Coffee, Jesus and Fannie Flagg

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Coffee, Jesus and Bernie Sanders

Outta java

what shall I do

outta java

diddly-poo

    oh, me

       oh, gee

          

could drive to buy some

but that takes gas

outta java

pain in the ass

      makes me blue

         oh, screw

outta java

what shall i do

outta java

diddly-poo

should have a W.W.B. D.

    b    r    a    c    e    l    e    t 

to see me thru;

screw  jesus*,

"What Would Bernie Do?'

*I know this is blasphemous.  It was a joke regarding the rubber bracelets that read: WWJD? They sold like hot-cakes, in the late 90’s, to people who wanted everyone to think they were guided by a disciple/preacher/carpenter that had the answer to everything. I think Senator Bernie Sanders had the answer to everything. I’m going to go outside, now, and probably get slowly eaten by a plague of locusts. And all because I spent two minutes writing some shit about being outta coffee. Coffee can be like heroine. I’d sell my body at an interstate rest area to get seventy-five cents for one of those paper thimbles of coffee from the vending machine.

My dust bunnies

   I took my dust bunnies to the vet because they wouldn't eat. I've tried everything. I put little pieces of carrots in front of what I assumed were their noses. I offered lettuce, and celery, too. I eventually tried meatballs, in case they are carnivorous. No luck.The offerings are still there.
   I did find one dust bunny on top of an old jelly bean I gave them on Easter, but the jelly bean looked untouched. I think the bunny may have fallen asleep on top of it.
    Despite the seemingly anorexic nature of my pets, they seem to procreate well enough. I keep finding more, when I get up, each morning. I have about 100, now, but that's okay. They're very quiet.
I think they must be very intelligent, too.  I often find some on the stack of books I have under my bed. They don't all congregate on the books, though, so it must be a book club. Some hang out on my barbells. They get around the house very well, too.
                     There must be a really BIG one, somewhere.
                  YESTERDAY I found this bicycle on my window sill.

Life Truly IS Like a Board Game

    I know it's not an original thought to compare life to the board game MONOPOLY, because I've heard that saying, "Do not pass GO. Do NOT collect $200." But I've been day-dreaming, instead of sleeping, and I have some more personal thoughts about that. 
    I remember when I was but a small child, sitting around a folding card-table with my family, playing that never-ending board game. My dad thought it would be a good way for us to bond. Never-mind that I was only about 8, and didn't even know about capitalism, nor "...how fun" it would be to collect little plastic houses, piles of money, and sadistically laugh at kin for having landed on your property, so the banker could take every bit of the low-roller's pastel money they had tucked neatly and sacredly under the board's edge. Never-mind that Dad put Hitchcock's movie, The Birds, on the huge console TV, with screaming, running, crying, bloody children  having their hair eaten by possessed members of the Aves family. Yeah-buddy, a fun time for an 8-year-old. "Will this nightmare ever end? All my play-money is being taken from me and my family is laughing. People are screaming, birds are attacking"...Whaaaaaa!!  Anyway, maybe that is when I first had the bitter taste of the greed of capitalism, with the snickering rich, and the terrified poor.
   That board game that lasts for hours is only fun for those who roll high numbers so they pass GO, collect the bucks often, and roar with glee when taking money from others. For those who roll low numbers, rarely passing GO, having visions of flipping the whole board up into the air is much more fun. "Little hat, little dog, little shoe, little race car...fly, fly, fly!"

Nobody wants to be the dirty penny Mom puts in the box for times when there are more players than pieces. 

   I wonder how my outlook on life's monopolizing quagmires would have turned out if I, the frightened, confused, laughed-at little 8-year-old had taken control of the situation by climbing up onto the table, pulling down my knickers, squatting like Linda Blair, voiding on the game board.

"ALL I ASKED FOR WAS TO BE THE DAMN TOP-HAT, BUT, NO! NO, THAT WAS ALREADY TAKEN!"

   If there was not a GO and a $200 reward, nobody would want to play the never-ending game, though. 

I know, I know...if we don't like the American way, we can get the fudge out. I agree. I  really do. It's more fun to stay, play the game, piss on the board, and eat the mint green money, though. I'm not fond of thatch huts, loin clothes, snakes, malaria and lions. I'll stay, and play the game.

The grand old party....yeah, they say, "...pull yourself up by your own boot-straps." 
I went to college. I got good grades, and was dubbed most likely to succeed. I had to wrap some SPAM  in my college diploma in order to eat, long ago, however. I sustained a paper-cut on my uvula. My boot-straps and shoe leather are on the menu for tomorrow.

But, seriously, I have a job, and I have food. I like to help people less fortunate, though, instead of being a shark. I'm far from rich, and really just get by, living under the sharks, but there are people worse-off than me.


TRY THIS: Let somebody that has already had to eat their boot-straps be the top-hat if they wander into your board game, today.