lil' frankfuter friend!

Pepe, come here...

I am busy making dinner, I will have to get back to you.

Dignity.

Its Going To Be a Boy!

That I'll end up leaving my wife and kid for.

I Banged Dale Earnhart Jr's X-Girlfriend

to the hippie girl off of the Interstate 89 southbound ramp on Exit 13

I truly love everything you stand for.

The other day I saw you on the off-ramp with your lovely, patch-work

cotton sleeve skirt and moth-eaten jersey cotton hoodie.

You had a cardboard sign which read something along the lines of "Help a Human Out" or "Give Me Your Money, I Can Smile".

A man to the back and right hand side of my vehicle motioned you onto the ramp during our stoppage of red-light.  He gave you a dollar, maybe a 5 dollar bill.  

You took it, and nervously penguined your chubby little frame back to your grassy dandelion knoll as you shoved the currency into your broken pocket.  You put your cardboard back up against your breast and I drove on as the green bulb blinked on.

This morning I saw you hiding behind an electric fuse box off the Exit 12 ramp.  

You were on your cellphone.

my lawn mowing neigbored

He decided to wear shorts yesterday.  

His thick socks showed pleasantly on his thick ankles.

Is the Curry a Curry?

Once again, a gesture of unwelcome friendliness has ruined my day.

Why don’t people get it?

No thank you...keep it to yourself.

Random acts of kindness are a thing of the far distant hopeful past.

Look how far it got Jesus.

I bet he wishes he would’ve followed thru in his father’s footsteps and had a career as carpenter.

Probably woulda had a better 401K and coulda retired, in those days, probably around 46 with a timeshare in Judea.

But noooo.

Anyway, people need to stay in their lane.

For fuck sake!

This curry is definitely not a curry.

mom?

diamond in the ruff.

of apocalyptic dreams, and ginger-haired man

committing suicide in flaming cars while zombies roam the barren streets.

and in the latter,

mass chaos of butcher knived kind

murder and cannibalism,

with a nice presentation of the flesh before consumption.

hands cut right off 

with a single cartoon slice.

but a musical and fanfare in the street parade

is oh so fun,

for "We Are The World" in this Sea of Diversity.

my favorite was the enormous woman 

in the diamond clowned suit,

with smeary Halloween-quality make-up on her swollen face and her sort-of neck.

Light and Dark Blue, Purple and the Black Sky

As I came to from the grey out, it appeared to me that I had forgotten the coordinates.

Left and up. Center. Down and to the right?

Unfamiliar hex triplets have  

 seized the radar screen.

Now if ever is the perfect time to abort.

Wait a second...yep...cerebral activity is chiming in the bi-fold.

Let me check if I can bend my fingers.

1...2...3...but not 4.

Huh.

I recall this from the proxy gail.

The go-to sequence which I had written digit per digit on my palm is now nothing more that a reticulation of ink. 

A consequence of sweat.

Well, whatever.

May as well enjoy the gradating effects.

Dedicated to Yuri Gagarin

Memories of a Kick Ball Legend

For several years, kick ball was my favorite sport.

I would sit in class in cold sweats, thinking only of two things;

How I was going to hide my boner in the case that I was called upon to stand and read, and kicking the shit out of that red rubber ball.

I  lived for kicking the shit out of that ball, I tell you.

Every time the mother fucker was rolled toward home plate, I would set into about a 14 step sprint until the point of foot-to-ball surface contact.

That fucking ball would fucking fly and be airborne for about a minute plus.

I was good. I was real good.

I was the kick ball god.

Eventually the thrill of it faded though, as I continually launched that rubber sphere into oblivion.

Oblivion being the backyard of the people who lived on the other side of the fence from school property.

With out fail, I punted that bitch sky high and would have to send another bitch, Aaron Price, to go fetch it.

He would have to go through the hole in the fence and he'd almost always get stuck either on the way in or out. He was helpless and abused by his father and just about everybody else. This always provided good amusement after my victory lap around the bases.

garden stone.

When I was shopping in Price Chopper this afternoon, I noticed a faux garden stone with a beautiful fleur de lis design. 

  In the foreground, it said Herpes in a lovely cursive faux hand carving.  

Upon closer inspection and as the light angle changed, I realized it actually read Hope.  

But really these two things are exactly the same, so I guess I saw what I thought I saw in the first place.  Really.

lilacs.

My father and I tamped the fence posts into the ground this morning.  Our neighbors planted an expensive lilac bush on the other side of the fence, but the sunlight does not properly hit the flora and the plant is not blooming at all.  In fact, it is probably dying.  Our fence is blocking the sunlight and causes this unfortunate affair.

The roots have grown underneath the fence.  The lilac bush has grown on our sunny side.  It is blossoming.  It is beautiful and fragrant.  

And free.

Difficult Asian Man

 Difficult asian man,

Why won’t you hear me?

You are bothered by things I can not even begin to understand.

The complexities in your eye’s span likens to that of  an eagle with James Earl Jones.

You asked me once, neah twice, neah a third for a pour of rice whiskey.

Nor do we have denatured tamarind milk.

Your choice libation is not a widespread stick.

What’s that?

Yes, you’re right. Perhaps we would if this were 16^th century Laos.