BY Davey H

02/01 Direct Link

One month done, Hon,
And we could say
On this first Feb. day
As we hasten to play,
That Jan., man, wasn’t much fun.

At the drop of a hat
Oh, pardon the pun
Don’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 shot
With a scurrilous gun
And from Cyclops ad-naught
We’ve turned tail and run.
For many a shooting
And media hooting
Reminding us what they had done.

In Second Amendment we trust;
For hunting and killing
and other blood-lust.
No ifs, ands or bust.

02/02 Direct Link

Do you think you will be
like the face of yore
that launched all those proverbial
ships from the shore?
Or tag along; well in, akin
To the florescent band of Merry men
Who partook of innumerable trips
to a colorful candy store?

Will you
before your time is up
be worthy of noble mention?
No, I say, through glibly pursed lips

You won’t.
Rest assured that most don’t.

For no matter how good you think you are
Having done like you should,
at least so far
No greatness;
they won’t even know who you are
Because nobody’s paying attention!

02/03 Direct Link

Reading ‘Man’s Search for Meaning’
Means much more meaning
to be gleaning, I guess.

And for this boy,
some say left-leaning,
it means gleaning meaning
from 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 day
That Frankl is a bright shining star!

He makes terrible tales believable,
and brings to the stuttering, hesitant mind
the wretched and sadistic things
the human being is capable of,
as was the case embodied by
the lowest form of vermin
ever to inhabit human flesh: the Nazis.

02/04 Direct Link

This El Cuerpo domain
Is frequently cussed
Looked upon with disdain
And a lot of disgust
Avoiding all pain
Whilst rolling in lust
Thus seeking gain
Hah – pleasure or BUST!

It’s an ongoing task
Never brought to completion
Behind the skin-mask
oozes funky secretion.

So El Cuerpo smells bad
And he rarely feels good
Maybe happy or sad
in his sack ‘o flesh ‘hood.

El Cuerpo’s a guy who could be a gal
I can rarely rely on his stance as a pal.

But El Cuerpo’s mine
For better or worse
Until he’s out of time
He’d best stay well-versed!

02/05 Direct Link

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 acquisition.

02/06 Direct Link

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 ‘ours’.

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.

02/07 Direct Link

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 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.

02/08 Direct Link


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
For makin’
Love scenes so mellow
He’ll tell you, fellow:
He just LOVED hiding the bacon!

02/09 Direct Link

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.

02/10 Direct Link


Pardon the acronym, Slim;
I proffer it on a whim
And believe me,
I‘m not bull-crappin’;
For it isn’t sin
I’m a cushion for pin,
just can’t win,
But This Really Happened:

Many posts ago,
Bruce’s trees were worthy of mention.
And of course you know
After Mark’s we did go
To Bruce’s; that was the intention.

Just before the latest snow,
On one damp dusky eve
Fate struck with a bone of contention;
I was nearly accosted
My cool, almost lost it
A pound cost an ounce of prevention!

Now, as your host,
I’ll continue - next post.

02/11 Direct Link

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.

02/12 Direct Link

At first, no looming threats were perceived
by the cutting fool Davey H,
not aggrieved,
who focused on locust
and kept his cool,
continuing sawing with a sharp tool.

Over the din of poodle barks
and 2-cycle engine whines,
a 2-legged lumbering
semi-soused human critter
suddenly appeared
and 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.”

02/13 Direct Link

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 taken lightly.
”You just hit me on my head!”
Then she came at me, swingin’

02/14 Direct Link

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?

02/15 Direct Link

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 balance.

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.

02/16 Direct Link

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 Dodge.

My beleaguered ticker was goin’ a buck-sixty.

02/17 Direct Link

This might be said
As per this batch:
Never count your kittens
Before they scratch!
This one laid an egg
Which quickly did hatch
Which meant: shake a leg
Going 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 bearings
I realized that fast
The nightmare was over at last!

02/18 Direct Link

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 PARADIGM SWIFT:

To wit: they
(the infamous proverbial powers that be)
insist on throwing upgrades and updates
down our waiting gullets
far 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-accelerated
supercilious swill,
akin to the also proverbial bitter pill,
can kill our thrill, thus rendering it nil.

02/19 Direct Link

Keeping in view this Paradigm Swift
for me, them and you,
a two-sided 'gift'

Life is complex enough,
and nothing is simple.
The surface is rough
with many a dimple.

If you endeavor
to squirm, shake and shirk,
it may mean you never
complete any work!

Thus I present in prosaic postulation
this systems analysis syllogism
clipped from memory,
having been parsed
from the vast voluminous database
'twixt colleague Tom's ears,
regarding the fiery pace
of ostensible innovation in the software realm.

He damn sure knows a thing or two,
though he wears a bit of gray about the temples.

02/20 Direct Link

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 persuasion
Doubtless ignore all breached privacy;
Pasted on face of each online occasion
Surfing with diligent glee.

But this is just how your public life goes
As you trace out your face on the book;
Stumbling, mumbling prurient prose
Addicted to your dear Facebook!

So heed this here warning
from staunch Facebook users
Who relate how publicity grows:
Don't fall for online autonomy abusers
or let Facebook step on your toes!

02/21 Direct Link

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 both frequented.

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.

02/22 Direct Link

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' 90-word sentence!”

02/23 Direct Link

Pardon me, ma'am,
But here's what I think:
A hound-dog I am;
You look pretty in pink!
With a slick glossy top
So fine-honed and beveled
Alas, next to you
I look pale-assed in blue
And in fact, look,
well, mighty disheveled!

Lest this writer be accused of sexism
in 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.

02/24 Direct Link

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.

02/25 Direct Link

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 never went.

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.

02/26 Direct Link

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 snap.

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!

02/27 Direct Link

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 you are.

Surely the widow is finding out just what our society is made of.

02/28 Direct Link

Keeping up a strong compliance
working for some high-class clients
Work ‘til nine
The pleasure’s mine
Let’s see if our needs can combine
I shouldn’t wheedle, piss or whine
But work without defiance!

Meanwhile, Richard sold me a Zune®
Which played a mighty lucid tune
But alas, despite illustrious rigor
Its tuneful ass would not configure
Maybe it needed to be bigger
though it was a robust 8 gigger
He took it back, cut me slack
Thankfully mighty soon!

Tech foibles roiled amid debates
With wires coiled in my flailed spates
Software did grab its updates
Amid fan motors’ croon.