odds and ends

The most sexually frustrated dinosaur must have been the T-Rex.

"I can't reach it! Dammit! Now I pissed off! And horny. I'm gonna kill somethin! MAybe I can rub on that tree...Roar."

Cats are for people who don't mind their noses getting nibbled off when the owner unexpectedly dies in the living room.

Tasting grate is entirely different than tasting great.

Suppositions are for people who like to guess with long words.

What do you do when a dingo eats your baby? Why the hell did you bring your baby by a dingo? You know the saying. It was inevitable, dammit.

If your wife asks you to dress in a costume before sex what do you do? You run because that's not your wife, it's a frickin pod person!

My favorite Banned is entirely different than my favorite band.

Are corn flakes veggie dandruff?

If a Democrat and a Republican are in the same room, what do you have? It doesn't fucking matter, they won't listen to you anyway.

Do you keep used hemmorroid pads for posteriority's sake?

Why do Lima beans grow in the US?

When Peruvian locals sprint on the open plateau it's called NASCA racing.

Why do pigs need pens? They don't have thumbs.

Is a large discoing hamburger called meat in abundance?

twins

Ne'er in the old and bold did the oaken trunk seem so fair, tangling
Strangely with auburn hair

Stealing winks and creaks - only time to share

Whisping winds tussle quickly, and quite slowly
tendrils of the pair

johnreedclark09262010

Struggle

Margaret Marie Mayweather. He smiled as he looked at her as she lay, head propped slightly on the pillow. Her eyes stared back, light blue, a bit moist, with the familiar twinkle of secrets shared. A smile sneaked past the wrinkly lips, a bit too dry, no longer able to bear the burden of food.

He swallowed the pills, accepting his fate. Either he would be forgiven, or he would not. Her hair, much thinner than when they met, much whiter, still caressed his hands lovingly as he held her head. An imperceptible nod.

He clutched her frail form around the neck. Sobs erupted from him, as he began. The cancer created frailness in her. Involountarily she grasped at his wrists, trying to abort the plan. Her mouth gaped, head tried to turn, eyes staring at all corners of the room for help.

Trembling hands closed her eyes, hiding the lifeless stare. "Goodbye Maggie, see you soon sweetie."

He sat in the bedside chair, too firm, too blue, too smooth, holding her hand. Just now he became aware of the beeping scream from the monitor.

Nurses rushed in and tried to revive her. His heart slowed, though his head still fought the memory of the convulsions parading to calm. The nurses looked at him accusingly, he no longer cared, and no longer heard them. Sleep carried him he knew not where. Had he done the right thing? Her lifeless untwinkling eyes burned his soul. Had he done the right thing? At least she would be at peace.

Supreme

Harold was unassumable. He wore a light, beige short sleeve button up shirt, with one button too many fastened, causing his loose neck folds to wilt over the sharp creased collar. In the left hand he bore a mace, too large for his minimal frame. In his right, he still grasped the hair of the woman. Her head was crushed, recently the victim of his unwieldy blow. Her left eye still looked up at him, almost making eye contact, yet somehow looking past him toward the cathedral ceiling. Just now, blood was seeping onto Harold’s beige pants, pooling just by the crease running down the leg.

He’d been told that crease would create a sharp look. The shirt, purchased at the same time, still remained free from blood. He gently lay the head back down to the church’s stone floor. Grout lines helped channel the pooling blood away. Instant concern washed over him. Would the grout come clean? He hadn’t thought of that. In fact, he hadn’t thought of anything. He hoped the cleaning crew would not have a hard time with that.

Harold stood, turned to the wall which until recently had been the mace’s perch, and replaced the artifact from the 1st crusade-or was it a relic of the Knights templar of later times? No matter.

His gait was a bit stiff, but not as bad as his sixty year old frame warranted. He stopped at the basin filled with holy water. He crossed himself and left, unaware of the blood now swirling slowly within.

His pants were still bloodied. He walked to the restroom, emptied his pockets, took them off, and washed. The hand soap from the dispenser was almost empty. It took several squirts, each gasping with air, gurgling trying to accommodate. Like the woman on the floor. She did not pass easily. His blow had been weak and glancing. Although enough to knock her over, it wasn’t enough to kill her outright. Indeed, her skull had caved with a rather curious crunch, but he wished he could have managed a more intense blow.

He replaced his pants to their proper position, refilled his pockets. Wallet, three dollar bills, a paperclip, a coupon from the nearby Taco Bell, and a credit card receipt from his purchase of these clothes. He left the church, wet pants leaving a trail of water out and down the large broad masonry steps to the street below.

He walked toward Taco Bell, he was hungry. With his coupon, he had enough for an extra hard shell taco. Today, he would celebrate. He would order a supreme.

The birds made no noise as he walked, deep in thought. The clothes were not working. He would have to return them. He did not feel any more confident. He looked into a passing store window, more focus on his reflection than the lingerie within. His shirt had become untucked yet again. This belt was not adequate either. He undid his belt, secured his shirt tails within his pants, and tried to force the belt tighter…no more holes.

“Hey you pervert! Move along or I’ll call the cops!” emitted from the store’s doorway.

Harold looked up, saw his mother face, and gasped. He looked quickly for a mace. He felt the store window to assure himself it was there. The lady in the doorway, noticed his eyes. They were not right. She backed into the store to dial the police. She locked the door. Harold found the mace, it was lying next to the curb. He picked it up and walked purposefully toward his mother. How could she have left the church? She was always waking up…

He smashed the full length window. The woman screamed. He stepped through, dripping pants, creased shirt, wilty neck, balding pate. She ran toward the back of the store. It would not unlock. Her keys were at the register. There were no weapons here. Mannequins too large, hangers too small, she reached into her pocket and grabbed her measuring tape. She could strangle him, he was a little guy.

Harold saw the measuring tape come out of her pocket. She was delusional, she needed to rest. He swung the mace. She dodged as he swung the pipe at her. Not swift enough, it caught her arm. She punched, contacting his face. Mother always struggled when he tried to make her rest. He swung the mace again. She was hit, square across the jaw, the threaded end of the pipe oddly tingly even as she recoiled from the weight of the blow.

Mother needed to sleep. Finally, contact. The curious crunch. He smiled and knelt next to her. Briefly, he grabbed her hair, pulling the head up, allowing her to view the church around them.

Her eyes stared blindly at the ceiling.

He knew she loved the cathedral ceiling. It was important to let her see it. He gently set her back down. No stains on his clothes. He walked out.

Taco Bell was delicious. As he ate his second taco, he was approached by two officers.

“Please put your hands above your head and lock your fingers together.” The man had a gun drawn on him.

Harold looked down at the sour cream laying gently across his taco. “This is a supreme.” He continued to eat.

“PLEASE PUT YOUR HANDS ABOVE YOUR HEAD AND LOCK YOUR FINGERS TOGETHER!”

Some cheese and sour cream fell out of the taco, onto Harold’s shirt. He would have to find the saleslady. This shirt was not good after all.

The officers grabbed him, easily, cuffing his hands behind him.
Harold wondered if his mom was alright. “Please grab a coupon from them. I’ll need it for my next visit.”
copyright john reed clark 03/28/2010

Ninja Samaritan

Helping others when they least expect it is fun. Ninja Samaritan. The next time you are in a restaurant, or in line at a store, eye someone who looks like they have been having a difficult day. Discreetly, in some way that they will never know who did them the favor, pay for their meal, or purchase their goods (this one is more tricky, you may just have to pay for them by giving the cashier money and leaving). Or perhaps the person seems to be debating on which item to buy-pick up the one the don't choose, pay for it, and ask a store clerk to deliver it to them, paid in full. Or buy flowers for a complete stranger, hand it to them, and say "Good Morning (or whatever it is), These flowers are in need of some nice company, and you appear to be in need of some nice flowers. God Bless and have a great day!"

It's important to walk away. Leave the person stunned. They will talk about the random act of kindness, and may perform one of their own.

Family

We get so caught up in the titles. Who is that? How are they related? Are they REALLY related? Why do you care?(yes I've been asked that)

A collection of organisms huddled for their mutual survival enhancement?
A mass of entities organized for maximum effectiveness?

How about a hodge podge of chaotically interwoven emotional flesh bags coagulating spiritually to provide self serving reasons for continued existence?

It really doesn't matter what you call them. That's really the point.

If family to you is a stray cat, a drunk uncle, and an old lady that smells like oreo cookies, embrace it.

For many of us, we come from large families and too often take the relationships for granted. It's just how we grew up. And now, well into my 40's, I look around and feel blessed. Two great daughters, an awesome son, an incredible godson, and 4 brothers, most of whom I am close with. My mom and dad are still around, and I thank the stars every day they are here. My wife, most of all, feeds me purpose for life itself.

And then there are those who have nothing. No siblings, or worse, siblings who won't socialize with them. No interconnectivity between souls.

Repression sets in then, a streamlined focus of purpose which allows them to fill the voids created by the lack of children or social embrace so yearned for by even the most resolute of people.

I will probably edit this later, just letting a bit of my brain fall out.

Vegas

Thoughts while in Vegas...

A canal on the 2nd level?
This place is huge!
No coffee in the room?
Does anyone ever sleep?
This food is SO good!
It's a Monday, why aren't they all at work?
Circ de who? (later) AWESOME!
I don't want your frickin pamphlet!
A permanent sign saying "1/2 off-today only!"...right
How do I get back to my room?
"Let's go down towm!"..."Let's go back to the Strip!"
6AM Tuesday morning flights suck.
I want to go back! (as heard from an airplane window)

Homecoming

This Poem was written from the perspective of the nervous guy you see hugging the wall at the dance.


My heart beat next to yours
Felt so loud, and fast
The ringing in my ears
As you passed

My sweaty Palms
And fumbling tongue turn cold
As you walk by and
I’m not bold

My Nerve is stronger
But as you look,
I turn my head
Into my stupid book.

My anger rises and
My face is flushed
You walked right by
I just blushed

The Dance was coming
My confidence rose
You rounded the corner
I froze.

I coughed loudly
As you went by
You didn’t acknowledge
I started to cry.

I walked home slowly
Head hung low
I was on the Dance’s
Stag death row

The Dance came and went
But I didn’t go
I found out from a friend
You would have said no.

In the hall that week
As you passed by my side
I didn’t flinch
But I did hurt my pride.

I live in a closet
Nice and closed in
Never exposed to
The negative sin.

But my soul has withered
and grown very small
My Psyche closed
into a bare little ball

And because I never took a chance,
I never learned to dance.

john r clark 6-24-92

The Library Ballad-Jackie’s Discovery

Tis a tale of wonder and joy that’s to follow
Though’t may be hard for some readers t’ swallow
Tis about a boy who made a wondrous discovery.
He had a name a bit musical flowery, clovery

Just a bit o’ the Boy b‘fore we begin.
He w’s a good lad with much varied kin.
His names were attached at beginning and end.
Where his folks chose to place them, was just up to them.

Well what w’s his name?
Twas a bright sight to see.
He callt himself simply
Jackie McDoole Chin Miller Nagasaki Smith Gonzalez Gelecovski

Now this w’s a boy not so diffrent as you
Who ‘ad imagination tis true
He wondrd ‘of most of the things all ‘bout
So studeyed them throo and throo

His travels were Jackie-long but short & small of step
For his gait was only a two foot or so though his walk be full of vigor and pep.
He wandrd local hills and studeyed the trunks of trees
He studeyed dogs and cats, (and therefore studeyed fleas)

He road his byke to the mall and studeyed people at the store
And He went down to the park and watcht the people more.
One evening Jackie gazd intently up at the stars.
He Couldn’t find Jupiter, and ne’er found Mars
He didn’t ‘ave a book at home So his eyes just roamd,
his eyes just roamd. Ne’er finding Mars.

At last He could walk no further, bike no faster-He’d seen all that he could see.
He return’t to the same old trees and dogs and cats, (and therefore revisit’d fleas)
All the people he’d already seen, and those stars seem’d very remote.
He’d seen his small world, through and through. So…he

became bored.
and more than sad.
so he lowert his head,
walkt to his home
turnt on the tv,
not removing his coat.

And watcht…
and watcht…
and watcht…
and watcht…
and watcht
and fell asleep.

A terrible dream! A terrible dream!
Jackie woke up with an ‘orrible scream.
He’d been huntd and chasd by the Fear of Unknown
A large gurgly Maw with teeth overgrown

It chased him and chided and teased his small brain,
and caused anguish and pain again and again!
Embarrass’t, and sham’d of his lazy existence,
His face scrunch’t up with twisted persistence.

Jackie crawld into his hole in retreat.
He crawlt in his hole In first were his feet
“HOW DO I GET OUT?”
He yelt with a shout.
He startd to pout.
And Jackie awoke.
The tv was blaring it-sounded too loud.

The sofa was sunk’n and the pillows were flat.
No thickr than a thin exercise mat.
So he layd them about in such an array,
And exercised for his very first day.

His intentions were good, but his knowledge was poor,
And b’fore too long he was nothing but sore.
Where could he learn how to exercise right
So he wouldn’t ‘ave pains all through the night?
Where could he go t’gain some insight?


He askt his teacher, his parents and even his friends.
“Do you ‘ave secret knowledge toward my ends?”
“The Library may ‘ave what you seek”
said his teacher Mrs. Galloweek.

She gave him instruction on how to get there.
He was elated, it was actually near.
Not two hundrd steps from his favorite park.
Why ‘adn’t he seen it when he was studying bark?

But this boy of ours he wasn’t so brave
That building it lookt like a dark deep cave
Full of danger and also the creepy unknown
Would he ever come out if he went in there alone?

He approacht the place slowly and meekly and scared
The sliding door opent and greatr he feard
It hisst like a snake that just came awake
He started to shake, it’s all he could take!

Up the ramp to his doom he said to himself
But then he walkt in and saw the first shelf.
And then more beyond, beyond a clear door,
He saw large heavy structures from ceiling t’ floor.

There were books upon books, and stacks upon stacks.
All fillt with stories, and riddles and facts.
Opinions and polls, and fairies and elves.
All orderd neatly on hundrds of shelves.

The lights o’erhead and the carpet b’low
And tables and desks row after row
This Fillt Jackie’s head with ‘more- than- enough’
His mind went numb, this would be tough!

How could he find an exercise book?
He’d spend five hours with hardly a look
At the books and the knowledge they all contain’d
It was chaos and mystical legerdemain.

He yelpt. And gaspt. And screamt at last.
He fell to his knees this was too much.
He tried to stand but needed a crutch.
His head it was light


And his legs they were wobbling
As he read a near title “The Art of Great Cobbling”
What was this cobbling? Why did he care,
He wanted an exercise book right then and there!

A worker came over to help him sit down.
She whisperd “We need to be quiet here, Why the sad frown?”
“I ‘ad a dream of exercise
but THIS is a curse, not a big prize

I’ll spend more time than I ‘ave each day
Just looking for how to stretch the right way”
She gigglt and smilt so he wouldn’t get madder
“Perhaps I can help you so you don’t become sadder”

“Our books are arrang’d by number and letter
Once you know the code, you’ll find them much better.”

If your interest is in the mind and how we think and act
Go to the ones to get some views and facts.
If you wish to learn about religious points of view
Visit the twos and that should surely do.
Now if general education is what you want to learn about
Walk to the threes you’ll learn without a doubt
To speak another language or simply learn some other words
Travel to the fours and find some words you ‘aven’t heard.
For the Natural Sciences you may hold dear
Skip to the fives they’re really quite near
And for hobbies and gadgets and gizmos and pets
Go to the sixes, you’ll ‘ave no regrets.
The sevens are best when you wish to see art
And music and photographs that’ll wrench at your heart
To grab a great book written long, long ago,
Visit the eights and watch your mind grow.
To find out about Yemen or Japan or Peru
Jump to the nines and they’ll surely serve you.

Or search on the computer if you know the title
or author or subject but ‘tis simply not vital.
If all you wish is to read and peruse
The Library is yours. ‘tis yours to use.

Jackie with wide eyes and new found direction
With a very soft voice and quiv’ring inflection
Askt for her help in finding Mars
and Jupiter And not a few stars

And then he found books on exercise
(But he passt on the one “Shrinking Your Thighs”)
And on his way out, his legs still a’wobbling.
He pick’t up that book “The Art of Great Cobbling”

“Just return them to me or the return cart with care
So when the next patron wants them, they’ll be ready and there.”
You’ll need a library card to allow you to borrow
‘tis quite simple so get it today not tomorrow.

She askt him his name to provide his new card
“Fill out the paper, ‘tis not very hard”
When he hemmd and he hawd and delayd not a little
With consternation on his brow and his lip full of spittle

And sweat running profusely down poor Jackie’s head
And his cheeks turning every shade of pink and bright red
The clerk lookt at him softly and askt “Can I help?”
He sadly cried with his quiet soft yelp

“My name doesn’t fit! I can’t get a book!
I’ll ‘ave to return all these books that I took!
“You’ll do no such thing, Let’s just ‘ave a see.
What is your full name?”
“Jackie McDoole Chin Miller Nagasaki Smith Gonzalez Gelecovski”

Her jaw dropt a little, her eyes became wide
But she was determin’d to help this boy at her side.
She said “We may ‘ave to adjust it a bit, ‘tis just for our computer
It won’t hurt you one bit.

She finaglt and fought with each stubborn letter
In hopes of making a nice name that fit better
On a library card that ‘ad limited space
A shorter name that would still be held in high place

And finally she did it
She did it you’ll see
She adjusted the card to
“J. McChilnasmilezski”

So Jackie discover’d either his name was too long
Or the library computer was just way too small.
So he started a fund for a bigger computer
It wasn’t his name that was wrong after all.

Copyright 2008 John Reed Clark July 17th, 2008

…they did exist.

Even now, if one scryes the land, their tracks and fossils can be found. They left clues, clues that some were giant, and others were small. Some flew, others swam, most moved along the ground as fast as life.

Long removed from our beats, young one, they wandered the open lands. And the jungles. And the seas. Always, they wandered. Searching for hope, but finding sorrow in the Great Death.

Without them, we would find our perspective lacking, and perhaps assume we would last forever.
We would trap ourselves in the cycle of death, always striving for law, succumbing to sin.

Keep your faith in the cycle of life. Do not cross those tracks-ever. Stay close to home, my sweet. And remember my broodling, as you forage the under river, never forget the folly called man.

jrc 5/22/02