Archive for the ‘Ditties’ Category

 

Dear Maria,

Good evening and hello. We’ll just assume it’s evening. It reads better that way. It appears your next adventure in this journey we call “life” remands you to the District of Columbia (originally a 10 mile square tilted cube until 1846 when Virginia retroceded its portion back into the state leaving Maryland’s cession as the location of present day DC.). You are both fortunate and burdened to have your intellectual capacities exercised to the degreee they will be in DC (The extra e in degreee was intentional, although it serves no purpose, in much the same way long parenthetical entries are more confusing than enlightening – agreed? Agreed!). Yes Maria, your lot in life will soon revolve around DuPont Circle (formerly DuPont Square, but numerous revolutions have rounded its corners rendering it DuPont Circle). Read the rest of this entry »

 

I’m so crazy-go-nuts for our rescue cat. I spend way too much time nuzzling her. She’s smusher-dependent and I’m smusher-codependent, so we’re very compatible. I enable her cuddlemorphic binges by making sure her furry ears are properly smushed every 30 minutes. She in turn uses her little sandpaper tongue to keep my eyebrows sparklingly groomed – like they’ve been threaded or something. She is like a cuddly drug that’s good for what ails you.

Her formal name is Joan. Yes. Joan the cat. Her nickname is Midge, but I usually end up calling her BubBay or if I’m feeling a little frisky I may resort to BooBay or (if I’ve eaten too much of her Science Diet) BooBooheimer. As in “How’s daddy’s little BooBooheimer today.” And she understands everything I say. It’s so rewarding to be fully understood when you make baby talk.

Here are some snatches of dialogue I lapse into whenever I get near her. It’s not really dialogue because that would suggest 2 people are talking. And even if she only says, “Meow,” I hear her loud and clear:

“Who’s the best kitty in the world? It’s you isn’t it? Well yes it is. You’re a ThunderKitty with superpowers and when they make a Superhero movie based on your superior fluffiness, I’ll be your agent and make sure you get a Cat Trailer filled with aged mice.” Read the rest of this entry »

Way too soon and with a thousand apologies I submit the newest marketing slogans for Malaysia Airlines:

• We’re still the safest airline in the world. Based in Malaysia 
• Now selling half-way tickets.
• The only airline with odds.
• If you’re flying another airline all we can say is, “Chicken!”

• Proving that what goes up doesn’t necessarily come down.
• We must be safer now. All our bad luck has been used up.
• Win-Win. You either arrive safely or rest assured your loved ones will receive a handsome insurance settlement.
• Statistically we’re still safer than jumping into an active volcano.
• We recognize that man’s ultimate destination is God’s Kingdom. We just try to get you there faster.

Dear Mr. Martin,

First of all please recognize this communication as the least creepiest form of stalking ever devised. Nonetheless do recognize it as at least some form of stalking. Second of all, I don’t have a “second of all.” May this most attenuated of warnings be a motivator for you to either Like, Nudge or Poke me (depending on the form of social media you employ). I request this not to feed my outsized sense of entitlement, but to feed something very similar to it. Again, some might call this stalking, but you and I know better due to our connection which you’ll shortly establish with me.

I was going to signal my willingness to receive your acknowledgement by writing a screenplay entitled Being Steve Martin, but Charlie Kaufman beat me to that entrée. Besides being alive on the planet simultaneously, you and I have much in common; and I’m not just referring to our love of chutneys. No, Mr. Martin (May I call you Steve?). Thank you. No Steve, besides the fact that we have both “hung out” with Edie Brickell’s husband Paul Simon (You at his house, and me at a concert he performed recently with Sting for which I had the privilege to pay $250 to “hang out” with him. I presume you paid nothing for the same privilege), our worlds have occasionally intersected. For example, my sister and I hung out with you at the Syracuse War Memorial in 1977 back when you were getting paid to be funny on purpose. Lots of other people showed up too so I doubt you noticed me. There is even a picture of the event in your book “Born Standing Up.” That’s me unseen in the background. Just like it is right now. If you stop reading this and look out into space, that’s me right there; only you can’t quite see me. Not yet anyway. Certainly this is nothing for you to worry about. Especially since we’re only in the early stages of our friendship. Read the rest of this entry »

Pantheism ~ When one God just isn’t enough. 

The Gods, also known as the powers that be, are overheard kibitzing in the cloak roam amidst a collection of robes, togas and laurel wreaths when Stillwell (not his real name) conspiratorially leans over to Darnell (his real name) and unctuously announces, “Localized Consciousness. It’s the next big thing.” Darnell heartily agrees saying, “Yeah, why should we keep all this exquisite awareness to ourselves. Let’s exhibit some spiritual largesse and create some soulful spin-offs. Nothing too large mind you. We don’t want to be challenged in any meaningful way, we just want to be amused.”

Stilwell:          That’s what I’m saying. I call it Localized Consciousness and it’ll give the natives illusory fits. We’ll create them in our image using the evolutionary system. That will be the first dichotomy. They’ll think they’re really separate and distinct from everything else. They’ll confuse independence for isolation when the entire time we’re all one and we love them exceptionally.  

Darnell:          Well I’m all for it but we’ll have to create a playpen big enough to overawe the so-called individual and his “Localized Consciousness.” He thinks he’s really that person in the mirror, identifying completely with the body and its senses. If they really knew how serene our heaven is, they’d never sweat a thing on earth and that Lennon song Imagine would have to be retitled Reality.

Stillwell:         (affects “jazz hands” as he conjures up power) Boom! Done. (And the universe as we know it, is before them)

Darnell:          Wow! That was one Big Bang. Maybe you could warn me next time.

Stillwell:         Here take this eye dropper and start animating these human vessels with a tincture of awareness. Use the short one for North Korea and that special one for Jesus, the Buddha, Moses and Bill Gates.

And so it came to pass that there was one insurance company that we all happily subscribed to. But Lucifer tempted mankind with ill-gotten booty and a great fraud was perpetrated in the Garden of Indemnification which begat the multi-headed hydra of AFLAC, GEICO and Progressive Insurance. And now no one knows Flo, from the gecko, from the duck. A Babel of coverages, riders and deductibles. The only real insurance is faith. Faith and an awareness in an incomprehensible power infinitely greater than ourselves. Ooooh.

 

After chipping a tooth on my fiancée Muriel’s prosthetic clitoris, I knew life would never be easy. Muriel didn’t snore when she slept. Instead she did something more disturbing. Whenever she entered Deep REM sleep she’d emit a Dial Tone. A Dial Tone, like from Bell Labs. Very unnerving, although after about a month I figured out a way to call China, where prosthetic clitorises are made. So I ordered 2. One for her and one for me. I explained to Muriel, “This clitoris is great. Now I no longer have to go to sleep right after we make love.” To which she responded, “Oh is that what we were making?”

Did I mention she had no native intelligence? Instead she had Artificial Intelligence. From Hasbro. It might manifest itself like this: She’d put on scuba gear and go kayaking upside down in the lake. As Muriel maneuvered the kayak around the lake I’d see her capsized hull moving through the water while the occasional oar penetrated the surface from underneath.

If forewarned is forearmed, I should’ve heeded the birthmark located on her back: Best By MAY 2014. Muriel was so advanced and yet we met offline. Way offline. It was at a Pre-stressed Concrete Convention where concrete with mother issues went for counseling before their feelings hardened into an ossified mess. Muriel and I both worked there as counselors. Muriel would often sit before a couple of yards of pre-stressed concrete annealing in its rebar and advise, “If you think about it, not only are all politics local, but so is everything else.” That paradigm-busting advice usually did it and the concrete was no longer stressed. This relief worked for most concrete, but sometimes years later it cracked up in some form of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.

That’s when I told Muriel about the health benefits of local honey. She agreed and said she’d be my local honey. She’s so sweet. Early on Muriel would bring a lunch to church. I thought it was a bad idea saying, “You shouldn’t pray where you eat.” She cackled like a hen, because although she was my local honey she wasn’t immune to my humor.

Then she got me back. By now we were married and living in a 2 bedroom hive in a fashionable section of Compton. We went into the funeral business called Caskets with Friends. It did not go well. Between the ill-fated Frequent Diers Program and the sign advertising “Walk-ins Welcome” business was moribund. Well more or less moribund. Business also stunk, but that was more due to our poor embalming technique than anything else.

When I mentioned how we needed to refinish the coffee table she remarked, “David, as far as refinishing furniture goes we’ve only scratched the surface.” I couldn’t hold back any more and kissed her passionately. She got very excited and began emitting a Dial Tone. Then she suggested I try kissing her mouth next time.

Her brother Giovanni was one of those rare guys. Not only did he own a very expensive Ferrari, he also had a really big “Testarossa” if you know what I mean. How did I know? Well he lifted the hood one day and showed me. Muriel’s sister Gwen was a very fetching young lady and when I casually remarked to Muriel, “You’re sister Gwen is a beaut,” Muriel said, “How did you know she was a Butte? How did you even know she was from Montana?”

As the years passed we both agreed that time had gone by and although Muriel was well past her expiration date, so was I. We were 2 peas in a pod or bees in a honeycomb. Because she is my honey I’ll always love her sweetness.

Thunder-pumping piano man Jerry Lee Lewis was probably the least celebrated member of Sun Records’ Million Dollar Quartet whose other members were none other than Elvis Presley, Johnny Cash and Carl Perkins. You might even say he was the “quiet” Millionaire. Although taking into account his marriages (7), arrest records (almost as numerous as his musical records) and his addiction to moonshine, he was a very noisy Millionaire. Killer (as fast became his nickname) was not a paragon of virtue. In fact he wasn’t even a nice man. But in 1958 he was a high-flying Cajun, till it all came crashing to the ground in what was supposed to be a triumphant tour of jolly old England.

On the strength of Great Balls of Fire and Whole Lotta Shakin’ Going On, Jerry Lee Lewis was “the next thing” and in great demand . At 22 this hillbilly high school dropout probably felt a little invincible. Feeling a little invincible is like being a little bit pregnant. You either are or you aren’t and it’s important to know the difference. Sam Phillips, fabled owner of Sun Records and architect of the Million Dollar Quartet, had arranged an English tour to take advantage of “Killer’s” popularity and Mr. Lewis decided to bring his new bride, Myra Gale Brown. So far so good. Read the rest of this entry »

The Hubble Space Telescope, floating so serenely above the Earth’s muddy atmosphere, is uniquely qualified to penetrate into the farthest reaches of our uncharted universe. It methodically scans the celestial sphere searching for Star Clusters, Spiral Galaxies and Gas-Filled Quasars. While gazing into deep space recently, the Hubble Telescope glimpsed the most distant object in the universe. And no, I’m not referring to my father. These miraculous photographs are believed to be the first images ever taken from before the Big Bang, which occurred over 14 billion years ago (6,000 years ago for my Creationist friends). These remarkable pictures depict the sketchy outlines of a concerned father figure hovering over a child who appears to be experimenting with an unfathomably dense and infinitesimally small sphere called a singularity. While manipulating the singularity, the boy assures his father, “Don’t worry dad. I know what I’m doing. There’s no way it’s going to explo….”

Further studies of the singularity suggest it maintained its equilibrium by freely giving energy from areas of high concentration to areas of low concentration: From each area according to its ability, to each area according to its need. Astrophysicists have labeled this perfect redistribution of power, “Communism. Pure and simple.”  Read the rest of this entry »

I’ll spare you the indignity of bad puns and obvious analogies…in my next story. Meanwhile, prepared to be slimed!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

To be read slowly. 

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Upon authoring a major book, it is always appropriate to thank the people instrumental in its publication. This is more commonly referred to as the Acknowledgement section of a book and is invariably appended to its end, just prior to the Index. The acknowledgement is where the author usually thanks his saintly mother for the use of her loins in birthing him and possibly his graduate research assistant for something very similar. Now I’ve yet to write my Magnum Opus or even my Mini Opus, but to stay ahead of the game I’ve decided to prepare my Acknowledgement section in advance so that when it comes time to write the book I won’t procrastinate with the excuse; “Well I’ve got this great idea all laid out, but I just can’t bring myself to write the stupid Acknowledgement.” Therefore it is with the utmost gratitude and humility I present:

 

Acknowledgements

I would be remiss if I didn’t express my profound gratitude to myself for my unique connection to the All-Being through whose grace I’ve been privy to things civilians could never access. Through the intercession of our Lord I’ve been able to produce such a magnificent work. I thank Him for recognizing my brilliance. Being a chosen one was not my idea. Really, I had no choice in the matter. But since its incumbent upon me to appear grateful and to give the reader a sense of the book’s gravity by referring to a vast network of unseen assistants supporting the effort, I should probably pretend to give credit where credit isn’t due. Read the rest of this entry »