Monday, May 22, 2017

The Tale of Twitter-Dee and Twitter-Dope

Twitter-Dee and Twitter-Dope
were standing in a store,
when Twitter-Dee began to see
what Twitter-Dope had worn.

He had on purple shoes, his socks
a slimy shade of green,
that stretched and stretched right up his legs
beyond his knobby knees.

His knickers were too short,
his yellow shirt a size too small,
a feather hat upon his head
was 15 stories tall.

Said Twitter-Dee, “Just stand right there
I want to take your photo,
and send it all around the world,
from Leningrad to Fargo.

“You’ll be a viral superstar,
of that there is no doubt,
and everywhere you go your fans
will scream and clap and shout.”

So Twitter-Dope produced a smile
and posed without distraction,
and Twitter-Dee sent out the post
and waited for reaction.

They waited long, and longer still,
their wait was hard to take,
and weeks turned into years. How Long?
It’s hard to speculate.

Then one day Twitter-Dee and Dope
of old age they did die,
their viral superstardom had been
one big Twitter lie.

But to their friends and neighbors,
and to all I do declare
that Twitter-Dee and Twitter-Dope
were stars beyond compare.

Friday, May 19, 2017

Not a good day Haiku

It's a mad, mad, mad
mad
mad
mad
mad
mad
mad
mad 
mad, mad, mad, mad world!

Wednesday, May 17, 2017

What do I do? There's a dent in my trombone slide.

This was one of my very first cartoons, and one of my favorites.

As a trombone player, I have dealt with many a dented slide. I've even tried to put as much slide oil as I had to "cover up" the evil dent just so I could play a little bit longer -- but to no avail.

The only solution?

Pack up the trombone, give it to a passing gypsy, and learn how to play dominoes.

  The Trombone Slide

Monday, May 15, 2017

Weight loss a la mode

I need to lose 30 pounds by two weeks from next Thursday. There's nothing special about that day -- no weddings or funerals that I know of -- I just wanted to give myself a goal, like foregoing banana splits for a...

Three scoops. Chocolate, covered in marshmallow; vanilla, covered with chocolate syrup; strawberry, covered with some kind of strawberry mixture; nuts, whip cream and a cherry on top of a perfectly healthy banana.

Americans don't eat enough fruits, like bananas, cherries and strawberries. I doubt 47 percent of the population even know where the produce section is in their local Walmart. Our produce section is in the north corner of the building, right past the...

Bakery department with their homemade bread, decorated cakes, donuts, pies, and more bread, and cupcakes, cookies, more donuts, and across the way, the refrigerated pizza section -- thick crust, thin crust, deep crust, Chicago crust, hamburger, sausage, Canadian bacon, cheese, double cheese, triple cheese, and a couple of Gluten-free pizzas I wouldn't touch with a pole.

I guess this means I also have to exercise a bit more than my hourly jaunt between the couch and the refrigerator, looking for something sweet to eat, but settling on crackers covered with butter and sugar.

It's a lifestyle thing you have to change, I know.

Eat less, exercise more.
Lose some weight,
so you can get through the door.

But trading in a lifetime of bad habits for exercise and kale sandwiches...

On toasted pumpernickel, honey-roasted turkey, pepper jack cheese, mayo, slices of onions, peppers, maybe some olives, with a heathy helping of chips, a pickle spear, jumbo Coke-a-Cola and a slice of Key Lime Pie.

This is going to be harder than I thought.


Friday, May 12, 2017

My Haiku mix tape

The yard needs mowing
I keep saying to myself,
but I don't listen.

*  *  *

This severe weather
is right up our Tornado
Alley, so to speak.

*  *  *

Beans, rice and cornbread.
If they aren't served in heaven,
then I ain't going.

*  *  *

Venus, Morning Star,
and me, a two-bit actor,
watching the world turn.

Wednesday, May 10, 2017

Monday, May 8, 2017

As should we all

I think something bit me last night. On the hand. It really itches like a mosquito bite, but the itch has lasted for several hours now and that's unusual for me.

Maybe I got into some poison ivy yesterday when I was out doing yard work. But I was wearing gloves.

Or maybe a bug from another dimension is eating its way into ours through my hand and any moment now some alien doodle bug is going to pop out of my skin that only Sigourney Weaver will be able to stop -- depending on residuals, sequel opportunities and a percentage of merchandising.

*   *   *

I'm writing this at 7 a.m. There's 21% battery left on my laptop, and, strangely enough, 21% left on my iPhone battery.

Coincidence? Possibly.

A sign of impending doom and destruction? The jury's still out.

But seeing that their battery lives are more than 75% used up, and MY life is probably 75% used up (depending on whether or not I forget to take the trash out again in the near future), I theorize that this universe may indeed be some kind of digital Alien-Nintendo simulation, and we are nothing more than pixels hopping about for the pleasure of a more-intelligent creature who's so addicted to the game he has to play it in secret because his wife thinks it's a waste of time, "and if you forget to vaporize the trash again this week, I'll vaporize your little game, bucko."

And we'd all be toast.

*   *   *

Somewhere in the neighborhood there's a truck backing up. How do I know this? Because it's "beep-beep-beep" beeping backup beepers are driving me the beep crazy.

I think it started around 6 a.m. And you tell me how someone can be backing up for an hour and...

Wait a minute. There's more than one of them. I can tell because one truck is beeping an E-flat, and the other is lower on a D-flat.

(Musician Geek-dom)

Funny, but the Mockingbird outside my window is whistling Rachmaninoff, another one is cooing on a G (as if he's about to warble out a "Swing Low" chorus), and some prop plane just flew over humming a low A.

And deep in the Perseus cluster of galaxies, 250 million light years from Earth, a supermassive black hole is pumping out a B-flat, a frequency 57 octaves lower than middle C.

It's a conspiracy, man. A conspiracy, I tell ya!

*   *   *

The morning sun is now coming through our front window.

I'm going to go pee, then have a cup of coffee.

Sooner or later I'll plug in all my electro-stuff so their batteries won't die.

I might do some yard work.

In the deep, icy ocean of Saturn's moon, Enceladus, an amoeba is back-stroking around a hydrothermal vent not worrying about life on other planets, alien invasions, taxes, religion, political instability, or whether or not his health insurance will be adequate in his old age.

He's naked, and enjoying just being alive.

As should we all.