At March’s expiry, Davey H was yammering on regarding a
curious incident involving $15.50 in quarters he retrieved from a local
Laundromat’s change machine.
Having returned them to the owner, Davey never expected more than kind words
and a pat on the back; little did he know big plans were bubbling behind the
squeaky din and shiny stainless steel facades of expensive commercial cleaning
So when the owner called asking if Davey wanted in as partner
in the franchise, Davey nearly shat his trousers.
”Holy Soaps, are you shittin’ me?” Davey croaked.
”Hell yeah,” the owner replied.
Now, then; now and then you just have to ‘let out the dawg’
– know what I mean?
Indeed, dog-hair – and the ordure it engenders – infuses every fiber of our
existence, it seems, necessitating trips to other than our own laundering
facilities, and it is in these venues that lucid working-class dramas – for
better or worse – gleefully play against the backdrop of humility and
non-autonomy under the glare of ever-present surveillance cameras.
But it all comes out in the wash.
To reiterate, this snazzy facility – to which I devoted so many column-inches –
is the hands-down, all-categories winner, sporting wicked fast WIFI.
Yes, indeed, all things eventually come out in the wash,
preferably when we use unscented detergents, though judging from the
odoriferous chemical stench emanating so odiously from any given Laundromat,
most people don’t, and are instead lured, sheep-like, into the fallacious notion that having their
respective textiles saturated inextricably with petrochemical-derived
fragrances equates with ‘clean’.
So as mentioned previously, our personal threads had been washed along with dog
laundry (thankfully in separate machines!), and I was prepped and in good stead
for the 10-day cabin stay slated to commence here on the coattails of a winter
that just wouldn’t quit.
The cabin had dustBut I moved in with lust10 days and nights’ trustI’d make it or bust!
Now Thoreau I ain’tAnd have many a taintBut without complaintPraise these quarters so quaint!
And that creaky-assed door
Creaked just like beforewith a moan just too hard to ignore.
The first few nights went okay,
and then the winds came,whipping up dust and rakingthose raggedy
Rhododendronsagainst the rough-sawn pine clapboardswith a scratching sound
eerily akinto rodent incursion.
Hence, the cabin became merely a place to crash;indeed, a
major morning motivator!
Thus it came to be and findThat for me, so sad you see
But I knew damn well it would be:One thousand words behind!
But it always ends up that wayAnd suffice to sayThis county bumpkin’s so grateful;
For if ‘they’ were watching
My foray’d be scotching
And I’d get kicked out – so fateful!
I refer most specifically to the good-faith admonition for us posters on this
forum, in the context of our content reflecting activities taking place at time
But that’s too hard
So here’s a canard:
Through this stuff I’ll be coasting!
A return, yea, hey, a slight return!(Apologies, Jimi, for
using your term!)To the reentry, gentry
Now watch me squirm
Post-op the righteous ‘Burn & Learn’
Yes, indeed, a FLASH burn, dude;
that much I did read’ly discern.
So now these eyelids
will start to droop
much sooner in the day;
as I tussle with muscle
and hope to recoup
some energy on the way.
So let’s walk the loop
and please pick up dog poop
waxing rapturous as if to say:
”Don’t bend, please stoop;
For your spine that’s the scoop!”
And revel, we’re out in the fray!
Later, rested, well-ensconced in this journey vested, I
tried, discreet, not to admit defeat; indeed, hoping not to be bested.
The period key on the otherwise functional keyboard insisted
on not working most of the time, but was infuriatingly inconsistent, so perhaps
run-on sentences would be a satisfactory workaround.
However, the period, or perhaps rather, ‘dot’ key still
worked on the numeric keypad, but what a hassle! Yet it can, should and will be
taken in stride within the context of flashlight batteries that last a week, CV
joint boots that crack within a year and failure-prone flimsy plastic hinges.
Facebook – and indeed a vast majority of the Web itself –
must be the most creative way ever invented to waste time.
But that’s okay; we in the Land ‘o Plenty have plenty of time to waste, as the
world is our playground, rife with extractable, exploitable resources free for
the taking to the benefit of our largest shareholders who in turn seek
ever-increasing profits, aided and abetted by our Empire’s expansionist
Of course inconveniences arise, such as those that prompt headlines like this:
“Kazakhstan Wants A Piece Of Its Own Oil Revenues”
It’s NICE to be distracted!
Someone recently posted a
pro-mara-hoochie piece which garnered 1157 ‘Likes’, give or take a few.
I'd take that voluminous passel of Likes with a large bag of salt, and would
venture that a sizable percentage of 'medicinal' weed usage is fraudulent at
best. After all, who DOESN'T want to feel good, smooth out the bumps of life
and slap Band-Aids on all real or perceived wounds?
It's an easy next step to cobble together some 'symptoms', rouse up
justification, and head to the nearest dispensary.
Okay, so let the glaucoma and terminal cancer
patients get their just due, rightly so.
Anti-Pot Rail, continued:
Speaking from my own unfruitful experience of lost
decades enmeshed in this time and money-wasting activity - chasing that
ever-elusive perfect buzz - all I come up with is regret for all the time and
money flushed down the swirling commode of recreational intoxication and lost
potential in the realm of education, etc.
In retrospect, time would have been more
productively served watching Speed Racer reruns. At least I could have solved
some of life's larger queries; I could be stupefied with the idiotic
resolutions to problems – and cheer when the bad guys lost – while NOT stoned!
Anti-Pot rail, Part III:
For the thinking
person who is not fooled by the feeble deceit of intoxication and wants to
better her/himself, plenty of truly holistic activities abound: Tai-Chi, Yoga,
a dizzying array of meditation techniques, martial arts - the list goes on.
The 'need' to intoxicate, when not prompted by peer pressure, is, generally speaking,
a void that can be filled without the debilitating side-effects and
In closing this long-winded diatribe, I wish I had
all that time back; time frittered away, red-eyed, lazy with intoxicated
indolence as the world of constructive pursuits eluded my grasp.
This particular diatribe begins April 6th and feebly
attempts to work ass-backwards to 10 days prior, or should we say,
retroactively. Should this have been a former post, then I owe a formal apology
to the host.
Thus it was to be,
For it was planned, see?
In this winter that just wouldn’t quit
I spent nights in a cabin
and got used to it.
6 blankets, a pillow and sleeping bag;
By a larch, not a willow
This chin would not wag!
Silence for nine days
The easiest part;
As the practice stirred malaise
We all learned the art!
One cap was for sitting
One thus for sleeping;
The first was loose fitting
The other heat-keeping!
This rambling was partially delineated April 4th, and in keeping
with an incomprehensibly intractable, horribly disorganized state of affairs
scattered about this pathetic excuse for an office, got muffled in the shuffle.
Hence, digression, dislocation and disambiguation intervened.
Now, then; back to ‘then’:
Tomorrow it’s homeward
to resume the grind;
With thick skull waxed bone-ward,Alas, I find
a fluttering lost bird
that IS this, MY mind!
Though speech is not slurred
nor am I weak-spined.
”But that is absurd”
I wryly opined.
Oh, I neglected to mention yesterday’s snow: damn near 4
inches that made things quite slow.
Glad we didn’t pull the studs, you know?
Everything will be late this year – anything stalwart enough to poke its
heliotrope peepers above ground, that is.
For the tender, those tiny tendrils, what a rude awakening it is turning out to
Black birch twigs and sucker growth are still available for consumption,
permitting the consumer to avail her/himself of Wintergreen oil contained
therein for the purposes of naturally controlling inflammation, as salicylic
acid is also a chemical constituent in the twigs and bud-ends.
Ahh, yes – the infamous Tax Day that everyone yelps and
Oh, but wait: do we have an ‘out’?
Today most of our colleagues have a day off – ostensibly ‘Patriot’s’ Day in
common parlance, and perhaps par for the course, though many of said cohorts do
not in the strictest sense of the term deem themselves overtly patriotic.
Yes, we have taxes due. But that’s okay; we are only minimally funding ‘our’
war ‘efforts’ in distant dusty environs, and if that’s the only disgruntlement
aside from ethanol subsidies that benefit Monsanto or Syngenta, then all’s well
that ends well.
Now is the time for all good cameras to come to the aid of
For it is in the interest of ALL Americans that, to quote local pundit Sigmoid
Whupsteen: “they GET this friggin’ guy – and yes, I believe it’s a guy –
grapple him by the short hairs, maybe apply some electrodes to his genitals,
then put his ass in a cage with similar resolve as was applied to Unabomber Ted
Kaczynski. Let’s face it: we just can’t have madmen running around doing this
kind of shit without consequences.”
Whew! That Whupsteen’s a sizzlin’ steak on life’s grill.
News from the BBC’s
of course, yes, overseas.
I pardon, if you please
crispy Brits’ bureaucratese.
And permit these views
when listening to the news
that we’re spoon-fed each day;
I FEEL for those newscasters
entangled in the fray.
Because, hey, those poor saps are, as condition of their employment, roped in
to reciting this dreadful pap over and over again on any given day when all the
news that trickles in is of death, grizzle, debauchery and dismay.
Ever wonder how persons reciting this stuff fare?
Do they suffer from insomnia?
Prehensile erectile deficiency?
Listen if you dare!
Finally the Jack Russells are returning home.
This was the longest run of their short careers – going on 17 days, which would
not ordinarily have been a problem in less quirky 4-leggers.
The junior, codenamed ‘Testicle’, performs intensive leg lifts, obsessively
humps other canines, tends to get aggressive in the car and has nipped fingers.
His older ‘sibling’, Stubborn Lou, digs in heels and all too often lives up to
In the interests of maintaining canine cogency – and tending toward avoiding wretched
news reports of the ongoing Boston Marathon bombing fiasco, we catalyze
workaday occurrences with furry distractions.
Pressure cookersAre for beans and peas,Or sometimes carrots and beets;
The toughest hullsOn the least of theseThoroughly completes.
But one pressure cookerMade a bombMangled onlookerAnd shattered calm.
Somewhere else, nobody was running.
And like that indescribably peacefulsunny September Tuesday
in 2001,nary a soul could grasp the carnageunfolding two hours east,but once
they found out,they would concur with Ecclesiastes’ 1:9assessment of nothing
new being under the sun.
For it is within the capacity of our speciesto harbor and
express evil intentions.
Under the sun, go APESHIT, someone!
With Earth Day fast approaching,here’s a country hick topicwell worth broaching:time’s-a-wastin’, son,Springtime you’re tastin’,now go out
and Git ‘Er Done!
First off, scrape up fetid sand/salt detritus left over from
the winter’s plowing and hustle it over yonder with the trusty rusty
After all, it can be used as fill provided no plant material
of any consequence is residing nearby.
take down the homemade Plow-Gard® so as not to offend mail carriers.
Last night’s hoarfrost(Heavens! Don’t insult Mother Nature like that!)meant
capitulation;bring in pansy flats for another few nights, please.
Elsewhere around the cattle-free beef-less vegetarian
so-called ‘ranch’, the snows got pulled last night;now the old Iron Horse
pulls to the right.
Ace ASE-certified mechanic Rich mentions how he’s “not impressed” with cars
that land in his shop after having supposedly undergone professional alignment.
And so it is: rubber is a big expense not avoidable;
premature tread wear is the cost of doing business at over 20,000 miles a year.
So although she pulls to the right
it won’t make me get uptight;
With a yank and some heftI snatch to the left
Fake balance – and that’s outtasight!
With Earth Day signaling the powerful push to save
electricity, powers that be (no pun intended) are unctuously urging turning off
lights and such for a few evening hours.
Meanwhile, stack at the branch, I might get some gigs clearing trees that shade
Additionally, while reading David Cay Johnston’s latest book entitled “The Fine
Print”, Chapter 6 comes highly recommended, as it deals with electric utilities
and their multifarious tax breaks, sweetheart deals, lousy service and
They do whatever they want,
have us firmly held by the short-hairs,
and will continue to get away with it.
Repetition, repetition, repetition;How great thy admonition!
Learning by rote is the process of note; a most basic – and,
however grudgingly we must admit – effective method of implanting both
necessary and unnecessary information between our ears.
But at times it bores me to tears.
I could rant on about Mike the Health Ranger and his adjectival antics; he can
never post anything, it seems, without making sure to drive the post into the
ground, saying the same damn thing at least three times, albeit with slight
changes in wording so as ostensibly to get the point across from different
Attention riggers, ropers, workers, non-dopers!I see you are using strong straps and thick ropesSurely not abusing themwith abrasive high hopes.
Be advised some are made
With an ‘Esterlon’® blend
Best kept in the shade
Lest their life will soon end.
Enraptured with the colorful pasticheof 7/16” safety lines on the Yale Cordage
website,Davey H exuberantly exclaimed:“What a knock-down, drag-out plethora!”
But he sat on the fence regarding whether to drop to 7/16” from half inch, not
wanting to be half-assed. Still indecisive, perhaps the price would shunt his
choice toward the lighter weight product.
FOUR BUCKS, Snail Mail Sent
When we got our toll bill in the mailI sent a check straight away;Those cretins’ droll drill on us so frailIn court we’d have our day?!
So now extol what it would entailWe’d driven in the fray;Would I cajole or rant and railWhilst pleading in dismay?Their urban ‘soul’ was put on saleTo my checkbook inveigh!
I licked and stamped the envelopeThen sent it off with brimming hopeThose robo-systems would ably copeEnsconced in their electro-scopeAnd with dithering electro-erectionsNOT send my doughTo electro-collections!
Those well-off Snowbirdswith the double-decker McMansionaren’t
back from the Sunshine State.
No, they are not back here yet,though it isn’t yet late;
down yonder, we ponder,
hot as it could get;
wiped sweat & wiped clean slate!
They’ll be in for a big unpleasant surprise,what with
rodents having run roughshod‘oer their palace and an obnoxious incursion of
On a chilly-assed mornThey blow their car hornYeah, a sonorous tootAs they ogle grapefruitSure is good to be backNow it’s time to unpackBut the rest of us don’t give a hoot!
The period key finally began working again on this
excellently comfortable curved keyboard, enabling, without the slightest
inkling or pretense of malice aforethought, a proprietarily precise prehensile
prologue of perspicuous, profundity-penurious piffle parsed precariously for the
perusing pleasure of as-yet-to-be-determined readers; though at the time this
tumultuous tommyrot was culled, composed, created collated, and compiled, the
semi-functional gray matter betwixt Davey H’s ears was grudgingly nearing a
fully awakened state, having been invoked, impelled and introduced to said
condition, albeit somewhat delayed, by proper and reasonable means via
traditional methods of caffeinated beverage intake, in this case, chai AND
The metastatic bone cancer patient has returned home with
condition still latent. Her newly refurbished buggy sits waiting for her
returned strength, dread disease temporarily abating; we’re not debating at
some length.So it will once again be her pride and joy – especially with
functional A/C, boy!
Having undergone its own surgery, including head gasket,
right-front axle and new skins all the way around, it now glides like a brand
Damn well better, for $2989.87. We visited the patient, who, to her credit, HAS
been patient; tolerant of the dreadful toxins medicine has injected her with.
The patient, you seeFelt the pull of harsh tensionBut the smartass in meStill gave full attention.
Trouble is brewing
In Medicine’s house;
so why are they playing
this game, cat & mouse?
The patient, we see
is being assaulted
white coats can’t be faulted.
Poor patient whose latent
rank cancer cells grow
with a dreadful sensation
Pain meds keep on ‘low’.
We cannot feel
how bad these things arebut one thing’s for real:
She has DNR.
In closing, thereforewe all must stand backAnd assume, not imploreThat she’s on the right track!
Today was the first day of the last day of the month. Does
that make sense?
F***no, you may snipe.
So let’s see – retroactively – what was coming down the pipe:
Well after 4:30, I got up, feeling
grimy and dirty, and quaffed java cup. After all, I had worked cleaning windows
last night until 11:30, and it damn
near my ass did whup!
Now if you, dear readers give a flip, I post this here on high; for we may or
may not take a trip; and can neither confirm nor deny!
Is it off to Stoneham?
Scoff, condone ‘em?