In the deafening silence of 12
I stare into the shiny anthracite eyes of midnight and wonder about
the pointlessness of it all;
the means to an end, the ying and yang of it all,  black splashes of time that seem to
ebb and flow
washing away the truths I once knew,
an innocence I once possessed,
a faith that now longs for the simplest of me,
the purity in this long begotten soul of mine
My harbour of solace and hope is now closed to a raging sea
I toss and turn, praying for some kind of rescue instead of praying for
mercy . . .
mercy, mercy me
Maybe the reality is that I am truly broken, maybe I’ll just anchor far away from the rocks on shore
but maybe I’ll just drift back and away, and away
wait until 12 turns to 3 for me,
all for the stygian likes of me
Maybe . . .

There is nothing funnier than a cat wearing red sox.
Oh, wait a minute.
There is . . .

This is pretty much self explanatory but funny nonetheless.
Illegal downloading is a problem these days.
Still trying to download an English Bull Terrier . . .

Is this cat's name Rocky?

And in closing a footnote to our wonderful government
(currently buried in 2ft of snow. cool, huh?)
((screw 'em, they deserve it))

Now please visit my MM blogging buds!

Moe
Morky
Dilligaf

When faced with a choice between Saints and Colts, I am obviously going with the Saints.
I have nothing to lose with this Super Bowl but I do pray that Archie, Eli and Peyton Manning
eat a big ass plate of crow after the game.
Paytoilet is a great quarterback, can't take that away from him, but I do hope he gets his clock cleaned early and often. (come on linebackers)
As far as Archie and his age old nepotistic tendencies regarding his sons?
Give me a freekin' break.
Will he ever stop pulling the corporate strings?
CBS will undoubtedly show many pics of the shithead man during the game.
If you do a shot of metamucil everytime they show Archie (which they will) you will shit for
10 years straight.
Better off to stick with the Cuervo Gold.

Go Saints!

Please obliterate the pretentious Manning masheen once and for all.
See you guys next week.
I am outta here!

Reading 'Carver' right now.
Please READ THIS.
You will spend 20 minutes of your life and thank me.
This is one of Carver's most amazing short stories.
Please take the time and read it.
The man was amazing.
Simply amazing . . .

I’m not sure how or exactly when it happened but I am obsessed with the TV show ‘Supernatural’.
If you like funky horror, blood, violence and humor this show is the perfect alchemy.
I blame my daughters Sarah and Jenna for teasing me with owning all 4 of the full season DVD’s.
Whenever one of them is watching an episode they know I will inevitably sit down and watch.
Yeah, I am a sucka.
If you’ve seen my Facebook you already know of my unbridled love for Dean (Jensen Ackles).
As a happy and fully functional heterosexual male, I feel odd and a bit freakish telling you that.
Yeah, I got a Dean ‘thang’ happening.
By ‘thang’ I mean nothing whatsoever sexually although shock was probably your initial reaction.
Hey, listen . . .
I wouldn’t rub his back down with lavender oil or suck on his toes for a squillion dollars.
Maybe 2.
I just happen to think the man is quintessentially cool.
And if there’s such a thing as reincarnation, please, Dear God, bring me back in his body.
The man does things for a pair of blue jeans that some women lust for.
My daughters will read this post, roll their eyes and say, “Dad’s lost it.”
I think of it like this:
Women will look at another woman and say, “Good God, she’s beautiful!”
As guys, we don’t bat an eye, do we?
If it’s a girlfriend or a wife we understand that she hasn’t turned lesbo, she’s just admiring awesome beauty.
But if a guy happens to comment about the looks of another man (as I have done here) most will give you that ‘gee, you’re really queer, huh?’ stare.
Kind of a double standard there, capice?
Dean Winchester is one fine looking man.
There.
I’ve said it.
And I still love my wife.
And breasts.
And nice bums.
And flat tummies.
Writer’s block can really suck sometimes.
Holy freekin' Moley.
Got salt?
It does a body good . . .

The Mexican TV Dinner from Hell!

"Being the poor, jobless, and hungry sap that I am,
I will often resort to eating things that I otherwise would not want to be eating.
Still, there is a point where I draw the line, and on this night, that point was most definitely reached.
It was 12pm and I was hungry.
After scouring the cupboards I found a package of Lipton fettuccini alfredo, but to my dismay we were out of milk, which was needed to make it. So I grabbed this TV dinner out of the back of the freezer.
I cooked it exactly as specified by the back of the box,
but still, this so-called dinner fell far short of my standards for an edible meal.
The first indication that this meal was to be a catastrophe was the fact that it was 98% fat free
(and by my guess, 98% not food)"
[how very right you are.]

"As you can see here, the finished product looked nothing like the well painted plastic food on the cover of the box.
The food is pushed around and cut up a bit from my initial attempt to consume the foul looking concoction.
After careful inspection though, I deemed the food to be unsafe for consumption."
[Unsafe? There's an understatement if ever I heard one.]

"The beans were the first item that I inspected.
Now, It is my understanding that refried beans are not supposed to be crunchy or brittle.
I don't know what Don Miguel is trying to pull here,
but these are obviously not refried beans like the ones on the cover of the box.
The directions said to stir the beans, but these did not stir; they crumbled."
[the beans look like Pepperidge Farm turkey stuffing!]

"The Spanish rice was probably the closest thing to food in the meal, but like the beans, it was totally dried out.
It was all clumped together as well. In fact, it was more of a rice cake than just plain rice.
Another thing I noticed was the fact that the rice on the box had diced peppers in it,
but there were none in my rice that I could find."
[Maybe you could use the rice cluster as a pendant?]

"The main entree was by far the scariest part of the dinner tray.
The so-called chicken enchiladas contained little if any chicken,
and were primarily filled with a strange mucous-like substance, which I was unable to identify.
The corn tortilla it was wrapped in was soggy on the bottom and crunchy on the top.
The cheese and sauce had mostly boiled into a hard mass around the edge of the container."
[Anatomy & Physiology 1 here I come!]

"And just what the fuck is this supposed to be?"
[No comment. Uhh, a nasty snail?]

"I certainly wasn't going to eat this crap, but still, I couldn't let it go to waste could I?
After all, there are plenty of starving children in Zimbabwe that would kill for a feast like this.
So, I did the next best thing to shipping it off to some third world country--- I fed it to my dog."
[Lucky doggie!]

"Now that's one happy pooch!"
[not so fast Mobius!]

Happy Malarky Monday folks!
Please visit 'teh Blogocracy' and make your Malarky Monday complete!

Moe (awesome!)
Morky (filthy and awesome!)
Dilligaf (filthy, awesome and always bloody outrageous!)

A guy comes into the store today and says,
"I want 4 packs of American Spirit Yellow."
We ring him up, take his money and say, "Would you like a bag?"
He says, "No thank you, I have gloves."
I have gloves?
More like you have a frozen mush of a cerebellum.
Jesus Krispies.
It must be the cold here in New England, huh? (7 degrees)
That would be like ordering at a drive-thru Burger King
and telling them, "I want to eat it here though, thanks."
A definite WTF moment.
Damn, I encounter far too many these days.
Maybe it's me.
Not!

He stares blindly out the window of another night
down on Bleeker Street, where nothing seem to change except a world gone mad.
He exists.
I exist.
I go to him, touch his shoulder feeling the quivering bone underneath my hand
but he doesn’t move, nobody is home it seems.
As I bend to kiss his forehead,
I think back to my childhood remembering the smell of him;
a rich elixir of leather, spice and a fatherly scent I could never quite put my finger on.
It was a smell of  total comfort and one of extreme familiarity.
His scent is different tonight; he smells clinical, preserved and abandoned.
He smells like a familiar stranger, an ancient decade of melancholy memories,
echoes of voices lost in an obsidian mist . . .

I sit there with him as we both blindly stare out the window, watching a world gone by
and we sigh,
we cry,
we say goodbye to the too many words left unspoken,
the things we once took for granted,
and the once welcome spaces where we no longer belong.
I take his frail and shaking hand and wonder (as I have thousands of times before)
how many more nights will he sit here all alone and stare?
And simply exist.
There is little left to say but with my father, somehow that’s okay.
Somehow, I know he understands.
He has taught me well.
He was never big on words anyway.
It will be very hard to forget the nights down on Bleeker Street and even harder to forget
the little man just sitting staring out the window . . .

Good doggie . . .
(now that's a trick to teach a dog!)

Bad doggie . . .
(when life gives you lemons, plant a flower and go on a canine diet!  Jesus Krispies!)

Good cat.
(Will somebody please give this totally awesome fatcat a can of  beer and a cigar?)
((I Love this cat! He's a furry-beer-bellied feline version of me!!!!!))

Bad LOL Cats . . . 
(could be Mafia-related)
((These guys mean business))

Move on and visit 'Teh Blogocracy'
The Godfather says so!

***

Moe

Morky

Dilligaf