A man who obsesses

over his weight has too much time on his hands and not enough goats in his yard.

Gazpacho in the making

I tried making Gazpacho the other day. You know, cold vegetable soup that the Spanish would eat on hot Spanish nights.

I have no doubt my Gazpacho bore no resemblance to theirs, but at least the makings looked purty.

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.

Not a good day Haiku

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

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.

 

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.

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.

My old grandpa once told me:

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.

No great adventure...

Just a ride to the lake and back.

   

Funny how a cute little urge...

... for cheesecake can sneak up on you and won't go away until it's picked up.

Usually I comply.

Cool morning coffee

campfire coming back to life
coo the mourning doves.

#haiku

Like I was saying...

The cat just barfed right in the middle of the floor. Right in front of the door. As if that was the designated barfing zone and, "how dare you [me] look down at me [the cat] as if I was a throw-out-the-door object and not part of the family."

Ok, ok. I'm sorry I "tossed" you out the door a little more forcible than I should have but...

"Don't but me, mister. Your human children barfed on the floor all the time. The floor, the bed, all over the bathroom. And did you throw THEM out the door?"

I guess not.

"You guess not? What, was that a tricky question? Of course you didn't. They were a part of the family, just like I am. If you're going to throw out ANY cat, throw out that other one. She's a bitch."

Watch your language, ok?

"I just have a weak stomach. I can't help it if raw bird doesn't agree with me."

Well then, stop eating them.

"Easy for YOU to say. You eat such a variety of food -- King Ranch Casserole, Ramen Noodles, Lasagna, Sushi. And what am I stuck with? Little chunks of dried mystery nuggets. Seafood flavored, yes, but only flavored. Not the real thing."

If I fed you some fish, you'd choke on a bone.

"That's why you filet it for me. Steamed with a bit of lemon juice, covered with thyme, a portion of asparagus and thinly-sliced potatoes on the side. THAT, my friend, I wouldn't barf up for the world."

Sometimes I get the feeling you think you own the place.

"And a nice red wine. Lightly chilled. Chop chop, good man. I've got carousing to do."