Thursday, February 21, 2019

MAGA HAT

I bought one for a friend of mine. It was sitting in my backseat when I picked up my daughter and a friend of hers. Her friend found it and tapped my daughter on the shoulder. They were both horrified.
"Dad!" My daughter said.
I had to do some explaining real quick
"No no no it's not mine. I bought it for a friend" I tried to explain.
It was hilarious.

People go nuts when they see that hat.

Wednesday, February 13, 2019

GREAT BIG SPENDER



I’m thinking about the worst part of waiting tables. It had to be the night before rent was due, and you were about a hundred bucks short. You were a hundred bucks short because of all those nights after you banked 100 in tips you promptly went out and blew it on drinks. “A round for the house!” you would holler, and two chicks would be rubbing up against your thigh. Suddenly you were a big shot, a big spender, a high roller, and you should have been able to predict that when the bar shut down those girls would carry your drunk ass out to their car and drive you home, and pretty much just dump you out at the curb. When you checked your wallet the next morning it was empty. It was empty and for a moment you wondered if those chicks had rolled you. But then you vaguely remember hollering “A round for the house!” and arm wrestling Ronnie Barrington for 20 bucks. All one had to do was take one look at Ronnie to know THAT is a really stupid thing to do.

And now here you are the night before rent is due. You’re a hundred bucks short, the crowd is thin, its not even Lobster Night, but the four top left you 20, and the six top 30. Its fifteen minutes to close, everyone is doing sidework and the next table to come in will be yours. So there is hope. One good table and you are in. The door opens. It’s a party of five, notoriously big tippers! You are grinning from ear to ear. Grab five menus, head to the door. “Hey ya’ll! Welcome to the Keg!” and you lead them to the best table in the house. Pull the chair out for the ladies, shake hands with the fellas. Open for business like a cheap bordello. And that’s when the head of the table says “Thank you Steve. Is Bob here tonight? If Bob is here, we’d like him to wait on us if that’s OK. Is that OK Steve?” Fucking Bob. Every hair in place, drives a Vette, sells gold on the side, plays scratch golf and ya just want to kill him.

HIGHER POWERS




The concept and belief in a power greater than myself always, always, always appeals to the best that is within me.
Good that something does.

Monday, February 11, 2019

ON SOCIALISM

I'm glad I live in a society with both Republicans and Democrats, it keeps the lunacy in balance. I'm glad I live in a society that is based on Capitalism, but employs some Socialist ideas and principles because I think a purely Capitalistic system would be just as bad as a purely Socialist one.
In fact I'm not sure there has ever been a country that did not employ some measure of Socialism.

Wednesday, February 06, 2019

EASTER IN DETROIT



In the corner of the yard were the hydrangeas
Mother called them snowballs
Before they bloomed, there were little snowballs on the clover
Which attracted  
The bees to come out from underground to buzz
And I wonder now why I never took a shovel and paid the bees a visit.
Two giant plums that had more thorns than plums
A bird bath, a swing set,
And two tall thin acorns that Dave and I
Climbed to the very top and swayed
While we looked out over Lake St Clair.
I remember showing my sister how to catch a bee in her hand
And if you held it tight enough it could not sting your hand.
She only tried it once.
She could not hold it tight enough.
Mom wore me out.

bulletholes, 2019

MARLBORO COUNTRY

"The Rastafarian’s cigar smelt of compost. I can never guess what they’re really thinking. Not that I’ve ever really known any. I’m not a racialist, but I do believe the ingredients in so-called melting pots take generations to melt. “Mistah,” the Rastafarian told me, “you need”—and I flinched—”some o’ this.” I obeyed his offer and sucked on his turd-thick cigar. Ruddy hell! “What is this stuff?”
He made a noise like a didgeridoo at the root of his throat. “That don’t grow in Marlboro Country.” My head enlarged itself by a magnitude of many hundreds, Alice-style, and became a multistory car park wherein dwelt a thousand and one operatic Citro├źns. “My word, you can say that again,” mouthed the Man Formerly Known as Tim Cavendish."
[Cloud Atlas]
Artwork by Fort Worth's own Jay Wilkinson, on display as "Chameleon" @ Fort Works Art through February 9th.