Trump Out … Thanks Giving In

I don’t know about you, but I’m exhausted from the Trump this, that and everything.  If there is a Media Hog God in this world, please let her rise up, hit the delete key and get rid of the monster that’s been created.

Don “The Con” hasn’t even been sworn in and he’s worn me out.  I can’t believe we’re gonna face this for four years.

Lord have mercy on us soulless beings.  We musta been real bad to deserve this.

I don’t care about what T-Rump’s hair will do during the inauguration … Vegas odds are 5-3 that it will stay on.

I don’t care if Ivanka sells Melania’s inauguration dress for a bazillion dollars after she’s worn it to the I-Balls.

I don’t even care if Trump name’s his entire family to his Cabinet, staff, lawn care and fence patrol duty for the White House.


I’ve decided that I’m gonna focus on “Thanks Giving” … the holiday that pits family-member-against-family-member for one extended horrendous weekend.

Topping my “Thanks For” list is the announcement that Duck Dynasty’s over – kaput – zippered up for reruns after this season.  Over exposure … or maybe their audience belatedly realized that the entire show was a hoax.  Just like someone’s campaign.

I’m thankful I’m not eating turkey at home this year.  Yes … someone invited me (actually my wife, Mari … and I get to tag along) to their house.  I’ve already promised Mari that I will shower, shave and practice the “Thumper Rule” … If I can’t say something nice I won’t say anything at all.  Yeah, right.

I’m incredibly thankful that McDonald’s isn’t replacing its entire staff with foodservice bots.  In fact, they’re instituting table service … with real people.  Now, if they would institute real food for the real people to bring to the table, I’d truly be thankful.  I won’t eat there … I’ll just be thankful.

I’m also incredibly thankful that I was not on the Evite list for a Tennessee toddler’s birthday party this past Thursday evening … one dead adult (the toddler’s mother) and 6 others wounded including a 6 year old.  The shooter clearly was not on the Evite list and was pissed about that.  To quote the Mayor, “The event that occurred last night in our community is not a typical occurrence in our community.”  Thank the gods for that.


Well, I think that’s enough “Thank-Fullness” for me.  I hope all of you have a thanksfilledthanksfull day and can “fuhged about” T-Rump … at least for the day.

Just sayin’ …

And you thought 2016 was all about Trump vs Hillary

condoms-access-deniedThe wild and wooly 2016 presidential election’s over.  The peaceful, but awkward transition of power’s begun.

Democratic Party autopsies, euphemisms for “I told you so,” are rolling out.

But the real fun of a spent election is the review of ballot issues that don’t get the nation’s attention … the state and local ones that spotlight people’s lives where the rubber meets the road.

That’s where the seriously absurd events of “Election 2016” lived.


And surprise, surprise … guess where it’s ab-so-lute-ly the most seriously absurd!

Yep … Cal-i-Porn-i-yea and Prop 60.  The will of the people “rains” supreme … which, unless you count “Golden Rain Showers,” is the only rain they get these days.

Prop 60’s the one that requires porn-studs to wear condoms while on the production set … not just for sex scenes.

I dunno, but it seems to me there’s a physiological problem with this “prop.”


Scene 1 Take 1:

Visualize …

Porn-stud tooling in his Porsche 911 Turbo Cabriolet headed to his next big boff.  Hair sliding through the California breeze, one hand draped over the wheel, “California Dreamin’” blasting through the sound system.

Zipped tightly in his genes lies his “street-cred-man-sized-male-member” … tucked inside a day glow California Trump-Orange condom.

But … you have to take the producer’s word for it, ‘cause you can’t see it!

And the real killer in Prop 60 is a clause that opens the door for any state resident to “enforce this law.”

Wow … any resident?  You don’t even have to have a ticket stub proving you actually saw the F**k Film?  It’s a “Let’s-Go-to-Court-Free-Card?”  Talk about a new income stream for salivating lawyers.

Well … the bad news for lawyers is the good news for the porn industry.

Prop 60 was defeated at the ballot box … “California Dreamin’” still “rains” supreme.


Can those wild and crazy Left-coasters top Prop 60?  You betcha!

But only because they voted in a dead guy over a live gal in a local bid for City Treasurer of Oceanside City.  And the folks who voted for him knew he was dead!

That’s the supreme electoral insult!

“Ms. Scott, how’d you do in your bid to become City Treasurer?

“You lost?  You lost to a dead guy?  By six points?”

“Even though Gary passed away, he is still better qualified than she is,” said current Councilman, Jerry Kern.

Damn, man … that’s what I call a really bad loss.

Just sayin’ …


“Recycled” is a piece of Flash Fiction I wrote based on the photo below taken in St. Petersburg, FL by a college friend, John Hayes, street name, “Oops John.”

Among other things, Hayes excels as a street photographer, photo journalist, professor, writer and overall reprobate.

I encourage you to check out his work – thoughtful, fun, evocative, and usually a relaxing way to spend a few minutes of enjoyment.


It’s night.  I’m hungry … not sure of the date, day or time.  Something in the alley catches my attention.

I do the unthinkable … leave the safety of the sidewalk and walk into the alley.  I was warned about doing that.  Knew I’d catch Hell if Mama found out.

But I have to do it.

Something popped up and smiled at me.  It’s a doll … standing in a trash can.

When I reach the can, I snatch the doll outta the trash and tuck it under my coat so Mama won’t see it.  It’s smelly.  That’s okay.  I am, too.

I was standing there on the sidewalk just like she left me when Mama comes back.  She takes my hand and we walk away from the alley.  Under my coat, the doll feels a little scratchy … like it’s movin’ its arms.

When we reached the doorway … the one with the heat blowin’ in it, Mama spread my blanket over the grate and told me to go to sleep.

I told her I was hungry.  She reached in her sack and flipped the box of crackers to me … the same ones we had last night.  They were stale then.

I rollover, away from Mama and take a bite of a cracker.  Yep, still stale.

Then I hear it.  “Kin I have one uh them crackers?”  I look around thinking Mama said something to me, but she’s gone … just like every night.  I know she’ll come back.  She always comes back.

I hear it again.  “Kin I have one ah them crackers … please?”

I look down and see one of the doll’s hands extended toward me.  He has a quizzical look on his face.  “Sure,” I said.  “Here’s one … but that’s all you git.”

“Okay by me.  This’s the first cracker I ever had.”

I look straight into the doll’s big black eyes.  It was talking … to me and I didn’t think there was a thing wrong with that.  “Did you talk to the person who owned you before me?”


“Why not?”

“Didn’t need to.  I lived in ‘er house.  Got everything I needed … after they were asleep.”

“Are you a magic doll?”


“Then why can you talk … and walk around someone’s house?”

“You talk.  You walk aroun’.  You magic?”

“No, but I’m not a doll.”  I stared at the doll.

I knew I wasn’t magic ‘cause if I were magic I sure wouldn’t be here talkin’ to an old doll I pulled out of a trash can.  I’d be in my bed.  Warm.  Fed.  Probably have a new doll … and a kitten.

“No way I’m magic,” I say.

“Wanna bet?”

“What do you know about magic?”

“Ah’m talkin’ to you aren’t I?  If dolls don’t talk in your world, then I must be magic.  You’re talkin’ to me and you know just any old doll cain’t talk, so I must be magic.  It’s simple.”

“Well, if it’s so simple how’d you end up in that trash can, Mr. Smarty Pants?”

“Oh … a bit a temper, have we?  Maybe I wanted to be in thet garbage can.  Ever think about thet?”

“Who wants to be in a trash can?”

“Maybe a magic doll.  Maybe he wants to try his magic and see what happens.  Ever think of thet?”

“That’s stupid.  You’re stupid.  I’m gonna take you back to that can and throw you back in it.”

The girl grabs the doll by the red kerchief wrapped around its neck, leaves the doorway and heads toward the alley.  The doll bounces off her skinny legs and drags along the sidewalk.

“Ouch … you’re hurtin’ me.  Carry me like you woulda carried your dolls when you lived on Muldoon Street.  In that white house with the green shutters.”

The girl yanks the doll up to her face.  “How’d you know where I lived?”

The doll winks one of his big-black-orb-eyes.  “It’s all in the magic.  You know lotsa things with the magic. “

“You’re beginnin’ to scare me.  You’re goin’ back in the can.  Besides, we don’t have enough around here to feed another mouth.  Least ways that’s what Mama says.”

She drops the doll.  The kerchief tightens around its neck as it jerks up and down.  “I’m havin’ trouble breathin’ down here.  Cain’t you hold me a little more gently?  I’m not fightin’.  It’s not like I’m even askin’ ya to take me to the can.  I can walk there.”

“I’m takin’ you back to make sure you’re in the trash where you belong.  I don’t trust you.  Doll’s don’t talk and you’re not magic, either.”

Both were silent until they reached the alley.  The girl spots the trash can and pauses, “Home again, home again … jiggedy jig.  Here you go.  Better luck next time.”

She grabs the doll by the leg.  As she holds him over her head to hurl him into the bin, he reaches down with his right arm, turns her head just a bit and kisses her right on the lips.

A puff of smoke … the smell of burning incense … rustling noises fill the alleyway.  A feeling of transformation hangs in the air as the doll swishes head-over-heels landing feet first in the trash can … an enigmatic smile’s fixed on its face.

In the alleyway, a girl turns and looks at the doll.  The doll standing in the trash can seems puzzled, looks down and notices that she’s the one in jeans, a checked shirt with a red kerchief around her neck.

The little girl on the sidewalk skips away as the doll yells, “Wait!  Wait!  You can’t do this to me!  I’ll tell my Mama!  I’ll tell my Mama!”

The voice in the trash can grows weaker as she turns the corner … headed back to the doorway.

She says to no one, “Sure beats the hell outta that trash can.”

Sperm ‘n Eggs

When you make a deposit at the bank, you’re expected to keep your genitals in your pants … most of the time.

But, that’s not required at a new bank in the area.

I’m not messing with you!  You won’t be arrested.  You‘re not gonna be the new poster boy replacing Weiner’s selfie on the Vice Squad’s wall.

And, you do get to make a deposit.

Plus, they service both men and women.  Equal opportunity … though the returns on deposit(s) may differ.

This bank’s “Seriously Absurd.”


I’m talking about Cryos International sperm bank.  They opened over a year ago in the University of Central Florida (UCF) neighborhood where they’re perfectly positioned to attract new depositors.

What?  You say a sperm bank’s in our area?  And it’s located close to a university filled with young-sex-crazed-always-in-need-of-money kids?

And they’re gonna pay these kids for deposits?

Yep … That’s what I said. Though I think they should also give their marketing staff bonuses for the relocation decision to be up-close-and-personal with their prime depositors.


Apparently Cryos’ success with sperm deposits has gone to their head and they’re now going after the egg market.  And, we ain’t talkin’ cage free, free range, happy, egg layin’ chickens, either.

We’re talking women.  Female eggs.  Hell, if you can freeze a guy’s sexy swimmers, you can sure as s**t freeze eggs.

Ted Williams’ kids had his effing head frozen back in 2002 at the Alcor Life Extension Foundation.  They dropped his noggin in a thermos-like contraption kept at -321 F.  Wonder how that worked out?


Back to Cryos … Based on a quality and quantity inspection at the time of their visit, men are paid $15-$100 per deposit.  Plus they give you a $20 gift card.

Big whoop!

Wait a minute … what if you’re the $15 kinda guy but your buddy gets $100?

Men have enough self-concept issues without being told, “Hey, man … go home and bulk up on protein shakes before your next deposit!”

The egg donors, women, are paid five grand per donation.

Say what?

Men get $15-$100 and women walk out with $5000?  Isn’t this unequal pay in the work place?

Sure the women have to do a minor “medical procedure” and the men get paid for doing what they all wanna do anyway.  Still, that’s quite a gap on the old pay scale.


I wonder … Do you have to bring your own magazine?

Just sayin’ …