Tuesday, July 30, 2013

The Sofa (Blogophilia 23.6)








There is a sofa 
At my wife's workplace
I wait there for her 
To finally be released off the register.

It is an evil place
Soft and cushy.
And a couple of pillows
To make you comfy.

After a long day of spreadsheets
And actuarial equations that 
Should put me to sleep.
But the sofa does better.

Dreaming of being the 
One singular sensation
As Paul Peter Rueben painting
The Three Graces

Or a house grander than
Ted Turner's abandoned boathouse
With maids and a butler
And chauffeur.

As good as Trevor's chair
This sofa is. Making want
To while away the day
Asleep. 

Wednesday, July 24, 2013

I Don't Carry Cash

I don't carry cash.

The reason for this is my wife doesn't trust me not to spend on frivolous stuff like candy and beer.  She's cheap like that.  But, I don't mind.  That attitude has kept me out of debt (mostly) and better able to handle the shifts in business and life.

But occasionally it puts me in a quandary.  Last night, we ordered a pizza and I went down to Chambodia to pick it up.  As I was leaving, I was approached by homeless woman looking for change.  I put up my hands and told her I didn't have any and she went on her way.

As I said this, I got a good look at her face.  She had been pretty once. Petite and slender, her blonde hair put up on her head in a messy knot.  I saw the ravages of Methamphetamine all over her face.  As as she walked away, I felt a tinge of regret.  I knew in my heart any money would immediately go to the dealer for another 48 hours without sleep.  But I also knew she needed something or someone to point her in a new direction. Sadly, it may never happen for her.

I guess all I can do is pray. 

Tuesday, July 23, 2013

Butch Cassidy (Blogophilia 22.6)




Who are those guys?
The ones chasing us?
Just because we stole money
From the one percent (or less)?

They don't need it.
They steal it from
The peasants laboring 
Under them.

Grant, Taft and Roosevelt 
Pinkerton and Union Pacific
All tried to find us
And failed.

They were but raindrops
Falling on our heads
We had their lades
And their money.

Life loves the 
Liver of it.
We did our best
And left a legend.



Tuesday, July 16, 2013

Last Night. (GBE 2 113)







Ah, the sign we all ignored.

Oh, we saw it all right.

And we still had the drink.

Went upstairs with that person,

Whose name escapes us now.

Night more smelt and felt 

Than seen.

Awakening we find

The dog where they were.

Sunday, July 14, 2013

Hardboiled Wonderland (Blogophilia 21.6)







 I asked Alice
How she got here
All she could remember 
Was going through security
She was pulled into a room
And questioned
Something about Lewis
That he was a rebel
Taking advantage
A rope came out
But the floor gave way first

Advantage, I would have taken
But the Queen does not wait
I could see her following
Which wasn't good.
Losing my head over
A simple misunderstanding
That never is.

Hatter had her
At tea
Caterpillar had her
Mushrooms
We all had her
In the end
In our Hardboiled Wonderland.  

Thursday, July 11, 2013

Talk Show (Blogophilia 20.6)



....and welcome back. [Host grabs a sip from the mug on the desk.]

Our next guest is very special and well known to our studio audience.  Please welcome Another Government Employee! 

[He bounds out from behind the curtain.  The audience bursts out in applause]

Good to see you again, AGE. [Shaking hands and offering the first seat on the couch]

Same to you, Chris.

It's been a while since you have been on the program.  Anything fascinating in the Master of the Universe's world?

Well, as you know, I really am a fraud these days.  I left Government Service a while back...[audience hoots and hollers]...to regain my sanity [more hoots]. Yeah, Yeah, I know.  Like THAT would ever happen...  And now I work along the regular Proles doing pretty much the same work as before.  And I get paid better for it.

I'm sure that was kind of a culture shock, not worrying about the next call.

Not as much as I thought, Chris. You know, I found I was more relaxed.  When you spend your days dealing with failed lawyers and other attention whores, it saps your very soul.  You become so deluded that you believe you ARE the most important person in the world. And that really is what they want us to think.

When we all know you aren't

Right you are, Chris. And another thing.  Have you noticed all the subliminal messages around?  No?  Well, that is something else the leaders don't want you to notice.  They are all out for total mind control.  Here's an example.  I went to this local chain restaurant specializing in Greek food.  Never been their in my life and I decided to try it.  On the wall there was a poster with a brief history of the business. I read it and all off sudden, I'm thinking Fresh, Simple and Tasty. [makes a face] Why was I thinking that? Then I realized those words were printed on the poster  with a different font.  It's mind control, I tell ya.

..And not too much time in our Green Room? [big wink to the audience]

Weeellll... Oh, what's this?  [AGE reaches for a decorated straw doll] Looks like a Christmas Elf.

That is a Winter Harvest Dolly.  Dolly Parton left it last night to give the show good luck.  She has added it to the stuff she sells at her concerts.

Really?  But it's set up all wrong.  If it is Dolly, shouldn't it bow out in the front? [audience snickers]

I think she's trying to play down that aspect.  These days, they are playing down. [Screams erupt] 

You know you are going to Hell for that.

Yes.  And on that note it's time to say good night.  Have a good night!  [Band starts closing song.  Audiences applauds wildly]

Thursday, July 4, 2013

Parakeet



I thought about killing her.

The traffic outside the window fractured through rain. Glancing over my shoulder , I could see no one followed me.  Glad I thought about MARTA.  It may be a political joke, but it gets me where I need to go.  The blonde crew cut wig, loose flannel shirt and ratty camera bag made me look like just another internet entrepreneur.   Everybody should have a good con.  Lord knows, she did.

I almost didn’t recognize the squeaky voice, and then I wish I hadn’t. I had to disappear the last time I heard it.  Two weeks in Mexico, acting as a mule not my kind of fun and I didn’t even get laid for the trouble.  Three years later, I was still trying to forget her and Guadalajara.  If I thought moving put her in the rearview, I was wrong.   Like a bad penny, she was back and all she would say is to meet on the train.  What kind of harebrained scheme had she thought up this time?  

 “Next Stop.  Arts Center…Arts Center Station… Exit her for Piedmont Park and the Woodruff Art Center.  Art Center Station…”

Three more stops.  I tried to envision what she looked like now.  In Mexico, the hair was dark and smelled like cocoa butter and tequila.  We thought we were alone when all the gunshots rang out.  With a quick kiss, I was hustled out the back door.  One of the Federales saw me and gave chase.  Hotwiring a truck, I hightailed north towards L.A. and a much lower profile.  

 I braced myself as the train braked slowed.  My feet slid a little as I stumbled into the woman next to me. The smell of cocoa butter and tequila invaded my nose.  Really?  Hide in plain sight, I guess. Wearing a loose fitting linen top over a pink flowered swimsuit, she looked like she had escaped from a Jimmy Buffett concert.  The long hair had been done up in a bun and she carried a bag with a stuffed red and blue parakeet sticking out of the top. With her was a large black man with a Hawaiian shirt unbuttoned far enough to show an Aztec tattoo on his chest.    The only thing missing were the plastic fins most Parrotheads carry.  They began to gather their things and in the process turned on the toy parakeet. 

“Need a margarita! Need a margarita!” squawked the bird.  I had to agree.  I needed something, even though I hate limes.

“Pardon me.”  I said, winking as I helped her back to her feet. 

“Oh, that’s awwright.”  She slurred.  “This is our stop.  Got a good party to go to in the park. You should join us.”

“Mary!  You don’t know him.”  Hawaiian Shirt replied.

Oh, hush, Malcolm.  He’s harmless.  Aren’t you, Honey?”  The last word blew a large cloud of liquor in my face.  

“Need a margarita! Need a margarita!” squawked the bird.  

“Hah. Even the toy’s excited.” She went on. “You look like you’d be lots of fun.  I hope we don’t get arrested like last time.  People objected to us dancing naked.  Can you imagine that?” She turned the bird off and headed toward the exit doors.  

 “No, I can’t” I said.  “It sounds like fun.”  You know, I think I’ll join you.  My name is Hank.”  As I followed the couple onto the platform.

“Maria.  And this is Malcolm. He’ll be your buddy.”

The sign to the escalator pointed to the left.  Walking along the granite lined tunnel, I could hear the echoes of high heels as the owners hustled towards the outbound trains. Their day was done.  Mine was just beginning.  I just hoped it wasn’t ending.

Monday, July 1, 2013

Senior Citizen Day



Hey, Heidy, and Howdy.  It’s me.  Harry Handy, your randy, dandy online DJ back again here at WOFT.  That’s right Old Farts radio, where the only thing older is Abe Vigoda.  

And guess what, gang?  It’s Senior Citizen day here at the Fart.  We give you a 10% discount for listening and everyone on the play list is a certifiable Medicare recipient. It’s hard to believe all the great musicians of the 1960’s are now late night infomercial fodder, but they are.  Whether you are on the throne struggling with that Ducolax dose, or in the garden with the petunias, sit back and enjoy the show.

Wait, I understand we have a special request from fellow Oldies DJ Myke.  Seems he can’t remember what he played last.  Maybe my list will help him through his moment.   

First up is the ultimate Rock and Roll senior.  He’s changed the game two or three times in his career and still puts on quite a stage show at age …., ah, who cares? Here is… Sir Paul McCartney



I had a friend who caught his show here in Atlanta and was convinced that was a body double lip synching the show.  But I digress.

The next senior group is still questions their balance.  Only they have pretty much chucked the road and stay in Las Vegas most of the time.  Something about walkers and tripping over stuff.  But at least they don’t have to Hoverround to get to the stage. So, let ride the See Saw.  



Yeah, I was pretty stoned when I first heard that, too.  But, it still better than that autotuned Beiber crap.  Hell, the only way you can tell one bad singer these days from the next is the color of their tattoos.  I guess the Studios have automated singer factories with quantifiable benchmarks for looks and sound.  Give me the older stuff from musicians who drank themselves into creativity. 
Maybe I should just get…

Speaking of which, these septuagenarians have lost a couple of members to excessive abuse and the rest of them will never have worry about being embalmed when they die.  They are already perfectly preserved.  Let’s let them shuffle on stage.




Finally, no good Medicare Special would be complete without the obligatory Sappy Love Song.  You know the ones your old ex girlfriend would play over and over again until your ears bled?  Of course there are lots to choose from, but this still is the ultimate in commercial schmaltz.  The beer and Kleenex are over on the table.



I could be doing this all night, but the Dead Head that produces my show says I’m out of time.

Until next time: If you can’t hear me, you’re dead.