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Almost like foreign objects waving in stiff winds, making a slew of as-yet unheard peeps and squeaks even though most of the talking folks spoke Davey’s native language, which may or may not have been English. To that point, Davey H can neither confirm nor deny whether English was ever his first language.
Anyway, he needed more time;
the remains of the day could then be sublime. Rather than talking
he could watch his breath,
or do some walking,
write words on the page
and as you may guess
he would be thinking less
of disease, old age, and death.
But that being aforesaid,
those things bring much dread,
lest any smartass should scoff;
though dreaded they’ll be
and with surety,
no wonder we’d soon blow them off!
For a time – say, half the first day removed from this idyllic prison, Davey H floated along, buoyed by a peaceful feeling.
Then came the first dope-slap: news of blood-soaked events in Syria. As mentioned in previous posts, Davey, like many others, has at least half a heart and it bleeds for those engulfed by perpetual warfare. But pity those newscasters who report on the world’s morbid disasters day in, day out.
Of said newscasters, Davey wonders: do THEY ever ponder eardrums at the receiving end? Misery loves an audience, it seems, and homo sapiens is not only beset with violence and bloodshed but is in fact intrigued with it.
As a tiny point of reference, once upon a time, Davey H invited his then-fiancee to a romantic evening at a local theater.
The blood-slopped feature presentation was Arnold Schwarzenegger’s ‘Terminator Part ll’, and the place was packed to the proverbial gills.
After a sordid roster of grisly, shock-provoking previews, the adrenaline-laced audience was treated to a high-tech orgy of gratuitous violence.
With the best of intentions, Davey H and his date had filed into the darkened theater initially and found a couple of the rapidly vanishing available seats. After plunking their respective posteriors down, Davey H felt a sharp nudge at the back of his head, obviously from a disgruntled viewer behind him. “Guess he’s hoping I’ll slump.” Davey quipped, slightly stunned by that boorish bump.
Needless to mention, Terminator 2 was a horrific, crashing seat-of-the-pants thriller if ever an understatement was to be uttered. For the jaded, the violence-seeking and gore loving among the audience, Terminator 2 certainly didn’t disappoint.
Apparently the outlay for all that destruction and computerized special effects – still a pricey commodity in the early ‘90's – was in excess of $100 million.
They likely trashed at least a million worth of trucks, cars, and motorcycles alone.
Memories of that era are fading fast;
it’s abundantly clear we did not have a blast.
Back to the present:
Before this day expires,
old Davey must confide;
the need to deflate tires
‘cause it’s too rough a ride.
He aimed his gaze at said tires
and mumbled “what the heck?”
The pressure they required
was damn near up to spec.
So Davey H persisted
but stopped to wonder why
the tires’ sidewalls insisted on 44 psi.
Thus Davey H continued,
though without a shop;
for you see he was a determined dude;
re-tired, the work could stop.
[This process conjured up an interaction with a shady character, circa 1989]
Chalky was a piece of sh**,
a fraud, a scam, a faker;
but here is the best of it:
he’s gone to meet his maker!
Now we could say who Chalky was
but hey, don’t want to spoil it;
he’s gone today, yeah, just because
we flushed him down the toilet!
Out and about, D is an employment seeker, delighted without any so-called ‘smart speaker’.
The radio announcer said “you can ask your ‘smart speaker’ to play (whatever) with the listener on that occasion
gaily eliciting an audio privacy invasion!
Yes, to be frank,
no Alexa® to thank;
so you can take that to the bank.
Now Davey is a worker bee
and stays on a workin’ track;
sweating and vetting laboriously
and rarely going slack.
That’s the way it is, you see?
He has no time to yak;
“we’ve bills to pay today,” says he,
and that’s a freakin’ fact.
Today, hey, hey, we head off to work
whilst feeling a little bit wary;
as the constant stream of aud-vid input
seems so unnecessary.
And thus here’s comes the inevitable query:
‘How easy is it to turn that handheld microwave radiation device OFF?’ For most folks,
the answer: ‘not very’.
No big fan of the oft-berated phenomenon known as ‘planned obsolescence’, Davey H will, in no uncertain terms, let the folks at the easy access Big Box office supply store know what he thinks.
4 U C, all the printers, they use different inks.
His rants fall on deaf ears.
And then, a refill for a pen, if you will,
in due course will be a real kicker;
you’ll do double take
and your wallet will shake
at the not-so-nice price on the sticker.
Good on you if you
know what to do
with the time as it rapidly passes;
just do us a favor : start using a shaver
– and take off those silly sunglasses!
The foregoing semi-limerick is a hypothetical admonition hurled in the general direction of a recalcitrant employee of an arboricultural or landscaping firm located somewhere in the eastern United States at some point in the ‘90's.
As an aside, Davey and kin had been known to do business with a small town bank that had actually implemented a no sunglasses or ball cap policy after a highly ‘successful’ robbery.
But who knew? Maybe the next would-be robber could don a Guy Fawkes mask.
So a happily hatless Davey trudges on
with a strong sense of wonder;
the day is half gone
as he plans his next blunder!
No tolerance for fussy details today. Just way too many chores and a dearth of time with which to complete them. Who alive has never had this perennial plaint?
When your ‘g’ looks like your ‘I’
you will need a swift retry.
Literally adventurous but not bolder,
this stuff tends to happen
now that we’re older.
So sloppy cursive is no surprise.
But the hell of it is, hey, gee whiz,
who still dots their eyes?
Nobody does cursive these days,
so what the hell?
It’s all just as well
that they stay in their texting malaise.
“God, I wish you had insurance!” Mrs. Mills barked. Davey G had stuttered as he explained that he was ‘between companies’ at the time of the estimate. Perhaps a pretty lame excuse.
Mrs. Mills had just lost her husband, so that would be all the more justification to give a cheaper price. But chances were good that Davey wouldn’t land the job.
Getting back in his trusty rusty,
feeling a bit depleted,
he nevertheless felt good
about the way the old lady was treated.
Davey H won’t take a look
at the latest trumped-up book.
The day before tax dooms day this year
saw Davey H printing tax forms out of fear.
He knew it was time to get up off his ‘tocks
and hum this here rhyme en route to mailbox.
Then, slowly oh so slowly he towed a machine of undisclosed description to an equally undisclosed location.
Sticking mostly to craggy back roads – which, understandably, did not fare well over the winter months – he plodded forward, dreading the return to main roads on which he could reasonably expect a long and shaggy string of pissed-off motorists to tag along behind him.
On an average day, Davey will see properties with butt-ugly tree stumps and a sort of generalized disheveled look.
But it’s easy to spot others’ messes and even call them on it.
Funny, his own backyard is WAY worse.
That is why Davey H won’t cast aspersions on any other property so-called ‘owner’, at least not until he cleans up his own yard.
As an aside, Davey’s friend Tad Barmot once noted “you never own anything in this world.” Tad lived by that premise and rented apartments for most of his adult life even though he could have easily bought a house.
On the typical day when he penned this essay
Davey did play and kept boredom at bay.
As a matter of fact
he had so much damn fun,
he refused to look back until all was done.
Well, not quite done, but a lot was accomplished and a unique plant was introduced to him by colleague Susan B. non-Anthony. “It’s a ‘hardy kiwi’, Susan said. At which time Davey H was tempted to toot: “Hey, sistah, does it produce fruit?”
That kiwi would put fruit on the vine
and was tied back with cable ‘twine’.
Off the burners and into the pan, it’s
scientist learners still looking for planets.
And then someone mentioned the name
‘Scooter Libby’. How quaint!
A name from the distant past and the forgotten cabal is rarely ever talked about these days,
though the tremendous damage said cabal did is aa pervasive destabilizing force in the Middle East.
ISIS was a crisis that could have been foretold;
“Iraqi Freedom”? Didn’t heed ‘em so bold.
So zany was Cheney, oil patch to unfold;
‘twas a whale of a tale WMD trail went cold!
It is said that the region encompassed by Iran, Iraq, Syria, Egypt, Palestine and Israel is supposedly the ‘cradle of civilization’ and look what a dismal MESS it is! Archaeologists of the future will posit that petroleum had a sort of magnetism that attracted the worst humanity had to offer.
Go, radio, continue the chatter;
we sharpen our blades, you know,
and you just don’t matter.
Nope, haven’t heard anything worthwhile yet
but ads for that queen size box spring set.
So we’re letting the rust-bucket
glide down the hill,
remaining in neutral, yes, if you will.
As the billboards spit
their raft of sh**
it’s just another brand of swill.
Patriot’s Day this year didn’t have much pride;
the war-torn world’s hate,
has made many sick inside.
Meanwhile in the mundane field,
computer repair scammers
calling, hoping to increase their yield
with the persistence of spammers.
Opportunists with English broken
they keep trying nonetheless;
but we hang up before new words are spoken,
so we’re safe for now, we guess.
Your muffled speech comes from that cell;
what did you say? It’s hard to tell.
His sweetheart replied
‘oer the cell phone he got her:
“don’t mean to be snide,
but the sound coming through
to me from you
is not unlike bubbling water.”
Well, anyone who has had the sad misfortune of reading Davey H’s posts in the past
and lay blame
and maybe some shame
that he goes into rants pretty fast.
So should that not come as a shocking surprise,
otherwise, he won’t be mum,
but will hap’ly apologize,
that mischievous Davey H bum.
Is this like another Monday? Probably, maybe. And what did Davey’s friend just say? “Glad I’m not Bill Cosby.” Then he said “ask ‘bout any gal you find ‘hey, gal, what say you?’”And she’ll say “hope you don’t mind; yeah, he did me, too.”
Other news elements worthy of mention: Paul Ryan sits on the fence and awaits a government pension. Meanwhile, we hear rumors of those in obscurity that baby boomers won’t have Social Security.
NPR’s ‘Marketplace’ is without a doubt the best public radio has to offer. The show can be appreciated by those on both sides of the aisle.
Yet NPR has been called ‘liberal’ by guess who?
The “right”. What a JOKE. You can hear NPR’s blatant rightward tilt in Israel-Palestine conflict reporting. Yet despite public radio’s conflicting impulses – likely due to obeisance to their major donors – anyone with ears
would have appreciated Carl Cassel’s contributions over the years.
His nasal twang brought laughs
and quelled fears.
On April 16th his life did cease,
so may old Carl Cassel rest in peace.
Time to meet Dan, man.
In sun, for some fun, we’ll work up a tan,
maybe go for a cruise in his gussied-up van.
Possibly before three that is a plan.
Meanwhile, the move to impeach
is losing some steam,
so what’s out of reach?
The American Dream!
Yesterday Davey wasn’t complaining,
having passed by firefighters
engaged in some training.
The gent he spoke with didn’t grouse
because they had an abandoned house.
Today on Davey H’s list:
a foray into opportunities not yet missed.
Now Davey won’t want to cause any rift,
but eagerly wishes to pursue that lift.
THE UNFETTERED PLEASURE OF
EASILY FIGHTING GRAVITY
The lift in question
as per a suggestion
is compact and really neat;
with such excellence par
it will lift up a car
to a workable height of four feet!
And thus it will hold
with work to unfold
so get the old wrenches out;
the weather’s not cold
or so we’re told;
oh, soon the lift we’ll tout!
So the picture is clear,
but just getting it here
will be the next thing to do;
but once it is planted,
we will be enchanted,
and to the lift be stuck like glue!
Up north, as of April’s end, per acquaintances situated above the not-so-oft-mentioned Mason-Dixon line, we had not gotten final assessment of what the maple sugaring season had produced, but early reports pegged the ratio in excess of 50:1.
This doesn’t bode well for either the consumers or the trees – especially when some operators utilize vacuum pumps to vigorously mobilize sap flow.
Sweet tooths notwithstanding,
some sugar houses are actually expanding.
Folks line up their wheels
in the parking lot
to get pancake meals
served up nice and hot.
Until the end of April, they say;
that much we can convey.
“Today’s attempted updates
could not be completed,”
Davey H bleated,
“so if this whole world is indeed a stage,
I hereupon act out of digital rage!”
Red faced, he shut the power down
and headed out of town,
thus severing that ostensibly fast connection,
then ‘twas off to summarily scoff
in an undisclosed analog direction.
Whupsteen has been notably absent from Davey H posts for some time. The unfortunate readers of Davey H’s posts, therefore, should not construe this absence as permanent; indeed, Whupsteen is not a has-been. But it certainly has been a long hiatus for the Whupster.
“Hey, F***you, a**hole!” Whupsteen barked when Davey H invited him once again into the fold, adding, “long f—in’ time, no f—in’ piss.”
Yes, indeed, ever the salty wordsmith, Whupsteen had stayed true to form.
“So, Whupsteen what have you been up to?” Davey asked, slightly fearful of the expletive-laden barrage that was sure to come.
“Not much, and what the f*** do you care, a&&f(( putz peabrain sh**head?”
At that, Davey exited stage left,
of Whupsteen so gladly bereft.
Next up, Davey needed some positive input or practical work safety reinforcement, and so spun the following verse:
“Don’t go shooting craps,
don’t take a chance;
if you aren’t wearin’ chaps,
put on 2 pairs of pants!”
[This would help in the event of an unplanned chainsaw accident.]
One thing this summer
surely will come to pass;
although it will be a bummer,
they’ll jack up the price of gas.
Ha! That makes GM’s Hummer®
the very worst in its class.
Actually, standing corrected if no one objected, the spinner of the prior heptane/octane sonnet seems to think that the Range Rover – that fave wheel-box of the yuppie go-getter – in terms of MPG, does not fare any better.
But we country bumpkins could care less
and don’t worry for a minute,
but rather are satisfied
that our fav’rite ride
has only four cylinders in it.
Today a foray and Davey exults;
it’s all good, okay? And no friggin’ insults.
So what, pray tell, is the cause ‘o jubilation?
He’s going like hell to the‘transfer station’,
a so-called ‘station’ in easy reach
but actually it’s a figure of speech.
Well past Wednesday, we’re over the hump,
that so-called station is really THE DUMP.
So why they must ‘sterilize’ it
we don’t know, but hells bells, OFF WE GO!
Three big oaks by the side ‘o the road;
yeah, tall, stately oaks, you know?
They took down all those grandiose oaks
quite a number of years ago.
And even though folks
had thought the oaks
appeared to be doing fine,
they had to come down
as per the town
because of a power line.
Well, that was only partially true;
it depended on who you listened to.
So now on an eroding and tree-less bank
no oaks but sharpened chainsaws to thank
we tool along in much less shade;
where before with the oaks we had it made.
Now, years later, remnant stumps
of those once stalwart roadside beasts
have only just begun to rot
as traffic en route has summarily increased;
those old oaks will ne’er be forgot!
Deep vertical crevices have appeared in the remaining periderm on each oak’s ruddy exterior,
giving the stumps a fractured appearance.
So we assume the utilities, while not inferior, are satisfied with their new clearance.
Some are happy, some sad;
the tree loss may seem crappy,
maybe even bad,
but a tree man could state
that although we prefer preservation
it often isn’t an option to be had.
Whew! What a day!
Davey kept bustin’ wood
to keep stiffness a bay.
Yea, to be stiff he can ill afford,
and it took 3 long hours
to make half a cord.
Sometimes steady motion just isn’t enough
to pump the volume in a given amount of stuff.
But the days are getting a bit easier.
Today’s load went out to Albert Alphonse
and was a pretty eclectic mix, comprised of oak, cherry, English walnut, ash, sugar maple and red maple.
Davey was still stove up from the day before’s wood splittin’ session. He hasn’t found any shortcuts. Not yet.
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