Like...

Like some summertime somnabulist sleeping with a tart
Like some henna-haired harlot lurking in the park
Like some stoned-out junkie actor struggling to remember his part
Like those penniless wannabees' panhandling in the park
I go stumblin' towards the light

Like an open door to nowhere with a window's view of hell
Like a sophisticated prison where the walls are made of glass
Like some bible-thumping con-man asking for your change
Like tempest in a teapot getting flushed out by the rain
I go groping for my sight

Like a morally bankrupt politician, you've got to be connected at the top
Like a cheeky little trollop getting wool from every john
Like an anger splattered monkey with his tail tied in a knot
I am heartened by their blight

Like a blast of electricity that stands your short- hairs on end
Like an ungrateful child with that awful serpeants tooth
Like a beggar's banquent with humble pie served for dessert
Like a heat stroke summer's morning pelted with some sleet
My mind is screwed down tight

Like some dog-breath smelling alkie blowing kindness from my mind
Like a lawyer smiling snakely at a pot of gold client find
Like the wellsprings of human kindness forever waiting to be mined
Bringing all the parties together for pact that remains unsigned
That's what is my dilema
That' what's become my bind
Like a slick overcoat of sickly sweet French wine
I remain

Hey, Jack, Wanna Play Some Golf?

Oh, that Jack Abramoff, what a corrupter you are! You've taken the entire legislature and sent them to Scotland to play golf. I play golf, albeit badly; can I go and play too?

I know that you have deep pockets, it takes cash to send that bunch of freeloaders on the loose. Maybe you've got some spare change and send me too? I won't get in anybodies way, just show me the way to the first tee.

Oh, and while I'm there, could you, perhaps, pay my mortgage? It would be a nice gift for my wife, she worries about the bills so. It would just be chump change for you I am sure, and if you would, I'll vote for whomever you designate, even if he lives in Ohio. I promise.

I could just stand there on the first tee and talk with Randy Cunningham about defense policy. I could bone up on it on the flight over. Are we going on the Concorde? 'Cause I get sick going at supersonic speed. Granted, I've never gone at supersonic speed, but I'm certain that I would upchuck on some pretty British stewardess' shoes. Bad form that.

Yep, Randy would ask my opinion on the California housing market and I could ask him how to live cheaply on a borrowed yacht. I don't know anyone with a yacht, but if I played golf with one of these for sale Senators I could find one to lend me one. You have to have a strong stomache to survive those waves, you know.

Jack, I'm not asking for much, just a little. I'm not going to be greedy like the rest of your clients. I only want my share. Maybe a couple of million or so. And the wife, she likes antiques. Know where I can pick some up cheap?

Indians? Who knows from Indians? Just chisle a few more million from them. They wouldn't miss it and maybe I could recoup some of the money I dropped there on the slot machines last April. You can con them, I've heard that you have plenty of times, a little shoved my way couldn't hurt. Could it? I think I have Indian blood on my mothers side and after I get what is coming to me from the government on that, I could buy my own souveniers. Come on Jack, it's like we would be partners or something, let loose of that dough.

Ireland would look nice this time of year. Whatddayasay, let's hit the links, okay? Just post an email and I'll be at the airport at in no time. Give me a jingle, okay? Love, a faithful constituate.

Doug Adams, no more fish, okay? Ta tah.

Hand And Hand With Steven King

One of the nice things about Christmas is that I get my annual trip to Barnes and Noble. My wife urges all that wish to give me a gift, a precious few, to give me a gift card to the store. If you read, there is nothing like going to a book store, browsing and finally buying a book or two, or three or...

Once I am in Barnes and Noble, my wife disappears (probably to Hooters) and I am left alone with my best friends in the world, books. Books hold a power over me that I will always succumb to. I love reading with a passion. Left alone, I could, and ususally do, spend hours just looking and fondling the titles in the store. The only reason that I watch Pamela Anderson's show is because she works in a book shop. No, really.

It doesn't matter what the subject matter, except for romance novels; you have to draw the line somewhere, I will peruse. All the knowledge in the world lies in those tomes and I have drank deep from it's well (talk about alliteration!).

I can take a $20.00 gift card and come out with eight or nine books. Books that no one else wants, books that have long been out of print, books that are arcane or obscure and long ago best sellers. I am my own man, free to teach myself because a day that goes by without learning something is a day that is wasted.

I am a print junkie and no pronouncements of the end of the written word will stay me from obtaining my fix. Since I am by nature a lazynogoodbumwhojustsliesaboutthehouse, reading is a natural for me. I have been reading for fifty of my fifty something years and if I live another fiftysomething years I will be reading on my death bed. I don't know everyting in the world but don't get into a trivia contest with me because I am the King of Sna. Look that up in your Funk and Wagnel.

Sadly, there are not many of us left. We are a dying breed, unable to change with the times. The fact that I am writing this on the Net is proof that I am, reluctantly, evolving. Perhaps I should appeal to the Creative Designer about that.

So the moral is, read. Read until your eyeballs bleed; were it possible, there would be blood on the screen. Reading not only is fundamental, it is essential. And a handy excuse for not mowing the lawn.

Oops, here come my wife, quick, I'll hid in the Barbara Courtland section, she'll never find me here.

Good-bye and, as Ollie Twists always says, Sir, can I have another?

Take A Heapin' Helpin' From The Cosmic Mind

Having discovered over the years the giga-ways that Man has tried to screw their fellow man, I feel that you out there in the Blogosphere must share in this wretched scam. I innoccently TIVO'ed a movie entitled "What The **&^ Do We Know?" I read the blurb and it stated that the movie was a documentary about "physics" as discussed by scientists, journalist and get this, mystics and psychics.

It was the reference to the mystics and psychics that caught my eye, therefore, I tivo'ed the one and a half movie in the attempt to raise my cosmic softer side. The first image blow at me consisted of a deep voiced narrator stating "In the beginning there was the void..." Oh Boy! And we are taken on an space viewed trip from Pluto until we smash into Earth. That clip hurt my head; never fear for I will find the key to helping myself within the next hour and a half. The next shot consists of some wild haired scientist telling me that he does't believe that what he believes is the truth and that he can not believe if that was the truth after all.....Yeeep.

I don't have to tell you that it went swiftly downhill after that.

From what I could discern what these various "scientists" (one was a chirapractor, I don't think he worked for NASA) blathered about is that quantum physics is the answer to everything, even God. In very serious terms these individuals explained how the brain worked, basic stuff if you read any physics at all. But then they slowly verged off into how Quantum Physics can show us how to change ourselves into wonderful, compassionate humans is to start each day planning your mental state. I can't wait to plan my mental state on the toilet. Does it hurt houseplants to be stored bathrooms?

We moved swiftly through several "experts" enlightening us about the value of Quantum Physics in the direction of our lives. This gobble-dee-gook was presented in very stirring music, especially when they trotted out the mystic.

At least the mystic seemed to be an earnest middle aged woman for "channelled" a 35,000 year old spirit called Ramtha. How come all of the spirits are named after Indians? Channelling means that the woman would go into somewhat of a trance and then dispense the pearls of wisdom from this thirty five thousand year old dude. If he was able to separate his spiritual side from his coporal side then how the heck did he die?

The mystic was the highlight of the whole schmoe. However, there was a small piece about a scientist naame Emoto who conducted experiements with water. He labeled a bottle "thank you" and then got some "special" water from a Japanese dam and the next day from the water and took pictures of the water crystals. A beautiful snow-flake looking crystal was photo was taken. He thought that this was to show that this was the greatest discovery since peanut butter (for most of us anyway). After this movie was over I went to goggle.com to find out about Emoto and I know that this will shock you that he had formed an institute to sell "Indigo Water". Indigo water promises to detox you and rid you of all of those years nasty toxins you have accummulated over the years. No Price Given, but you could only obtain this miracle water through Dr Emoto. Wasn't Emoto one of those Japanese robot guys flying around Godzilla?

This move trudged along until it came to some sort of an ending.

I was left with many questions, such as what the *&(^ did I just see? Was this a long commercial about water? Quantum physics? Perphaps Brain study? I don't know. Well, I think that I know but I don't believe that what I think I know is what I think to know..etc...etc...

A PASSING THOUGHT:
Why hasn't Hollywood filmed the Epic of Gilgamesh? It had plot holes too.

Please, don't send fish.

Floating Through The Blogosphere

Being a newbie to the blog action, I decided last night to use the handy dandy utility at the top of my blog , the next blog button. In so doing, I found the following:

I wish I had taken more Spainish
I don't like cutesy-wutsey blogs on pets
There are some nice family photos out there, but there are some that...
Porno is just as prevalent in Blogland as it is in Webland.

There are other similiar complaints but for now that is it.

It seemed that after paging through hundreds of blogs in languages that I could not comprehend I would suddenly be assaulted by huge pictures of a woman's vagina. I'm not against vaginas, however, it reminded me of sticker shock, the way it just jumped out at you unexpectedly. Maybe it should be called vagina shock.

So far, it seems that women are the only objects of genital exposure, and for my money, I'm glad of it. My fragile male ego couldn't handle anything that makes me look any smaller than I already am.

I found many strident looking blogs in languages that I barely recognized that led me to believe that things aren't great in many other places either. I guess that move to France will have to wait awhile until things (read cars) have cooled off. My car insurance is high enough, I don't want to pay twice for it.

I found that there are tons of good looking girls in Spainish countries, with some of them falling into the aforementioned exposed vagina category. I noticed that there are some frightening lesbian screeds and scary political scandals, the two not necessarily being mutually exclusive.

I saw that some blogs were just harmless diary extentions, or so it seemed. I couldn't read most of them but they had nice music and pretty colors. I managed to find one blog with etheral music that was rather nice that I could not manage to dislodge from my speakers. It wasn't so nice after repeating for the eighth time.

There are a lot of hucksters out there looking for my blog attention and my blog money. I normally gave them the breeze. I have to admit though, that I became part of that shameless bunch when I placed Google ads on my blog in an attempt to become wealthier than I could possibly dream. Haven't made a dime yet.

One thing stood out more than the others though; as I blogged on I never came back to my blog. Page after page after page, never came back to mine.

Maybe there is hope for the blogosphere yet.

Bye bye from the other side.

When A Lion Ain't

It was bad enough when the Lions set the record for the most consecutive road losses. It was bad enough when the offence was anemic enough to warrant a call to ER. Now they fire the only coach in 25 years that could win at the high school level.

Many are wondering why Marriucci is gone and General Manager Matt Millen remains. Perhaps he has pictures that the Ford family (the two Bills that can't pass in Michigan) are afraid of coming to light. It has to be something. Millen is a nice guy, granted, but he ain't that nice.

The problem with Michigan fans of professional (Tigers? Lions?) sports is that they support their teams. Through mostly thin and no thick, they put their fannies in the seats. The owners know this. Why put out the money to buy good personnel when the fans will come out for the bad?

I'm not going to say that Marriucci was the end all and be all. However, just like the Ford stock is going down, the Ford support for their team is going down.

I watched the game against Minnesota this Sunday while also switching back to watch a real team, the Colts. My wife, who is trying to watch and understand the game, constantly asked me, Why can't the Lions do that? Why indeed. The Colts are the precision machine that the Fords wish they could build, both on and off the field. Fans are getting into fistfights in the bars even when they agree on what they are fighting about, so I guess Michigan education is to blame for the Lions inenptitude.

I'm thinking of moving to Idaho. Is there a Ford plant there?

Bye bye from the otherside.

Tookie Is A Twinkie?

Well, well, well. It seems that the time is counting down for Tookie. In less than two weeks the state of California will off another of it's distinguished citizens.

Tookie says he didn't do it. His lawyer states he believes him. It would be headlines if his lawyer says he doesn't believe him. Headlines are not forthcoming.

I am a great believer in the death penalty. Those who say that it does not deter crime forget one thing, it will certainly deter the guy getting the juice (both electric and otherwise).

The only thing that I have against the death penalty as it is conveyed in this country is the agonizingly long time it takes to off these yahoos. Twenty years is too long. Heck, twenty minutes is too long. I am well aware that if the tables were turned and it were me in the condemned man's place that I would want every appeal that would be afforded to me to save my life. One thing wrong with that is, it isn't going to be me. I value the sanctity of life and I couldn't stick a gun in anybody's face and say, "This is a stickup!" It's the other guy and he is guilty as hell. Tookie claims to be a changed man, and I believe him. I don't think he has killed anyone in the last 25 years or so.

I'm sick and tired of hearing about how many Nobel Prize nominations poor Tookie, (an exemplary human being who co-founded the Crips and personally killed four people) has recieved. If people knew what an exemplary person I am, then maybe I could cop a few of those prizes myself. Who are the idiots that make up those nominations? Wouldn't the King's medal look nice on Tookie's cell wall and couldn't he use the cash for his commisary draw?

Tookie was nominated for his work in trying to convince kids not to join the gang that he co-founded. Now's there's a novel approach. "I know I'm a Crip, and will always be a Crip but I don't want you to be a Crip because I don't want you to win the Nobel Prize, it's mine! All mine!" Yep, the King should be wetting his pants to meet Tookie in person in the prison visiting room.

So, here's to you, Tookie! Let us pray and hope that your Christmas will make us all merry and bright. If my lights go dim around midnight or so, I'll know that life is a little bit sweeter without you in it.

Bring Back the Represent In Representative

Is it just me, but aren't our sages in Washington supposed to be representatives of what I want? If so, then I am not getting my money's worth. The little guy, the guy that pays the salaries of these...these...these politicians, too often gets left at the gate. I like a horserace like any other guy but, geeze, can I pick the horse? And the jockey? And the track?

A few specifics; Randy Cunningham, Tom Delay, et al.
Is the prevailing attitude "we're only in it for the money"? When I was in college I wanted to study Political Science so that I could get in on the graft before it dried up. Seems it is not in danger of that.

I'm tired of these yahoos running my country. I am tired of a foreign policy that does not take into account my opinions. I'm frankly, tired of being tired about this. This is not my America. My America is cordial, doesn't bomb things and people, keeps it's nose out of other peoples' business and gets on with things. My America died shortly after 1900 I know, but, can't my America rise from the dead and breathe again?

These nincompoops that we, bigger nincompoops (IMHO), re-elect with naseating regularity, threaten the fabric of our national being. Term limits would be a good start. Let's throw out the 'experienced leadership' and start putting in 'enlightened leadership' instead. I would gladly stand for any office, anytime, anywhere.

And I wouldn't only do it for the money.

Love and kisses from the other side.

Welcome to Neverland

Being a newbie in the blog world, I think that my thoughts are similar to disgruntled persons around the country. We cranks like to talk a good game about world affairs and Americas' place. We pontificate about how lousy everything is but surprising do little to change those things lousy. A first step is to share your thoughts with others of like opinion and unlike opinion. I really don't care if you agree with me or not. The point is the point. This blog will attempt to describe the opinions of Everyman. The opinions are completely my own but I do listen, I do glean, I do react. This is my Neverland, my place where Peter Pan has finally laid down to rest after all that flying about. I have no specific agenda, I will comment on most anything. Read it if you like, if not...find another Neverland to alit in. As another said, Good-bye, and thanks for all the fish.