Aaron left as the house key in that tiny half-assed bird
feeder by the front door, just like he said he would. And that was good ‘cause
we were in the ‘hood where neighborhood watch was no doubt extant, so
‘suspicious’ is something you CAN’T.
On March 1, son, before anything was done,Davey H, in
accordance with his viewsturned off the dreadful news.Yes, that he did choose, fair reader, he imbuesthat
aforementioned newshad nothing he could use.
Slightly later, he swerved to dodge potholes in delightfully
rough roads as the car’s radio crackled with static.
If you read that riposte, have no fear;don’t go gettin’ touchy-feely now, hear?
Before and after 9/11, it was and is a known fact that over
30,000 flights a day take off and land without incident. But the only one you’ll
ever hear news about is the one that crashed. Or maybe the ones that had major ‘mechanical malfunction’
leading to impromptu landings or emergency measures.
Eager bloodthirsty viewers line up to witness what they hope
is carnage. A little blood here, some bits of bone there – you know, the same
stuff Indy spectators flock to the races for.
You will interact with thousands of people in life,but
regrettably the ones you remember most vividly are flaming gas bags.
Meanwhile, Henry was enjoying a refreshing renaissance lately and would
be damned if anything was going to stand in the way.First order of business, therefore, each day,was to get out of bed,shake the cobwebs from headand head out into the fray.Yes, ‘twas work to be hadin good times and bad,right here in this renaissance version;and it shall come to pass‘tis best to bust assin a cauldron of healthy immersion!
Whew! These rough roads of spring
increase loads on each thing
before you have gone very far;
so were those wheels adjusted
before you had busted
the poor underside of your car?
Now hear this with no bliss:
As you sit on your ‘tocks
you'll bust both springs and shocks.
Davey H sniveled and proclaimed
Hey, the road less traveled
is a road that SUCKS.”
And yes, said road
will take much longer
‘cause the pace is slowed,
but hey, it makes you stronger!
So that is why, no need to guess
that cobbled road is traveled less.
We interject this bit ‘o nonsense to inform any and all
readers that a search for Chopin’s 'variations on Lucido D’Amano' performed by
Emmanuel Ax turned up zero results.
How long will you linger when life gives you the finger?
What’s your hope, misanthrope?
A silly pun is just a pun; a good one soothes the soul; yet
if a pun is overdone, you need some PUN CONTROL.
Friday, anyway: “Live in the moment,” the soothsayer said,
hashing and rehashing ancient wisdom that wasn’t really his. He just felt
justified in presenting it as if he had invented the idea.
A follower of the soothsayer took the teachings to heart,
some of which involved minimizing ‘stuff’ or ‘de-cluttering, the implications
of which (surprise!) spilled into the spiritual realm. At this point the reader
of this thread may yawn, “so, what’s the point?”
Well, the point is blunt: minimizing has minimal value. In
the end, the follower minimized his partner right out of his life and
infuriated his work colleagues with his one sentence replies.
Yes, brevity has its place, but in this case, the minimalist
would have been better with a cluttered fetter; at least that way he’d save
With snow that’s too heavy to shovel
we go and hole up in our hovel.
The skies are so gray
that it’s not fun to play,
so we’d rather just sit ‘round and GROVEL!
Trying out this orange ink. (Blackened here out of
necessity). Please don’t pout. So what do you think? Whoops! This turned out
If you wait for perfect weather,
too late, you won’t get together.
Before too much more time passes,
please put on your pinhole glasses.
They’ll help, not hurt; that’s no surprise;
for what’s needed for eyes is exercise,
not laziness (that they despise.)
Well, oy-vay – another Monday!So squeeze the tube,let out the ointment;for it is with dismaythat we hasten to saythat we just missed a dental appointment!
Davey H is reticentabout an email that wasn’t sent,so no
recipient, although it was well-meant.
Oh, shut up, you radio chatter! We’re fed up and you no
longer matter. Our ears shut voluntarily, and that’s not automatic; because
we’ve listened wearily to your news, wars, and static. Enough guff. Put on an
ear muff. Let’s go outdoors with dogs on all fours and get some fresh air and
Outside we will go
in the perilous snowso deep that it
becomes a pain;as much snow has
fallenand our plow is
a-callin’as we traverse the
Whatever happened to
the proverbial ‘little engine that could’?That story could resonate most
anywhere and spawn many a tangent.
For that matter,
where did all those faithful small engines end up after their tenure of
service? How terribly sad to let them go!
For starters, take
the stalwart power unit on Dad’s old push mower, sporting stellar performance
every season with rarely a hiccup.
It had such
When running full throttle, it would intermittently sputter,
settling into its own quirky rhythm: BDROOM, BDROOM, up and down, in and out.You get the picture.
It just couldn’t seem to smooth out those highs and lows.
In hindsight – a characteristic reputed to be 20:20, the
throttle ‘vibrato’ may have had something to do with uneven crankcase pressure
and how it was tied into the carburetor; moreover, the ‘breather tube’ could
have had some outside air infiltration.
Regardless, we can assume the blade could still achieve the
requisite 3000+ RPM to cut grass, as indeed it would have had to.
That old blade housing and deck were stout cast aluminum,
presumably, and bore no name – or none intelligible anyway, unlike today’s mowers whose
manufacturers splay loud decals on every flat surface.
The whole machine was well wornand stained up with the
frassof many a summer’s grass.Chlorophyll, if you will,and that gave the old
push mower some class!
On a sunny summer dayBDROOM BDROOM BDROOM!Old mower was at play,sweeping it up like a broom.Dad he could dependon his old dear lawn mower;before each summer’s endthat grass could be cut lower!