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Copyright: Fred Robel, and Fritz365 2010-2016. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog's author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Fred Robel and Fritz365 with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Monday, December 31, 2012

New Years New

Another year gone
Another notch tighter on the belt
Or looser
Or maybe just the same

The bugs are in their rugs
Dogs under their logs
Bees in the knees
Everything in it's place

Whether this New Years finds you still above ground
Or below
Three cheers for you my friends
Good fortune follow wherever
And whenever you go

Sunday, December 30, 2012

Strip Off Thy Cloak

Burn it all down
Does that make it all better?
Do the ashes soothe your wounds?
Wallowing around in your sorrows
Making all manner of piggy sounds

You greedy bitch
You think just because you made something
That it's yours
To kill or to fuck
As you wish?

Once it's out there
It's not your's anymore
In the scary wide open world
To be praised or spat upon

Sooner or later you'll find yourself
And all your wondrous cursed creations
At the center of a situation
That you did not
And could not
Predict

And all your hard won experience
Your wisdom and learning
Will be out the door
Down the toilet
And there you'll be
Stripped naked of everything

As awestruck and dumbfounded as all the rest of us

Saturday, December 29, 2012

Mancunt

Mancunt is everywhere
His existence is rampant
Just hope for an uneventful day
And "POOF" he will be there

Mancunt is sly
He knows how to wait
To stalk his prey
Hovering just out of sight near some bait

What's that?
Hunting over a bait pile is unsportsmanlike?
Mancunt does not care
Certainly not with a freezerful of meat

Mancunt is outspoken
He will disagree with everything you say
Whether he agrees or not
That's just his mode of play

Oh sure, he'll tell you it's for fun
Playing devil's advocate is all sport
But to him it's so much more than a game
Telltaled by the vicious way he goes for blood

Mancunt has a sixth sense
He can tell when you'd rather be left alone
Which is exactly when he'll move in
To tell you all about his day

When you realize all your body language has failed
And you come right out and tell him to fuck off
He'll laugh and punch you in the arm
Offering you one of your own beers

Mancunt is not the ideal date
He will belch at a fancy dinner
Wipe his mouth on his sleeve
If he can even find it under his beard

After eating the most pungent foods imaginable
He will expect you to make out with him
Failing that he'll settle for a blowjob
Then be hurt and angry when you don't beg to suck his knob

Mancunt is a fine example of the species
He'll make a decent taxidermy mount someday
In the museum of awful people
With a lovely little plaque that reads

"Here we see a cunt of a man
May his kind never breed"

Friday, December 28, 2012

Mutant Mice of Area G

Round sound
Crunching and grinding
Flaying unwinding
Ever further into town
Ever closer to our compound

The watch gathered on the wall
Closest to the approaching threat
Wondering how close it would get
Sometimes it stayed away
Other times making a low pass

This time it did roll into sight
Twenty feet in diameter
Roughly five feet wide at the wheel
A rolling tire advertisement
Made of titanium and steel

The outer band was the only part that turned
With grinders and cutters all over
Sending up a spray of whatever it churned
Swallowing up about half of it
Some to be stored and taken away
The rest into the firebox and burned

Little windows and access hatches
Dotted the solid wheel center
It's where the steam engine lived
Along with the little engineers
Who were the embodiment
Of our genetically engineered fears

Hyper intelligent rodents
Of sadly very usual size
Sat rolling dirty
In this terrifying ride
Their little furry arms sitting on the window sills
Staring out at the destruction
With mad staring eyes
Fueled by pharmaceutical pills

If they wanted to
They could destroy us
Here in our little bastion of frail humanity
But they didn't today
Which should be reason to rejoice
But I don't

For it isn't that they are out to eradicate us
No
It's the simple fact that we are now so far beneath them
That they don't even care

Thursday, December 27, 2012

A Living Kama Sutra - pt 3

A quiet bell sounded
All the small talk ceased
Sounds could be heard from inside the box
Whispers and a few soft bumps

The light came on behind the curtain
The lights in the outside room dimmed
The black velvet curtain was framed by the white light
I held my breath
Took one last look at my program

"Red group, session one:
Congress of a Crow"

The curtain parted quietly
Revealing a man and a woman
Standing nude in frozen pose facing the audience
Both were beautiful

For a few seconds they stood there
Audience and performer regarding each other

Then they turned to face one another
And in slow artful movements
Came together in an embrace
Caressing one another gently
Kissing each other quietly with passion

I could see the man's cock getting hard
And I blushed in the dimness
I could feel myself get wet
And decided I wish I'd have worn my panties after all
With a frown I realized I'd leave a spot on my skirt

With a quick side look to see if anyone was looking
I tugged my skirt up in the back
Planting my bare bottom on the vinyl seat

At least I wouldn't have to worry about that

In front of me
The show continued

The man kissed and bit the woman's breasts

The woman reached down and rubbed the man's cock

Going to their knees as one
They moved their upper bodies in opposite arcs
Ending up head to foot with each other
Though more like head to sex
So to speak

The woman took the man's cock in her mouth
Performing several different techniques upon it

I felt myself torn between watching her
And watching him
As he kissed licked and sucked on her pussy

I felt slightly faint
As I watched
Trying to soak it all in
Trying to remember what she did to him
Trying to remember what he did to her

Never having done anything like that myself
Hoping to understand how it all worked
Seeing how beautiful it really was
Subtly craning my neck to try to see more of what was in front of me

All too soon
The lights in the box went out
The black curtain closed
The lights in the room came back up for us

I looked around
Feeling oddly triumphant
Almost giddy with happiness

Most of my group shared my feelings obviously
A few looked a little embarrassed still
One was staring at the floor
Seemingly overwhelmed by it all

I turned to the woman next to me
Who could have been my mother
If my mother was cool
And smiled
She smiled back

I asked her about something I'd seen
And she started telling me about something similar she had done
My mental notebook was going crazy trying to keep up
Images and words flooding my imagination
Her hand grasping mine as we sat and talked about it

Most everyone around us chatting as well

A voice interrupted us briefly

"Please move as a group to your next station
Follow the floor arrows
The next session begins in ten minutes"

I consciously stood up last
And waited until everyone else had just turned their backs

Looking down quickly
I saw the little puddle I'd made on the seat
And giggled at the thought of the next person coming along
But then not feeling so bad
As I saw a few of the other chairs weren't dry anymore either

I caught up to my new friend
And we talked as we walked around the corner to the next station
Discussing the protestors outside the art museum
So insistent that this was pornography

I confessed to her that this was already
A far better education than I'd ever had in health class
She laughed and agreed readily

A quiet bell sounded
Marking one minute till session two

I bit my lip and looked at my program

"Red group, session two:
Biting"

I sat down
A little less self consciously arranging my skirt this time
And thought to myself
This was by far the best skip day ever

Wednesday, December 26, 2012

A Living Kama Sutra - pt 2

Pulling into the museum parking lot
I saw several things

My hair
Blowing in the wind from my rolled down windows
Only minutes before
Was now a fright wig

A line of people waiting to get inside
With all kinds of faces
Some indifferent too cool for school
Others excited
Some bored looking

A small group of protestors
Holding signs and chanting

"No public pornography!"

The signs saying much the same
In several different ways
With many different fonts
Ranging from professional
To looking like a first grader had painted it

I busied myself pulling the hair back into a ponytail
Wiped off my glasses
Put a little lipstick on in the mirror
Smacking my lips softly in appreciation
For how decent I looked today

Damn if I couldn't pass for a college girl

Passing a few minutes listening to music
I watched as the doors opened at eleven sharp
And the line of people started to file in
I shrewdly tried to calculate the distance to the doors
And the time it would take me to walk there

When it seemed right
I hopped out of the car
And walked quickly to the building
My invite in my hot little hands

I gave the protestors the finger on my way by
To which one said

"I'll pray for you sister!"

Rolling my eyes I continued on
Reaching the door just as the last person in front of me went in
I offered my invite to the man in the suit

"Welcome to the Living Kama Sutra...."
He said, and looked down at the paper
"..Susan"

"Follow the markings on the floor that are red"
At that he gave me a little red pinback button
"Put that on, and follow the red arrows
You'll find everyone else in your group at the first box
It's five minutes until the first session
Here's your program"

I smiled and pinned the button to my shirt
Walking past him
I felt the teensiest bit aroused
Not by him
But by glancing at my program
And breathlessly following my little red arrows

I found my group sitting in front of a large black box protruding from the wall
The box was about a seven foot cube backed up to the wall
There was a black curtain across the open end facing us
I sat down next to my companions
All mostly looking at their programs
Their watches
Or staring at the curtain

Some were a little pink
With embarrassment
With anticipation
Maybe both

The program stated

"At one minute to the start of a session
A small bell will be heard
Ten seconds before
A light will come on in the box stage
Then the curtain will raise
The performance will last ten minutes
At the end of which
The light will go out
The curtain will close

We ask that you respect our artist performers
And please be quiet
Do not distract them

Your experience as well as theirs
Will be enriched"

I couldn't wait
I felt myself getting flushed
My right hand gripping my skirt tightly
Absentmindedly

Tuesday, December 25, 2012

A Living Kama Sutra -pt 1

Today is the day
I'm flushed with excitement as I sneak out after second period
Running crouching and sidestepping
Generally acting like a B movie ninja
And probably an inept one at that

Nobody had seen me as I made my way to my car
Which was strategically parked just out of sight
In the far corner of the parking lot
Where if I drove across the grass to the road
No one in the school would see me go

I hopped in the car
With a most unladylike hitch of my skirt
Which my mom had made me wear

She really pissed me off
So to even the scales
I'd not worn any panties
Just to flip her off

I started the old Rabbit
And checked my purse one last time
Seeing and touching my invitation there
Which I'd gotten by telling only the whitest of lies

"By requesting this invite
You say that you are 18 years old
No minors allowed"

Pfft, so I lied
I'll be eighteen in three months

Slapping the gearshift into first
I momentarily swore at Cindy
Who was supposed to have come with me

I slid the clutch out and quietly pulled away
Across the grass
Onto the road
And onward to the city
Alcona High School growing distant in my mirrors

Fuck this place
I can't wait to move somewhere real

As I drove
I made notations in my head
Of things I wanted to write about
Or mental doodles
Of things I wanted to draw and paint
It always seemed as though
The best ideas came to me
While I was zoning out in the car
My favorite music swirling around me
As I hunkered down in the old bucket seat
Radio turned up to drown out the car sounds

Sunday, December 23, 2012

Toys Are Meant To Be Played With

Toys are meant to be played with
Not to be left in their box
Collected for years
By reverent hands
Until the toys within 
Are reduced to tears
With no one to play with

Mint in the box
Doesn't mean a thing
To an electric train and it's rolling stock
Built thirty years ago by Lionel
Shipped to a strip mall hobby shop
Put in the back room and forgot

Only to be found again
Two and a half decades later
To the delight of the purveyors
Of things still mint in their box
Inside a veritable nesting doll set of boxes

Outside is the shipping box
With the red Lionel logos
A stock number telling it's set secrets
About the contents unseen within
But only to those in the know
Who have the sheet to decipher this code

Next are the individual brown boxes
Seven of them to be exact
With more red Lionel logos
The same stock number
With added dash numbers
To differentiate the pieces

Still nothing to see except box stock brown

Now come the interesting boxes
The ones that we see on the shelves
In the old Lionel orange and white
A large cellophane window in the front
To finally show off what you get for your money
A tease for the masses and their cash

Waiting inside these
Now three layers deep
Is the Lionel Chicago and Alton locomotive
Number Six-Fifty-Nine
In it's regal burgundy and silver
With six matching passenger cars
Baggage and combo
Two coaches
One dining and at last the observation

All this toy
Awaiting small hands for so long

So I hope my father approved
Though he is seven years gone now
When I came down to his old train room
To find an open empty Lionel shipping box
Seven smaller brown empties
Along with opened display boxes

And a burgundy and silver passenger train
Running merrily around the tracks
With my son at the controls

He did always say

"Toys are meant to be played with"

Saturday, December 22, 2012

The Color Truck

It was a truck of color
Of reds
Oranges
Yellows
Greens
Blues
Violets
Of and including Black
Which is argued to be no color at all

It wasn't allowed in the white vehicles parking lot
Nor the reds
Oranges
Yellows
Greens
Blues
Violets
Though it was allowed to park in the black lot
But on the fringes
For although the black vehicles
Who were no recognized color at all
Were amused by the colored trucks many colors
It wasn't enough to warrant a decent spot

When filling out questionares
And information was required
For scholarships to Auto University
Or for a job at the Lube Lounge
There was always a square labeled "Color"
And colored truck always answered as "Truck"

"That's not a color
That's what you are
What color are you?"
All the arbitrary authority figures would ask

"I am the color 'truck'"
Was the only answer it would give

Notes would always be taken
On 3x5 cards
And neatly lined yellow pads of varying sizes and thicknesses
All saying basically the same thing

"Troublemaker"
"Malcontent"
"Suspicious"
"Hippy"

Color truck never got any scholarships
Or decent jobs
It works for cash on odd jobs both big and small
Cruises looking for love in the bad part of town
As that's the only part of town that it is allowed

It's not easy being the color truck
Not one color but many
Till they all bleed together
Into an utter absence of color altogether


Friday, December 21, 2012

In the Company of a Santa of Indeterminate Origin and Authenticity

A long cold night trudging along the side of the road
One thumb that is practically sprained
From the repeated flexing hitchhiker's pose
Vogueing that way for cars that never stopped
They just kept on truckin'
Which was not the classic pose I was going for

All of which finds me here
On a soft tuck and rolled seat
In the company of a Santa Claus
Of indeterminate origins and authenticity

It wasn't his odor that gave me pause
It wasn't as if he smelled of beef and cheese
Or booze and pastys
He smelled perfectly normal for a Santa Claus

A pleasant old man smell wafting off of him
A touch of pipe tobacco and sawdust
Along with peppermint
From the candies he always seemed to have in his mouth
All in all a pretty pleasant smell

It wasn't his looks either
He had the Beard
Perfectly trimmed and clean
Rosy cheeks with a pert little nose
A merry twinkle to his eye
Topped with the loveliest Santa hat you ever saw
Clearly trimmed in real fur
Matching the rest of his outfit
Down to his polished black boots with silver buckles

So it wasn't all that
That all seemed legit

I think it was about the seventeenth stop we made
Back about two hours ago I think
Though time is a funny thing when in the company of a Santa

The sleigh with it's team of reindeer landed lightly
Once again the perfect size to fit upon the roof
Whether the roof was long or short
Wide or narrow
The rig always fit just right

I can accept that
I really can!
Santa is supposed to be magic dangit

No
It was what happened after we landed
After he grabbed his sack
Which always stayed a constant size
No matter what went into or out of it
A perfect ratio
For that perfect Santa silhouette

Like the previous sixteen times
He climbed atop the chimney that wasn't there a minute before
And jumped into it
Sliding out of sight without a sound
The flue of the chimney interfering with the sides of his body by quite a bit
If it was a video game
I'd call it a major glitch
But as it was I can't explain it

Imagine a thin thing
Going down a small tube
But with a wider image superimposed over it
That's what it looked like

But that wasn't what gave me pause either
Magic, remember?

It was after he popped back up the chimney
This time with a little blood upon his chest
Staining the delicate fibers of fur trim on his coat
Seeing my gaze
He paused and took out a hankie
Wiping it gently across the stains
Removing all traces of them in an instant

With a devilish Santa grin
He rejoins me in the sleigh
Cracking the reins
Calling out to all the reindeer
Just like in the movies

But this time
Right before he gets to "Blitzen!"
He coughs hard
Something flying out of his mouth
To strike the inside front of the sleigh with a metallic coin clink
Coming to a rest by my feet

He watches me as I bend to grab it
Raising it to my eyes
I see that it is a pet ID tag
It says 'Mister Bumpkins' on it
Along with a phone number

I look at Santa
Who holds out his hand
Expecting me to give it to him
Which I do

Santa slips it into the pocket of his coat without a word
Before tilting his head back slightly
And calling out his iconic phrase

"Merry Chistmas to all! And to all........"

I think I should be a little worried

Tuesday, December 18, 2012

In the Company of Instagram

"Click!"

"For the love of Job!
Would you stop taking pictures of your food?"

But the photo really pops
What with infinite filters and crops
Add some fancy borders
And some imaginary F-stops

Suddenly every twelve year old is a photographer
And every hipster is green with envy
Their carefully hoarded collection of vintage gear
Made instantly even more obsolete
By the App of the year

Well at least that's how it thinks of itself
Which is fine I guess
A belief in one's self
Is a cornerstone of a healthy mental mess

I've even seen it on Instagram's Instagram
Some self promoting platitude
Inserted un-self conciously into a template
Touted endlessly as the newest meme

Which it is
For all ten people who share it

I tried ignoring Instagram
But it cropped up in the headlines every other day
Making me wonder what I was missing
That if I'm not on it, whatever will people say?

So I'm on it
I'm in it
I'm through it
And it's pretty much into me
As I'm trying to collect enough photos
For one of those nifty collages
That you can buy for a small fee
From a numerity of vendors in their virtual garages

But now my companion is pissing in the pool
Supposedly selling my photos
Playing me for a fool
There's no way my former friend Facebook
Would do such a thing!

Would it?

This all makes me want to rejoin the company of tumblr
Do some cutting
Take some pics of it
Tell the world I can't take it anymore

Until Instagram comes to save me once again
Like a stalwart friend
Pumping my stomach for photos
To fill it's servers to brimming
With all the content they can hold

Which I'll be fine with in the end
Because who doesn't love old Lunch
The friendly mooch who always wants what you are having

"You're not going to eat all that, right?"

Oh Instagram
You old scamp







In the Company of Bastards

I was in the company of bastards
They stretched as far as I could see
A seething sea of people
All with one thing in common with me

We were all bastards

Not one of us knowing our father
Not one of us knowing the other
All surly smelly in need of a shower
A few of them wishing for their mother

The thing about this bunch of bastards
Was that they weren't just that in the literal sense
They were bastards through and through
Carrying a bastardly attitude wherever they went

One group playing cards
To constant calls of "Cheat!!!  Fraud!!"
Another group telling lies to one another
Playing trust fall without any trust
Then some really untrustworthy bastards over there
Treating some other bastard's wife with nothing but lust

This might be some storied group
Sailing a pirate ship at sea
With the captain as the biggest bastard of all
With each one of us bastards thinking "Well hell, that'd be ME!"

But it's not
And never will be romanticized
Except by certain men and women who are attracted to such ilk
This group of bastards will be it's own undoing
With such a feeling of self bastard loathing inside
That it may very well reach back through the fabric of time
And be the very first case of mass self infanticide

I can't stand these bastards
Most of all
Myself

Culinary Competition

It was a mountain
Of seven inch
Pink firm and warm
Nestled in soft warm buns

Hot dogs

I grabbed the ketchup
Gave it a squeeze
Raining red paste down
Confident I could eat it all
With lazy ease

This has been a long process
I think I'm almost ready
Nationals are only two weeks away
And I have more working out to do

One hand on a hot dog
The other on a stopwatch
I click the start button

Into the trough of water goes the hot dog and bun
Open goes the mouth
Gape goes the throat
In goes the hotdog
I chew as it slips inside
One, two, three, four

Which
If you're keeping track
Divided my hotdog plus bun plus ketchup
Into five equal parts
Which tumble down my throat
Like refuse down a hi rise garbage chute

Splashing down into my stomach
Stretched out like a gonzo porn star's bumbershoot

I repeat the process
One after the other
Until the plate is empty
And then my mouth

I click the button
I look at the clock
One minute fifty six
I have to do it faster!
I think to myself as I eat a couple cool down hot dogs

These I've dressed to the nines
With mustard added to the ketchup
Onions, relish, and a bit of chili
It helps me settle my stomach
And stretch it just a little bit more

I can use all the edge I can get

Monday, December 17, 2012

Numismatic Disagreement

There is no sense
Residing within the cents
That clink around my pockets
Though their collective heads
Might be old and wise
When I give up asking them the hard questions
I sense that they feel in relief

A low to mid relief to be exact

Though I always correct them
And tell them that they are simply stamped
Their lack of sense of any kind
Causes them to call me mentally bankrupt
Which is funny because I think they spend just fine

Sunday, December 16, 2012

Hey you! Porkchop! C'mere!

You, look good enough to eat, my friend
And I actually don't mean anything figurative
I mean that you look like food

A walking talking red licorice vine man
That's what I see when I look at you
The kind with the ridges
Because that's what I prefer

Never, ever, the smooth ones
Those are for barbarians
Whereas the Twizzler kind
That's for swanky sophisticates like me

Keep on walking red vine guy
I love to watch you come and go
Just step up the pace a bit
Or I may have to take you down and have a taste

Oh, but now comes something more substantial
A mashed potato woman
With ribeye steaks for legs
Buttered pea pods for arms
And a roasted carrot as a head

I can't stop drooling
I must look quite the creep
Staring like a starving man
Drool running down my chin
Over the sight of this poor woman

I couldn't tell you what she really looked like
Her race, color, or creed
All that I'm able to see
Is that she is mighty tasty and fills my need

"Get in my belly!"
I shout at the woman meal
Who scurries away on her meat legs
Looking back with concern
In her cooked carrot face

I miss more meals that way

Friday, December 14, 2012

Sandy Hook Superman

Huddle together children
Just like I taught
Girls in the center
Boys grasping arms without
I shall stand superman
Hands upon hips
Deflecting the bullets
No screams from my lips

That's the fantasy
To protect like a superhero
But there aren't enough to go around
They can't be everywhere
To leap at every evil sound

I'd clone every hero
So that every child had a guardian angel
A Superman of their very own
To guide their choices
Helping them chose well
And stand between them and danger
When everything goes to hell

Or learn to fly around the earth backwards
That one trick Superman did
To stop the badness before it happens
Grab all the bad things
Keeping them away from kids
An angel minus the wings

One hears the news of today
Causing heroic scene after scene to play out
Only inside the head
Because the body is so far from where it could help
It ends in frustration and tears
Usually in private
Then time to move on

Time to argue on social media
Over how it could have been stopped
Ending in comment gridlock
Impossible to navigate coherently
Without anger or sadness

All we really need
Is the person standing Superman
Bulletproof and wise
Protecting that which we love
No challenge to which he can't rise

Until that fine day comes
I'll be doing what I can
Working gently with my hands
Carving stone lambs for their graves

Potato Potato

My Harley doesn't potato anymore
Instead of saying
"Poe-tay-toh Poe-tay-toh"
It seems to be saying
"Poe-tah-toh Poe-tah-toh"

I know it sounds strange for me to say
But it sounds foreign to my ears
An unknown in my garage and between my legs
A creeping addition to my existing fears

Did Christine sound different than other 1958 Plymouth Furys?
Was the demon that lived inside her
Prone to revealing his existence
Through silly little things like an exhaust note?

I've found myself cruising other kinds of bikes
The domestic Indians and Polaris
Even some imports from Japan and Europe
And I think my motorcycle suspects

When it thinks I'm going shopping
It often refuses to start
For absolutely no reason
I could run the battery down trying without so much as a fart

Last week when I was lubing the chain
Set firmly upon my motorcycle jack
For no reason I could see
It tipped over onto my back

And as I lay there with a footpeg drilling into me
I shifted a little so that it wasn't so firmly upon my kidney
I heard a whisper
Right in my ear
It distinctly said

"Keep me around
Or you'll not live out the year"

So I've cleaned up my act
And decided that the thing must have always sounded like it does
I burned all my bike brochures
Around new bike dealers I take wide detours

My Harley starts on the first try nowadays
It seems satisfied with my attitude
So for now it seems that I am safe
At least until the new bikes come out next year

Thursday, December 13, 2012

Mall Santa

I went to the mall
And what did my wondering eyes see
But a very angry Santa
With piss stains upon his knee

I sat down nearby
And offered to freshen his coffee
He just scowled and growled
As he tried to clean his beard of dried toffee

I kind of regretted sitting so close
As his odor soon wafted on my way
Smelling a bit like pee and adult B.O.
I kind of felt that there was something I should say

"Um, Santa?
I mean, it's none of my business but....."

And he cut me off
Laying out a tirade ten miles long
Which should have landed him on the naughty list
And I doubt I'm wrong

"The kids right?
It's all about the kids
But what they don't tell you
Is that they smell bad
And they whine
And some of them are terrified of you
And that they'll pee on you
All over your rented outfit
Which you have to have dry clean only
Or you lose your hundred dollar deposit
They pull your beard
They ask for everything in the toy store
And sometimes
Sometimes
They try to break your heart
By asking for their dead father or mother to come back
And you should be sad about that
Or something
But you can't
Because all the other kids have ruined you for it
Made you smell like piss and candy
And you just want to murder them all!!!"

My mouth was wide open
I couldn't believe what I was hearing
This was the life of a mall Santa?
I'd always imagined it a little more endearing

And I said so
At which, Santa dumped his cold coffee over my head
Leaving me sitting there dripping on the tiles
As he stomped off
In his shiny rented size twelve boots
With the shiny buckles
That were at least one size too big

Wednesday, December 12, 2012

Gingerbread Man

A gingerbread man's work is never done
Or so it seems
As gingerbread hands grasp gumdrops
Their rough sugary skins held tightly
Being forced down into gumdrop shaped sockets in the snow frosting
With just a dab of fresh goopy sugar to help cement it down

At least until the next kid comes along and pops it loose again

Which wouldn't be so bad if they actually ate them
After all, that's what a gingerbread house
And it's associated items
Are for

For some reason gumdrops are out of favor
At that, the gingerbread man giggles to himself
Little white frost outlined mouth in a single crooked line
As he tries to keep his mirth inside
"Out of flavor......" runs through his little ginger brain

Even a gingerbread man makes the occasional pun

Mother comes downstairs
Making the gingerbread man freeze in place
As those are the rules
Same as the Toy Story world
Or maybe the Toy Story world's rules are the same as gingerbread man's
Who can say which came first?

Mother is cradling her back with an awkwardly placed hand
Her pregnant belly thrust out in front
A craving look in her eyes

Gingerbread man gets a bit nervous at that
Because grown ups have a taste for ginger
At least in this household
Several ginger shingles have already had to have been fixed this week
Thanks to late night 'drive by' binges by the Mother

But that wasn't her objective tonight
She passed on by the small side table in the dining room
Going straight to the kitchen
Gingerbread man could hear the fridge door open
He could hear Mother rummaging in the contents
Finding her treat of the evening

Gingerbread man quickly finished with his gumdrop
Making his way quickly back to the house
But he was frozen once again in mid motion
As Mother appeared in the doorway once again
A pickle in one hand
Still dripping it's briny fluid onto the linoleum
Her eyes locked upon the gingerbread man
Caught out in the open
On the gumdrop lined walkway up to the little frosted gingerbread house

His odd position seemed to make him shiny to the Mother
And still holding the wet pickle in her left hand
She reached out with her right
Covering the three steps to the side table in a heartbeat

Gingerbread man screamed silently on the inside as she picked him up
Thinking to himself that if this was it
At least it will be over quickly

He was wrong though

Mother held him firmly by the chest
Her hungry eyes upon him
Looking at every white frosted line on his gingerbread body
Her red rubbery lips opened
And Mother ate one of gingerbread man's feet

Gingerbread man's eyes opened into twin "O"s
Almost as big as the circle his mouth now made
Surprise and pain writ large all over his gingerness

Mother chewed quickly
Taking the other foot off in a tearing motion

Gingerbread man forgot all about the rules
Forget the rules!
Gingerbread man cried out in pain and frustration

"Ooooooh, the Christmas Horror!!!
The ginger humanity....!"

Mother seemingly didn't hear his sweet shrill little screams
Taking two more bites
Completely removing his gingerbread legs
Before remembering the wet shiny pickle in her other hand
And the fact that the children would be upset that she had eaten part of the gingerbread man

Mother guiltily hid the gingerbread man half under a candy bush in front of the gingerbread house
Half hoping nobody would notice for a few days
Then forgetting all about it
As she munched her hungry hungry Mother way through the large dill pickle
Chewing and humming softly as she made her way back up the stairs
Rubbing her pregnant belly with one hand

Gingerbread man wept sugar water tears
Dragging himself with his little gingerbread arms towards the front door of his house
Knocking candy decorations off their little settings
Not caring

Leaving a light trail of crumbs behind him
Little flecks of ginger color
On the white expanse of white sugar snow

Tuesday, December 11, 2012

Keep Off The Railing Please

Your puny yellow safety rails cannot keep ME safe!
I'll hulk my way through them in a flash
Vault over them like an olympian
Slither through those gaps like a ninja

OSHA may approve
But you can't save the outrageously unsafe
From you
From itself
From anything at all

With a mighty "Hey, watch this!"
I'll balance on that top rail
Painted so bright yellow and shiny
Maybe dance a little bit
Till I do the splits
Bringing all my weight down on my balls and hiny

Making me an internet superstar
Which hopefully pays pretty well
As I'll lose my job after it's posted
Preserved forever in archived electrons
Upon whatever site that it is hosted

What a rich man I'll be
When I go down to the currency exchange
With my two million YouTube views in hand
Ready to swap them for dollars
And give my finger to the man

But lets rewind a bit shall we?
And show what should have been done
In order to keep both our balls in working order

A sign should be placed just so
Showing a stick figure getting racked up in the junk
Bolts of cartoon pain emanating forth
Soiling himself with bloody spermless spunk

Not enough you say?
Well have I got a deal for you!
I'll electrify that yellow protective railing
Thus keeping unruly "Look at me!" workers where they belong
Just like a herd of cows on a farm
Though the cows are often smarter
A few gigawatts or three
Should do the job quite nicely

All the workers in a line
Filing slowly to their job
No excessive horseplay on the equipment
And certainly no imaginary exchange of internet fame for money

Monday, December 10, 2012

He did! He did!


Who put the Christ in Christmas
HE did! He did!

Who put the Car in Cartoons
Well, actually it might have been
Walt Disney, or Hanna Barbara
I don't know

Who put the Christ in Christmas
HE did!  HE did!

Who put the presents under that tree?
Your parents, or Santa, or the Underwear Gnomes
Who can say!

Who put the Holy in that Ghost
HE did!  HE did!

Who's the ghost with the most
I recollect it was Beetlejuice
Spelled Betelgeuse
And if you're a nerd it's Alpha Orionis
For the record the exact quote was
"I'm the ghostest, with the mostest!

Oh who put the Santa in the Clause
HE did!  HE did!

Though to be fair he was born Kris Kringle
Which is a dingle of a name to have
Perhaps Santa Clause was just a name change
Fifty bucks well spent to save his sanity

Who employs the elves
HE did!  HE did!

Still does actually
If 'employ' is the right word to use
They sort of work without a contract
For no visible wages
Not counting room and board
In a remote outpost
From which there is no hope of escape

Who put the New in the Year?
HE did! HE .......

Y'know what?
I'm just going to quit right here

Saturday, December 8, 2012

Free Online Dating

I'm awkward around girls
I can admit that
This is the 2010's now
And being a nerd is quite hip

When it comes to meeting chicks
In this tiny village I call a hometown
Tech savvy potential mates are one in a million
And what with a population of only 1200
The probability only goes down

Google being my friend
Showing me the world I know
With but a keystroke or two
Is naturally the first place I go

First I tried "Online Dating"
Which got me all the regular sites
A Wikipedia entry which was most informative
Followed closely by 
Ok Cupid
Plenty of Fish
And the old standby of eHarmony

One thing was a constant though
I could browse lightly all that I wanted
But to get to the gist of a girl
A credit card was required

Of those I tend to have plenty
One of my own
And an extra list of about twenty
From a Russian database that I hacked

But I'm cheap
Even when it's someone else's money
So I added "Free" to my query

And as soon as I went to them
I was blown away by what I saw
There were the usual suspects
Some widows and divorcees wearing only a bra

But thrown in to the mix
Were some true beauties
Looks that I couldn't scarcely believe
Which made me suspicious
Being burned so many times
Makes me harder to deceive

I texted a couple of the best looking ones
Who specifically stated clearly
That they were looking for 'The One'
I assumed that meant a magnificent self made man like me

Soon the replies came
First tentative
In broken English
Which broke out into long cut and paste paragraphs

At least I assume nobody can type that fast

Saying pretty much the same thing:
"I'm a beautiful girls looking for your sex
Before I can meet you I have to set some things out
I hope it does not deter you
But my father was a millionaire
And I have some strange inheritance clauses
Before I can get the money
I have to marry and take care of certain things
If you could help appreciated it would be"

It seems that you get what you pay for
When trolling for women in the 411 area

Big Water

BIG WATER
The sign to the rental cottages said
Promising sun, surf, sand
As well as a soft clean bed

I was skeptical it's true
Investigate the claims I did
While the clean bed is debatable
The big water is just as they said

Standing upon the coarse tan sand
Which trailed off into surf softened stones
Of every size shape and hue
The surf pounded a rhythm I felt in my bones

I was not deterred by this
Hitching up my horribly ugly floral patterned shorts
I waded on into the white foamed water
Only to get pounded back down to the rounded stones
Which were not as soft as their appearance would bely
Quickly pulling back up those same ugly floral patterned shorts
Which had been yanked by the water down to my thigh

This required some more thought
An answer provided by a nearby dock
And out onto this rickety construction I went
Out past the harsh surf
Now over top of the darker waves beneath
I plugged my nose and took the plunge
Thinking to myself
How deep could this Big Water be?

Beneath the sun sparkled waves
Sunlight rippling down
I dove towards the bottom of this Big Water
Swimming down as steep as I could
My ears started popping
The sunlight started dimming
It felt like my face was about to explode

I had to give up
With an explosive expletive heard nowhere
Accompanying me to the surface
Both bubbles and I arrived gasping to the air
Now surrounded by Big Water
As advertised upon the cottage rental sign
I was done and spent
But the undertow had dragged me out
That's when I realized just how big this Big Water was

It's been four hours
One hitched jet-ski ride
A warm bath with a good massage
And I've come to some conclusion on the Big Water matter

When confronted by something called Big Water
And being Swallowed by the big water sea
I much prefer the Little Water mixed with whiskey in this crystal glass
All the better to toss back my head and put it into me

Friday, December 7, 2012

Watery Mystery

Who really knows where the wastewater flows?
Not my son
Who periodically sends out little scouts
To look around and report back
From that no man's land that they never return

Countless green army men
Have braced the mystery in it's den
Only to be swirled away
Never to be seen by the light of day

A dinosaur came back once
But to be fair he hadn't gotten far
His long plastic neck was just too much
For the curly Q bend
That lives in the base of the stool

Rescued with mechanical fingers
Draped with wet paper
That was, shall we say, no longer clean
He eagerly reported the part that he had seen

Which as I mentioned
Wasn't very much
Mostly tales of white porcelain
Dirty water whirlpools and such

I know at least three brown plastic army radio men went in
Gung ho and full of fury
Only to disappear into the void
As I knew they would surely

My son isn't deterred
Even though I told him that it all ended in a dark septic tank
Living out in the backyard
It's outline clearly visible in the light snow
As that's the only part of the yard that is melted

"Fantastic Voyage" was just on TNT the other day
Now my son is convinced that there is another way
Whereas the army men had all been inert plastic
He himself had no such limitation

He's researching lasers and quantum physics
And it's not that I'm afraid he'll succeed
I'm just afraid that if he does
He'll only be disappointed
And that the reality of the dark stinky septic won't be what he needs

And hundreds of small plastic green army men
Floating in the dimness
Awaiting his orders
Like good soldiers should

Thursday, December 6, 2012

Asbestos Humor

Why hello there Mister Asbestos Brake Pads
Will you be giving me cancer a-today?

"You slight me sir!
I am simply the gift that just keeps giving"

And of course he is correct
He is simply doing asbestos he can

Cancer humor

Fun

Wednesday, December 5, 2012

#TreeTuesday

This #TreeTuesday
I confess that I saw a bunch of trees
I wasn't true to any one at all
Variety was my slutty downfall

In the morning I sidled up to a tall lanky white pine
With some sap seeping through it's bark here and there
Sultry knots in the strong trunk
And a soft bed of needles on the ground everywhere

By brunchtime I turned my jaundiced eye to an ash
Woodpecker riddled and on it's last legs
I felt pity for it in my heart
I hugged it and told it all was ok
Though I have a tree trimmer scheduled in the very next day

For my dignified formal lunch
I made the acquaintance of an oak
Standing tall next to my house
I felt it best to be a gracious host
For it's close proximity
Meant that it could drop a thing or three
And cause some problems this winter in a pinch

Teatime came and went without a speck of tea
My attention taken up by the sexiest of birch trees
Encroaching upon my driveway
With pale bark and battle scars to prove
That it is a staunch resident and quite hard to move

Now here at suppertime
I am sharing a decent young wine
With a maple tree of fine vintage
Sixty feet tall at least
It's sweet sap a boiled down happy feast
Of sugar for my sweet tooth
And I love it so

I've seen trees before them
And I'll see many after
I don't even keep track of them really
Just today on #TreeTuesday
Have I realized how many branches
I've bounced to and from
More than willingly

Tuesday, December 4, 2012

Yellow Sticky Note of Unrequited Robotic Love

A yellow sticky note for your thoughts
On this notebook
Or this pin board
Wherever you think best

Rant out your inner demons on a sticky note
It'll pass the time away
For all the good it'll do
But maybe you'll be less angry

Wait until I'm drunk and stick that sticky note
Upon my forehead or chest
Somewhere that I'll find it
When I awake
And not feeling my best

Just make sure you're miles away
As my vision sways
And anger is all I gets
As my circuits boot up
To the commands you gave

Upon that yellow sticky note
Stuck to my rusty chest
That door to my mechanical heart
That you wormed your way into
Until without you I could not start

But now you've pissed me off
And shorted out my human protection board
With my plutonium powerplant good for years
I'll never stop hunting you down

For you rejected me
My robotic love
You said I have no feelings
Which hurt me there
In the place just where
You'd imagine they'd be

In that far off day that I catch up to you
The soft sound of my treads giving me away
In those seconds before I incinerate you
You'll know that it's just me

Monday, December 3, 2012

Woodpecker

A backyard choked with trees
Half probably dead
The other half top heavy and dying
Waiting for one strong storm to come along
To rip them out of the sandy soil
To which they find themselves clinging

A redheaded man pushes his way through the underbrush
Tripping over small downed trees
Stumbling on rotten fallen limbs and branches
Dead branchy fingers reaching out
Scraping at his black Carhart coat
He angrily snaps them off in his hands

Stopping in front of an ash tree
The redheaded man in the black Carhart coat stares at it
Half of it's bark striped away
Looking like someone went at it with a carrot peeler

He steps up and smacks his head against the tree
Making himself wince with pain
After a pause and shoving his hands into his black coat's pockets
He whacks his redheaded head into it again

This time leaving a small wound on his forehead
A drop of blood slowly trickling down his face
He pauses longer this time

A large redheaded woodpecker alights upon the tree
About ten feet above the redheaded man
Clinging to the bark with taloned feet
The woodpecker ruffles his black body feathers

And asks
"What do you think you are doing?"

The man is startled
And looks up at the large crow sized woodpecker
"Who, me?"
He asks unsteadily

"Yes, you"
The woodpecker answers
"Now, I know why I bang my head against this tree
Peel the bark off of it
And generally make a mess of things"

The woodpecker illustrates his point
By grabbing a strip of bark from the ash tree
Yanking off a one foot section
Revealing some grubs underneath
Moving along shallow grub tracks in the wood

Plucking one out and swallowing it it
He looks at the man again
"It's for these emerald ash borers
They are the tastiest things ever"

The redheaded man in the black Carhart coat backs up a step
As the bird climbs down closer to him
Now at eye level
The bird regards him
"Are you after these bugs?
MY bugs?
Are you, redheaded man thing?"
It cocks it's head waiting for a reply

"N-no, I'm not
I don't want your bugs
I'm sorry
I just.....needed to bang my head against something"
Wiping the blood from his face with one forearm
He takes another step back

The woodpecker levels his red head at the man squarely
"Well, then go back inside man thing
I don't need you out here whacking into my trees
Go on now, GIT!"
With that, the woodpecker spreads his wings
Jumps from the tree towards the man
Who responds by turning and running
Back towards his house
Through the dead branches and downed trees
Falling twice
Rushing back inside the house
Slamming the door

The red headed woodpecker
Turns back to the ash tree
Fluttering back halfway up the trunk
Black body feathers shimmering in the sunlight
Peels back some more bark

And smacks his face against the tree a few times
The sound ringing out in the woods

Sunday, December 2, 2012

Slumming it in the Goo

Sitting here shift after shift
Staring blankly at a screen
Keyboard mocking me
Simple words just too heavy to lift

Transmuting into ooze
Slumping downward
Into the seat and onto the floor
And filling up my own shoes

Staring up at the bottom of the desk
From goo form with eyes I didn't expect
Just floating on top of the liquid
Like a muppet's on top of it's head

I find the pieces of gum I'd left behind
Stuck all around in random areas
I've worked here for ten years
It seems like there'd be more gum down there

I seem to be in a natural low spot of the floor
So this is what I get to look at
At least until the janitor comes in later
And mops me up throwing me out with the trash

I make the most of it and start thinking
About what I'm seeing
From this new perspective of being
The bottoms of the drawers
The aforementioned gum
Some quality control stamps
From some guy in a far off factory
Who may have lied a little about what he saw
Judging from the quality of the welds and fasteners

From all this comes an idea
For the greatest thing I've ever thought
If only I could get it down somehow
But I'm at a loss being a pile of goo with no hands
So I run through the story in my gooey mind
Getting to plot high points and lows
Rolling my eyes around in appreciation for my genius

Until I'm interrupted by a mop to the midsection
It's the janitor come to take me away

I guess that's it then

Saturday, December 1, 2012

Seawall

Seawalls for sale
The comic booky sign said loudly
I was hooked by the tag line though
"We keep things at Bay"

Which was a joke sort of
Since the only water around
Was out in the bay
But I didn't laugh

I had a bigger problem

The fish were grazing my seagrass
Which was intended for my grass crabs
So I'd been buying feed from the feed store
Which was leaving me flat broke

Those fish had to be stopped
Maybe the seawall was the answer

I stopped and I haggled
We niggled and naggled
And arrived at a price neither one of us liked
Which means it was fair

The next day they came out
With their mechanical cranes and trout
One for lifting and one for swimming
With chunks of seawall hanging or riding upon it's back

Soon the walls were in place
The workers were gone
The crabs came out of their holes one by one
Creeping and grazing
Peeping and picking
Through the eats that were about

I tended my flock
From high upon my rock
Out of the salt and the spray
When from out in the bay
Beyond my new wall I heard a sound

It was singing from the fishes

"Oh give us grass
Give us grass
Lots of yummy seagrass
Don't fence us out....."

Screw them
My crabs got to eat