One month done, Hon,
And we could sayOn this first Feb. day
As we hasten to play,
That Jan., man, wasn’t much fun.
At the drop of a hatOh, pardon the punDon’t point at me like that:Now please drop that gun!My nerves just went SPLAT!What’s-a-matta-you son?
That last month was shotWith a scurrilous gunAnd from Cyclops ad-naughtWe’ve turned tail and run.For many a shootingAnd media hootingReminding us what they had done.In Second Amendment we trust;For hunting and killingand other blood-lust.No ifs, ands or bust.
Do you think you will belike the face of yorethat launched all those proverbialships from the shore?Or tag along; well in, akinTo the florescent band of Merry menWho partook of innumerable tripsto a colorful candy store?
Will youbefore your time is upbe worthy of noble mention?No, I say, through glibly pursed lipsYou won’t.Rest assured that most don’t.For no matter how good you think you areHaving done like you should,at least so farNo greatness;they won’t even know who you areBecause nobody’s paying attention!
Reading ‘Man’s Search for Meaning’Means much more meaningto be gleaning, I guess.And for this boy,some say left-leaning,it means gleaning
meaningfrom all the mess.
How trifling these present-day troubles are!How dreadful
those prisoner’s trials were by far!
Suffice to say, at the end of the dayThat Frankl is a bright shining star!
He makes terrible tales believable,and brings to the
stuttering, hesitant mindthe wretched and sadistic thingsthe human being is
capable of,as was the case embodied bythe lowest form of verminever to
inhabit human flesh: the Nazis.
This El Cuerpo domainIs frequently cussedLooked upon with disdainAnd a lot of disgustAvoiding all painWhilst rolling in lustThus seeking gainHah – pleasure or BUST!
It’s an ongoing taskNever brought to completionBehind the skin-maskoozes funky secretion.
So El Cuerpo smells badAnd he rarely feels goodMaybe happy or sadin his sack ‘o flesh ‘hood.
El Cuerpo’s a guy who could be a galI can rarely rely on his stance as a pal.But El Cuerpo’s mineFor better or worseUntil he’s out of timeHe’d best stay well-versed!
But it’s not all bad; this thing called ‘the body’, or ‘my
body’, as in common usage. And yes, good times do occur; stardom, fortune and
fame can be achieved, but in the context of reality, keeping our biological
nature firmly in view will help us navigate complexities of modern existence in
which forces compel us to believe we’re more akin to machines.
Take, for example, the voluminous data sucked down the pipe
thanks to vastly improved Internet download speeds. You’ll never pay attention
to most of it but want it badly enough to jump through hoops for its
As mentioned several posts back, the body must be constantly
maintained due to such mundane various and sundry ambiguities and fluctuations
in ambient atmospheric conditions in addition to the daily grind of watering,
feeding and evacuating waste.
What a gawd-awful hassle!
But let an incisive light of introspection blare on this
phenomenon and one can realize that what we call ‘our’ body is not completely
As the venerable Burmese meditation master Ledi Sayadaw
noted: “Worms that inhabit the body consider it theirs also.”But don’t quote
me quoting him verbatim on that; it’s close enough.
You get the idea.
But I digress. Sh** happens – and happens awfully often for
awful but not unlawful reasons.
This being what it may, it is worth noting at this juncture
– with papers piled high upon this old oak desk, that Davey H has damn near put
in a year in this 100Words.com thing here.
So go ahead – groan. After all, you’re full-grown.
In keeping with things February-ish, we don’t have the
freedom or disposable funds to be ‘snowbirds’ this year, being semi-contented
to hug the stove, cut more wood, pay the bills, ignore the shills, and try at
all times to be good.
3-LEGGED MAN CRITICAL
Word is out: adult film star Ron Jeremy was hospitalized
with a cardiac aneurism possibly precipitated by extended periods of middle-leg
hyperinflation during perfidiously piercing palpable performances.
An avid thruster, Jeremy stood firm, inserting himself in
the Triple-X scene early on, rising quickly through the ranks of shanks and penetrating
many markets, erecting a spot in the Guinness Book of World Records for his
d-erect roles skewering receptive costars in over 2000 naughty hardcore films.
So praise the 3 legged fellow
Love scenes so mellowHe’ll tell you, fellow:
He just LOVED hiding the bacon!
Jeremy’s name may not exactly be a topic of dinnertime
discussion, though apparently he later attempted exiting XXX venues in favor of
more ‘mainstream’ video fare.
One diner might query, “Jeremy WHO? And why first names he has two?”
To which the reply would come: “that was the hirsute 3-legged man who famously
liked to skew.”
And skew prodigiously.
He wasn’t the best looking mug in the adult biz; that’s for sure, but was good
looking where it COUNTED.
The man sported hairy hardware that glaringly proved all men are NOT created
equal. He was also master of abdominal crunches.
Pardon the acronym, Slim;I proffer it on a whimAnd believe me,I‘m not bull-crappin’;For it isn’t sinI’m a cushion for pin,just can’t win,But This Really
Many posts ago,
Bruce’s trees were worthy of mention.And of course you knowAfter Mark’s we did goTo Bruce’s; that was the intention.
Just before the latest snow,On one damp dusky eveFate struck with a bone of contention;I was nearly accostedMy cool, almost lost itA pound cost an ounce of prevention!
Now, as your host,
I’ll continue - next post.
So here’s what happened:
Davey H was minding his own business after dutifully discharging Brucemeister
obligations, and prepared to exit the property in due course.As cold weather prevailed and kindling was running short at Davey H’s
never-fashionable pad, it seemed prudent to bring some home.Espying a pile of thin logs that had been sitting 2 years,
Davey H sank his saw teeth into it and commenced to load the resultant properly
sectioned logs into his trusty rusty station wagon.
During one such cutting pass, the poodle in Davey H’s backseat started going
ape-shit, precipitating an atmosphere of fear.
At first, no looming threats were perceivedby the cutting
fool Davey H,not aggrieved,who focused on locustand kept his cool,continuing sawing with a sharp tool.
Over the din of poodle barksand 2-cycle engine whines,a 2-legged lumberingsemi-soused human crittersuddenly appearedand sauntered toward the wagon,inquiring as to what Davey H was doing:
Q: ”What are you doing?”
A: “I’m cutting this wood.”
Q: “Who said it was yours?”
A: “Well, it’s been sitting here for 2 years,and it’s on Bruce’s property.”
Statement: “That’s my wood.”
Retort: “This is Bruce’s property, lady.”
The saga continues:
Snarling retort to my statement:
”Oh, good – you can be my bitch,”the increasingly angry cretin belted.
My reply to this befuddling utterance is unclear due to the ensuing adrenaline
rush prompted by the rapid deterioration of this unprompted consultation, but
possibly I offered, with a return sneer, to “go ahead, take it.”
At this point, she began snatching the wood out of the trunk, as I pulled down
the hatch, mistakenly clocking her on the head – an occurrence which was not
”You just hit me on my head!”
Then she came at me, swingin’
Holy Shytt! Things had degraded even further from previous
lows as I found myself dodging punches and slaps, the full force of unwelcome
direct contact now thrust in my general direction.In one swipe, the trusty
comfortable pair of safety glasses got plucked off my face and hurled skyward,
landing on the ground.
More punches flew as she hissed semi-intelligible expletives through clenched
teeth, to which I exclaimed: “I don’t know what your f***in’ problem is, lady!”
She had a great comeback between swings: “I know what YOUR problem is: ME!”
Would this piece of shit EVER be my Valentine?
I refused to punch back, intuitively preferring the neutral defensive
as this angry ball of venom huffed, swirled and thrashed my increasingly
alarmed pink carcass.Of course winter garb muffled blows.
Rounding the station wagon’s side, which could be perceived as boxing ring
ropes, I felt her weight bearing down as I backpedaled, nearly losing my
Then something remarkable happened: she started throwing a right cross or reasonable
facsimile thereof, and without even thinking, I gently lifted under her elbow
as it came forward and pushed with a circular akin-to-Aikido motion as she fell
face-first on the leaves, unhurt.
They say – the infamous ‘they’ – never to hit someone with
glasses. And hey, I didn’t – not the ones that were on my face, anyway, as we
tussled, nearly falling on our asses.
Yeah, she wore glasses.
But I did, too;though mine aren’t script,I’m telling you.
Anyway, here’s how it ended:
Seizing the opportunity for a fast getaway before the attacker regained her
upright footing, I threw the saw in the trunk, jumped in the driver’s seat, turned
the key, popped the clutch, kick-started the wagon and got the f*** outta
My beleaguered ticker was goin’ a buck-sixty.
This might be saidAs per this batch:Never count your kittensBefore they scratch!This one laid an eggWhich quickly did hatchWhich meant: shake a legGoing back to my patch.
Indeed, as the aforementioned scuffle did impose, I found through getting slightly
burned: never step on an angry cat’s toes; this fact was hastily learned!
The wood-impromptu wrestling debacle left me feeling
deflated, to say the least, and suffice to say, at the end of that day, my
bearings weren’t too well greased.
Regaining my bearingsI realized that fastThe nightmare was over at last!
Leaving aside this analogy of a far-from-fun-feline rift, I
shall put it behind me and address an impending concatenation of events and
perturbing ancillary annoyances which, taken in aggregate, could be dubbed
To wit: they(the infamous proverbial powers that be)insist
on throwing upgrades and updatesdown our waiting gulletsfar faster than we can digest them,even with grist for
the proverbial mill.
And, if you will,for those of us that are over the hill,this accelerated, hyper-acceleratedsupercilious swill,akin to the also
proverbial bitter pill,can kill our thrill, thus rendering it nil.
Keeping in view this Paradigm Swiftfor me, them and you,
a two-sided 'gift'
Life is complex enough,and nothing is simple.The surface is roughwith many a dimple.
If you endeavorto squirm, shake and shirk,it may mean you never
complete any work!
Thus I present in prosaic postulationthis systems analysis syllogismclipped
from memory,having been parsedfrom the vast voluminous database'twixt
colleague Tom's ears,regarding the fiery paceof ostensible innovation in the
He damn sure knows a thing or two,though he wears a bit of
gray about the temples.
A nubile young nymph spoke belatedly
to her parents of the need to be constantly online, after which
they summarily admonished her butt:
Those of the not yet befriended
persuasionDoubtless ignore all breached privacy;Pasted on face of each online occasionSurfing with diligent glee.
But this is just how your public life
goesAs you trace out your face on the book;Stumbling, mumbling prurient proseAddicted to your dear Facebook!
So heed this here warningfrom staunch Facebook usersWho relate how publicity grows:Don't fall for online autonomy abusersor let Facebook step on your toes!
Tom continued, lowering his chin, sliding those shiny rimmed
bifocals down that schnozz in order to better facilitate a piercing gaze as I
stood in line awaiting placement of the usual burrito order at the beanery we
He may well have asked:
“Do you always use 39-word introductory sentences whilst
constructing paragraphs in preparation for what will only be a total of 100
words contained in the entire essay?”
Needless to say, I'd probably answer in the affirmative,
citing annoyingly abstruse adjectival verbosity as a deeply entrenched,
recalcitrant trait frequently employed in this social tasking endeavor.
Having been uninterrupted by Facebook's fettered
distractions, Tom waxed reasonably relaxed and expressed mild dismay, or
perhaps somewhat stunned surprise at my creamy credulousness in purchasing the
newest operating system offered by the world's largest former software
monopoly, stating that, despite assurances to the contrary – over and above the
strident whine of naysayers – albeit whilst preaching to the choir of
already-on-boarders, the current, out-of-the-box but barely out of beta version of the OS in question was
wholly nascent; as its predecessor was, in Tom's words, “barely stable”.
“Congratulations! Tom chirped. You crafted a friggin'
Pardon me, ma'am,But here's what I think:A hound-dog I am;You look pretty in pink!With a slick glossy topSo fine-honed and beveledAlas, next to youI look pale-assed in blueAnd in fact, look,well, mighty disheveled!
Lest this writer be accused of sexismin wolf-whistlin' to
hypothetical ladies,please be advised, dear readers, that I address,in
rhetorical reference, a hypothetical pickup truck.Hence, the foregoing
soliloquy was NOT a pickup line.
Gee, Knowledge He, 101:
With the quartz permission, I shall reiterate and
regurgitate such continuously percolating great admiration as can be summoned
for the late great Doctor Black, geology professor, former mechanic, good
neighbor, curiously fissionable nuclear power proponent/philosopher, general
ace handyman and last but not leased, metamorphic computer geek extraordinaire
who gave time freely and really did care.
Granite, he DID hail from the First State, first in granite deposits as well as
both red and gray clay, in addition to many a thick skull, but few people not
of his stature ever gave a schist.
Oh, agate it.
Before leaving his body, Dr. Black and I had one memorable
conversation, with me ambling along near the east coast of this great nation,
and he lying supine, nearly bedridden at his rocky ranch somewhere in Colorado
– a fine place, he assured us in many former invitations.Needless to say, we
His speech was slurred worse than a tippler intent on
paintin’ the town and hangin’ the moon. Oh, this was not a drunkard’s drawl,
but rather the result of a surgery-riddled tongue still brimming with tumors.
“Processors have reached their limits,” he insisted.
Guess he was wrong.
Dr. Black is still sorely missed, though not severely, but
on the other hand, yes, maybe he is.
Having come up in the tech landscape at a time when computers
were the size of double-wide refrigerators, it might seem unlikely that he, a
veritable fossil in his mid-60’s, would have any relevance in today’s computing
world. For Dr. Black, having done things the hard way, the new ‘easy’ was a
His predilection about CPU’s having peaked out still
puzzles. If only he could troll the aisles of our BigBox tech store and hear
the siren songs of 6-core processors!
Dr. Black’s widow has, by now, winnowed through mounds of
requisite and resultant paperwork, discovering in a most grueling way the grim
reality as per the adage: “every ‘T’ must be crossed; every ‘I’ dotted.”
For when someone dies, their ‘estate’ is allotted.
So as to avoid that dreadful nether realm of having the
deceased’s assets fall into other hands, with a ‘Living Will one makes their plans
while they still walk upon their lands.
Take the word ‘interstate’ and subtract the ‘r’, and there
Surely the widow is finding out just what our society is
Keeping up a strong complianceworking for some high-class
clientsWork ‘til nineThe pleasure’s mineLet’s see if our needs can combineI shouldn’t wheedle, piss or whineBut work without defiance!
Meanwhile, Richard sold me a Zune®Which played a mighty lucid tune
But alas, despite illustrious rigorIts tuneful ass would not configureMaybe it needed to be bigger
though it was a robust 8 gigger
He took it back, cut me slackThankfully mighty soon!
Tech foibles roiled amid debatesWith wires coiled in my flailed spatesSoftware did grab its updatesAmid fan motors’ croon.