A.G.E's Joint

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. 

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

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.

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.

 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.  

....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

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 P

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