searching



i went to the mountain top
looking for inspiration
it was cold
martin wasn't there
neither a guru
nor a god
but there was
a dog
it gave me warmth
and a bird
it gave me hope
and the sun
it gave me life

i am happy

For those that have wondered and been concerned about me, I apologize for not leaving a sign of life. I have learned that depression is not an easy foe and maybe the best thing for me would have been to continue writing. However, my fingers and my mind would not or could not agree. 
A special thanks for MLM and Josie for caring.

the bell has been rung


someone dear...someone close
rang it right in the middle
of my reverie

not small that
shivering down my back
like a huge nippled gong

placed above my bed
and slammed with a
one hundred pound sledge

my body gripped in the fear
of  an eight point
rolling quake

waiting for the earth
no...praying for the earth
to swallow me and set me free

the echo of the gong
chases the tumble weeds
around my mind

returning over and over
like a ball thumping
inside my soul

I write a word...thump
it will not
set me free

it follows me like
father kicking a young son
in the ass

after a small stupid sin
or a mother
flicking a child's leg

with a willow switch
for not obeying a
parental command

I walk in fear
of the boot or the switch
but the gong

is what echoes
in my mind
vibrating my brain

leaving my fingers
craving for direction
they try a word...

nothing








BMO


Everyone knows what a BLT is. In fact, BLT is acceptable to my spell checker.

BMO is not so popular. My spell checker says "Blah...throw it out."

Or maybe, "you're not really serious." That's what my wife said the first time I explained it to her.

Now she says, "Blah...throw it out."

BMO is a simple recipe that comes down from the pioneers. Pioneers had a simple philosophy about food. "If your hungry you better eat"...anything you can...forage...grow or kill.

"KILL"..."Oh my God...you're not going to eat that poor bunny rabbit?"

"Yep, I going to knock it in the head...skin it...cut it up...fry it...and by god...eat it"

"That's cruel!"

"No, what is cruel is me starving to death...It's either me or the rabbit...or the chicken...or the deer..."

Here's a great recipe...rice and ketchup...don't groan...well go ahead and groan but my grandmother said that they lived on rice and ketchup for a whole month...when times were tough.

It's not that long ago when food was sort of a "do it your self project"...when donuts were "dunkers"
and the bacon on the table was slaughtered and butchered in the shed or barn.

The chicken on the table was walking around looking for food in the morning and frying in the pan for dinner. The veggies were still in the garden until mom said to the child, "I need some corn or potatoes or tomatoes."

Or maybe the veggies were in the root cellar where they were stored for the winter. The dinner was in the "root cellar" or the "pork barrel" or maybe just fresh from the cow.

They "Churned the butter"..."Separated the milk"... they worked for the food they had and prayed for easier days. They prayed for the days that life would be easier and they would have some time to relax.

I doubt that they prayed for the fast food and the processed food we are killing ourselves with today.

"Well I'm off to "Mickey D's" to get my coffee and breakfast.

And...A "BMO" is Bread...Milk...and Onions...my dad's favorite treat...if he was out of milk...a bread and onion sandwich would do just fine...

Try it sometime...you may enjoy it...but use the red onions...they go better with the bread and milk...

/   /   /
                                                                               "chef-R-not-me"..Old Grizz

some thoughts on food for "mindlovemisery"...I'm always assigned the misery part...

I lost my mind a few years back...

and...I'll never tell my secrets about love...besides love is a learning experience...a sort of do it yourself project...well one of my secrets...practice...practice...practice...

also...Sunday Scribblings - "Enjoy"




killing swans


do swans fly
I've never seen one in flight
but they say they fly

Wikipedia says they fly
but I'm not sure I trust
Wikipedia or they

I watched a swan
not to long ago
regally on a pond

I didn't try to scare it
to see if it would fly
it was much to royal

the swan paid me no heed
as if I wasn't even there
I wondered

would it like to kill me

after all I have done nothing
to advance its agenda
or not advance it

I am sure that other humans
are guilty of mistreating
some of its ancestors

maybe even ate one or two
but not me
I have always admired the swan

but the way it swims
beautiful and serene
I bet it doesn't admire me

                                                                               gsbatty/aug2013
/ / / / 

Every night on TV I see death.  People killing people...just because...not crazy people...normal people incensed by what they perceive as justice...or revenge...why not the swan?

the Vesuvius in my body


Rage pulses forever deep within me...waiting for something or someone to pull the trigger that will cause an explosion of emotion. I know it's down there and I deeply fear it.

I hang a dream catcher from the mirror in my truck...not to catch dreams...to catch stupidity...rage...my stupidity...my rage...and it works because I anoint it with with friends...my family...I get it and I touch it and I feel them tell me to be courteous.

But, I don't have a dream catcher over my desk...maybe I should.

That deep rage boiled...burglarized three times...thirteen months...out $40,000.00...my life being taken from me...I ordered the gun..a nine shot..9 millimeter something. I was going to protect what was mine.

The papers were filed. I needed to wait. Okay, I could wait.

The accident happened just down from my shop.  The sirens, the police, the fire engines, the helicopters and the gawkers convened.

My son was a gawker.

"Someone was run over by a semi. They don't know if was an accident or if he committed suicide."

Good, I thought. I hope it was one of the bastards that robbed me.

But, maybe the dream catcher was calling me from my truck.

"That not good. You have no idea who the man was. Your first thought should be one of empathy.  What about his family? Do you hate them?  If he wasn't one of the burglars...would you still be glad. And...even if he was one of them...does that crime deserve the death penalty? Does any crime really deserve the death penalty.

What if you catch some teenagers putting graffiti on your walls... would you kill them..in a fit of rage?

The argument was powerful.

I did not and do not have the right to kill someone and yet...in a fit of rage...with a gun in my hand...I might pull the trigger.

I realized that I would not ever retrieve what had been stolen. I also realized that maybe some of the fault was mine. Maybe I should have had a better protection system.

I called and canceled the gun and spent the money on better security. I have not been burglarized since and better yet, I have not shot anyone.

/  / /  /

I believe that all of us have a deep spot hidden somewhere deep down inside that can explode if someone lights the right fuse...it is best not carry a stick a dynamite in your pocket.

for "mindlovemisery" - Losing control
      "Sunday Scribblings" - enjoy
      "Two Shoes Tuesday" -  Stolen
      "Magpie Tales" - Passing Place


jobs for who


hot under the shade
but the shade did not help
the black teens sweltered

the tv blares the
million man revival
lift up your faces

do not take no
we are not going to take no
we are going to take back

the brown hispanic
raised his hand 
caught my eye

no need to talk
to the brown or the black
the brown wants a job

i'm not sure 
what the black man wants
i'm just a white ass cracker

we can't talk no more
if we ever did
he chases my shadow

I am the enemy
he chose me out
dual at dawn

the dawn of his choosing
when i cross his line
he will beat me to death

or shoot me
just to see what it's like
to kill a white ass cracker

.the brown man looks for work
on the corners
i stop for coffee

the tv blares
equality for all
let the immigrants in

after all, they want work
the tv screams some more
we're not gonna take it no more

the black boys beat a white boy
the brown boy raises his hand for work
another million hands are raised

brown for work
black for justice
the brown man smiles

the black man wonders
why there are no jobs for him
the politicians scream "vote for me"

                                                                             gsbatty/aug2013


Today in America there is strife.  People are frustrated. I see millions of young Americans struggling for jobs. A job is an identity. A job gives hope.
When I drive by all of the street work...the construction to rebuild America...the construction to give jobs to American youth...black...brown...white...Asian...I see very few blacks...very few whites...very few Asians...but a see a lot of Hispanics...

And I look to the politicians...yelling for equality...and the yelling for open borders...and I wonder...Does not black america see that the salvation of their people is jobs ...not welfare...

//////

gotta write about



Gaunt tired droopy eyes watched the screen. The book disappeared, letter by letter, word by word, line by line. paragraph by paragraph and finally page by page. The space marker moved in reverse erasing the book one letter at a time.

The eyes watched...the mind groaned. The writer had thought of just deleting the whole thing with one click of the mouse but discarded that thought immediately.

No, the mind reasoned. A book, no matter had bad it was, could not be wiped out with one click of the mouse.The finger left the back space key. But, only for a moment. Then it returned again to erase each letter but not at gigabyte speed. It was a slow tap...tap...tap...bringing to mind the tapping of death on the front door.

The book was two years of the writer's life.  Thoughts of all that had been researched and writen. The editing, ten in all...wasn't enough to impress anyone.

Edit some more, rewrite this. rewrite...rewrite...the finger tapped...the space marker executed a letter, a space a character...

Tap...slice..like the swath of an OJ knife.  Did they bleed...the mind bled...the creation slowly withered...the letters disappeared...under a tear that fell here and there.

The writer stopped, but only to sigh. The tapping began again, but faster...page after page disappeared until the entire creation had been mercilessly slaughtered.

The writer walked to the balcony...eighteen floors...the moon was full...excellent...the wolves would be happy.

/ / / /




peace go home



I wanted peace
once
but then decided that

maybe peace
wasn't good
 and really wasn't

all the it
was cracked up
to be

after all
what would the
news people do

without someone
getting killed
now and then

they couldn't
have a news cast
that only announced the peace

Today peace broke out
all over the middle east
maybe tomorrow

war will come
if not there will be a crises
all over time square

people are marching
and chanting
war not peace

we have no jobs
we want war
peace is hell


Our Fight with Cancer - Six


Now that they had almost killed my wife, we hoped, prayed, begged and beseeched God and anyone or anything else that would listen that they had also killed the cancer. The cancer couldn't have been as strong as Nancy and they almost got her.

But, you don't know. Now the "stand in line and wait game" really began.

Cancer is a nasty adversary. It's a sneaky little bastard that hides in the basement like I did as a boy. Like I did when I was caught doing something wrong...hide...if I hid long enough they might forget.
If they forgot then I might not get punished. That never happened. Eventually I got caught and punished.

Waiting for the test results was hard and I always tried to put the good foot out but, in my mind things were different. In my mind there was a runaway freight train.

Are those devious little "pacmen" demons still there...hiding in the liver... hiding in those stupid nodes. (What the hell do they do any way...carry disease?)  Will they get to her brain...oh dear God not that. I had a friend whose wife had that...

I wished my dad was there. He caught me. Cancer would be no problem. 

See, the mind works overtime.  What must she have gone through. I didn't really know...not the mental anguish. Later I was to learn that she was worried about me, What would I do...if...if she didn't make it?

We didn't discuss it. We did not discuss death. I think we both felt that if we discussed it we might be inviting him in to stay awhile. No one invites death to dinner. When he leaves, he might just take a companion with him.

As you already know, we were lucky. Nancy is an eight year survivor of stage three colon cancer. But, we know those nasty little devils are still in there...in her...hiding somewhere. Maybe if our luck continues they will decide not to attack again. We can only hope.

Today she lives each day as if it were her last. She plays volleyball three times a week.  She's backed off a little on soccer but I know that within a few week the soccer ball will start bouncing in her mind and off she'll go.

Cancer lives among us all. Most of us have been touched by the disease. My heart and prayers go out to all of those that are fighting the battle, those that have fought the battle and a special prayer for those that have lost the battle.

If you or one of your loved sholud be toched by that evil disease. I can only tell you to fight it with your head up and a smile on your face..like Nancy did.

/ / /


our fight with cancer - five




The next five weeks she wore a chemo tube attached to the PCCT line and received her radiation treatments. I was the Chauffeur.

We were up and on the road a six A.M. for a thirty mile drive and her morning cup of radiation.
X marked the spot...zap...the marshmallow was a little "roastier".

I couldn't help but point out that by the time they were through zapping her, I would have a real nice rump roast.  That was only funny for the first week.

She had to go in once a week to have the chemo tube filled, but the "chemo run" was only a 6 mile trip.

The radiation fried her bottom end and the chemo screwed with her top end. Although her mind never lost is sharpness and the ability to keep up the fight, her emotions were on fast forward.

The radiation caused her to her hair to fall out...not her head hair but her pubic hair.

I shaved my head in support. That was not a good thing to do. I didn't know why. Everyone shaved their heads when their loved ones went through that kind of hell.

She didn't know why, but it pissed her off. It wasn't right...for some reason...some deep emotional reason that neither one of us understood...it upset her.

I am not a psychologist but looking back I believe it  was a signal to her that I thought she was not going to make it. At that time there were no physical outward appearances that would indicate there was anything wrong with her.

She knew that dwelling on the problem...playing the "woe is me card" was the worst thing she could do. Yes, she had the line but, she wore long sleeve blouses and it was not visible.

Looking at my bald head was visible...a sign that I believed she was in deep trouble. Her emotions were not as easy for her to control as her attitude.

As the treatments went forward her body and emotions went backward. She lost weight...she lost control of her bowels...she lost her dignity.

That's when I became a real nurse...no probably not a nurse, but the person who cleans everything up.

She was supposed to have twenty-five radiation treatments. Monday through Friday for five weeks.

On day twenty-three, half way to the hospital she said, "No. I'm done. I can't do this anymore. I would rather die."

I turned around and took her home.

When we started the treatments she was a healthy but sore 135 pound ball of energy. As I looked at her, huddled in the corner of the car seat wearing a diaper, she was a ninety-five pound bundle of..."tell the world I'm ready to get off."

I thought about the radiation. When I grew up, they used it to kill people in Japan. Now, they were using it to kill my wife. Did they actually know what the hell they were doing. Had we really made the mistake of choosing the wrong treatment.

But, I realized we had not chosen anything. Someone, God or fate, had chosen Nancy to be zapped with cancer and the provider had chosen to zap her with radiation.

We had no choice. We were just on the goddamned train. I prayed it wasn't the train to hell.

/ / / /


Our Fight with Cancer - Four


Cancer is a strange disease. My thoughts about cancer are strange. Maybe stranger than the disease.
I began to think of it as a little "pacman" running around inside of her body eating the good meat and the doctors as teenage boys playing "Space Station 13" with their video remotes.

Nancy wasn't sick...at least on the outside. She was sore from the operation but we were taking short morning walks within ten days of the operation.

It was hard to believe that there was anything wrong.

The terms, the words, the meetings with the doctors are all a blur to me now. They were then. At least to me...but not to her. I had already began to think of her as doctor in a soccer uniform.

She wasn't a doctor or a nurse. She was a hair dresser and a soccer coach. But, she was and is more than that...she is level headed. She know how to remain calm and do the right thing.

When anyone was injured in any way she was there while others stood and watched. She knew how to calm them down and what to do to keep them calm.  She had given CPR to a seventeen year old boy who was in cardiac arrest while his coaches stood and wondered. Unfortunately, the boy did not survive.

Her clientele as a hair dresser were mostly older people so she had heard all the treatments and remedies.

She was all ears and knew what the doctors were talking about.

A PICC line? I scratched my head. She knew.

I listened as they explained...only hearing half the words.

Damn! It can't be that bad. Not her...not Nancy...no cancer history...oh yes, her mother had some kind of cancer...something to do with the uterus...but she's okay...she beat it...

I felt better...until some time later...

"So, tell me again what the plan is," I asked while I drove her home.

"Chemo and radiation together."

"Is that bad?"

"It's not good."

/   /   /


Our fight with Cancer - three


I say "our fight"  and it was...even though she had the beast and I could only watch and cry.

I had to cry in the night...away from her...not in front of her...in front of her I had to be strong.

I knew that if she didn't make it, I wouldn't make it..

Oh, I am sure I would have continued. I have heard of some people dying of heart break.  Would I be one of those.  I wasn't sure but I wondered and I began to know the feelings of that kind of loss...not completely because I was lucky.

But then...then I wasn't sure...then... I was in a fog...a daze...with a smile that I hated.

She did the elephant walk 3 times a day for the week she recovered from having her stomach being cut open and her intestines reorganized.

Sometimes we forget who the heroes in the story really are. In this case, it was kaiser Insurance. If what I have written makes you feel like we were unhappy with our care provider...

Not true...

Nancy went in for a "check up" on Thursday. They removed her cancerous tumor on Sunday. That's fast and it would have been faster but she had to wait a day in order to get some blood.

Kaiser wasted no time or effort in doing all they could to treat my wife. I do not intend this article to be a commercial for a care provider but it would be remiss of me not to give them credit for saving my wife's life.

/   /   /

Once the knife work was finished and my wife's stomach had healed they had to kill or attempt to kill what ever devils were still lurking inside of her. The best way I can describe it is roasting a marshmallow. You keep it close the heat to get it to a beautiful toasty brown...to close..your turn it into charcoal or a burning flame.

Also, with cancer comes the treatment conferences...not with the doctors...they knew what train to put her on and what station to take her off.

The conference is with the family. Everyone has watched the shows, the commercials and heard of the miracle treatments. The advice comes from everyone...family...friends...vulchers...

Go here...go there..drink this...the latest is...your provider doesn't know what they are doing...get this doctor...go to that hospital...

The truth is...if you're normal people and lucky enough to have medical insurance, you are stuck with the provider you have.

If you are wealthy and have all the money you need, then you can shop around.

We are not wealthy. We were stuck with kaiser... and thank God..no one could have done a finer job.

However, in those moments, hours, weeks, months...all you can do is hope and pray.


////

to be continued


Boxing in the Dark - Again



"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure." - Marianne Williamson

Okay, maybe I'm missing something. But, I don't get it. This is not even closing the barn door before the cows are in.

I guess I'm slow. No, I know I'm slow.

I have never even entertained the fear that I am powerful beyond all measure. In fact the thought has never entered my mind.

Maybe I should reconsider.

Let's see...I will be a mathematician...no I would destroy Eisenstein and all the physicists of the world with my power.

Maybe I'll be a composer...no, no. no...no one would ever listen to Boch...Beethoven...Chopin...again.

Yes, I'm being ridiculous but remember I'm slow.

However, since there are people who believe this....I wrote a story for Two Shoe in Texas which I called..."Boxing in the Dark"...I am going to re post it here...




Stupid...maybe...but, it was different and the people went nuts over it.

And...after all what else is required to have a successful business?

Nothing!

"Just get em in the tent," the old Circus Master would say. "I'll do the rest."

Henry M. Quill thought up the idea and the name. At first they just smiled when the story was told at the gas station or the grocery store. But, the idea stuck in their minds..hooked them better than a trout in a cold stream.

Then when the opportunity arose to tell the next person, it was passed on... and on, so when the big night arose there were more people in line than seats available.

"Henry M. Quill is bringing 'Boxing in the Dark' the theater."

"Who's Henry M.Quill and what the heck is 'Boxing in the Dark'", filtered from mouth to mouth?

"I don't know but for five bucks I'm sure going to find out," were the words that followed.

Johnny Edwards, fresh out of high school and looking for some easy money, came up with the idea while at a professional boxing match in Chicago.

Johnny Edwards (now the show master, Henry M. Quill) made his first killing before the doors even opened by selling hot dogs and Sarsaparilla.

Calling Sarsaparilla by it's correct name created an old western main street boxing atmosphere.

"Johnny's gone crazy," someone whispered.

"It's not Sarsaparilla. It's Sasparilla and it's really only root beer."

"No, it's Sarsaparilla. You've never learned how to say it right."

"Maybe he's spiked it," one of the teenagers hoped.

Realizing that everyone in town was going to be there, most came early to make sure they would get a seat in the small theater. They had plenty of time to buy  all the "Henry M. Quill" hot dogs and Sarsaparilla available.

When the doors of the theater finally opened there were at least 30 different opinions of what "Boxing in the Dark" was actually going to be.

Naturally the one most favored was a fight between two men. But, what two men? It couldn't be anyone from town because all of them were in the crowd.

When the crown entered, the theater was completely dark. Johnny would only let them through the curtain that went into the lobby one at a time and he made sure that they slid in quickly so that once inside it was totally black.

He had a loud speaker and as he sold his tickets he explained that once they entered there would be no light. So as each person entered, they groped in the dark until they had found somewhere to sit or to stand.

As each person eyes became accustomed to the dark they could make out two figures slumped over in the opposite corners of the boxing ring.

When the house was full, strobe lights came on flashing red and white so the figures seemed to belong to an eerie house of horrors. Henry M. Quill strutted around the ring announcing the fighters.

"In this corner, in the blue trunks...the amazing Brock."

A murmur rustled through the crowd, "Who's Brock? Do you know Brock?"

"In this corner, the undefeated marvel of West Hampton...and wearing the red shorts...the one and only... Kid Harrington."

Again the crowd wondered about the fighter.

The strobe light went off and the theater became pitch black again. No one could see the fighters.

Henry M. Quill begin announcing the fight.

"A left to the body by Brock..Kid Harrington lands a one-two to the body."

Some one in the crowd said, "I can't see anything. Can you see anything?'

 "A left jab by the Kid countered by a wicked  right by Brock"

The bell sounded and the strobe lights came back on and the fighters could be seen sitting in the assigned corners. Henry M. Quill walked around the ring with a card announcing round 2.

The lights went off and the fight announcer continued.

"A left by...oh a wicked right to the jaw of ..."

Round 3...round 4...round 5...

"Oh a wicked shot to the head and Brock is cut...a right to the jaw and he's down...one ...two...three.."

With every announced blow the crowd groaned and then held their breath, hoping that the fighter would get up and continue.

"four...five...six...seven...eight..nine...Brock is up..he's groggy..weaving trying to avoid that ending blow."

The bell rings...the strobes come on..the fighters are slumped in their corners.

The crowd is buzzing..."what a great fight...isn't that kid something..that Brock can sure take a beating..."

The light goes out.

Round 6...7...8

"The Kid is hurt...he is clinching Brock...Brock shoves him away...the Kid weaves and sways fighting off the blows of the amazing Brock...oh...a right to the jaw..from somewhere in left field...Brock is down...one ..two..three...four...five...he's not moving...six...seven...eight...oh lord he's still not moving...nine..ten...

Ladies and gentlemen, there is something wrong...Brock is not moving...we are calling an ambulance...please clear the theater."

The lights did not come on. It remained black inside.

The crowd slowly groped and stumbled out of the theater.

"Oh my god, what a great fight. Do you think Brock is dead?  I was sure he had the Kid on the ropes. Did you see that right? I thought it was going to take Brock's head right off. That's the best punch I have ever seen."

Part of the crowd hurried to the rear of the theater to see see the ambulance take the downed fighter away. The ambulance drove off with it's siren blaring.

"Where are they taking him?"

"I don't know. Maybe West Side General"

The next day the fight was the talk of the town and everyone wanted to know when Henry M. Quill was going to put on another fight.

People wondered about the amazing Brock but, Henry M. Quill assured them that he was going to be just fine.


// // // //
written for  "Two Shoes Tuesday" and the wonderful Josie

re posted for "Sunday Scribblings"



Triality ain't a word


Ahhh but yes it is. It was created within the last hour. I was almost there to see it berthed but I was just a wee bit late. However, I think I was in time to help with the diapering, the nurturing and the voicing of its first sounds.

It was conceived with the music of Mozart, gestated with Bach and berthed under the watchful eyes of Tchaikovsky's Swan lake.

A word born to the masters. Just listen as "Triality" flies across the sky on the sounds of the orchestra. The mood cannot be morose or sad. It says, "listen, do not don't think...for this one moment of time...this moment of time, when the masters float among the clouds, add Schubert, Beethoven, Chopin...feel their music bounce off the moon.

Pessimist...yes, sometimes about somethings
realist...yes, sometimes about somethings
Optimist...always when the masters play...

Just listen...Chopin's Etude No.3 in E major...create your words your thoughts, your story and it will be a story of love, optimistic love..".no other love could want your more"...
in any language...

When I feel lost or sad..I turn to the masters...of music

Yes I am a Trialitest...but hopefully the optimist most of all...

for a lift of of your day and your life...listen to the music...close your eyes and think of the one you love...



                                                                                         written for "mindlovemisery"

Shhh, I'm listening


Shhhh, don't make a sound. No, I said shhhh  but you're moving your mouse.  You have a very bad habit. You need to learn to read without moving the mouse. It's very disconcerting to those of us that are lost in a story.

One...two...three words and shoosh, there goes that mouse across the screen. It is not the minute sound of the pitter patter of little feet inside your computer.

In here, where I am, it sounds like the roar of Niagara Falls and it makes me feel like I am inside a barrel that's going to crash on the rocks any second now.

I cannot concentrate with that mouse shooshing in and out of every noun and verb. See what you've done. now I cannot remember where I was. Let's see ...Oh yes the girl was about to...

...there you've done it again..no don't tap your finger on the computer. That makes me feel as if I'm lost in a drum and bugle practice.  Maybe if you tried it with some rhythm and some soft music.

How about Mozart's Piano Concerto No. 21. I really like that. The second movement,"Elvira Madigan", will slow your mouse. In fact google it and then put your hands in your pocket and really get lost in the music.

There, isn't that out of this world?  Ahhhh, now I can get lost in my book again.
Oh yes, that young lady..

///

I wrote this as sort of a tongue in cheek slam at the government and their spying on the American citizens.  Maybe you don't think it is serious but, think about the IRS and the way they have targeted people they do not agree with...political.

I guess that's okay as long as it isn't you or me. But, who's to say what happens next week. Someone doesn't like your blog...your to liberal or to conservative?

Do you know that the government can use your computer to spy on you. There might be someone in there right now. They can tap into your  phone any time they want to.

Don't think they will?

The President denied spying on Americans without proper paperwork.
They were and they are.

I don't think the President was aware of it and I am sure that he personally didn't order it but when someone has the ability...sometimes they do it...your boyfriend wants to know if your are being honest.
Someone wants to make a little money on the side by selling info....on you...your friends...

Did you know they just caught the guy who tagged the Hunting Beach police cars because he clicked "like" on a Face Book picture.

Miss "Teen USA" apparently has some photos of her out there because someone hacked her web cam.

Maybe this short tongue in cheek story is not so tongue in cheek....

Hey slow that mouse down...I'm trying to concentrate in here.

and...oh yeah...make sure you have something on when you write your blog...

/ / / / / / /

written for Josie over in "Two shoes In Texas"


my cups of life


I drink my coffee from a flower decorated cup. Most of the time I have two of my dogs there to advise me.

Shylo, the black one, is attached to me like she was tied with a string. Normally she lays on top of the couch with her head next to the screen.

Lojack, the gray one, would be the same but the female asserts her dominance and he is content to be #2.

Most males come to that realization sooner or later.

This morning it dawned on me that I have lived most of my life through a flowered cup. I have not had the trials and tribulations that a lot of other humans have had.

It's not because I have always "done the right thing" or made "the right decisions".

It's because I have been lucky. I had two parents that raised me in a loving home. But it was more than that. They allowed my to make my own decisions. Of course there was the advice and the warnings and the "not in any way will we allow that" that helped keep me pretty close to the right trail.

When I went out on my own, I drank my coffee from a "Three Peckered Billy Goat" cup and seemed to always be just a little off track. Naturally that was after my parents were long away from advising me.

I knew it all.

Luckily, I broke that cup and found the flowered one.

However,I think that was around the time I married Nancy. Maybe she's the one that broke it.

Now, it's her influence and advice and "not in any way will I allow that" which keeps me on the straight and narrow.

"Just me and a dog named Lojack" might be the title for a good country and western song.


                                                                                                               gsbatty/August 2013

on tip toe


a wad launched
you know
in the school room

across to Tommy
or better yet
across at Tommy

the teacher's eye
somehow peering through
the bun on her head

wicked as a cyclops
tip toed me to
the office at the end of the hall

I protest
not with real words
but with a language

of the guilty
ough ough ough
or the accused

being led...no taken
to the torture chamber
of the principal's paddle

the stance...the whack
no chance to deny
no lawyer to get me off

no application of
the rules they taught
only the demonstration

how life
really worked
in the days back then

one more trip
upon my toes
back to the room I belonged in

oughing and ouching
dancing like a puppet
and rubbing my butt

only to see Johnny
laughing at me
through tear filled eyes

the one eyed 
old bun clops
had not seen me

launch the wad
I was only guilty because of past sins
I had been unjustly profiled again

                                                               gsbatty/August 2013/for the hell of it


A shot at profiling...when I was in school, I was a devil. Continually disrupting and casing problems. I think I spent as much time in the principal's office as I did the class room.  I was guilty of a lot of thing and therefore charge with all things.

One form of correctional punishment the teachers used was to grab a thumb and finger full of hair from the back of your neck and pull you up until you were on your tip toes and then walk you to the principal's office for your punishment.

The paddle was always there for the students to see and often used. "Bend over and grab your ankle," was the command. Then the whack.  Never a tear did I shed from those whacks on my butt but I sure oughed and ouched while dancing on my toes.

////








mother


my tattoo talks
for some reason it has the 
voice of my mother

you shouldn't have adopted me
but you are way cool
your mother is crying

no way
why would she she cry
don't you remember

the saying
the look on her face
when she saw one

"fools names 
and fools faces always
found in public places"

but your a tat
not a name or a face
 just a tiny hummingbird

to remind me
of how much I miss
and love her

but she hated the art
like names on the outhouse wall
a shame on her and her family

I wonder if she
would she consider it a stain
or a work of love

                                                                                                         gsbatty/August 2013









The Gerblonc Machine


What?...It's a what?

"A Gerblonc Machine. Invented it myself."

"What does it do?'

"Can't tell you."

"Where are you taking it?"

"Can't tell you."

Fred shrugged his shoulders and headed back inside the station.

Harry finished pumping his gas and yelled at Fred.

"Are you going to check the oil and wash the windshield or not"?

Fred spat a chaw of tobacco on the oil stained cement and said, "Why don't you have your Gerblonc Machine do it?"

"Fred if you don't mind reading your own sign it says, 'Oil checked and windshield  washed' but it doesn't say by my Gerblonc Machine. So if You would kindly hurry up I got to be going."

An old blue Chevy pick up pulled into the station.

"Hey, Fred, Harry, whats going on?"

"Nothin," Fred said. "Just washing old Harry's Windshield so he can take his Gerblonc Machine to where ever he's taking it."

"His what?"

"Gerblonc Machine, Duffy. That durned thing in the back of his truck."

Hey, Harry, what the heck doe it do?"

"He won't tell."

"I can answer myself...Can't tell you."

"Why not?"

"Can't tell you."

"You can't or won't tell because that machine can't do nothin," Duffy snorted.

"That's right," Fred said. If it could do anything you would be bragging about it."

"Well I'll tell you right now it can spot aliens."

"Aliens?"

"Yes, Aliens. you  know? Those people that come here from mars or some other planet."

"Oh, that's right Fred. Don't you remember that flying saucer that harry saw land in his pasture."

"That's right, I did see it land and I saw four men get out and then a car came and picked them up."

"Were they green," Duffy laughed?

"No they weren't green. They looked just like you and me. You can't tell the Gerbloncs from the rest of us. But, this machine can and I'm taking it over to the sheriff."

"He'll only think your crazy. You better come in and have a cup of coffee and try and convince us about those Gerbloncs. The sheriff might just lock you up."

"Maybe...But, I will have that coffee. I got a long drive over to Waterville."

The three men entered the small cafe and ordered coffee.

A car drove into the station and two men got out.

The machine started making a funny noise.

The tall skinny one said to the other, "You go take care of them and I'll destroy the machine."

Harry was waiting. When the Alien entered the cafe, Harry blew it's head off and then stepped out the door and shot the other one.

Both beings were only robots.

Duffy said, "Son of a bitch, that damned machine really works."


/ / / / / /

the first chapter in a series to be written to the prompts of the honorable and lovely Mrsupole

                                                                                   
                                                                                     for "Theme Thursday"...the invention.

Theme Thursday - peace

Continued from "The Gerblonc Machine"

the story...
Harry - the UFO nut
Fred - The service station owner
Duffy - Local farmer

Harry has invented a machine that can spot aliens. He has proven that his machine works at





our fight with cancer...part two


She looked as if she was ready to blast off for the moon. There were tubes sticking in and out of her arms and her nose.

When the doctors came in, she was groggy and feeling no pain.. They were all smiles. We have some very good news. "We were able to reconnect the colon so you will not have to wear a bag."

I wasn't sure if she understood but she smiled and asked them about the cancer. She fell back to sleep before either one could answer.

One of them said to me, "We are not sure how far the cancer has progressed. We are hoping it was confined to the lymph nodes just outside the colon and we removed those."

I could only nod and say, "Thank you."

They left. My wife slept. I worried. I was thankful about the bag. I had no idea how one of those things worked. I pictured a long trash bag strapped to her leg and always full of her waste.  I shuddered at the thought and breathed a sigh of relief.

I didn't know how bad colon cancer can be. I was sure that they had got it all.  A little in the nodes but they said they had removed those.

The next week was recovery week. Not a complete recovery but enough to ditch the hospital. The cancer treatment was yet to come.

They wanted her to walk so she pushed the IV cart or pulled it and walked the halls of her ward with the plastic tube hanging out of nose. I teased her by calling her "Elephant Girl".  One time I took a tape of "Elephant Walk" and played it  while she did her thing. She laughed. The nurses thought we were crazy.

Of all the treatments she went through, even the radiation which almost killed her, she stills says that the plastic tube they shoved up her nose was the worst.

I tell her that I liked her as "Elephant Girl"

The results of the cancer test came back.

Stage 3...She smiled..."I'm lucky. It could have been Stage 4"

She knew what was coming.  I had no idea.

/ / /


We are so Sorry



I was on the far side of my wife's bed as we listened to those words. Words spoken by one of two young doctors standing on the other side of the bed.  The room was dark...not night dark...but "this is not good" dark.

"The tumor is cancerous."

"How bad," my wife asked?

"We are not completely sure but it has moved out of the colon and into some lymph nodes."

I squeezed my wife's hand. She squeezed back and smiled.

I wondered about the doctors...so young...and yet somehow I felt calm. I'm not sure why. They were young oriental females that looked like they could still be in high school but they were so caring...so concerned.  I knew our medical provider wouldn't have them there if they weren't qualified but it was more than that. I knew they would do everything they could to help my wife.

Nancy had just had the tumor removed with part of her colon. What next? Would she wear "the bag"?
Chemo...radiation...I had heard the terms or most of the terms...there were more...many more.

I thought about the first afternoon in the emergency room. We were not sure why we were there. She hadn't been feeling well and finally agreed to see a doctor.  She had had her blood taken along with the normal check up and she was to return the following week.

That afternoon they called her and told her that she needed to go to the hospital. She ignored the call and didn't bother to tell me. She was a hair dresser and her Friday customers needed their hair done.

They called her on Friday at 10 A.M. and told her she needed to report to the emergency room as soon as possible.  She called me at noon and said I needed to take her to the hospital.

"What's wrong," I asked?

"I'm not sure but they want me to go to the emergency room."

She was laying on the bed in the emergency room when the doctor came in. I was by her side.

"We are going to admit you and give you some blood."

"Why?"

"You are a little low so we need to fill you up.  You know sort of like a car engine needs oil to operate, you need blood to operate."

"Can't I have some hemoglobin instead. I'm afraid of someone else's blood."

"No, we don't do that anymore. But, I do understand your concern. However, we do check the blood very closely so there is only a 2% chance of you having any problems. 

The thing you should know is that you are very low on blood. If you had been brought in here because of a traffic accident I probably would not be able to save you. If you were to have a heart attack right now I probably would not be able to save you. So we need to fill you up and then find out what is going on.

I see from your history that your a soccer player."

"Yes," I interjected. "She's a soccer nut.  She plays every Wednesday night and two games on Sunday."

"That's probably why she is still alive. Most people would be dead if they lost the amount of blood she has lost."

/    /    /   /

to be continued.

I am going through the experience of a friend fighting brain cancer.  It has brought back all the memories and horrors of my wife's struggle with colon cancer.  Today she is a 7 year survivor of that deadly disease. I decided it's about time I wrote about it.



friendship


I see the ball
rolling towards the green
hear the words of praise

I wonder what he sees
I wonder what he remembers
his eyes staring me down

I look away
and remember the dice
his eyes knowing every point

I chance to try again
but his eyes have not wavered
do they accuse me

I feel the guilt
of him not me
why? I ask but not to his eyes

our life our friendship
is heavy on my heart
and yet I cannot face his eyes

they do not falter
they do not move
I wonder if he is still there

I want to say a word
that will make him smile
I cannot

I try one more time
but now, I feel I am looking
into an empty soul

I hold his hand 
but only a moment
I did not want to let go

for fear that maybe
his eyes are begging me
to hold him here

I turn and walk away
with one backward glance
his eyes are calling me

I cannot leave
I sit and hold his hand
his eyes finally close

not in death but sleep
he breathes deep
I wipe the tears from my eyes

                                                                             gs batty/August 2013

Sometimes living is not easy...the guilt of living while others are dying is like a blanket of stone.
My life long friend is struggling with brain cancer...the outlook is not good...I hope and pray for the miracle....


wisdom...it's all in the tooth


"Man...I wish I could start all over again knowing what I know now."

We've all heard that one....over and over and over...etc...etc...etc...and ...etc.

"I would be rich...I would be a great lover...I would...I would ...I would...etc..etc...etc...and...etc.

No...you wouldn't...No...I wouldn't...No...We wouldn't....etc...ad ininfinitum...

Wisdom is like a tooth..when you learn something...you go somewhere to have it yanked out.

One of my favorite sayings and I apologize because I have no idea who said it except that I didn't...

"Knowledge is knowing that a tomato is fruit...Wisdom is knowing not to put it in a fruit salad"

No matter what we learn we never use the wisdom or I should say we rarely use the wisdom to apply it properly.

The divorced person(male or female) looks for the same type person that just kicked them in the gut.

The drunk returns to the bar after paying the "DWI" fine.

I could continue but you have seen it over and over...in others and in yourselves...

I see it in my life...I know that donuts are fattening and not good for me...but no matter how many times I slap my hand with my mind, it still forks over the money for that morning pound producer...

Knowledge...donuts not good...I get an "A" and graduate from "Donuts One-O-One"...

Wisdom ...Do not eat donuts...I always flunk "Donuts One-O-Two"....

I may be remiss by including the rest of the world with me and my weaknesses but I do see the lack of wisdom everywhere I look. I know I am not alone.

Why do politicians crash and burn over sex scandals...they are not stupid.  They know it could cost them a career.  But, they still do it or some still do it.

That is not an application of wisdom.  One might say they are putting there personal "tomatoes" into the fruit salad.

I think the word "stupid" applies not to lack of knowledge but to the lack of wisdom.

// / // /  //

written for "Mindlovemisery" - Life Lesson

                                                                                                    by "Stupid Old Grizz"







boxing in the dark


Stupid...maybe...but, it was different and the people went nuts over it.

And...after all what else is required to have a successful business?

Nothing!

"Just get em in the tent," the old Circus Master would say. "I'll do the rest."

Henry M. Quill thought up the idea and the name. At first they just smiled when the story was told at the gas station or the grocery store. But, the idea stuck in their minds..hooked them better than a trout in a cold stream.

Then when the opportunity arose to tell the next person, it was passed on... and on, so when the big night arose there were more people in line than seats available.

"Henry M. Quill is bringing 'Boxing in the Dark' the theater."

"Who's Henry M.Quill and what the heck is 'Boxing in the Dark'", filtered from mouth to mouth?

"I don't know but for five bucks I'm sure going to find out," were the words that followed.

Johnny Edwards, fresh out of high school and looking for some easy money, came up with the idea while at a professional boxing match in Chicago.

Johnny Edwards (now the show master, Henry M. Quill) made his first killing before the doors even opened by selling hot dogs and Sarsaparilla.

Calling Sarsaparilla by it's correct name created an old western main street boxing atmosphere.

"Johnny's gone crazy," someone whispered.

"It's not Sarsaparilla. It's Sasparilla and it's really only root beer."

"No, it's Sarsaparilla. You've never learned how to say it right."

"Maybe he's spiked it," one of the teenagers hoped.

Realizing that everyone in town was going to be there, most came early to make sure they would get a seat in the small theater. They had plenty of time to buy  all the "Henry M. Quill" hot dogs and Sarsaparilla available.

When the doors of the theater finally opened there were at least 30 different opinions of what "Boxing in the Dark" was actually going to be.

Naturally the one most favored was a fight between two men. But, what two men? It couldn't be anyone from town because all of them were in the crowd.

When the crown entered, the theater was completely dark. Johnny would only let them through the curtain that went into the lobby one at a time and he made sure that they slid in quickly so that once inside it was totally black.

He had a loud speaker and as he sold his tickets he explained that once they entered there would be no light. So as each person entered, they groped in the dark until they had found somewhere to sit or to stand.

As each person eyes became accustomed to the dark they could make out two figures slumped over in the opposite corners of the boxing ring.

When the house was full, strobe lights came on flashing red and white so the figures seemed to belong to an eerie house of horrors. Henry M. Quill strutted around the ring announcing the fighters.

"In this corner, in the blue trunks...the amazing Brock."

A murmur rustled through the crowd, "Who's Brock? Do you know Brock?"

"In this corner, the undefeated marvel of West Hampton...and wearing the red shorts...the one and only... Kid Harrington."

Again the crowd wondered about the fighter.

The strobe light went off and the theater became pitch black again. No one could see the fighters.

Henry M. Quill begin announcing the fight.

"A left to the body by Brock..Kid Harrington lands a one-two to the body."

Some one in the crowd said, "I can't see anything. Can you see anything?'

 "A left jab by the Kid countered by a wicked  right by Brock"

The bell sounded and the strobe lights came back on and the fighters could be seen sitting in the assigned corners. Henry M. Quill walked around the ring with a card announcing round 2.

The lights went off and the fight announcer continued.

"A left by...oh a wicked right to the jaw of ..."

Round 3...round 4...round 5...

"Oh a wicked shot to the head and Brock is cut...a right to the jaw and he's down...one ...two...three.."

With every announced blow the crowd groaned and then held their breath, hoping that the fighter would get up and continue.

"four...five...six...seven...eight..nine...Brock is up..he's groggy..weaving trying to avoid that ending blow."

The bell rings...the strobes come on..the fighters are slumped in their corners.

The crowd is buzzing..."what a great fight...isn't that kid something..that Brock can sure take a beating..."

The light goes out.

Round 6...7...8

"The Kid is hurt...he is clinching Brock...Brock shoves him away...the Kid weaves and sways fighting off the blows of the amazing Brock...oh...a right to the jaw..from somewhere in left field...Brock is down...one ..two..three...four...five...he's not moving...six...seven...eight...oh lord he's still not moving...nine..ten...

Ladies and gentlemen, there is something wrong...Brock is not moving...we are calling an ambulance...please clear the theater."

The lights did not come on. It remained black inside.

The crowd slowly groped and stumbled out of the theater.

"Oh my god, what a great fight. Do you think Brock is dead?  I was sure he had the Kid on the ropes. Did you see that right? I thought it was going to take Brock's head right off. That's the best punch I have ever seen."

Part of the crowd hurried to the rear of the theater to see see the ambulance take the downed fighter away. The ambulance drove off with it's siren blaring.

"Where are they taking him?"

"I don't know. Maybe West Side General"

The next day the fight was the talk of the town and everyone wanted to know when Henry M. Quill was going to put on another fight.

People wondered about the amazing Brock but, Henry M. Quill assured them that he was going to be just fine.


// // // //
written for  "Two Shoes Tuesday" and the wonderful Josie

The Pond


The late morning was warm with little breeze. The pond was nestled in the middle of of the city park. It was surrounded by large weeping willow trees and a lovers walk. On the far side of the pond on a path that led to a hidden part of the pond was a bench that my wife and I had discovered a long time prior.

On Sunday mornings, after church, my wife and I like to walked to that hidden place and read in the warmth of the sun. Sometimes we talked but mostly we buried our minds in our own kinds of escape.

My butt was getting a little tired so I stood up, stretched and walked to the edge of the pond. I noticed a water snake glide into the grass close to the shore. A frog croaked and a loon swam peacefully near by, diving now and then for some tidbit in the mud below.

I threw a stone into the pond and watched the rippled water distort my face and body.

My wife sat on the bench peacefully reading one of her romance novels.

I returned to the bench and picked up my mystery novel.

She reached over and squeezed my hand.

"You know I love you very much but sometimes I wish you were more like the men in my novels."

I paused, looked at her out of the corner of  my eye and thought a minute.

"Impossible," I replied.

"Not if you tried."

Again, I thought for some time before I responded. I think I was hoping she might be thinking I was actually giving her request some serious consideration.

She waited patiently for my response.

"No, I'm sure it would be impossible.  They are not really alive.  Everything they say and everything they do is planned out for them.

"But, don't you think it would be fun to try?"

"I guess I could if you really wanted a puppet...maybe a Pinocchio...a man whose nose would grow if he didn't behave.

"No, not like that...but, maybe just a little more romantic."

"Well the men in those novels are perfect. I don't think I want to be perfect. I don't think I can be perfect. Besides you would grow to hate perfect. You need to have someone with a few flaws so you can try to fix them."

She smiled and said, "You certainly are performing your side of the bargain. But, you have to admit I haven't done very well."

I took her hand and replied, "I have flaws but I am doing my best to make you happy where those men would only agree with everything you say. You would soon tire of that."

She took her turn to think for a while. "Okay, I guess you have a point but you could try it for one day."

I took my turn to think. "No, it can't happen. I wouldn't last four hours before I screwed up."

She smiled. "Okay, I accept."

"accept what?"

"The three hours of being the perfect lover. You can start by rubbing my feet."

and...I knew I had been out maneuvered again...

                                                                                                   gs batty/August 2013






The Elephant Tree - nineteen




The sheriff has arrested the writer and the editor and taken them to jail.

The photographer, Ichaposi (dressed as a clown), the well endowed ghost writer, the circus farmer, the naive undertaker and our subversive animals (the elephant and the donkey) are sitting the shade of a tree.

/  /   /

"Are we going to blow up the doll and continue our parade," the elephant wanted to know?

"Don't say "Blow up" elephant, the donkey brayed.  "We are already wanted for being subversive bastards."

"Hey, Mr. Politician, what's a bastard," the elephant asked?

"That's someone whose mother and father are not married," I replied.

"Well I guess that's true. You know donkey, we are bastards. I guess we are guilty."

"No, animals can't be bastards." the well endowed ghost writer said. "And being a bastard no longer has to do with marriage. It has to do with abuse of power."

"See, elephant," the donkey said. "We are not the bastards. The politicians are the bastards. They abuse their power every second of every day."

"You're right donkey," the elephant replied.

"And the newspaper people. They never tell anything the truth. It's always the way that makes their opinions look better."

"You're right donkey."

"And the lawyers. They will change the meaning of words to get someone put to death"

"You're right donkey"

"So, all the people that control the minds of the people are really the subversive bastards."

"You're right donkey"

/   /   /

Ichaposi's cell phone rang, signaling the end of the communications blackout.

"Posi? This is Boss Sleaze. What's going on? The president is on the TV claiming that his personal 'White House Navy Seal Team' has put down a terrorist attack in Elephant Tree. Are the subversive bastard elephant and donkey still alive?"

"Yes, I'm with them right now."

"Where's Stumpy?  I'm waiting on a story."

"Stumpy and the fat ass editor are in jail and there is not story about a subversive elephant and donkey."

"In jail? Get over there and take some pictures and get the well endowed ghost writer to write the story. Tell her that we'll put one hundred "K" in her Swill Bank Account."

"What about the elephant and the donkey?"

"Dead meat…there is no story anymore. The president has claimed it was a well contrived plan of his to get the terrorists out in the open. He says we are all safe and the government is not spying on the people anymore. We are safe under his watch."

"Where's my money," Ichaposi wanted to know?

"I sent it to Stumpy like you said."

Ichaposi shut off his smart phone and turned to the well endowed ghost writer.

"Do you want to do a story for the Sleaze Revue?"

"No! I'm going to go somewhere a form a party that really wants to help the people."

"I think I would like to join you. Where will you start?"

"We could go to West Virginia and ask for political asylum. The people of West Virginia are honest."

"I think that would be a great place to start," the well endowed ghost writer said.

"What about you, Mr. Politician?  Do you want to change parities and join us," the elephant asked?

"Not me!" I replied. "I am not a politician. I'm going home!"

"I'll go," the circus farmer said. "I'll sell my farm and donate the money I legally stole from the political parties."

So, a small band of concerned citizens started for West Virginia to begin a new political party.

"What shall we call it," the elephant wondered?

"How about the 'Moonshine Party'", the donkey offered?

"We are going to call it the 'NaPOAT' Party," the well endowed ghost writer said. And our first piece of legislation will be to outlaw the term 'well endowed'"

"Can we have a Unicorn for a symbol," the donkey asked?

"Cheeeesh, donkey, do you want to cause another poor animal the same misery we have been through," the elephant trumped? "Besides, there is no such animal as a Unicorn."

"Yes, there is. Noah didn't save them from the flood."

"There wasn't a Noah."

"Yes there was!"

/   /   /

As our future heroes and sheroes began their assault on the powers that run the country, the powers that run the country were back to their normal everyday operation of accomplishing nothing.

The president was making another speech claiming that he had personally put down another terrorist threat.

The speaker of the house was on the border supervising his "Elephant Fence".

The talking pin heads were forty-nine percent right and forty-nine percent wrong.

Boss sleaze was making million with his stories about a subversive bastard editor and a subversive bastard writer.

Every American was being monitored for terrorist activities.

Every office in Washington was screaming for more taxes to pay for more vacations and more well endowed staff members.

and …the illegal human smugglers were busy building a fleet of submarines.


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and so ends this little tale of...hell, I don't really know what it is...maybe just my way of screaming for some help for the little people...

gs batty written for me...


The Elephant Tree - eighteen


The marine choppers have been accused of shooting american citizens...
The writer (Stumpy) has been arrested for creating a riot...
The Editor of a major newspaper had been arrested for causing an international crises...
The well endowed ghost writer and the once subversive elephant and donkey are having a heart to heart under the shade of a tree...
The resident and the speaker of the house have agreed on a larger fence and more spying power for the president

/   /   /



Boss Sleaze of the "Sleaze Revue" and his staff were having coffee and donuts as the pictures of the circus parade streamed in. They saw pictures of the government choppers, the dirt and debris, and the blow-up doll flying off the elephant’s back.

"Freeze that," Sleaze Bo yelled. "That’s no girl. That's a blow-up doll."

"Are you sure?"

"He should be. Have you seen his collection," someone else remarked?

"They are works of art and that is what I collect them for."

"Hey everybody, there are reports coming in that the government choppers are slaughtering thousands of people in Elephant Tree," Someone else yelled.

Then the photo screen went black…the TV went black…their cell phones went black…everyone's mind went black….

"Oh God, my smart phone died…what's going on?..."

"Mine too," echoed across the room.  “What are we going to do?”

/   /   /

The president was watching the chopper sweep on Aljazeera TV. He saw the doll fly in the air and heard the echoing "Oh Shit!" from all the government choppers.

He punched his com buttons…"Who ordered those choppers to Elephant Tree?"

"The FBI, the CIA, the Pentagon, and your staff sir."

"My staff?...I didn't authorize them to send Marine choppers to Elephant Tree and I didn't authorize Marine choppers to shoot our own citizens."

"Yes sir, you did. It was part of the search for those subversive bastards that are planning on shooting you."

"Oh yes, that fat ass Republican Elephant."

"And our Ugly donkey, sir….they were in it together"

“Can’t be...that donkey loves me. I knew those republicans were up to something but, using my own donkey against me is going too far.”

“Sir, the whole thing is being broadcast by Aljazeera and all of the major channels are broadcasting the Aljazeera feed.”

“Tell the networks that I need to make a speech.”

“You made a speech this morning, sir.”

“The American people need to know that I am taking care of this. They need to know that I will have my personal team of Navy Seals there within the hour.”

“Sir, I think you need to cover this one up.”

Then the TV went black, his smart phone went black...the telephone went black...all communications across the entire United States went black...

“What’s going on,” he asked?

“I don’t know, sir.”

There was a knock at the door.

“Sir, it’s the speaker”

“What does he want?”

“He wants to warn you about the communication system, sir.”

“Okay, you can let him in.”

"Mr. President I am here to inform you that your request to have direct viewing into every home in America is now being implemented. However, we needed to shut down all communications for three hours to make the switch."

"Three hours?  I have a speech to make."

"You made one this morning."

"Well, I can't be missing for three hours. My people won't know what to say and do. At least I need the TV stations back."

"Can't without canceling the changeover."

"What will it take to stop it?"

"A higher fence Mr. President….and stronger…one that elephants can't crash through."

"Elephants can't crash through the one we have now."

"Sure and didn't I hear you saying that elephants couldn't climb trees and look where we are now."

"Okay you can have your damn elephant fence. Just get the communication system turned on. I need to make that speech."


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