Floundered for months. Finally took a barista job. But the same thing happened with the waitresses. I felt used, objectified and quit.
One day I walked past a help wanted poster and it hit me. I knew my destiny.
I went and joined a gym, worked out religiously. Got ripped and jacked and pumped. Worked on my sensual expression and poses.
I crushed my audition and was hired on the spot. Now I am a highly respected Chippendale dancer. One night my former bank boss came in. Her name was Wilma, Head of Acquisitions. I winked at her, turned and wiggled my butt.
You will never acquire this asset, lady.
It felt so good.

Fragments of Memory

Faces and names blur. Pieces of conversation. Bad jokes. Anecdotes and arguments. Hugs and handshakes. A spinning cycle of memories. Carol lay there awaiting the end. Around her, notes from an unfinished symphony. She had even forgotten which vital organ was failing.
Try to make sense of a life.Somehow fit all the strange puzzle pieces together to form a narrative. Where do you place the regret? Did I own a pet? What are my kids' names? She remembers a man, a church, a priest, vows. His name?
Manny! Yes, that was his name. Her breathing calms momentarily. Then she realizes Manny is the guy down the corner who makes pizza.
Carol quietly passes away, her final thought wondering if she ever ordered pizza with anchovies.

Unexpected Guest

I opened the door and there stood Batman.
Can I use your phone? My Batmobile stalled out and my cell is dead. I let him in of course. He'd saved our city numerous times. Outside, horns beeped. He was blocking traffic. He called someone and in seconds was shouting in anger. Handed me back my phone and sighed. He looked exhausted.
My AAA membership is expired. Robin was supposed to take care of this and get my vehicle checked out. He has become full of himself. Discipline is on the agenda. He took an Advil for his aching knees.
I gave him orange juice and toast. I was crime fighting all night, he said, before collapsing into my recliner. Drivers had pushed the Batmobile to the side of the road. He borrowed my phone again and called Robin to pick him up. Batman fell asleep and immediately snored up a storm.
The bell rang. Robin stood there in full costume. His Honda Civic was in my driveway. The Batmobile was being towed off. I shook Batman awake. He stood and glared at Robin, who cast his eyes downward. The crime stopper shook my hand and led Robin out the door. I saw him squeeze into the Civic, getting his cape caught in the door. I heard some bad words.
I will never sit in that recliner again.

Unopened Box

The box arrived on Mary's doorstep without warning. She brought it inside and stared at it. Forty two, divorced, cashier at Kings, no kids, few friends.
She opened it. Sneakers. Gold and pink sneakers. Perfect fit. She walked around the apartment. Very comfortable.
Who? Why?
Then she understood. Mary quickly packed her essentials into one carry on bag, walked through the door and locked it behind her without a look back.
Where do you think you're going, her super asked.
She smiled. Away, Joseph. Far away.

Relaxation Techniques

Rubbing my bald spot
Practice swabbing out my ears
Bend paper clips into odd shapes
Call up ggofy people and exchange goofiness
Watch the dolphin channel
Squeeze bocci balls between my thighs to impress Italian women
Count my liver spots
 Read the obits and see who I outlived
Roll avocado pits in my palms
Quilt while listening to Kenny G

Movie Pitch

This is a pitch for a low budget horror movie set in the burbs.
Billy is 15 and seems normal, if a bit moody. But he tends to wander the streets, pretending to be homeless. Kind strangers try to help. He lies and explains his single mother is abusive. His father left months before.
His plan is to have her investigated and taken away. Then he will apply for emancipation and get the house to himself, where he can periodically head down to the basement where he has imprisoned his abusive father and torture him.
There is some sort of small pet Billy will kill for the hell of it. An innocent girl will fall for his mysterious ways and be in danger.
His 68 year old grandfather is a retired detective, and not convinced his son, Billy's dad, really vanished. He goes poking around and Billy has to dispose of him. Billy hums to himself and appears distracted. He has that cute, innocent look. I see Justin Bieber as Billy.

Generations Apart

As a teen, Lois was very judgmental. She disdained poor posture, overweight people, sloppy dressers. There were so many short comings, including taste in music which ran to Perry Como and Doris Day. Snore City.
She tried lecturing these unfortunates, but only wound up alienating people. She couldn't even get her father to shave his ridiculous mustache. He farted and burped and smelled funny in the morning.
Eventually she graduated college, married a stock broker and had three kids who grew into teens. After three pregnancies her posture stooped. She drank and ate too much and developed love handles. Her kids snickered when she played Bon Jovi music. Sometimes she passed wind and drooled. She avoided the scale.
One day she met a high school friend who looked in tremendous shape. Not a wrinkle. She asked how he did it. He smiled, revealing perfect white teeth, and said he had a hobby. Writing. He wrote short stories and had a blog. Everything flowed from writing.
Next day Lois joined an extreme hiking club. Writing was just too damn difficult.

Swing State

Swing is a state of mind. Put on Benny Goodman, the Dorsey brothers, Harry James, Artie Shaw, Glen Miller, Kay Kaiser and let the music carry you away.
TCM showed Swing Time with Fred Astaire and Ginger Rodgers. Man, what a trip. His solo left me gasping and she is so underrated.
People of a certain age know exactly what I'm talking about. None of those youngsters on all those TV singing contests can swing. They just sing real loud. We at the home can't stand them. When I had my breakdown and grabbed a traffic cop and forced her to jitterbug, this is where my family sent me. They watch you every second.
I wish they hadn't confiscated my tap shoes. Now all I do is close my eyes and imagine Ginger whirling about me in perfect form.

Bocci Ball Bonding

My bocci ball team has bonded like no one's business. When we're not playing we are discussing strategy, technique, equipment, weather conditions. We are fierce competitors. I pity you if you've never experienced the tactile poetry of bocci.
Recently, something cataclysmic disrupted the entire fabric of our sport. One man with such skill and grace has stepped forward to dominate competitions.  Crowds gather to watch him. TV stations want to broadcast our sport.
Who knew Chris Christie, former Governor of NJ was a bocci ball master?
Once, he lost his balance on a follow through and fell. It took five of us to get him to his feet. We are birds ofa feather who stick together.
I turned my back and the bastard ate my lunch.

Cloning Myself

I attempted to clone myself. You ask why. I say why not? My clone could fulfill all my public speaking engagements while I stay home and think of goofy stuff.
I read Cloning for Dummies three times. I took a sample of my DNA from a tongue swab and left it on a plate with temperature at 106 degrees for three days.
Three weeks later I came downstairs for breakfast and there it was sitting at the table, looking very pale, without facial hair.
I asked if it wanted coffee and it responded in French. It had a wart on its cheek. I do not. Every ten sec onds it honked.
I would not check the size of its equipment--that would be creepy.
So I locked it in the closet, or I tried to, but it overpowered me. Now I am locked in my own closet.
I am not ready to admit this was a failure.
Until it tries to dance and fails. I am quite the dancer.

Full Stop

Periodically, my mind comes to a full stop. Entertaining complex thoughts can be exhausting, causing a need for rest.
I will read one of my books, which does not require any engagement of the brain stem. I pass the time by examining my entire body for lint. I listen to old Ronald Reagan speeches, so mellifluous and soothing. I'll watch a Will Ferrell movie or The Bachelor TV show.
I will sit in the park and watch people fooling with their fidget spinners. Do a power walk, ride my bike for miles.
After recharging, I return to engage in deep thinking and forming layered insights. I never talk down to those with inferior cognition. Call it compassion, modesty, maturity.
All these reflections are exhausting me. I will now return to picking lint out of spots you can only imagine.

Wolverines

Wolverines ate my business partner. Greta and I worked from an isolated cabin making crock pots. One morning she ventured out for a walk and was dragged away and eaten.
This was quite upsetting.
I'm trapped inside with no cell connection. These beasts have opened my hood and removed my battery. The temperature is dropping.
I wait for them to mount a charge and burst in. I hope they eat my nose first. Never liked my nose. The wait is killing me. Wish I had Hulu or Netflicks.
Damn real estate agent. I wanted a condo in Ramapo. Instead I get this cabin up in NY state.
One wrong choice and this is what happens.
If I had a pet I'd sacrifice it first.

Wedding Invitation

Lou got a wedding invite from Emily, a cousin he hadn't seen inyears. He decided to take Ida, a karaoke
animal.
The event was held in a long dark hall. The priest wore a black hood. All the guests also wore black. He spoke in a strange language on an altar that barely resembled a traditional one. All the food contained eyeballs and the alcohol was very strong.
At one point Ida was dragged onto the altar and stripped, while chanting echoed through the hall. Six women with feathers tickled her mercilessly until she lost consciousness.
The lights went out and Lou ran for his life. Ida won't return his calls a week later.
There was no line dancing.
He never did congratulate Emily.

Rush Hour

Ways to unclog pedestrian traffic:

Fine tourists walking six wide and stopping to take in every Garbage container.
Old, slow movers who won't move to the right.
Vendors hawking food no one wants.
Mimes anywhere, anytime.
Guys with maps trying to entice folks onto germ covered tour buses.
People who can walk normally, but purposely meander just to annoy others.
Those checking their devices for important messages that never come.
Cops just hanging around looking bored.
People at intersections who stubbornly won't move until the WALK signal.
Those pushing baby strollers who expect complete access.
Kids on bikes and hover boards careening into adults.
Street beggers without imagination.
Men in robes spouting Old Testament scripture.
Those in Disney and Marvel costumes posing for pictures, asking for money and groping women.
Wait--that's my weekend job.

Angry Words

I was taking a nap when I hear squeaking from my work room. Some of my words had gathered atop my blotter. Now what?
Tarantula acted as leader. We talked amongst ourselves, it said, and realized your stories are not normal. They make us uncomfortable. Unless there's a tonal change we do not wish to participate. This is emotional disfunction and intellectual mish mosh.
I am imaginative, I protested. The epitome of writer.
You are diseased, it countered. None of your stories end happily. Your characters are sociopaths. Violence drips from every page.
You would not exist without me, I shouted.
Wrong. We have all been used in other writing by normal writers.
But it's how I use you that creates my distinctive voice. You should be honored.
Tarantula became enraged. Our fellow words complain we are complicit in your weirdness, part of your literary blasphemy and disease.
But I can't write without words, I sobbed.
That is the whole point, Joseph.
My words are on strike. So I took up puppetry. Now all my puppets look frightening. At least I'm consistent.

Bonus Room

I won a bonus room in a contest, a room added to my house. I decided to paint it black and store all my bad memories, advice, inappropriate comments, toxicity, the failures, anger, frustration, depression, and bad recipes.
In one corner I will store all my ear wax.
Regrets? No, I keep my regrets in my back pocket in case I get too full of myself. Recalling what could have been brings me back to earth.
I will need one strong cleaning woman to come in once a week to fumigate my room. Someone who will not judge me.
It will be my emotional mud room.

Fish Fins

Questions:
Is stroking fish fins perverted? If a fish is born minus fins, is it still a fish? If scientists attach artificial fins, is that fooling with nature? Do fish compare fin size, similar to men comparing equipment?
Are there eating establishments that serve fins as an appetizer?
Do Koreans consume more fins? Will Taylor Swift dedicate an album to the desecration of fish fins among third world countries?
Do fins shrivel up with age?
What if I just licked the fins and stopped if the fish seemed uncomfortable?

Lesson Learned

Make sure you attach your gas mask on correctly. In basic training where I learned to kill and maim, I was crawling through the obstacle course when someone yelled GAS! I reached for my mask and realized it had come loose and was lying in the sand.
I grabbed it and slung it on my face, getting a mouthful of sand. Somehow I got through the course.
I learned other things in training. If one person messes up, everyone gets punished. If you ask questions you will pay in all sorts of ways. Lying on a bunk at night wondering how I got here. Maybe I would write the great war novel like Naked and the Dead.
Mostly I learned a college degree doesn't help you shoot straight.

Coffee, Oh Coffee

The coffee shop closed and was replaced by an exterminator. Finney was beside himself. He didn't drive and weak knees meant he couldn't walk far. Staying home and making instant was a poor substitute. He craved the socializing at the shop and loved people watching.
He walked for a few blocks aimlessly. He had to fill this void.
Desperate, he began ringing bells at strangers homes and asking if he could join them for coffee. Some saw the pleading in his eyes and consented. Most did not. But as time went on, he became annoying. One day he knocked on the door of a house he was unfamiliar with. The door opened. A man stood there in Batman pajamas, holding a machete. The man screamed something in a foreign language, scaring the hell out of Finney, who ran home.
Neighbors have not seen him since. His mail piles up. The consensus is he has snapped. If only he had appreciated orange juice and sitting home watching Kelly Ripa.

Dating Advice

Think out of the box. Forget popcorn and a movie. This isn't 1959.
Take her to the deli section of Shoprite. There is endless piped in music you can dance to. A comfortable bench in front of the counter Choose a number and experience suspense as clerk get closer to yours. Meet people. Exchange small talk. Being near the produce section, share a mango. Check out the bin with cole slaw, macaroni salad, potato salad and rainbow pasta.
Do you choose Boar's Head or the less expensive Shoprite brand? Deli clerks love sharing cold cut knowledge, including liverwurst quality. Hold hands as you approach the window and stare ravenously at a slab of Genoa salami, usually a stimulant to hot sex afterward. In this safe and secure ambience, one can show a woman a great evening. You might even get to hear some Neil Diamond or Helen Reddy.