Alas, when the 3-day
vacay we’d allottedhad inevitably gone bustwe returned
slightly spurnedbut not least besottedand filled with a
work-money-lust.We pretended to be well-positionedfor a
piece of the financial pielurking in the general populaceand ripe
for plucking,should we conjure the requisite wherewithalto go
after,garner,and hoard such spoils.But this verse the chickens
were clucking:“the key to success should be,well, I guess,another one clasped on your ring;so if you don’t believe itand
somewhere you leave it,you may as well give it a fling.
Happy Father’s Day – and a sincere shout-out to all those Dads who
have taken serious hits.
To them, we all should send sincere condolences!
As a glaring example: recall the fellow who accidentally backed the lawn
tractor over his 4-year old son. Words could never describe the sorrow that
must have resulted from that incident. The little guy had innocently toddled
out to help Dad with the mowin’.
Our Dad bore the tragedy of his youngest son’s suicide 25 years hence.
Rather than dwell on our brother's sad decision, we continue to salute Dad AND
Mom for all they did!
In a cup we may gather
rub-a-dub, give a squeeze,
but don't flub as you slather
those shaving suds, please!
Then, Bub, you can lather
with the best of these.
Just wondering what is so fascinating about this shaving thing. One fact pops
resolutely into mind on the coattails of watching 10 year old 9/11 documentary
I be so bold: a close, clean shave is of UTMOST importance to this farmboy.
Watching footage of a bearded Osama Bin Laden makes me cringe. Look at that
filthy RAT'S NEST on his chin! Don't wanna grow up to be like him!
This shall be the last
whisker-based installment in Davey H's chronicled rantings. Says he:
“If I get so much as a hint of that itchy, dirt-catching, food-slopping,
I chop it off post haste, good taste
and that is just because.”
No such thing as 'whisker-lickin' good', hood.
Humphrey Bogart got away with wearing a '5 o'clock shadow.
Now to other nonsense:
Okay, so I culled
3+ pages of silly-assed purple prose.
So what? Who reads?
Well, that's how it goes.
Now for more misdeeds
with words in neat rows
and it brings these screeds
to a memorable close!
That badly needed to be said,
for those dumpster®-happy
us with a sense of dread.
Yes, we always need to worry 'oer
what those folks throw out
slovenly slackened slurry sore
they make me want to shout!
Yet they're being AMERICAN
as one can surely see;
That's what they are about, my friend:
A salient point of reference:over morning tea,Davey H explains the
intentional misspellingof this post's title:
“It's a trademark characteristic
of that bunch over yonder;
like pig with lipstick,
it is a point to ponder.”
the affable but quirky fellow declared
with his preoperative fangs bared.
Opining and whining,
on and on he thus blared
with interest declining,
his purview was shared.
In political matters
he claims he's well tutored,
yet with knowledge in tatters
in effect he'd been neutered,
and much more likely ensnared.
It conjured a vision, a good one, by far
of our deep rescission:
what a mixed bag we are!
The con-swerve-ative lurked
with his op-door ajar
as I sheepishly smirked
heading back to my car.
At him we'll scoff
feel like pissin' him off
grandiloquent mischief by far!
“Dogs make great alligator food”.
Thus said a sign
unseen by me
but seen by someone assuredly.
What sick mind made THAT one up?
It carries not a whit of humor.
Elsewhere – and an 'elsewhere' should ALWAYS exist when one's sensibilities are
catapulted into the realms of piss-ful ignorance wrought by the violent and
vulgar – good things happen and love reigns supreme.
Seashells, crushed to perfection, make great footpaths.
The shells protected creatures' soft inner workings for a short time, until their
entrails were crushed between teeth already laden with gristle.
Oh, those folks were 'going Paleo', thus ostensibly healthy.
“Dayum!” That was about all Davey H could rasp after a serious
bust-ass day of woodsplitting. Hells bells – if Nature apportions over 12 hours
of serviceable daylight in any given 24 hours, you wisely partake, making
maximum use of it. Thus, he was able to get a sh**-load of work completed
before gnats set in just past dusk.
The portly acer saccharum log had been sitting for just over 3 years at this
point, and was definitely punky at the ends where weather had penetrated.But
deep inside, as the culling progressed, dense hardwood, pink and viable, was in
morning, little chickadee; we welcome your joyous call!And
it's nice to seethe likes of theeflit in that tree so
tall!That song sounds to me like “victory”;well, it seems
that way, is all;at least the “V” in Morse code, see?So
we’re glad you are having a ball!Actually, you know
that'sa paean to the fluttering batsand catbirds, butterflies
and beesto them we tip our hats!After scooping chicken
turdsit's nice to see the hummingbirdswho swoop and zip from
tree to shedand siphon each blossom of bright red.
on a dairy fast for three weeks.Your taste buds will change. Of
course you will still have a yen for creamy, greasy foods during that
time, but plenty of plant-based alternatives are available.This,
to a near perennially cheese-addicted Davey H, sounded like his
undoing in the works. What about that veggie lasagne served up piping
hot down at that pasta joint? Oh, yeah, the food is fresh and perfect
– just-a-like-a Mama used to make.And then what about hot
melted butter slathered on that stack 'o buckwheat hotcakes similarly
drenched with grade B maple syrup?
“Thrive” documentary looks VERY good, and incidentally is out on
the Web as an mp4 download. It comes HIGHLY recommended.Of course
Davey H doesn't remember where he heard of it, but it could have been
on the coattails of the new exposé
entitled “BOUGHT”.Filmmaker Jeff Hays has taken on such hot
topics in the past, being unabashedly unafraid to do so.So did he
assist the Thrive Project?Hays also oversaw the right-wing
rebuttal to Michael Moore's Fahrenheit 451, dubiously dubbed
“Fahrenhype 451”.But I'll bet theatergoers weren't lined up
around the block for that hate flick.
Those 'new' hens have been six weeks in a separate pen and coop from the
eager rooster. This will soon change, along with the landscape.Can
anyone explain why hens make such good rototillers? Dad used to think
hens destroyed any given patch of grass due to excess nitrogen in
their droppings. It figures a chemist would think of sh** like
that.But the theory is indeed plausible, citing the fact that
birds don't have separate urine and excrement; both join together
when emitted.As to the expunging of turf-grass, watch 'em
sometime. They'll scratch the piss out of it.
that economically depressed town we shall not name, a sign on one
dilapidated building's door shilled for a “Family
Fair!Immediately, Sly's song came to the fore:“It's A Family
Affair”.So what makes the difference?In the former they
dare;in the latter, dissension or incest may blare.Back
to the downtown of this down-in-the-dumps town: What's better than a
frivolity injection?The sign continued: “Bouncy House &
Dunk Tank! Live Music! Chinese Raffle! Kid's Games! Handmade Crafts,
Old Cars and Motorcycles! 50/50 Raffle and over 50 Independent
Vendors!”Davey H waxed befuddled:WTF is a 'Dunk Tank'?
some peanuts to the squirrels.Feed four cats: one male, three
girls.On both doors, some simple locks;how we abhor that
litter box!In an old bathtub, five goldfishrub-a-dub-dub,
throw coins, make wish.Those fish are the best of theseyet we
puzzle 'oer howback then, as now,those fishies braved the
freeze.Whoops! As Davey writes these wordshe still needs to
feed the birdsand wants them well because he caresoh, what
the hell – never mind the bears!This is a job that he won't
shirk;ahhh, yes, 'tis in a day's work!
punchy and slightly stove up from yesterday, the oft-slovenly Davey H
managed to muster creative energies which were then put to practical
utilitarian purposefulness in hanging the chickens' water 'tower' in
a way that would enable stability.Crafting text in preparation
for purposeless posting would have to come later; his literary
non-efforts seemed to take back-burner status on a very regular
basis, as WAY too many other time occupiers were juxtaposed on the
front burners of the proverbial mind-stove.But no matter; as
any boob fool could surmise, the old adage “in 100 Words, who's
gonna care?” aptly applies.
would seem to take so little time, this would-be daily task of
culling, collating, and creating text at the requisite rate, posting
it on the equally requisite date.But is not to be.Time
evaporates in all instances for the largely disorganized farmboy.So
where does his time go?Let's take a peek:Wake up 6 am,heart beating nearly at tachycardia rate.No fear, you hear?He'll
rarely sleep late.Piss, burp, fart, splash water to starton
face, that place above the heart.Shuffle in past the living room
wall.Got telly messages? Check 'em, that's all.