BY Davey H

04/01 Direct Link

In this year’s so-called ‘beginning’ thing
Davey enthralled at the prospect of spring.

He conjured an alimentary journey to take
salivating ‘oer plans for a big friggin’ cake.

So he cleaned up a spot
in his disheveled hovel:
“screw it,” he thought,
as he brandished a shovel,
dredged up sugar, B maple syrup and honey;
“Yeehaw!” He hollered
and spent some more money.

With six pounds of black cherries
and some REAL sweet strawberries
in sheer decadence fit
for a band of tooth fairies,
this 8-layer cake
over which Davey drools
is of course a fake
‘cause it’s APRIL FOOLS!

04/02 Direct Link

A Linux distribution was noticed for sale.
Should I make a contribution?
Anomalous to their standard free tale:
no charge for a Linux solution.

But for the sake of conjecture,
would they strong-arm me
and demand that I pay
for this Linux I see?
What can you say?
One would think it was free,
so don’t betray
what might lead two astray:

Then they offered a supplementary pdf book,
and I planned sooner or later to give it a look
then at some point donate to the cause
whilst firing it up and hacking its flaws.

04/03 Direct Link


Gather ‘round, guys and ladies, too!
With slight surprise here’s what I do:
And what is that?
That may you ask.
I’ll tell you flat: I MULTITASK!

Each morning drag ass out of bed
’cause if you don’t work,
that means you are DEAD.

Work each finger to the bone
and too long linger on the phone.
Scrape and scratch, yes it entails
dirt will catch beneath these nails.
Above coworker’s wailing yammer
some toenails get whacked with this hammer.

Then at night when we pull the shades
I pretend to write – a Jack of all trades.

04/04 Direct Link
Off to the aid of a dying cat
it was Saturday night
when we heard about that.

And indeed for you together with me,
it was a boo-hoo,
yes, surely to rue,
such a painful debacle to see!

But workaday tasks beckoned;
good thing, too,
as well we reckoned:
to give grieving mind
solace to find
and something important to do.

So I went to the old man whose name escapes,
to give an estimate. Will memory serve?
As now it scrapes
with these conditions met,

Eegad, that tree looked big to me;
in a scene I’ll not soon forget.
04/05 Direct Link

Hey, hoe – on the car radio
through cackling static the speaker did throw
a call came in from a merry fellow
posing the query on today’s Pet Show
and he set my backwoods ears aglow
with a PA accent, you know?

So how could I tell?
Oh, that TWANG, it did dwell:
“goin’ dayoun on the tayoun”
and over the knell
formed a grin from a frown,
made me guffaw like hell!

From a shaded abode
on an old winding road
so sand and pebble-slathered,

a sparse country node
where Case tractors rode
and many an old goat once blathered.

04/06 Direct Link

6-toed Tortoise-shell

Today at 4:02 p.m.
a message just came in again
regarding that failing kitty friend.
Oh, dear Chloe the dying cat!
We love you so, and that is that!

That was that, oh yesiree;
the 6-toed cat parts company.
Who knows where she next will be?
Oh, her stiff corpse was a sight to see
but of course it had to be.

We arrived, she was on the bed
in a favorite spot where Nature had led
she hadn’t cried or seeped or bled
thus heard not that word of dread
wisped from our mouths: “sh**, she’s DEAD.”

04/07 Direct Link

Allie offered recent updates on the new center, waxing effusive about plans for ‘Xeriscaping’ larger areas of the grounds, with a few salutary pansy pots dotting the common gathering spots where people would more likely expect to see color.

After all, xeriscaped plots can be a tad unusual or even frumpy, such as times when ‘browning off’ occurs.

However, due to the fact that the area in question does actually receive at least SOME natural rainfall each year, though scant, it bodes well for a less pressing situation overall, water-wise. And believe you me, that mid-Atlantic region receives BONE-DRY summers.

04/08 Direct Link

We had talked to a friend down in PA
toward winter’s end in their brutish fray
and he could portend a better day
whilst hoping a few were on the way.
But as we talked, I heard a “Yipes!”
for he had balked at frozen pipes.

From the dreary North, this we did learn:
ice ushered forth – it was THEIR turn!

Indeed, as some in Dixie had noted
in various casual posts,
they had become unwitting,
perhaps unwilling
coffee swilling
finger chilling
shilling winter hosts.
Thus, in keeping with their dark fears
they had temps not seen in twenty years.

04/09 Direct Link


Don’t Bother Me here,
writhing on a patch of silly tales, weaving.
When yet another stray thought impales,
infusing fresh ‘blood’, forming vapor trails,
it wails – my sanity leaving!

Back when cell phones were still kind of new
and wicked expensive,
Davey conjured an original bumper sticker as follows:


And a few years before that,
a door-to-door salesman tried to convince me
and a slightly less skeptical housemate
that plunking down $1600.00 for that snazzy satchel-style cellular phone he was selling
would be good for our business.

Davey H wouldn’t be bothered.

04/10 Direct Link


On a trip down to the Motor V
nearly everything went fine;
lunchtime, it was @ 12:03
so that meant standing in line.

Took a number, had a seat
a-feeling pretty bored;
nearing slumber, visit complete,
voila! My ox was gored.

Having finished, walked back out
to saddle up the car;
when I nearly freaked and wanted to shout
because she wasn’t thar!

Holy sh**! I could’ve sworn
she was parked on that side
but where was it? My head was torn
when suddenly she was spied.
On that asphalt patch so worn
how could that hatchback hide?

04/11 Direct Link

“Snow is our friend,”
Davey stuttered and stammered.
Yet who could portend
down south Georgia got hammered?

Yet what better way
aye, to wax a bit droll
could fair Nature display
that WE have no control?

Man languishes, squirms
while she/he grovels and swivels;
teeming with germs
as she/he shovels and snivels.

She/he may even peck out
100-Words rhymes
whilst puckered in pout
in these trying times.

Eventually, we see this fraught nomenclature,
as she/he decries
those assaults wrought by Nature.

From hills or in dales
she/he wants to shout it,
regardless of wails
we can do nothin’ ‘bout it.

04/12 Direct Link

A dirt-scratchin’ man of ag-modest means
with many, yes, oh, so many machines
in various states of decaying ag-function;
will throw on his dirtiest modest ag-jeans
go grow on some ga-ga-ga-gangly greens
in keeping with agri-compunction.

He’ll hoe, dig and harrow,
then pull out the yarrow,
the dock and goldenrod, too;
whilst bustin’ his bones
right down to the marrow
he’ll always have too much to do!

So in keeping with reason
and of course the season
the chore load is never complete;
but that’s okay
on any given day
because, you know folks need to eat!

04/13 Direct Link


When an ostensible ‘dialogue’ box says something like:
what it really means is:

“Please wait interminably while Setup ham-fistedly supersedes and delays the process in whatever creative enterprise you were enmeshed, thwarting all efforts at postponing its intrusions in what will no doubt be infuriatingly excruciating debacles of installation insertions loaded with spyware, crapware and all manner of ancillary fluff you’ll never use.”

Actually, things are not really THAT bad, but at times they could be.

Just don’t forget to UNcheck those cute little boxes off to the left.

04/14 Direct Link
The non-venerable Whupsteen, in typical dawdling fashion, had not yet completed his 1040 forms. Now he was anxiously gearing up for late filing, hoping and braying for leniency should his paperwork – and of course whopping payment – hit Big Brother’s coffers on the late side.
“What the f***? Those c***suckin’ mother***in’ a**hole bastards are sh**in’ piss-soaked peabrain f***wads.”Whupsteen growled.
He had a tendency to do that. Has quite the way with English as well.

Standers-by, had they heard that expletive-laced riposte, might well have mused as to whether Whupsteen sympathized with the ongoing and highly ballyhooed Bundy ranch tax resister debacle.
04/15 Direct Link
As dreaded “Tax Day” did approach,
those not yet dead, this topic did broach.
To speak of the dead,
remember The Gipper?
In a speech that he read
it sure was a gut ripper!
He strolled to the dais
rolled out a red carpet
whats, wheres and why is
with no need to harp it.

In that inimitable way
and his usage of breath
he mentioned Tax Day
as so surely as death.

His employer did tax
and to all did betroth
thus on all our backs
death and taxes?
Got both!

Shell out, don't falter;
kneel at Tax Altar.
04/16 Direct Link


We bought a new printer.
It acted like feces.
So I wanted to splinter
it in to ten pieces.
Or better yet, hey, what would say you?
Would, say, a thousand-plus pieces do?

In the end, friend, we just said “aw, shucks,”
the device only cost us a hundred bucks.

Yet it frequently couldn't achieve an erection
in flaccidly shunning its network connection.

It eventually worked aft a few languid tussles
and our print projects shirked
barely flexing their muscles.

But worst of all, if you'll pardon the boner:
we didn't enthrall at the cost of the 'toner'.

04/17 Direct Link
Now if this g***mn thing would only work,
but first to get rid of that Symantec jerk.
It says it's installed but then it isn’t
I’m not enthralled by this old box’s jism.
And yes, that IS an effin’ word.
You box of jizz – you’re so absurd!

A smoked OS, I could possibly guess,
and quite frankly crankily confess
such a sad tangled network
a spaghetti-like mess!

Now, on whatever day it is – at nearly 1 in the morning, I peck out continuations on this diatribe utilizing one of the two: Dell Optiplex 270 freebies Kate donated two years ago.
04/18 Direct Link

Whilst plunking around the aforementioned Dell's now-tiny (40 gig) HDD, I finally had stumbled upon underutilized installers which had gone whacky, rendering legitimately installed on-board applications nearly useless.

Put another way, each time anyone tried to open, say, Word or Power Point, a pop-up would assert itself aggressively, insisting the feature was on a disk or some other outside-of-machine resource, and would the operator at the helm please be so kind as to insert same pronto; otherwise said ostensibly on-board application would fail to launch, as indeed it did.
But then, if you farted a certain way, the program would start.

04/19 Direct Link

Oh, Well, DELL®

So WTF? If media powers-that-be
could launch a successful show on TV
that chronicled foibles in “This Old House”
couldn't I do the same with this old mouse?

Jeez – it's an issue well worth considering; after all, the field is plump for expression and exploitation within the context of “planned obsolescence”

Should such a show or series come to fruition, do you think the digital moguls and gluttonous software giants who populate and perpetuate our plethora of machines and applications along with an increasingly burgeoning endless stream of updates, patches, fixes and eventual NIXES  – let it happen?

04/20 Direct Link

Spar date: April 20, 2014:

We're damn near up to speed,
well, so far, at least.
This fine Dell® steed
had its bearings well greased.

No nickname yet,
we're not sure what to call her
here with a brief “NYET!”
from that pesky installer.

I held not a grudge,
my balls perched ‘oer a cliff,
not meaning to fudge
with an upper lip stiff
but her Welcome Screen stayed,
the installer completed
so I hip-hip-hoorayed
and did not feel defeated!

Oh, this old Dell®,
she can be so much fun!
We think she's swell
but her work's far from done.

04/21 Direct Link

This Dell®-ish activity was normally reserved for evenings, of course – the later the better.
Deflate her the fetter.

So with an old-style 'trackball' PS-2 mouse and straight but functional keyboard, this old corporate tower – an ostensible ‘Energy Star’ of its day – has finally, after much ado, seen a bit of exercise in the hands of this silly-assed scrivener.

One thing stands out as surety:
this old box will likely never touch the Internet.

Not that it wouldn’t relish the chance;
how this elderly Dell could savor the dance!

With electrons glowing,
her 40 gigs showing,
and looking so slowly askance!

04/22 Direct Link

Windows® XP® she wears,
and in case someone cares,
yes, her message is oh, so complete:
she has no Facebook shares
unlike her staunch forbears,
and refuses to be obsolete!

She sports 2 gigs of RAM
all the better to ham
and never ever will tussle with SPAM.
She sits by the bed wearing black and not red,
me to find when my mind’s on the lam.

Dellie’s future was grim
before I, known as “him”
had taken Dell® off of Kate’s hands;
then took her away on a dreary fall day
at our home now she so proudly stands!

04/23 Direct Link

And now, we continue our didactic dispensations of Dell®-ish adventures.
Yeah – obsolete, my ass!
I’ll be damned, but not spammed
if this perfectly good piece of apparatus
gets shit-canned
for no good reason other than “it was slow”.
No, it’s not the season, you know?
So off to the junk pile she should go?

Not if this boy has any say.

Dellie is NOT a roll of toilet paper,
not metallic compost,
and to that I’ll drink a seltzer water toast!

Now here’s to dear Dellie®:
we know she is old;
she’ll be a bit smelly
with possible mold.

04/24 Direct Link

And now for something decidedly incongruent:

Apologies to any and all dear readers who may or may not have had the great misfortune of perusing the foregoing long-winded ballad delineating the joys of elderly PC resuscitation.
Let’s keep in mind that back in the day – whichever ‘day ‘, or perhaps era, you prefer – the 25 pound (or so) Dell box to which I proffered many feverishly solipsistic paeans belonged to a class of then-contemporary beasties called ‘microcomputers’.
Can you imagine?

Oh, put down that 2-ounce ‘smart’ phone and muse for a minute over the implications of such an unlikely moniker.

04/25 Direct Link

Dell, as I was braying:

Oh, but everything molds
in these holds
and gets smelly,
I care not in the folds
of my new-found pal Dellie®.
So soon she will tell thee
that tale that was told
of how she was, well, free
and didn’t get sold!

Whilst on my buttocks
I relish this box
with 2 gigs of RAM
the system unlocks;
she rarely needs be cajoled.

Thus no more of her crown
will you hear
this thread winding down,
its end drawing near.
Suffice to say
at the end of the day
fair Dellie® is oh, so dear!

04/26 Direct Link

Then a day came, so lame, just one
for Davey was game to sever the fun.
You see, per me, t’was time to be done
whilst soakin’ up southern sun.

Davey had craved sweets for so long,
his energy level, he bleats, wasn’t strong.
Therefore you see, and again, per he
’twas time to be moving along.

Thus vitamin D, in abundance, said he
would be remedy, oh, so fine;
when soaked through the skin
whose pores invite in
that vitamin from said sunshine!

But going to extremes
would not be the answer;
sun scenes could develop skin cancer!

04/27 Direct Link

Thirty days, no more, no less.
This is one short friggin’ month.
But that is a good thing.
At least occasionally good.
Short, punchy sentences are, too.
Word®, however, doesn’t always concur.
In fact, when prompted, it offers this slur:
(With a green line under.)

“Fragment (consider revising)”

How TERSE is that?
Um, like, hardly surprising.
No period, even.
No semicolon after ‘Fragment’.
Oh, and by the way, quotation marks mine.
Short, might you say?
So do I hear a “Yea”?
Truncated, I may opine.

Brevity ROCKS – on keys I plinked.
Yet how it shocks to be so succinct.

04/28 Direct Link

Hearkening back to those Watchtower musings – which, to the uninitiated, were a rather dubious collection of slightly spirited essays that festered and fidgeted their way from consciousness to paper on the coattails of some rather impromptu door-to-door solicitation intrusions – Davey hereby posts felicitations:

Stuffing the woodstove one chilly day,
and guess who dove (drove!) into this silly fray?
Heating the home
from the day before
when a well-dressed gnome
gave a knock at the door.

We have to confess, oh yes, gawd blessed, although we raised our voices;
nothing else will protect all the rest
from making such bad choices.

04/29 Direct Link

Musing further, on back into winter,
’twas such a murder with many a splinter.
Though we took a spill,
it could have been worse;
now here you’ll be ill
with this chill snowbound verse:

“If the heavier snow falls further west,
we, you know, will think it best.
Frozen flow at your behest;
quite the show, I say in jest.”

At least, well greased,
for this near hairless ape
the work rarely ceased
but it kept him in shape.
Salt and sweat increased
on his back, neck and nape
with his shovel a beast
’oer his left hand to drape.

04/30 Direct Link
Davey saw dancing dolphins
and was deeply moved.
They surfed in the wake
of a boat deeply grooved.

Finned fun.

This solar-drenched gig was being experienced
in an entirely different world
than that which had prevailed
for four winter months up yonder.

And though the dolphin’s ecstasy
had taken place on April 26th,
Davey figured “hells bells, man
– why not post it a day or three late
and a holler short?”
So he did so,
not expecting any kind of retort.
In short,
nobody reads
or at least they don’t pay attention,
so he posts his screeds expecting no mention.