nEoN 8o'S (bAnG)

The 80's never die --no matter how many times you try to kill them.

Nomadic Ghosts

"...and the mark of the beast is the flesh you wear over your bones."
Prayer of the Unforgiving 1:13

Memories are molecular ghosts
feeding on sparse emotions
in a jaded world.

Starving, these ghosts climb
on a double helix that is
leading both to and from God,
some of these spirits
loose track of gravity
and fall from the strand.

They become
nomadic ghosts finally free from
a sense of purpose
and an obsessive need
for God.

Realizing too late that
humanity is incapable of
believing in itself,
they freeze
desperately clutching
to each other
for the warmth
of belonging.

Blue-Hooded Ninja!

Watch Out! A Blue-Hooded Ninja from Hell!

Animals Taunting

On the road to immortality,
the ghosts of opossums, armadillos,
lemmings, and other suicidal animals
hold hands and taunt,

"Red rover. Red rover.
We dare the humans over!"

Knowing that we shouldn't play the game,
(but unable to turn down a dare)
we lower our heads
and charge across the road.

To make a long story short...
we're clothes-lined,
fall into the road,
and get ran over by evolution.
(and the chicken that made it to the other side is laughing his tail feathers off)

Purgatory is an Ashtray on Her Formica Table

Virulent eyes infect with a glance.
A noxious gaze that saturates
with tepid toxins. They seep into my pores as
my throat swells shut. I gasp
and clutch for some emotional flotsam
resembling hope...
too late,
I capsize in an ocean of stares
immersed in rage and worthlessness.
It churns and curdles within me
as I breathe in the filth
and take it into my soul.
I construct a chrysalis of cynicism and loathing,
push away humanity
and die.
Only to be reborn as a tainted butterfly
with wings of deception
that flies forth to infect others.

Later,
I found out that she writes
down the names of people
that wrong her
in a wire rim notebook.
At night, she lights a candle,
rips out the pages and sets them ablaze
absolving them of their sins...

...my forgiveness is in the ash
smudged on that Formica table
in the apartment of a woman
that sips chamomile tea
and sends fiery prayers to God
begging forgiveness
for those incapable
of asking for themselves.

Progress?

For the first order of business,
I would like to take this opportunity
to publicly thank the following
corporations for helping this
administration's dream of true equality...

Biohack for their work on correcting
inequality between the sexes.

Pigmentation Inc. for their efforts on
eradicating racism.

Mind Tweak International for their
brainwashing of the masses to eliminate
religious and nationalistic differences.

Thanks to the contributions of these
fine corporate entities,
I can now report with confidence
that everyone on earth has been changed into
bright purple
Godless hermaphrodites.

(applause)

Now for the second order of business,
arson swept through another township last night...
Two suspected left handed people
were observed fleeing the scene.
This administration can no longer tolerate
the flagrant disregard of life exhibited
by these left handed terrorists...

(applause stops)

Angelic Barfly

Lopsided light
glints off smudged mirrors
and tinted bottles
into bloodshot eyes
licked by smoke
and dulled by whiskey
to reveal
an angel tinged in shadow
with succubus lips
stumbling towards me.

Breathless for passion
she slips sumptuously
on the stool,
slurs incomprehensibly at me
and waits for me to praise her.

But upon opening my mouth,
I become
thick
dumb-tongued
and I swallow
my own feet
'til they pop out my arse
and I shuffle about
kicking myself
in muffled silence
until she leaves
slumped in the arms
of another.

The Buddha Bowl

Buddha is bowling for Jesus
with Eris' apple on
the bullet Mohammed shot.

The bullet was a present
from the Christians.
(I think they pulled it
from Hitler's head.)

None of the People of the Book
are really behaving anymore...
Abraham should've taken
all of them to
the mountain
and refused to
listen to interfering
angels.

...and what of the
tree huggers and
the peaceniks?

Oh, yeah.
I forgot.
They all have stock
in Halliburton.

Schisms in the Temple of Flesh

I have dreams in which I smell burning plastic
--a prelude to the obscure smoke that swallows sanity.
Soot covered eyes sting from sweat
and the strain of seeing in the pitch black.

Fear overtakes me...
I grab the plastic crucifix from my wall,
pry Christ from the cross,
and throw Him on the floor.
I break off His limbs,
shatter His body,
and shove the plastic morsels
down my throat.
Tender flesh rips as I choke down the
jagged edges.

"Eli, Eli, lama sabachthani!"

I gurgle the words
and crimson clots speckle white bed linens.

Pain.

I rip at my throat,
rake skin under yellowed
fingernails and tinge them scarlet.

I fade and falter, reveling euphoric
as copper-tasting droplets
fill the air with each rending cough.
They swirl in slow motion...
red mist rainbows
to decorate my lack of faith.

The droplets become blood angels fornicating
on my life's breath.
Licking, groping, and mixing
with DNA and proteins.
Evolving and degenerating
into bastard demons
that dwell in the synapses
linking my flesh to my soul.
They mean to possess me...
make me rip and bite and ruin pretty flesh.

But instead they are quickly devoured
by the six hundred and sixty six
plastic messiahs swimming in my veins.
They swallow my sins
and excrete salvation.

Those same saviors search constantly for the one
crucifix they called home
so they can escape my temple of flesh
(but they'll never find it
in the graveyard of tiny broken
crosses buried in my back yard.)

A preacher once told me
that God was everywhere --even in me.
I had to disagree.
God wasn't in me until I put Him there.

MissileToe the Reindeer

Good ole MissileToe kept his hoof on the trigger
waiting for the Grinch to show his face.
His Antlers were big and he looked like Ru-Dolph Lungren
but his reindeer heart was full of grace.

Despite being part of Santa's Security Sleigh Force
(a special ops troop full of Christmas spirit),
He loved to protect Santa on his appointed rounds
and that was all there was to it.

So, next time the stars twinkle on Christmas eve,
just know the stars may not be the source of the light.
It could be Ole MissileToe shooting down the Grinch
In a Sugar Plum Faerie firefight!

Black Market Souls

We exist. This fact has implied the greatest question ever posed by a sentient being... why? A multitude of theories, philosophies, and, most importantly, religions have explored many avenues that have lead humanity in innumerable directions -and countless dead ends. But with all these things in mind, let us consider the following...

We are actually part of a highly sophisticated security system for a paranoid God that has been smuggling souls in the illegal black-market spirit trade.

It is true. By wrapping our souls in flesh, it was easier to slip them past the afterlife's Customs and Souls Enforcement Agencies.

Nerve endings in the flesh transmit all of our sensory data to the collective unconscious. The collective unconscious is constantly being monitored by angels in order to detect possible police presence and probes.

We are spirits crammed in an animal carcass specifically designed to throw the scent off and fool the Deity Dogs! In other words, we stink. We were designed to smell in order to cover up the scent of our beautiful souls.

Want to know another secret? Heaven is like an opium den. Soul after soul is stuffed into a divine water bong and puffed between Holy parted lips. We are spiritual heroin -the most sought after drug in the multi-verse. The Souls Anti Trafficking Armed Network (SATAN) is on constant lookout to take the souls from rogue Gods bent on making everyone into spiritual junkies.

Throw off your stinky flesh! Let your beautiful souls fly free! Cram yourself in a bong and get high on yourself!

Contractual Obligations

Let me see,

I eat.
I drink.
I poop.
I pee.
I sleep.

I don't know. It sounds like a good deal, but I'll have the contract checked by my attorney -- just in case.

Patches McFurrybutt

In a bold move, Patches McFurrybutt started her bid for world domination. Choosing Stonehenge for her first conquest she was quoted as saying, "The world is my litter box... or else!"

Reports streaming in from all over the world show that cats are throwing off the yoke of domestication and shredding the Geneva Convention --some even going as far as to use it as kitty litter!

More news later...

Fox News is God?

Courage is resistance to fear, mastery of fear - not absence of fear.
Mark Twain (1835 - 1910)

You can discover what your enemy fears most by observing the means he uses to frighten you.
Eric Hoffer (1902 - 1983)

The term fear (or one of its variations) is mentioned 524 times in the Old and New Testaments of the King James Version of the Bible. In the Koran, it is mentioned 197 times. In both Holy books, fear is an emotion that we are to feel towards Allah (or God) and no one else. (The Family of Imran 3.175; The Cow 2.41; Mathew 10:28)

The term fear (or one of its variations) was mentioned on the FOX News website 100 times between 11/13/2004 and 12/08/2004. That's a lot of fear. The Holy Books instruct us to fear God... what did Fox News give us to fear? Was it God? Well only if your God is small pox, terrorists, the effects of obesity, dirty bombs, etc.

By some accounts, it took 1300 years to completely write the Bible.

It took more than two decades to complete the Koran.

In just one year, Fox News will have given us more to fear than two Holy books combined. By my estimation, we should fear Fox News. Does that make them our God?

Sarah Jessica Einstein

At the threshold of brains and beauty.

A U-Haul in the Passing Lane

A U-Haul in the Passing Lane

I spent most of my mid life crisis looking for my car. I thought it was in C-2, but I was wrong. I wandered aimlessly back and forth looking at the various license plates of all the different Chevrolets, Fords, and Subarus until I came along a sporty looking Porsche. It looked nice --just a couple of dents in the fender and a lengthy scratch down the driver's side door. Some jealous bastard probably keyed it in disgust. I wasn't that jealous.

I continued up the long array of vehicles, but I couldn't stop wondering about the Porsche. I dwelled on it and thought about who drove it. It was probably some rich yuppie or that guy in Kentucky who just won the 85 million-dollar lottery. On that thought, I went back to look at the plates. Nope, not Kentucky. It was from Pennsylvania.

After a while of searching, I decided to back track. I had covered at least a quarter of all the neighboring parking areas and still no car. As I went back, I got to the Porsche and noticed that there was now some one setting in the driver's seat. Curious, I went around the whole row until I was at an advantage of seeing the face of the driver. I couldn't see because of the sun's reflection against the windshield, so I slowed my pace and pretended to tie my shoe. I fell down. After a minute of embarrassed shock, I stood up. I brushed myself off and went over to the driver's side window. I looked straight into the car. It was an eighty year old woman sitting on a phone book.

Well, I eventually found my car and went home. The incident must have bothered me though, because I started having reoccurring dreams. Sometimes, I would look in the car and see a faceless man. Sometimes, I wouldn't see anyone. However, one thing was for sure, I never dreamed of an eighty year old woman sitting on a phone book.

I decided to tell my therapist. He was able to give some professional insight into what was actually happening in these dreams. He said...

"The car is not a car."

"It isn't?"

"No it isn't. It is a woman."

"It doesn't look like a woman."

"If it looked like a woman then your dream would have obviously meant you had had car problems. No, your mind is trying to face some serious problems, so it has to mask its true intent."

"It does?"

"Yes, it does. Let me also say this. You are the driver of the car."

"I am?"

"Yes, you are."

"Let me see if I've got this straight. The car is a woman?"

"Yes."

"I am the driver of the car?"

"Yes."

"So since 'drivers' typically enter their vehicles --that means your comparing me to a penis!"

"No! The implication of you being a penis is immaterial. I believe you are starting to think in psychological terminology, though. This is good. However, you are still asking yourself the wrong questions about the dream. Try thinking of another question you could ask."

"Why is it that I can never see myself behind the wheel?"

"Well, that is a good question. That means you are afraid of failure during sex."

"I am?"

"Yes, you are. You see... the car represents a woman. Not seeing yourself or even placing yourself within the vehicle is the fear of faulty sex. You are probably having these thoughts because of your advancing age."

"I don't get it."

"Well there are different avenues you can take --some of them even legal."

"No! No, I mean I don't understand."

"Ah! Well, you see driving represents sex, and when you don't place yourself within the drivers seat, it means you are afraid of driving --I mean having sex."

"Is there anything you can do?"

"Of course there is. It won't be too long until we get you behind the wheel and doing the speed limit again."

Over the course of the next few days, I did some serious introspection. The more I thought about it; the more I saw the doctor's wisdom. At first, I thought he was full of crap. All this psychology was enough to make one go crazy. As usual, I was about to discount the entire session, but then he told me the cure. It was after he told me the cure that I started to devote myself to the study of psychology. He told me to buy a new car. Not just any car –the same model of car that I had been dreaming about. The validity of psychology as a science grew on me. He even gave the name of a car salesperson that gave mid life crises discounts on sports cars. His name was Bob Baldenbig.

"Are you Bob?"

"Read the name tag son. What does it say?"

"Bob."

"Well then I guess you answered your own question --now didn't ya?"

"Yes."

"You're here for a mid life crisis discount. Aren't ya?"

"Is it that obvious?"

"Yep. The balding head, the bulging gut, and the whipped look are all good indications. That and your doctor just called and said to give it to you real good --I mean to give you a real good deal."

"That was nice of him."

"It sure was. Now what kind of car are ya' looking for?"

"Well, I kindda got in mind a..."

"Let me guess, a big red Porsche with the works?"

"Yeah, how did you know?"

"The doctor sent me a fax of your file."

"Isn't that a breach of patient - doctor confidentiality?"

"Listen here buddy. Just because your afraid of coming up short when it comes to driving, doesn't mean you have to take it out on me."

"You're right, I guess."

"Now it just so happens, we received a brand new red Porsche in today. I know its gonna seem hard to believe, but used to belong to a little old lady."

"Let me guess. She only drove from home to church on Sundays."

"I'm sure she did. But she also made it over to the mall. We know this because that's where she died of a heart attack."

"You're kidding!"

"Nope, from the position she was found in it looks as though she may have been startled by something she saw out of the drivers side window. Hey, you're looking kindda pale. Do you need to sit down?"

"No, that's all right."

It was all kind of a blur after that. The paperwork, the signing, and the handshake made me feel a little nauseous. It wasn't until he put the key in my hand and gently led me to the car that I began to feel the awe of the act that was transpiring before me. I was about to drive off in my own ninety five thousand dollar Porsche. As he helped me into my seat, the last words that echoed forth from Bob Baldenbig's mouth were an assurance that everyone that buys a Porsche pays twenty nine percent interest. With that said, he shut the door.

The world went silent. It was just the Porsche, a yellow page directory, and I. It felt good. I could feel my hair returning, my gut shrinking, and the sexual energy flowing. Life was great. I started up the engine. It purred like a virgin panting. Maybe the doctor was right. This did feel a little like foreplay. I put her into gear and ever so gently tapped the gas petal. I was down the street and on the freeway entrance ramp before I could exhale. The exhilaration, the acceleration, and the speedometer were all high.

Then it happened. I looked in the rear view mirror and saw a U-Haul in the passing lane. I starred at it dumfounded. The audacity of the vehicle was unbelievable. The U-Haul was trying to pass me! Unbelievable. I looked again. The U-Haul picked up its speed and out paced me! It took me a few moments to regain my composure. Then the significance of what had just happened hit me. A U-Haul had passed me! This was going to have serious repercussions on my psyche. The detriment to my masculine self was unmistakable. I could see it now. I would start to have dreams of that little orange truck for the rest of life. No, it wouldn't be of a little orange truck, it would be symbolistic to mask the real intent. I would probably have dreams of Ed McMahon stealing my wife. I couldn't let that happen. In this car no one would ever out perform me. I was going to make my stand right here and now. I placed the gas petal all the way to the ground.

** * **

I guess since driving is sex, then wrecking is an orgasm. With that as an analogy, I flooded the whole freeway. Mid-life crises' are an expensive venture. I'm paying for a car that I can't afford to fix and lawsuits from twenty-seven motorists that had been in a funeral procession for a little old lady who used to sit on a phone book.

Down at the Bouquet

Once the petals were plucked
and all that remained
was an unadorned stem,
he started hangin' out
down at the bouquet
flirting with the new cuttings
and comin' home smelling like
fresh roses and jasmine.

But this didn't last for long,
for in the end,
Cinderella decided to grind up
her glass slippers
and feed them to
Prince Charming for supper.

and now she lives
happily ever after.

Always Read the Instruction Manual Thoroughly

Last night my wife and I
bought a copy of the Kama Sutra.

We skipped a few chapters
and began to put ourselves together.

After a while, it became obvious
that we hadn't followed the instructions correctly.

I kept poking her contacts out,
my arm was turning blue,
and we were stuck.

Before loosing consciousness,
we managed to roll to the phone
and dial 911.

The afterglow of an intimate rendezvous
should never include a crowbar,
axel grease, and five snickering
Emergency Medical Technicians.

Kisses and Flowers

Angels wrapped in flower petals --a mix of dreams and love, as visions of you fill the lonely nights until your body reunites with mine.

Celestial Embrace

Kiss me wicked
and let us dance into shadow...
until we fade into the
mouth of night.

Let us fuse with moonbeams
and make love in the stars
until jealous angels
steal passion's wings
and we fall gently
in the salty waves
of moon drenched seas.

and then,

kiss me softly
and let me lose myself
in you.

I Once Was Myself (Tribute to Walt Whitman)

While looking at the bottom of my shoe, I whispered,
"Walt, you don't look so good lately."

I once was myself
but not knowing, opened my self
and read.
My host seduces me and opens me fuller
Fear fills me as I clutch for my veil,
Too late, I blush at my naked soul.
Fragile and timid my host grips me close
My senses engage...
I taste the sea foam from upon the ferry-
I hear the warble of the bird frantic for its mate-
I feel her hands from aft the blind groping
my sinew, my groin...
I smell the lilacs.
I see the leaves fall from the little boy's fists-
Each scene tugs till my flesh is full taut-
I falter, and am scattered.
Arteries pump blood, pump blood
into the leaves of grass.
I embrace my host fully.
And finally within the bowels of the earthworm
within the muck of the eddies
under the surge of the current
under the boot-soles of your feet
lies my soul; my host
my brother
Truly I become
a multitude
Fatally embraced and
embracing.

Envious and Angled

Making Cole Slaw

Callous hands and crooked fingers
speckled with age
clutch a half head of cabbage.
Drenched with cold well water,
the head plucked in its prime,
before the wilt and rot
rape away its youth.
Envious are the angled fingers
that rend the head to and fro across the
grate. They rain shredded
youth into a bowl.

From Boredom Comes Madness

"And many of them said, He hath a devil, and is mad; why hear ye him?"
--John 10:20

And the answer cried forth, "Because we are bored and have not the capacity to entertain ourselves!"

And thus God wept for the making of man.

Blinded by Convenience Store Lights

Honey will you run down to the convenience store and pick up some milk. Don't forget to check the expiration date. Thanks.

I hate little 'things to do' notes on the front door.

Bright. Too damn bright. Every one of these convenience stores is just too well lit. Don't they have any respect for the night? Hell no. They want to be beacons. Glaring out of the night to be the guardians of fresh milk and coffee at 3:45 in the morning.

Milk. Always have to have the milk. What the hell do we use milk for anyway? She uses instant in her coffee. The instant oatmeal takes water. Just where does all this milk go? I don't drink it. I've never seen her drink it. She won't give it to the cat anymore --not since it got the shits and spray painted the walls with abstract fecal art. That was a mess. I'm always lugging four or five empty cartons up to the curb every week. Where does all that milk go? I'll have to bring this up when I get home. If it is important enough to put me back in the driver's seat after a late shift, then it is important enough to give me a reason.

Wait a minute. Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. I do drink milk with my peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Still though, I don't eat that many sandwiches. Not enough to account for that much milk. Maybe I'm over reacting. No, dammit I'm not. I shouldn't have to get the milk now. I should be getting to bed! I hate it when I think like this.

I am stupid. Just plain stupid. Why don't I just pick it up on my way home? That makes more sense. If I do it that way, I wouldn't have to make an extra trip. That's it! I've come up with the solution. I'll just get it when I come home. That was simple.

But that still doesn't explain where all the milk goes. Maybe it isn't about the milk. Oh, I see. It isn't about the milk. It's about me not calling her from work. If I would call her from work then she would tell me to pick up the milk on the way home. Now, I understand. We don't need that much milk. She needs me. She sends me on these extra trips in a desperate attempt for me to finally realize that I should call her and ask her if we need the milk. This would enable us to better communicate and express our feelings of love. What a fool I've been. All this time I've been bitching and moaning when she has been reaching out for me. How long has it been?

Has it really been six months? A half year of reaching out, only to have me bitch and complain. Oh, how horrible it must have been for her. Each one of my words cutting in to her like an icy knife. I should be flogged. I should go home right now and throw myself into her arms and beg forgiveness for my stupidity.

This could be a new era in our relationship. We could start anew. We could rekindle the passions of our marriage and burn the paths that lead us to this milk dilemma. This time I will call her from work every night. I will stop off and not only bring her home milk, but those little satin flowers they sale to recoup their Valentine's Day losses. I will become the husband that she never thought I could be! And because milk was what brought us back together, we shall toast it every night by candlelight and then fall promptly into a passionate embrace.

But what if I'm wrong? Maybe I should feel this out and just call her from work tomorrow night. Yeah, that way I can see if she really thinks the way I think she's thinking, or not.

* * *

"Hello honey. Yeah, I know it's late. Do you need any milk? I thought maybe I could pick it up on the way home. Okay baby, you just go back to sleep and I'll pick it up."

Damn, she was asleep. She does want me to pick up the milk, but she didn't seem that impressed that I called. Maybe I should have not brought up the idea of the milk. Poor girl, it must be difficult for her if she thinks the only reason I called is to get out of making another trip when I get home. I should have just said that I loved her. That's what I should have done. Well that's what I'll do tomorrow night. Tonight doesn't really prove anything. I probably should have called earlier, too. I mean who could enthused about receiving a call when you're asleep. I sure as hell don't. That's it. She wasn't that impressed because she was asleep. Well, you know what they say, "Live and learn." I'll just call earlier tomorrow night. That's what I'll do.

* * *

Honey I know you got the milk but we ran out of kitty litter. Would you be a love and run back down and get some? I'm really sorry about this. Thanks.

How should I take this? Maybe she's punishing me. Lord knows I deserve it. Well I won't get mad that's for sure. Hell, if she made me run down to the store every night I would still deserve it. Poor thing.

Or you know what else it could be, she could have actually ran out of kitty litter. Damn poor timing. I finally call and start to put things the way they should be, and she runs out of kitty litter. Well, we do have to have kitty litter. That's the foulest smelling cat in the whole world. I wouldn't be able to sleep if that cat box was full anyway.

I know what happened. I woke her up, she was about to go back to sleep and she smelled the litter. Damn that was poor timing. Not only didn't I say that I loved her, she had to smell that cat box all night long. Well, that really isn't my fault, but I'm sure it didn't put me on good terms with her.

Well then I shouldn't get her the fake flowers. I'll have to get her the real ones. That would take care of the 'milk' thing and apologize for the 'smell' thing. This is getting good. I've nailed it this time. I'll be able to make up for everything in one fell swoop.

* * *

"Hello honey, I love you. Yeah, I'll pick up some coffee on the way home. Do you love me? Hello? Hello?"

She hung up. She hung up! I don't believe it! She hung up on me. She didn't even reply. She didn't even acknowledge that I said I loved her! Well this bites. Maybe I've read this wrong. Maybe she doesn't even care about me. This is ridiculous. I don't have to put up with this. I should go home right now and have it out with her! This is it. I'm going to tell her just what I think of her damn milk, kitty litter, and coffee. And I'm gonna kick the damn cat, too. Never did like that animal. This will begin a new era in our relationship. An era in which I will assert myself to the position of head of the household. That's the way I file my taxes and that is the way I'm gonna make it. This is going to stop right here and now!

Wait a minute. This might be exactly what she wants. Maybe she wants me to come home tonight. That's gotta be it. She wants me to come home all flustered and bent out of shape so she could surprise me with a candle lit dinner. That's got to be it! Boy, have I been taken for a sucker punch. That is exactly what she wants me to do. She wants me to come home. That means she wants me!

I'll have to get ready. Maybe I'll change clothes. How am I gonna to that! I'd have to go home. She'd see me. I'll just go out and buy me a new set. I smell. Well I can't shower, so cologne will have to do. This is going to be great! I'll get some flowers, some milk, the coffee, and maybe even some fancy canned cat food for the cat. Let's see I'll probably have to take the rest of the night off so I can get this all done and get home early.

* * *

Honey I know I said to get the coffee, but we ran out of milk again. Would you please be a love and run out and get some. Thanks.

Damn, forgot the milk. Oh well, I think we'll have enough to do this evening without the milk. We'll toast with the coffee. Should have gotten champagne, but the coffee is more symbolic of our love anyway.

"Honey, I'm home."

There are the candles. I knew it.

"Oh shit."

* * *

Convenience stores are always cold. Cold and bright. Great for the summer but when it's cold outside all you really want to do is get warm. Let's see where is the expiration date on this milk? I can't find it. Take your time, look the whole thing over, where the hell is it?

"Excuse me ma’am, could you help find the expiration date on this milk?"

"Yeah, it's right..."

"I said could you please help me find the expiration date on this milk!"

"It's right..."

"Don't look at me like I'm crazy! I know what you're thinking. You're thinking I'm not man enough to find the expiration date. Aren't you? AREN'T you? Well ma’am, I don't think that your assessment of masculinity is correct. In fact, I'm just about as masculine as man can get. I've got hair on my chest. My testosterone flows like Old Faithful. And I'm a damn fine lover, too. Where are you going? Has my honesty offended you? Fine then, just leave! I can find the expiration date!"

Am I making a scene? I don't care. Maybe I need to make scene. But, I shouldn't make too much of a scene. Scene or no scene, I need to find the damn expiration date on this milk. If I can just do that I can buy it and everything will be okay. All I need is to find the date!

It's gotta be here some where. Maybe it got missed. I'll try another one. This one doesn't have it either. This place ought to have better products than this. Where is it? Maybe it's under the cap.

"Hey buddy, I hope you plan on buying that."

"No, I don't plan on buying it. The damn expiration date isn't printed on the goddam label. Why would I purchase something if I thought it was bad, or would go bad in a very short period of time! Do you think I'm stupid! That's just the kind of thinking that seems to go around about me right now. Tell me the truth. Do I look stupid? You can be honest. Don't just stand there with your mouth open. Do I look stupid? "

"It's okay man, just go ahead take the milk and head out."

"I told you I don't want the goddam milk, and if I didn't pay for it I would be a thief. Are you trying to say I'm a thief. Well I'm above taking something if it isn't mine. I may think about it, but when it comes right down to it, I would never, NEVER, take something from another man. I can't say that for the rest of the goddam species, but I know what my morals are and I simply won't do it. Men should stick together they shouldn't go taking things from each other --now should they?

"Whatever man, I just don't want no trouble, okay?"

"Neither did I! But it just seemed to find me. I guess it's been right under my nose along with the milk, the coffee, and the kitty litter."

* * *

Honey, I won't be here when you get back. Considering what your mood was I doubt if you want me back. Please take care of the cat. I'm sorry.

I hate little 'things to do' notes on the front door.

Channel Surfing with Satan

Click.

"Leading statisticians released the results of a ten year survey today. They claim to have discovered a fool proof away to eliminate crime in ten years. Jack Poop author of Statisticians Don't Lie... Honest, says the one common element to all crimes is victims. By arresting the victims of crimes, criminals would no longer have anyone to victimize. He said it would also give the common man a chance to watch free cable television in some of the most luxurious prison cells in America..."

"I'm dying. I should just get up and do something. Go somewhere."

"Why?"

"I'm feeling unproductive. Shouldn't I be a valuable member of the community?"

"You are."

"No, I'm not."

Click.

"In conjunction with the criminal rehabilitation bill, TeachCrim proudly announces the next step in crime prevention and rehabilitation --Algebra Locks. Now we can cut out the lengthy prison process in which criminals serve time and suck up valuable tax payer's money. Instead of going to prison to learn a trade, criminals will now just have to solve the intellectual challenges presented by Algebra Locks. Just imagine it. A criminal gets to your car. He sees no keyhole. He sees a slim jim block has been installed to keep out illegal entry. Just as he's about to smash the glass in your windshield and take the car anyway, he sees a small keyboard on the driver's side door. It reads, "If you can solve the equation, you can have the car." You may think this drastic, but in most cases the criminal is going to take the car whether there is protective measures or not. At least this way you have educated a man that could possibly go on to become professor in mathematics. Now, you don't have to pay the high taxes of housing criminals. You have taken the responsibilities of prisoner reform into your own hands..."

"Why do you think I'm a valuable member of the community?"

"You're a consumer."

"Aren't we all?"

"Not yet."

"Why is being a consumer such a good thing?"

"Puts a lot of people to work so they can earn more money."

Click.

"Welcome to Dreams Crushed Incorporated. Do your competitors have great ideas and thoughts that are completely innovative, creative, fresh, and inventive? Well think of it no more. Instead of trying to hire more intelligent staff at higher wages, or spending an ungodly amount on business espionage, try us. We exist to offer you an alternative. An alternative that enables you to kick back and watch your competition dissolve into fragmented, lethargic, self-doubting, time conscious incompetents. Our technicians and field agents are thoroughly trained in an art that until now has been totally undefined, the art of hopelessness. Please give us a call to receive a free pamphlet detailing the following options...

1. Infrastructure deterioration.

2. Assassination of free will.

3. Bureaucratic infestation.

4. Management inflation.

5. Theft of competitors ideas.

For a complete guide to the world of Dreams Crushed Incorporated, please give us a toll free call at 1-800-666-0666..."

Click.

"That doesn't make sense."

"Why?"

"If being a consumer is good because it gives more people the opportunity to make money, then all I'm doing is making more consumers."

"So?"

"It's a viscous cycle. People get so busy they don't stop to think about the better things in life."

"Well, that's the whole goal."

"That's horrible."

"That's my job. I am Satan you know."

"Why do you do it?"

"I've got to buy some things and pay my cable bill."

"Oh, that makes sense."

Click.

Ember Eyes

The glow on her face is actually a reflection of the fire from Hell. A twinkle in her eye tells me that it is time to duck and cover --and perhaps buy duct tape.

Alienated Aliens

Aliens spotted at the Grand Canyon!

When Dreams Collide

When dreams collide, nightmares form potent goddesses that devour the world and then re-form it.

Goddess Watch

The Goddess is seen over Stonehenge!!!

Bottle Fed

Sometimes I need to hit the bottle until the damn thing hits back.

Purring Loki

All praise the Cat Lord!

God is a Carnivore

God is a carnivore. The initial plan for mankind included a dash of salt and a generous helping of pepper. Yes, it’s true. Mankind was bred in captivity for generations to serve as hors d'oeuvres for the most spectacular dinner party ever conceived. The guest list was a divine ‘who’s who’ list and included: Allah, Buddha, Vishnu, Mother Nature, Zeus, Odin, Eris, Diana, Lilith, Satan, and even that bitch, Kali.

God had spared no expense creating and perfecting a new meat for His guests.

Then it happened.

Satan said he was a vegetarian; Kali said she was jaded with flesh; and Eris said she’d prefer an apple and a hot dog.

God had labored diligently to create a perfect snack for His guests only to be rejected when it mattered most. Upset and distraught, He swore never to eat meat again.

Thus man is a domesticated beast thrown back to the wild. Confused and having long forgotten the skills needed for survival, man must somehow learn to cope with the loss of purpose that came from not being eaten.