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Commentary Uncategorized

Blame Trump? Blame Me.

I’m a big fan of the WordPress community and the creativity this outlet and the people here wring out of me–quickly written, spontaneously conceived and sloppily edited. There’s something about wise-assed rants I don’t bother to edit or even proofread that is liberating. I mean what I say, except when it is clear that I don’t, but saying it here is like whooping on a roller coaster.

Where the hell have I been, then, during a historical time of political insanity? Earlier explanations of my hit or miss–mostly miss, to be honest–have blamed the time taken to generate salable content, but the more I introspect the more I realize that I’ve allowed that fucker, Trump, to bully me out of here. I’m a political junkie. As self destructive as the habit is, I can’t help follow the news, processing every outrage. Too many of my days begin with perusing the news, wondering what the bastard has done now, and delving into the stories of the day despite the corrosive cumulative effect on my soul.

I’ve been telling myself its’ a willful thing, not wanting to slog through politics, but the truth is that I’ve been using my sagging mood as an excuse. I’ve not only stopped fighting (here, at least) but allowed the discouragement to avoid recreational creativity and cathartic bitching and moaning at the very moment I not only need it most, but which is more heavily laden with potential inspiration than any time in my adult life.

So that’s on me. I need to do better. Call me out on it if I don’t.

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I Am Sorry I Am So Lame

My last post read like an editorial in a high school newspaper, and for that I apologize. I mean to do better, but it is late, and I’m tired, and I’ve been concentrating on this damn novel at the expense of the poetry and wit you deserve. More retro clipart at http://www.clipartof.com/(caveat: I’ll get paid for the novel, but I get nothing for the blog and even less for poetry–however, if you want more and better original content just let me know and I’ll set up a kickstarter or something–I’m a better poet and a better cook than that potato salad guy).

Send me some money and I’ll make a totally badass pizza. From scratch. Heck, I’ll auction off one of these bad boys (I do a veggie, too, and a white pizza with fresh garlic, just picked from my back yard garden yesterday) and if it goes for over $1000 or equal to .50/mile I’ll deliver it in person, along with an age appropriate beverage. SAM_0490

Ahem, where was I? Anyway, back to the lame posts:  today was the final straw.  My freaking chair broke–it was an old, straight-backed wooden chair that needed some of the dowels replaced.  It was getting wobbly, and I didn’t glue it, and I’m a BIG guy.  One of the dowels broke and it all just came apart.  Now I’m sitting on the most uncomfortable chair in known space–and it’s worse than a lot of the stuff they have in unknown space, too. (trust me, I know.)

It is impossible to write anything interesting when your ass is numb except for the occasional shooting, stabbing, mauling pain as a battered and abused nerve manages to fire.  So that’s where I am–seriously thinking about bringing a lawn chair indoors until I can make it to the thrift store for another comfortable antique.

strays
What the hell?

Here’s a found picture to soften the blow.  That’s a lot of dogs–probably a missed opportunity for a trite jibe at Chinese restaurants.

But really, it’s a good pizza.  And no, I’m not drunk.  My ass just hurts.

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Commentary Photo I Like Uncategorized

Immigrants Always Taking, Taking, Taking….

or not.

http://www.shorpy.com/node/222?page=1
http://www.shorpy.com/node/222?page=1

 

http://thatdevilhistory.wordpress.com/2014/01/27/death-technology-and-the-rise-of-steel-why-workers-matter-in-american-history/
http://thatdevilhistory.wordpress.com/2014/01/27/death-technology-and-the-rise-of-steel-why-workers-matter-in-american-history/

 

http://www.100thbattalion.org/
http://www.100thbattalion.org/

060407_migrantWorkers

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My wife is a lazy liar

It’s just like this at my house…

smithdeville

It’s the last day of school for my lazy, lying wife. She says teachers still have to go to work, but that can’t be right. Teachers only work when the kids are at school. I wish she would come clean and admit she is not really a teacher.  School starts around 9:00 and dismisses at 3:45.  She leaves the house before seven each morning, and it’s only a fifteen or twenty minute drive to the “school” where she “teaches.” She comes home around six or six-thirty in the evening. Sometimes later. What is she doing with all the extra time?

6:57 a.m. and the bag lady leaves the house. Looking for an OTB parlor that opens early. 6:57 a.m. and the bag lady leaves the house. Looking for an OTB parlor that opens early.

When she gets home, I make sure dinner awaits the slacker. It’s a wonder she doesn’t demand I spoon-feed her. After dinner, she works on “lesson plans” and “grades papers.”  The way she describes…

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