"Barbie" for Sunday Scribblings

The military is not a lonely place, especially if your in boot camp. That's where I was, among a bunch of other horny GI's. I had been there about 4 weeks when I got my "1st"package from home. Actually, it wasn't from "home", it was from my girl friend. I had written her about the wonderful life we were living and how much I missed her. I stressed that she need not worry about me and other girls because even if I wanted to find a girl there was no way in hell "they" were going to let me near one. When I open my "package" I was sure I was getting cookies. But, alas, that was not the case. I got got a horny love letter and a "Barbie" doll. Here, she wrote, is a girl you can play with to keep you busy. The only good thing about it was that everyone else was so busy opening their mail that they did not notice my "new girl friend". I hurriedly hid her in the top of my locker thinking "damn I have to get rid of that thing". You ladies probably do not have any idea of what happened next but if any of you guys were in the military, you know what was about to happen. That's right....Surprise Inspection. Line up men. Open up your Lockers, Papa's going hunting. That's right gentlemen we are going to see how really clean you are. If you know what prayer is then you know that I was praying. "Oh please dear God, not my locker. Please, please, please... God Help Me. But no, God wasn't about to help me that day. OK Private Grizz ( I really wasn't Grizz in those days, but, well you understand), lets see how neat and tidy your locker is. Oh my oh my, what do we have here? I'll be damned. Hey gentlemen, look what Private Grizz has....... his own personal doll,...... a @@%**^#@ barbie doll. Private Jensen, you bunk below Private Grizz, does he play with himself? Does he wear pink panties? Sir I can explain, I stammered. It was a joke from my girl. A joke he screamed. Your a joke. ... 100 push ups .....right now. Count em gentlemen. Wait.. Private Grizz, Do you want me to put the doll under you while you do the push ups? N n n n n no Sir...... Hit the deck. Count em gentleman or you'll be down there with him. And Mr. Private "Sissy", while your doing your push ups, think about the next 10 days you have on KP. Boys who play with dolls can surely do a great job washing dishes. I hate Barbie Dolls

"Roses are Red" for Carry on Tuesdays

"The red rose whispers of passion,
And the white rose breathes of love" Did you know that? No, I said, how do you come up with these things? I don't come up with them, I read them. You know in poetry books. You might try it some time. OK, where did the rose thing come from? You probably think I don't know. Well they are the opening words of "A White Rose" by John Boyle O’Reilly. You should read some poetry. You may discover a romantic heart. She had a devilish grin on her face. She was looking up at me, her brown eyes giggled at me. She wiped the rain drops from her face. Which rose do you like the best? I didn't know. I had never really thought about roses. To me they were just another flower. To her, they were everything. We were standing in the rain, looking into the flower shop window. She loved to walk in the rain. She was born to live in San Francisco. I was just a visitor. I don't like any roses in this rain, I replied. Oh come on you old grump, tell me which one you like the best. She was still looking up at me with her turned up nose and her freckled cheeks. The rain was running down her face. She was smiling. She was my own personal Sun. She created light and warmth on a cold rainy San Francisco evening. OK, if you really need to know, I prefer the red ones. Why? She always had to know why. Never could I be a "just because". I finally replied, I like red because they are prettier and they smell better. Yes, but what about passion and love? Remember "Red is Passion and White is Love". Are you just Passionate for me or do you Love me? Well I know I have a great passion for you. It would be wonderful for your naked body to join my naked body in a nice warm shower. Her eyes sparkled and her devilish grin appeared. Maybe when you learn to love the "White Rose". The fog horn moaned across the bay and my lustful soul moaned in the San Francisco night.

The Book

The book was thick and black and covered with dust. Its boards were bowed and creaking. I wiped the dust away from the title. It was written in an ancient Greek dialect. I had a limited knowledge of the dialect but I was only able to read one word of the title, "Atlantis". Was this old black book some kind of history of the lost city of Atlantic? I was excited but I was afraid to open the book for fear I would destroy parts of the book. It was very old and I did not want to harm it in any way. I knew it could be very valuable and might even make me rich. Maybe even rich enough to retire and follow my dream to write. I had one major problem. The book wasn't mine. I stole it. I'm a curator in a small New York City museum. The museum had just received a big collection of Greek Art and Artifacts from the estate of a wealthy old lady. She inherited it from her late husband and he had inherited it from his grandfather. I was going through the items and opened an old trunk. Somehow I discover a hidden compartment with the dusty old book inside. It was not logged in as any part of the collection so I figured it would be easy to steal and I was right. I took it to my apartment. I do not know much about ancient Greek but enough to know that it had something to do with the lost city of Atlantis. I did not know what to do with it. I wanted to sell it, but to whom? I had no idea so I decided to trust a friend that was involved in selling valuable art. He told me once that he was sure some of it was stolen but he didn't care as long as he got his commission. I was hoping he would know what to do with the book. I called him that night because I was excited and couldn't wait. He was at my apartment with in the hour. We looked, we discussed but we didn't touch. After about an hour he called someone but would not tell me who it was. He made arrangements for this person to see the book. I let him take the book because I did not know what else to do. He said he would call me the next night and let me know what he found out. I waited until after nine on the next evening and he hadn't called so I called him. A strange voice answered the phone. He said he was Sgt. Mays of the NYPD and wanted to know who I was and why I was calling. I told him who I was and that I was just calling to say hello. He said my friend had been murdered and wanted to know if I knew of any one who wanted to harm my friend or if I knew of any reason he would get murdered. I said I was sorry but I did not know of any person or any reason why someone would want to kill him. -2- Now I was scared. I had just got my friend killed and I might be next. Was it the book?. Did the killer know about me? Did he, or she or maybe they even know about me? I didn't know what to do. If I told the police what I knew then I would have to tell them what I did. I would be fired, Yes, they would fire me and I would be banned from the art world for life. I checkecked the doors and the windows and went to bed. I couldn't sleep. I got up, made some coffee and turned on the late news. They already had the story. "Henri Trumpour, a New York art dealer, was found dead in his apartment this evening. The police are not giving any details but our inside source says that he was murdered. No further details are available." I flipped the channels looking for more news. I paced some more and finally I fell asleep watching the news channels. The phone rang and I almost fell out of my chair. It was just past six. Jesus I thought. Who the hell could that be at this time of the morning? I thought maybe, I shouldn't answer it, but I did. This is Sgt. Mays, NYPD. Is this Donald Rassmusen? Yes, I said this Donald. Well Donald, I am calling about your friend. You know, Henri Trumpour, your buddy that was murdered last nignt. We found a note pad with the word "book" and your name and phone nember written right under it. I was wondering if you had thought of anything that might help us. What is the book all about? Oh my God, my name, my phone number, the book. Did the killer see it? Did he even care? He had the god dammed book, Why would he care about me? Oh Jesus, Holy Mother of God, what if he thinks I know who he is? - to be con't -

Some Body Help Me

Does diet relate to food? If you do not eat food, do you have a healthy diet? Maybe these questions seem stupid but I am really confused and need some help. I just finish eating at the "Food Plantation". It has good food and when you feel like pigging out it is a good place to go. Well my question came up while I was eating. I was all alone on this occasion. Eating alone can be boring and I forgot to bring a book. So, as I am eating I look at the wall for pictures or just generally try to entertain myself. I really cannot stare at the other people because it makes them uncomfortable and I really do not like black eyes or bitchy old ladies chewing me out. I read a saying printed on the wall. It said, "Food is a part of a good diet". OK, I am thinking. But what kind of food? It does not make any judgments. It only says food. Well, not being a dietitian, I am not sure if this is a correct statement. I am confused, so I am asking if anyone out there can help me out on this issue. Is there some other kind of diet?

Canopy of Green

The bells went off, the whistles sounded, clang, clang, wheee, whoee, woop, woop, woop. JACKPOT......JACKPOT.......JACKPOT. ONE MILLION DOLLARS. ONE MILLION BEAUTIFUL GREEN DOLLARS. She hit the jackpot. A canopy of green to protect her for the rest of her life. Her daily dream had come true. No more worries, no more cares .. The celebration was set, her family, her friends, everyone she knew and worked with would be there. The big night arrived. She was on her way. It was only 2 miles from her home to the celebration site. She never arrived. Her car was cut in half by a drunk driver. She died instantly. She sleeps the dream of eternity. She dreams the sleeping dream under a canopy of green.