Tuesday, April 3, 2018

NEWS (not):

Scout Spelunkers Support Monkey Merits

For the first time since its inception in 1912, The Girl Scouts of the USA is allowing non-American, non-human primates to become members.

Chlorocebus sabaeus, also known as the green monkey, is the first species to act upon this opportunity. Five monkeys Tuesday recited the Girl Scout Promise on a makeshift stage in front of Mituk Cave in Sierra Leone.

Girl Scout Troop # BL4 of Fort Detrick, Maryland this month traveled to coastal West Africa to earn their Caving patch - a merit badge for spelunking (speh-LUNK-ing). However, after encountering an expedition of Americans working for the Center for Disease Control (CDC), the girls followed their “(A)LWAYS (B)E (C)LOSING” training and quickly made other plans. They recognized a hot spot when they saw one - for making money that is.

The troop has raised over $6700 so far selling Girl Scout Cookies to the guano-ridden researchers and any other animal, for that matter, who lives on the lip of Mt. Mituk and has at least $5.00 on their person.

The Special Pathogens Unit of the CDC is investigating Mituk Cave as the possible source of the Ebola virus. The latest strain of the deadly filovirus has claimed the lives of almost 2000 Africans so far. CDC Team leader Dr. Lenny Loynes said he has narrowed down the culprit - the Ebola host - to either one of the green monkeys that live in the cave or one of the Girl Scouts selling cookies in front of the cave.

"Even though we have no refrigeration here, I still like the Thin Mints best," said Dr. Loynes, “and now that I know the Peanut Butter Patties are giving me heartburn - not Ebola - I may pick up another box or two.”

Ebola can cause hemorrhagic fever in primates. Symptoms include severe headache, fever, sore throat, muscle pain, nausea, vomiting, diarrhea, liver and kidney failure, bleeding out of the eyes, nose, mouth, ears, rectum and urethra. The fatality rate in Ebola outbreaks is 50% - 90% of those who are infected.

Caving, on the other hand, is an exciting, hands-on way to learn about speleology (spee-lee-AHluh- gee), the study of caves.

Girl Scouts Troop Leader Charles B. Manson, 61, and Girl Scouts National Council President Hydrangea Lipwiggle, 46, said they had planned to return home last week, but the good cookie money and the fact that they are all quarantined has put them into a holding pattern until further notified.

"The girls are tired and needed help selling cookies,” said Lipwiggle, explaining why they let the monkeys into the Scouts. “So we got with headquarters, found a loophole and took the monkeys into our troop. The rumors are false that we have lost our marbles, and no, we are not simply being coerced or intimidated by the monkeys, even though it’s true that even the weakest, smallest monkey can rip your face clean off your skull without ever having to leave the tree. My girls are learning a lot from them. Could come in handy someday. About caving, that is.”

Several scouts who attended the ceremony expressed disappointment that four of the new monkey members did not technically follow the rules and failed to correctly recite the Girl Scout Promise. Also, one of the monkeys misbehaved badly while menacing onlookers.

"Yeah, they weren't doing it right," said scout Toby Tyler, 12. "They were loud. Just screeching 'KAR-KAR-KAR-KAR!' And the big one, we call her Penelope, tore off her sash, stepped out of her skirt, took a poopie in her beret and threw it at us. Penelope walked over to Maddie and just stared at her. Maddie's the only girl in our troop who already earned her Gold Award. It was weird. She’s got fangs. Penelope, that is. And big eyes. Red. Scary. Maddie was crying pretty hard when she ran off into the woods. Chuck and Mr. Lipwiggle later found her in a tree. She was screeching ‘KAR-KAR-KAR-KAR!’ Maddie, that is.

The United States Army Medical Research Institute of Infectious Diseases (USAMRIID) refutes this entire fabricated story and does not find it funny. They expressed concerns for this reporter’s health and suggested sleep. But this reporter has heartburn. He hopes it's heartburn, that is.

Sunday, November 19, 2017

On my couch over coffee this morning, while staring at my big toe, it occurred to me that my beloved Kenner toy Hugo: Man of a Thousand Faces is in actuality an occult representation of "the beast" Aleister Crowley. Why "Hugo?" See Victor Hugo and his writings on Jewish mysticism and see the doll's creator, make-up artist and screenwriter Alan Ormsby (ashamed) and his projects like Children Shouldn't Play With Dead Things and Cat People. He also did My Bodyguard and Disnye's Mulan. I like him. He don't like me. He don't know I have no faith nor convictions. The Kenner box has instructions: Do What Thou Wilt. Need I go on?

Monday, October 17, 2016

Cyndi Lauper's "Girls Just Want To Have Fun” Slowed Down To 33 rpm Sounds Absolutely Amazing.

Playing records at the wrong speed can lead to some strange results, but this 33 rpm version of “Jolene” sounds awesome!

SHARE this slowed down version with your friends by clicking the share button below!

Kolbgil Educate Inspire Change

Wednesday, February 10, 2016

Bulimic Humanists Being Bullish for Humanity

Mahatma Gandhi rides Bodacious, 1945 PBR World Finals

   Something very heavy has been weighing on me. My well meaning and very dear Aunt Mary is a devout Christian, and yesterday, in response to a Facebook post of mine, she left a comment that her “heart aches” for me. Well, I’ve been stewing in a funk ever since. I keep asking myself: How far should one go to fight for what they believe while still respecting another person’s way of life?
     My post was meant to poke fun at all those hackneyed motivational vignette pick-me-ups we always see online that offer lukewarm clichés of inspiration like, “Live - Laugh - Love,” or “You have to look through the rain to see the rainbow.” How ironic it would be, I thought, if one removed the mamby-pamby sentiment and replaced it with a brazen, rude, jaw-dropping dinner party no-no of a statement. So in my post, appearing over serene sand dunes, in the blue-blue sky I wrote in calligraphic glow: “There is No God, Republicans Suck and Your House Smells Bad.”
     When you get right down to it,  Aunt Mary, whom I love very much, is merely letting me know that she will be experiencing gastroesophageal reflux in heaven while I weep and gnash my teeth in a paddle boat on a fiery lake of burning sulfur during my extended vacation in hell. It’s common courtesy, that’s all. Then again, what will neighbors think? Either that or Aunt Mary knows my house smells like cat turds. Or maybe she heard I was going to vote for Ralph Nader again (whether he likes it or not).
      Alas, my intentions for the post have been misunderstood. Such are the dangers of parody. Or perhaps God is not a subject welcome in her preferred pieces of whimsy. My dad wasn’t big on irony either. He always called me a smart ass, but I think that was his go-to line whenever he didn’t get the joke.
     Of course, how would I know there is no God? And I don’t know if ALL Republicans suck. I’m sure many of them haven’t got to that page yet in The Joy of Republican Sex. And do I know if the stray Facebook user who hasn’t blocked me yet and happened upon my mirthful meme has a stinky house? No. So I commented back and told Aunt Mary to cheer up, I’m happy. Hope that was enough.
     Is there intolerance etiquette? For instance, I post jokey stuff on Facebook a lot and sometimes it may seem a little intolerant, but on good days, we all laugh. That’s the point. I’m compelled to make the funny. To attempt it that is. My goal is usually fun with an edge, you know, like getting a blowjob on top of the Empire State Building, not the viewing platform, but the very top - the pointy part. And I hope I never succumb to all-out cynicism, because I still have a lot of heroes that I don’t want to disappoint. Most of my heroes are satirists. George Carlin. He looms large. Carlin may not have shown the same courage or had the same impact on our culture as a person like Rosa Parks, but he definitely made a difference in my life. And I believe in the butterfly effect. Just like Kevin Bacon may one day accept my Friend request, one day I may have an impact on the world, or a zip code, or Shannon. We share a router. I could live with that.
     So that brings me to my point. Satire and other forms of non-violent protest are, to me, the acceptable ways in which one can express displeasure for differing beliefs, practices or values. The only reason I can figure that somebody may have a problem with another person’s way of life is if it infringes upon their own liberty. Woe to you if your way of life involves converting others over to your way of life. And woe to you if your way of life involves exterminating others who don’t share your way of life. Don’t be greedy. Of course this does not mean that one should not defend themselves against violence. This does not mean that if you witness a lady down the street getting the shit kicked out her that you should just turn around, go back inside and crank up Ellen.
     Knowing when to act and how to act is tough isn’t it?
     Fear is a bullpen. Not the baseball variety but the cowpoke kind. This bullpen of fear wraps around a bodacious beast, both boiling and berserk. Hinge pins pop and dormant dreams steam-crash gates, some gnarly, some pearly. Now more of a blur than a bull, this hulking mass makes a choking pass through infected portals, long indecent with the lingering flatulence of an influence influenza. Intuition informs the beast to seek a distant light, a light beyond indifferent oppression, a light beyond irrational severity, a light beyond diseased authority. But fight it must, this beast. And for whom does it fight? For empire, king and captain? For ma, pa and chaplain? For longitude, latitude, beatitude, attitude? For God, corps, country? For core, mantle, crust? For ashes to ashes? For dust to dust? None of the above, in fact on the contrary, most often it is one or all of the above that the beast must fight to reach the light.
     Can courage prevail or will said bull play it safe, act dumb, go with the flow or be led back to its bullpen by the ring in its nose? Nobody said it was going to be easy.
     But heroes put their boots on like the rest of us, right? Lying on unmade beds, grunting in their unbuckled jeans? Maybe heroes trust their hearts more than most - and not just trust. Maybe they have the good sense to know when to hand the reins over and follow their heart when their heart is the only one around who’s got D batteries for the flashlight and has the beans to tell Siri where her next destination will be if she doesn’t up.
    I don’t think heroes try to tame the bull. Pretty sure they don’t. Instead, I think they use their disquietude as trail mix for the soul. Then they hunker down, hang on and find a rhythm. They start jerking back and forth like a car antenna, then through much static, some fuzzy whoops and hollers begin to emerge. These are all the other buckaroos out there. The ones that went the distance. All eight seconds. Or died trying. Or tie dyeing, more likely.
     Rider get ready!
00:01 “I have seen the Promised Land!”  
00:02 “Rage, rage against the dying of the light.”
00:03 “Soylent Green is people!”
00:04 “Toga! Toga!”
00:05 "Badges? We ain’t got no badges.”
00:06 “Winning, duh!”
00:07 “Let us not assassinate this lad further, senator. You’ve done enough. Have you no sense of decency, sir. At long last, have you left no sense of decency?”
00:08 “Give up MY seat? You want me to stand up? Mmm-mm, no, I don’t think so, Mr. Bus Driver. You want to have me arrested? Go ahead....make my day.”
     Next rider, get ready.

Thursday, August 20, 2015

Al Gore Adrift

Florida Shipping Authorities

Issue Emergency Manboob Advisory

MIAMI - The Florida Bureau of Meteorology issued a shipping alert Saturday after former U.S. Vice President Al Gore was discovered floating 100 meters off the state's southeastern coast.

Satellite images reveal a healthy, though slightly sunburned Gore lounging in a pool chair reading his latest paperback "Our Choice: A Plan to Solve the Climate Crisis".

Gore's publicist said the author is unavailable for comment as he is on vacation but asked officials to get word to the Father of the Internet to put on a t-shirt.

Glaciologist Colin Hay Jr. of the Australian Antarctic Division was monitoring his own country's approaching iceberg, known as B17B, when he made the discovery. Hay quickly phoned U.S. officials and designated the mass as 46/DD.

"I was taking a break and took a gander at Disney World," said Hay who plans to vacation there next week. "Then - POW - there I saw two giant pink manboobs, clear as day, bobbing in the waters off Boca Raton."

Experts acknowledge the irony of the report, but heed sailors to take caution. Gore is likely to either get tired and come in for lunch or break up as he enters warmer waters nearer Miami, creating hundreds of smaller Gores in a hazard to passing ships.

"He's still 100 meters away, so it's quite a long way away, it's not really on your doorstep yet but it's been heading steadily towards you," glaciologist Hay said Saturday.

Hay earlier told The Miami Herald that a Vice President of that size had probably not been seen in the area since the days when 19th century clipper sailing ships plied the trade route between Britain and America. Though uncommon, such occurrences could become more frequent if sea temperatures rise through global warming.

Scientists Confirm

"First Tool" Cephalopod Abuse

FREMANTLE (PERTH, AUSTRALIA) - Researchers report that former Vice President Al Gore has displayed unusual behavior with an octopus.

While charting Gore's journey towards the Australian coast, observers at Fremantle Harbour report that the Father of the Internet, known to glaciologists as 46/DD, has tied a Coconut Octopus (Amphioctopus marginatus) around his head and neck. Floating in a pool chair, the shirtless and sunburned Gore is feared to be suffering from delirium.

Photographs reveal that Gore is sucking seawater through a silly straw and is using the octopus's coconuts to cover his manboobs.

Efforts to obtain a comment from Gore's publicist were unsuccessful at press time.

The author of "Our Choice: A Plan to Solve the Climate Crisis" has drifted over 18,000 kilometers from his Boca Raton hotel lagoon since Saturday. Sailors using these waters should continue to take caution as he may damage their vessels.

Al Gore Friday denied charges made by his estranged wife that the former Vice President engaged in "adultery with a fish."

Maritime Rescuers Save

Iceberg, Russian Sailors and Octopus

MALTA - Authorities monitoring Arctic waters Thursday report the recovery of a Russian cargo ship and believe an alleged hijacking was carried out by former US Vice President Al Gore.

An international criminal investigation, involving Interpol, Swedish, Maltese and Finnish authorities is under way as Gore remains restrained in a Swedish jail.

Photos detailing the 12-hour standoff with Maltese authorities reveal the Father of the Internet was brandishing a harpoon gun and forcing a 30-member Russian crew to use hair dryers to melt an iceberg. Reports indicate Gore was wearing an octopus tied around his head.

Spoiler Alert


Sorry, but there is no Tooth Fairy. Or Santa Claus. And Soylent Green is people. Bruce Willis dies at the beginning of The Sixth Sense. Tim Robbins dies at the beginning of Jacob's Ladder. And Franklin Delano Roosevelt died at the beginning of his second term. The Germans killed 7 million Jews. Rock Hudson is gay. Rush Limbaugh AND Jesse Ventura are really Andy Kaufman. Bing Crosby's daughter shot J.R. There IS a Fight Club, and Brad Pitt is really Ed Norton. Pip's secret benefactor is the convict. John Huston is both Faye Dunaway's father and baby daddy. Rosebud is a sleigh AND the clitoris of William Randolph Hearst's girlfriend. Professor Plum did it with Col. Mustard in the buttocks. Gwyneth Paltrow's head is inside the "Wrath" box. The Planet of the Apes is New York City in the future. Kevin Spacey is Keyser Soze. Under the Dome all happens inside one of Dolly Parton’s boobs - and NOT the two you're thinking of. Darth Vader is Luke's father. Al Gore won the election. That Crying Game chick has a dick. UFO's are people from the future - real assholes too. You will NOT be receiving your Social Security checks. Big Foot is Dan Haggerty. Richard Nixon knew about the Watergate break in and did NOT have a dick. Cherry-Flavored Tums CAUSE heartburn. Man is descended from Apes. God is concept by which we measure our pain. Heaven is a place where nothing ever happens. Dogs are cats. And the entire "Universe" is all inside Gwyneth Paltrow's box - which is... by the way... the furriest box in all of Hollywood. Well, that last one's not totally true. It's a tie between her and Ruth Buzzi. But Ruth Buzzi IS Dan Haggerty.

Jack Webbmaster

Jane Goodall - The Eagle and The Wren

     Last night’s Jane Goodall lecture at Rollins College was truly inspiring. She shared stories about her amazing field research in Gombe with chimpanzees – 50 years! She compared both the good and dark sides of chimpanzee behavior with that of humans. She reminded us that even the brightest chimpanzee’s got nothing on even the most average of human beings. One way that we are special, she said, is how we can communicate complex ideas through the beauty of language.
     Goodall pleaded that we all not get SO caught up in our clever technologies, that we allow our minds to disconnect from our hearts. She asked us to think about how our actions affect future generations - not just the me, the here, the now.
    I am inspired to tell you about a great picture book she co-wrote with Alexander Reichstein. It’s called "The Eagle and The Wren." - It’s about reaching for your dreams – dreams that you may even believe are beyond your means.
     “You may ask,” Goodall said, “how a girl born between two world wars, with little means, stands before you today, an overfilled audience, some of whom traveled over 100 miles to see me tonight...well, I am reminded a folk tale I was told by my mother when I was a little girl.”
     Who can fly the highest? "I can," claim the lark, the dove, the vulture and the eagle. So owl suggests a contest. With a great flapping of wings, and squawking and calling, the birds take to the air. It is a glorious contest, but one by one each bird falls out and flies back to the earth. But not the eagle. The eagle keeps soaring skyward.
     When the eagle returns, all the birds believe they know who won the contest. But owl surprises them all when it is announced that it’s the tiny jenny wren who is champion. For that little jenny wren took passage on the mighty eagle and nestled within the feathers on its back. So the jenny wren flew the highest.
     Perhaps Goodall is reminding us how we all must depend on one another for help and support throughout our lives.

Blonde Bombshell

Ted Levine's Free Time

Dave's Tacos

They called my name and I didn't answer.

"Steve? Steve?"

Guess, I'm eating Dave's tacos.

I didn't realize it until they called my name.

Damn, Dave! You splurged and got steak tacos. And salsa.

Just a minute ago, the guy sitting behind me at Tijuana Flats called the server over and asked him, "Could you check on my order? Two tacos. It's taking a really long time."

"What's the name?"

"Dave," he said.

Three minutes ago, a girl came out of the kitchen with two orders.


"Right here," said another guy. His name was Steve too. He got a Mexican Pizza.

So that left her with the other order, two tacos.

"Are those for Steve?" I asked her.

Her eyes fluttered like a slot machine. She opened her mouth, and I heard the buzz of a disconnected dial tone. I reached for them, and she gave them to me.

Munch, munch. Hmm, these aren't ground beef, I thought. I guess the cashier upgraded my order. I guess she felt bad for handing me a pen that was out of ink. Maybe I said "beef," and she thought "steak." Steak IS beef. Oh well.

But they were Dave's tacos.

I have a secret, Dave.

I ate your tacos.

Now I wonder who's Mexican Pizza that was.

Do You Suffer From Dry Mouth?


This is Eduardo. He's thirty seven.

He suffers from dry mouth,
a contagious disease caused by the sun.

Won't you help Eduardo and others like him?

Please send one glass of water (or more) to:
PO Box 101002
Boca Raton, FL 33427

Fear and Loathing at TARGET

We were somewhere around the bar stools on the edge of the Home aisle when my Claritin began to wear off. I remember saying something like "I feel an allergy attack coming on; maybe you should push the cart," ...and suddenly there was a terrible sneeze all around us and the fluorescent light was full of what looked like huge Soccer moms, all swooping and screeching and diving around the shopping cart, which was going about a hundred miles an hour with the baby seat down to the pharmacy. And a voice was screaming Ah-ah-ah-choo! Who are all these dadburn rednecks? ... We had two bags of Romaine lettuce, seventy-five pellets of RID-X, five sets of sheets with a very high thread count, a convenient travel-size shaker of Rogaine, and a whole galaxy of multi-colored Graphic Tees, Casual Pants, flip-flops, handbags and accessories... and also a quart of Ben & Jerry's, a quart of International Delight Hazelnut Creamer, a case of Activia, a pint of Target brand Egg Nogg and two dozen eggs. Not that we needed all that for the weekend, but once you get locked into a serious grocery collection, the tendency is to push it as far as you can.

Warning Label

Some patients taking this medication have performed certain activities while they were not fully awake including making and eating babies and sleep boogie-ing. Patients often do not remember these events. Contact your doctor if you experience grooviness, chillaxedness, the desire to recite limericks, ralphing, dizziness, long-term eyelid droop, numbness of uvula, slurred speech, a change in the amount of urine produced and location of where said urine is deposited, confusion, list-making, hallucinations, MOMMY NO! MOMMY NO!, vomit that looks like Richard Nixon, black and tarry driveways, swollen lips, yellowing of your sheets, severe or persistent awesomeness, chills, difficulty rhyming, rolling on the floor laughing, horse-faced-ness, floppy arms and constant craving of the song "Constant Craving." Some patients tried to end their own lives, and some, in fact, have slowly and painfully ended their lives successfully. If you develop an erection that will not go away AND you are a woman, consult a talk show host immediately. Do not take orally or anally. Sublimate the solid into a gas and walk through the cloud, giving yourself just a hint of treatment. Do not take.

Nimble as a LYNX

It's not uncommon to see people at the bus stop with luggage. But today I saw a guy with three steamer trunks, a safari outfit and a pith helmet. I had to circle back and ask him where he was going.

"Mad," he said.

I think that's near Osteen. He's in for a lot of transfers.

Daytona Whee-Lo Project Announced

DAYTONA BEACH - The Volusia County Council Tuesday unveiled plans to build the world's first Whee-Lo Farm. Beginning in August 2016, construction breaks wind on The Daytona Magnetic Project, in which 40 giant magnetic walking wheels will be used to generate electric power for thousands of county residents.

"Whee-Lo energy consumes no fuel and emits no air pollution," said County Vice Chair Zero Finesse, "however the process is so boring that wheel platform technicians will be able to monitor activity for only a few minutes at a time."

To subsidize the inevitable "down" times, said Finesse, future plans call for the addition of several giant Slinky's. 

Separated at Birth

"Ow, Charlie! Ow! You bit my finger, and it realllly huhrrrt!"

A Rise, A Rose, A Ruse

Now 9 hours into 11 years,
I reflect on shadows on pains on fears.
The world traded two towers
for two pools of tears.
A rise, a rose, a ruse.

My pop wed his wife
and sloppy they kissed,
then shared the aisle with a terrorist.
I cried with mobs
and pumped my fist.
A rise, a rose, a ruse.

My gal that day
caught new mom's bouquet
and saved a rose to loft today
into the hole
where they now stay.
A rise, a rose, a ruse.

But we won't bend
between the pews
or pray to end
this burning fuse.
We won't ascend.
We choose to lose.
A rise, a rose, a ruse.

The World, It's What's for Dinner

When I was young with savoir faire,
this blue-green globe had much to spare.
I’d climb the tree and breathe the air
and taste the fruit that grew up there.

But now it’s bare. Do I despair?
I did not share, avec mon frère.
I say no prayer. It’s your affair.
I do not care. I do not care.

Boil down all the oceans
and eat up all the fish.
Deep fried fragrant forests
make a crispy pine nut dish.

Melt snow-peak mountains
an put ‘em in the soup.
For dessert, a desert cake.
It's Java lava poop.

Tahiti's so meaty.
Djibouti's so fruity.
When stewed in the Pacific,
they're tasty and terrific.

Distill the atmosphere
into a happy, hoppy beer.
Tap a polar ice cap.
Cheers! The end is near.

Greece comes out my pores.
The Azores make good S’mores.
Chad's so cheesy.
“Hey! Two Berlins, over easy!”

Gnaw big bites of Bogota
with raw slaw Omaha.
On Sweden I’ll-be-feed’n
'til they banish me from Eden.

The Andes are my candies.
Helsinki’s in my Twinkies.
Hong Kong is a Ding Dong.
So 'm fat. I'll shed my thong.

A Cameroon macaroon
with prune Prague Rangoon.
Feast on Iran flan,
then quickly hit the Cannes.

Had a Big Iraq attack.
Freshl-squeezed Tobago
on a cookie Cairo gyro.

Nevada enchilada.
No estoy cansada.
Kyoto burrito.
Tokyo taquito.

Stick a fork in old New York,
Dry rub Bronx and call it pork.
Key a Spam Savannah.
with flambéed Atlanta banana.

The Mozambique bisque
was a culinary risk,
but Milk of Micronesia
gets ya off yer knees, ja?

Malawi Guacamole
on Frisco Rice-a-Roni.
Memphis maraschino
on Reno cappuccino.

Puree Zimbabwe
on Santa Fe parfait.
Pan-fry Panacea
on a piece of Pisa pizza.

Drip dry old Morocco
on a Moscow Choco Taco.
Rome foam JELL-O =
a lemony archipelago.

Don’t think me uncouth
with a Duluth Baby Ruth.
Jeddah muffuletta
in a bruised Bruges brushetta.

Macon-wrapped bacon
was mine for the takin’.
Turkey Turkey Jerky
like pemmican Albuquerque.

Cut up Kathmandu,
drop it in fondue
with cubes of Kabul bouillon.
Voila – Khartoum Foo-Young!
Leftover Equator?
Save it for later.
An Ebola Zaire
lurks in Frigidaire.

Freeze Belize, please,
and put it between your knees.
Then nuke ‘em on good China
with caramel Carolina.

Whoa, Nelly! Oh, my belly!
So hungry and a sinner.
I consume my doom, my dummy.
The world – it’s what’s for dinner.

God's on our plate.
God is our food.
We forgot to thank Him,
and now we're all screwed.

Ode on a MaMaw's Mug

O' MeMaw, MaMaw,
Grandmother Jones,
felt your old new wind
chime my new old bones.

When distracted I was,
coffee ready to sip,
I slightly slurped hot
to knot burn my slip grip.

Then out rang my lava,
crying a potter-pang moan.
MaMaw chilling hotter,
screams of java - home groan.

“That's smart,” she'd say,
and she'd mean my tongue.
My cup she poured
before I was young.

War hot, coffee fought,
piping searing soldiers sung,
fills gills warm
to the holes in their bums.

Grasping chicory bubble comfort,
drinking beans like they're beer,
O' Nuclear Guts,
please ring the Rear Engineer.

This horizon tower cools now,
showing Row Z in my palm,
but silhouettes of Three-Mile Island
always make me calm.

Amusing births in basements,
bleeding colors hide the crack.
There’s mold on a table
by the freezer in the black.

She fires back upon
her red-faced mug.
Kiln a love burn lonely,
when your kin is lost in love?

MeMaw's swirling mug
ruddied bottom-silt drips,
glistening on beads
on bracelet stiff lips.

Ceramic dusting shores
lights her hair angelic.
Halo powders white
-- her sweet and low relic.

O' MeMaw, MaMaw,
Grandmother Jones,
this sin-cracked vessel
is the best that I own.

JAMIROQUAI (Not what you think)

(Jaberwocky parody as read by Sir Mick Jagger)

’Twas not ‘twas Dylan, and the Milli Vanilli Pogues
Did Fear and Glen Campbell in the Slade:
All M.C. Hammer’d were the Sigur Rós,
And the Nazareth Clash Dr. Dre’d.

“Beware the Jamiroquai, Alan Parsons!
The Fugees that Bjork, The Boss, Jeff Beck's!
Beware the Foo Foo Fighters, The Shins
& Fabulous Thunderbird Béla Fleck’s!”

He took his Bernie Worrell Duran Duran;
Long time Go Go's, the Hoople, Mott —
So rested he by the Toto Tom Tom Club tree
And Scott Weiland did he in thought.

And, as in KISS thought Ron Wood,
The Jamiroquai, with eyes of flame,
Came Wilco through the Bee Gee Thorogood
And Urge Overkilled as Creed came!

U2! U2! And Adrian Belew.
The Deep Purple Suede went Seger Sabbath Knack!
He left Grateful Dead, and with Talking Heads,
Went Mumford and Son’ing BECK.

“And Hanson Van Halen the Jamiroquai?
Come to my arms, my Beastie Boy!
ABBA Otis Day! Ry Cooder! Green Day!”
He Cracker’d in his Tool.

’Twas not ‘twas Dylan, and the Milli Vanilli Pogues
Did Fear and Glen Campbell in the Slade:
All M.C. Hammer’d were the Sigur Rós,
And the Nazareth Clash Dr. Dre’d.

Dangerous Monkeys Swing Backwards

(Schoolhouse Rock Parody – sung by Tom Waits)

I awoke on a bus in the rain,
from the cough and the cuss of a train. 
Heard a haggard homeward teacher
croon this non-sanguine refrain:
What's two fingers of a fifth of bourbon,
for three monkeys who threaten incursion?
Let's meet at the Division Bar and choose,
which monkey divides the booze.
Don't teach me how to think,
just buy me another drink.
The Dividend's got the dough.
Divisors move adagio.
If the Quotient is the answer,
then common core's the cancer.
Dangerous Monkeys Swing Backwards,
in the jungles of Hollywood and Vine.
Dangerous Monkeys Swing Backwards,
in our uncommon core divide.
D'danger dares divide.
M'monkeys multiplied.
Equation S'swings subtraction.
B'bringin' down n-numbers for a fraction.
In the graveyard of spirituality, 
an equation is a minor equality.
These very unmerry unvariables,
wax poetic unperishable parables.
Dangerous Monkeys Swing Backwards,
in the jungles of Hollywood and Vine.
Dangerous Monkeys Swing Backwards,
in our uncommon core divide.
Don't teach me how to think,
just buy me another drink.
The Dividend's got the dough.
Divisors move adagio.
If the Quotient is the answer,
then common core's the cancer.
OK, let's look at the problem.
A fifth of bourbon, let's call that 5.
That's the Quotient.
Then there are 3 dangerous monkeys.
They are the divisors.
1 x 3 = 3
Subtract the 3 from the 5 = you get two.
Two fingers, two fingers.
Bring down the number.
Repeat as needed.
Watch your place column.
I don't understand, I don't understand.
Leave me alone. Leave me alone.
There was a shooting at the school,
with a two dollar pistol.
The principal is the suspect.
Don't teach me how to drink,
just think me another think.