Too Many To Choose From

I have
Hundreds of books
On several
Walmart bookshelves
Here in the mansion
And I don’t feel like
Reading a one of them
And most of them
Would be fine
To read
Would bring hours
Of escape
But I can’t choose just one
And nothing really strikes
My bored fancy.

I wonder if that’s how
An old but still
Rich playboy
Would feel, surrounded
By a bevy of women
Young and middle-aged
No old bats,
He thanks you very much!

And they all look
Just fine
And no doubt would feel
Wrapped around him
But he can’t make up his mind
To pick just one
So he sneaks off to
The furthest guest bathroom
And jerks off
To the memory
Of the glowing face
He saw from his limo
Earlier that day
She was walking from one no-tell
Motel room
To another
To swap clean sheets
For jizzy ones
And she was young enough
That her dreary life
Hadn’t yet beat her
All the way down.

Posted in Depression, Poetry, Reading | Tagged | 3 Comments

Better Choices For President Than Trump

I have to tell you, folks, I’ve never been more disgusted with the American public, with Republicans especially, and with that Thing calling itself Trump. There’s a complete lack of humanity, an utter absence of talent, a total void of any knowledge of how to lead or how to improve anything, in any field. I wouldn’t put him in charge of a crew of people picking up roadside trash. His opponent, a woman who has been convicted, tried, and executed in the court of public opinion, who is more rabidly hated than the nightmare of a person who turned 6-year-olds into hamburger at Sandy Hook could ever have been, hated for crimes she may have committed, may not have committed, is flawed. She may be deeply flawed. She is also deeply experienced at several levels of government. I believe our celebrity worship and the instant gratification of internet commenting, judging, trolling, has led her haters to feed their anger exponentially on itself. There is a deep rage against her which, I believe, is unfounded, and of course is based on allegations yet unproven.

In any case, I don’t fucking care if she’s the reincarnation of Dr. Mengele, a shining beacon for women, or just an arrogant, conniving bitch. She has ability, a lot of it, but her main qualification for being elected our next President: she is the only person on the planet who has the statistical chance of beating Trump, a goal which MUST be accomplished. If and when she is elected and inaugurated, she should then be investigated. Hell, the Republican Congress, in their main role as “Obstructionists R Us,” can start this coming Wednesday, if she wins. Right now, I’m reasonably, sadly sure that Trump will win. Why? Because the mere existence, of new copies of some of her emails, is therefore a guilty verdict against her, in the Internet Court of Public Opinion without even knowing what’s in the emails. Because we worship talentless “reality-show” yutzes. Because we have somehow lived through other men who didn’t know one end of a book from another–Reagan and W come to mind. Both of them committed as many crimes and cover-ups as Hillary is accused of, but at least they were in love with their wives, respected women, were affable, knew how to react to slights and how to gather levelheaded advisors around them.

Trump is nothing. Evil. Disrespectful beyond belief to women, minorities, the press, anyone not fitting into his category of normal. Let me tell you this: The sweetest, funniest thing I ever saw when I was on the road for a previous job helping to install electronic displays was when 2 maintenance workers at a hockey arena, both with slight but obvious speech impediments, stood face-to-face, doing dead-ringer vocal impersonations of each other. You could tell by the looks on their faces that they deeply respected each other, probably had done this many times, would jump into a flooding icy river for each other, or for anyone. They long since earned the right to mimic each other in a friendly way. Trump earned no right to mimic the reporter that he disgustingly ridiculed in public. No one does that, unless they are an entitled little rich piece of shit with the emotional and intellectual age of a 2-year-old. Never mind the revelation of his bragging about grabbing any old vagina, excuse me, I mean any young attractive vagina, he already gave up his right to be taken seriously way before that when he stood in front of a crowd of morons and TV cameras and shook like his version of a physically challenged reporter. Right at that moment, he gave up his right to be thought of as not only as a candidate, but as a human who should show his face out in public, to be out in public and not looked on in horror. He should be given an even wider path than the average crowd would reflexively give a homeless person who is also insane and has his pants full of urine and excrement. This is the kind of person that is likely to be our next President. He MUST be stopped.

There is one consolation for me in knowing that he will win: that, in a year or two, his followers and all of us will see that he is worse than Clinton could dream of being. He will be called a Clinton by those who hate all things Clinton. Hillary will be thought of as “Clinton-Lite” compared to him after his upcoming crimes. He, after all, has already shown a history of shredding pertinent documents and lying about it. Do yourself a favor and look up the history of the government’s lawsuits against him when his dad and he refused to rent to those nasty “n-words.” He (or rather his staff, since he would never dirty his hands) shredded pages and pages of documents which the courts had ordered him to produce.

I meant to have less preamble, to have this be more immediately lighthearted, but some things need to be said. I at last offer you this list, which I mostly wrote months ago, of those entities which would make a better Presidential candidate than this lizard calling itself Trump.

Better Candidates For President Than Trump

-Jeffrey Dahmer
-Maybe not Hitler, but his dog, yeah
-Lady Gaga
-Weird Al
-My neighbor’s dog that excitedly shows me the sticks she picks up.
-Neighbor’s dog number two that chases imaginary birds.
-Neighbor’s dog number three that shows off sticks and is still mostly a pup and does laps around everyone and every other dog.
-A rabid monkey.
-A rabid monkey with Ebola.
-Charles Manson
-Charles Grodin
-Marilyn Manson
-Shirley Manson
-A Mexican drug lord.
-An empty bottle of Lord Calvert.
-Even Kanye, yes Kanye
-Yes, even Hillary
-George W. Bush for that matter–most of us survived him but I don’t think we’ll survive Trump.
-That Texas rich punk who drove drunk and killed people and got off easy due to “affluenza.”
-A boil, on the ass, of a homeless person who is also insane and has his pants full of poop and pee–that festering boil would be a better President than Trump.
(With proper apologies to Weird Al, Shirley Manson, the dogs, and perhaps Hillary and Lady Gaga for their inclusion in this “nest-o-losers.”

(Please, if you wish, search for “trump shredding documents in renting lawsuit.” I would include a link, but, if you live in the U.S., I could probably drive to your house and hand you a piece of paper with the links listed on them, faster than my computer will go to Salon or Newsweek’s stories about his shredding. A combo of a crappy computer and an oversold internet service provider capability is a bad combo.)

Thanks for stopping by.

Posted in Essay, Humor | Tagged , , , | 4 Comments

Opposites Attract, and Talk Smack

Well, I’ve been remiss about doing anything “creative” for a long time. After I’d already gotten lazy about blogging, I was on some anti-depressants for about 2 months. I think they work wonders for lots of people, and may yet for me in the future, but all they did for me was make me tired and make the back of my neck sweaty.  Well, that was mostly all they did, anyway. They acted like a “doubler” for partying, it seemed like, and they helped me slow down my drinking. I noticed some uplift in mood, but not enough to make me want to put up with sleeping all the time. I also truly think I’m just unhappy about a lot of stuff, not unreasonably despondent about life’s downs. And no generic Lexapro will fix the root cause of being unsatisfied with life’s progress.

I’ve also been too busy, doing stuff such as working on making a man-cave out of my storage-shed. I ran power to it earlier this summer, then shingled it, which it needed anyway, then insulated it, made a work bench, hung a bunch of stuff up, etc. I tell people I’m building the man-cave first, then going out to look for a woman to move in with me so that I have someone to escape from, to the man cave I already made for me. Or something like that. It’s small, but wide open in the middle, so if this mythical “she” likes The Who, we’ve got a built-in plywood dance floor. Which feels good on old feet.

Anyway, here’s something I wrote today, back in my corner at work at breaktime. Catholics, please excuse me for the first 4 lines. I was raised a Norwegian-American Lutheran, and now I’m a heathen, so I don’t go to confession, but the first 4 lines just popped into my head at work today, so I had to “write it out.” I thought it started out semi-inspired, but then, meh. I suppose even successful writers feel the need to “write it out.” It’s a sweet little poem about people on the opposite side of the political fence: Continue reading

Posted in Humor, Poetry, Writing | Tagged , , , , , | 2 Comments

In Which Messrs. Moon and Entwistle Didn’t Necessarily Save My Life, But They Sure Perked Me the Fuck Up (Or “The Summer of Who”)

I tend to keep score. My life isn’t as fancy as others’, my home is humbler, my vacations are simpler, my bed sure as hell is emptier, my “career” less fulfilling, my dreams less realized.

Since i have little or no “confident middle ground,” I tend to balance those low scores out (in the “standings” I mentally keep) with arrogance. “Deserved” or not, it’s there all the same. My musical, literary, political, lifestyle opinions and preferences are of course better and more important than anyone else’s. I don’t believe I write any better, or as well as, any “blogging buddies,” but I sure as heck write better than most published authors today. Did you know that the books in the “Shades of Gray” series are non-recyclable (something about the covers)? So this one used bookstore made a fort out of the books that were turned in to them. If people read them for the smut, why return them so soon? Does the average reader constantly need new input for those “quality alone times” in the bathtub? Wouldn’t the same old S & M paragraphs do for a lot of “happy endings?” Continue reading

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Yeah More of That

Grace always had a hard-on for Jorma. Eskimo Blue Day. He gave her great cues.


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Perhaps, then

I would perhaps write someday. Meantime I’d say that nothing matters other than family, friends, and good music.



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Why I Hate “Criminal Minds”

It’s not that Thomas Gibson is such a wooden actor with a monotone voice.
It’s not that Matthew Gobble Gubler is SUCH a wienie.
It’s not that I don’t buy the relationship between Shemar and the lady described as
“the poor man’s Pauley Perrette.”
It’s that they linger on the creepiness of what the freakazoids do.

Remember the 1980’s Diet Pepsi commercials?
Diet Pepsi, one small calorie; now you see it, now you don’t.
With sleek, sleek bodies
and ladies lips suggestively sucking
Diet Pepsi through a straw.
I’m not saying I had to grab “Little Waldo” right then and there.
But I’d definitely put the commercials into my “spank bank”
WAY before the term “spank bank” was invented
As far as I know.

So, the killer who pulls the woman out of the trunk in his basement
And smells her hair and kisses her and whatnot
(I won’t go on any more in that vein because I don’t want to dignify it)
I’m absolutely sure that someone, somewhere
(A number of people, a number of wheres)
Is/are sputting off to that part of the show.
And the lingering done by the writers, producers, directors, actors
Of that show
Lingering on the creepy scenes
To advance the main plot, which is the
“How do we catch this ‘FUCK’?”
Aspect of the show.

It would be more than enough
To just gloss over the abduction part
Just show a woman in the headlights of a car
Or walking outside somewhere
Then, you know, TALK about the fact that she’s missing,
Then TALK about the creep’s proclivities
Then SHOW how you catch him.
Wouldn’t that be enough?

And don’t get me started
About “Law and Order SVU”
I know the job would make a cop be “negative”
But, still, a little more likability
Coming from Jayne Mansfield’s kid
And from Chris Macaroni
Wouldn’t fucking hurt the fucking plot, would it?
Although I would seriously DO that one DA girl
If she had poor taste.

(This isn’t a Pulitzer Prize winner; I just had to get back on the bicycle before the wheels fell off)

(BTW, it’s 2016, people; I don’t care that Shemar Moore’s and Kirsten Vangsness’s characters’ friendship is interracial, or that he’s “much prettier” than her. It just somehow seems forced, is all.)

Posted in Humor, Poetry | Tagged , , , | 10 Comments