Schulz meets Poe

I considered “Done to Death” as a title for this. Once I got the idea in my head though, I just had to write it out. It was fun….

Once upon All Hallows’ Eve, while I wandered — Oh, good grief,
Over many a neighbor’s yard till my feet are sore,
While my youthful strength was sapping, I again went tapping,
Snoopy dancing, I was rapping, rapping at the neighbor’s door,
“Trick or Treat,” I uttered, tapping at the neighbor’s door,
“Trick or Treat,” and nothing more.

Ah, crisply I recall it was in the autumn — fall,
October, now nearly all gone and sister Sally,
Eagerly she adds the tally, while I vainly dilly dally,
She bids me now to rally, rally to the next front door,
Where the demons, devils, wait in store,
“Trick or Treat,” we call once more.

And the demon’s eyes are seeking, through venetian blinds are peeking,
Hold me — Sold me a bill of goods I never bought before,
So that now I never wasted, sweets galore I never tasted,
‘Tis Charlie Brown Trick-or-Treating at your door,
Some block head Trick-or-Treating at your door,
I got a rock, and nothing more.

Then my patience grew much shorter, (Half hiding though behind Schroeder),
Got my costume back in order, And I marched back to the door,
“Sir,” I said, “I was hoping, that without your windows soaping,
Or TP strewn across your yard, One piece of candy. Is that so hard?”
A grin spread across his jaw, In the feeble light I heard and saw,
“Wah wah wah wah wah waaahhhh….”

Past the pumpkin patch we hurry, as our shadows flit and scurry,
There stands Linus and I worry, for he waits there all alone,
Waiting on some fabled gourd, standing there without a word,
No, not a word, not a sound, silently he stands his ground,
Till at last the squash arrives, from the field we see it rise,
Growing to an awesome size, joyfully, Linus cries,
“It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown!”

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Yelapa Charlie

I recently read about Charlie, a basset hound that has made Yelapa, Mexico his adopted home. [Or Yelapa has made Charlie their adopted ambassador, depending on how you look at it.] There is an interview with Charlie on his website. Here’s my favorite part:

Q:charlie, what’s your favorite color?
A:bikini.
Q:but that’s not a color, charlie!
A:mmm… where are you from??

Gravitas

We can’t see black holes
Only by their influence
deduce they exist

Extreme density
Gravity of wondering,
“Is this destiny?”

Event horizon:
not even light can escape
[nor, it seems, can love]

RRR: My Poetic License may be Revoked

Reduce, Reuse, Recycle.
This was originally posted on 27 January 2005

Since I’ve had poetry in mind the last couple days, I did a quick search and ran across this:

Haiku in English:
it’s cute when children do it;
stupid for grown-ups.

What i was really looking for though was my favorite limerick. I found several variations on it, but not who wrote it:

There once was a man from Japan
Whose limericks never would scan
When asked why it was
He answered because
I always try to fit everything into the last line that I possibly can.

While trying to find the poet to blame for that one I ran across these in a similar vein that are new to me:

This limerick’s too clever, I fear
And refers to itself (as you’ll hear)
With words twenty-nine
I’ve checked ‘em, it’s fine
But it means the last word isn’t

and

There once was a man from Peru
Whose limericks would end on line two

Just for grins, since I managed to post only CLEAN limericks, I’ll end with this little bit of slightly shady verse. I regret I don’t know who wrote this one either:

She offered her honor
He honored her offer
And all night long
He was on her and off her

FFF: Empassionate

Fred finished brushing his teeth and grinned goofily in the mirror. Then he splashed cold water on his face and patted it dry with a towel through which he took several long, slow breaths. He tried to quiet his mind but kept reliving the passion he had shared with Ginger that evening. It was so much more intense than he had thought possible after ten years of marriage.

He felt his pulse quicken as he remembered the tastes, the smells, the incredibly vibrant touch. He was getting hard again and it brought his attention to how sore he was. In a good way, he thought. He pressed the towel against his face again and worked on his breathing. Eventually the feeling of Ginger pressing against his body became more a sweet memory and less an urgent need. He needed to get some sleep, after all.

A final look in the mirror, a wink for luck, and he padded silently into the bedroom. In the dim light he could see her curves draped by the sheet. More than that, he felt her presence. He was inexorably connected to this woman, his lover, his wife. He knew every inch of her body, every lovable quirk, every mood, and every motion. He longed now to take her in his arms again.

He grinned again as she snored lightly, which she swore she didn’t do. Her chest rose and fell in a familiar pattern. Everything about her was familiar and comfortable. It was comfort as much as love that drew him to her now. He kissed her lightly before sliding into bed trying desperately not to wake her.

“I love you so much,” he whispered. And then he made a silent vow. She must never know about Ginger.

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Two Trebles

I [re]wrote recently about my search for treble entendres. [Double entendres are SO 20th century, after all.] In one of those quirks of synchronicity I read a story last week about an attractive young woman that worked in the financial market and got a promotion by accusing her boss of sexual impropriety. [I would link to the story, but I just spoiled it for you. Let me know if you still want to read it....]

So my comment was:

Figures!

And I like having thought of it so well that I am sharing it with you. It does work on three levels!

And then in another quirk of synchronicity I had a conversation with a friend who said,

“It’s like they say in real estate, ‘Location, location, location.’ It’s the same with sex.”

[I like the way she thinks!] And I asked her if I could use that in a post, because I think it works as a treble entendre too. I am hoping that a third example will come my way, but I have had precious little time to post anything this week and I have grown impatient waiting for it.

Publisher’s Clearing House

I’ve been thinking about trying to get something published — you know, in a place where they pay writers rather than just here in this blog and other sites that amount to little more than vanity presses (without the press, no less). That’s why the nature of my posts have been a little different lately. I haven’t submitted anything in years and I feel the need to stretch a bit.

NaNoWriMo is coming up and I’ve toyed with trying that. I’m not sure I have a novel in me — at least not one that I’m ready to write. I tend to prefer shorter forms. And NaNoWriMo is a big commitment — 50,000 words in 30 days. Would that suck up all my free time? And while I agree there is some value in writing a lot without taking the time to edit [editing can always be done later] I don’t think that’s the challenge I want just now.

I considered proposing a shorter variant: Nano-WriMo, but that would be confusing and the Nano prefix is a billionth. 50,000/1,000,000,000 reduces to less than one word. Hey, maybe that means you have to read 2,000 words for every one you write! No, that’s not the balance I’m looking for either. Kilo-WriMo could indicate writing 1,000 words and that would allow plenty of time in a month for editing. I think I’d rather have 1,000 really good words than 50,000 of slop. Plus, I like mysteries and Kilo-WriMo sounds a bit like Killer-WriMo.

Another idea I kicked around was a month of poetry writing, Rhymo-WriMo. That has a certain ring to it. But rhyming poetry seems to be passé these days [even though I still favor it]. As an added challenge, each day could be a different form — limerick, haiku, sonnet… hmmm, I suppose I should make sure there are 30 so I could have something different for every day of the month. That sounds like work, or research, or something.

I suppose I need to give this some more thought….

Vignette: The Lake Story

Note: The characters in this story use vulgar language. If you are easily offended, please enjoy something from my archives or come back next week. ~Tim

Fred grabbed a beer from the cooler. The temperature outside was well below freezing, but the beer still had to be ice-cold. “Serious business,” he said, “and you know this is true because fairly tales begin with, ‘Y’all ain’t gonna believe this shit.’” He paused for the laughs he expected that to draw and was not disappointed.

The men — Fred, his brother, two cousins, and three neighbors — huddled around a kerosene heater in Fred’s garage. A thick, blue haze filled the air that thickened even more as Fred lit a cigarette and took a long drag. “Serious business,” he repeated, “this was last summer down at the lake. It was so damn hot that week. We were making two beer runs a day and couldn’t keep enough ice.

“Anyway, we had the boat down there. The fishing was crap ’cause of the heat so we decided to go skiing. Now, I don’t ski, but I can drive that boat. So everyone else is taking turns and I just drive. Well, it gets to be Ginger’s turn. She gets shit-faced on one beer and must have had two or three already that day. But you know there’s no stopping her when she gets it into her head to do something.

“I’m surprised when she gets up on her second try. We just get going good and the fuckin’ handle breaks on the damn tow rope. Just like that.” He snapped his fingers for effect and looked around to make sure everyone was listening. They were.

“Well, she wipes out but not too bad. I figure we need to head back in, but Ginger’s out there bitchin’ that she didn’t get to finish her turn. So when I get close she grabs the rope again and she starts wrapping it around her hands like she’s gonna ski like that. I tell her, ‘Get in the boat,’ and she’s all, ‘I’m not done yet. Just drive the damn boat.’ I tell her again to get in the boat and she says, ‘Come on, you pussy. I wanna ski some more.’ You know how they say the last four words a redneck says before he dies are, ‘Hey y’all, watch this!’? Well, I’m pretty sure that Ginger’s last words are gonna be, ‘Come on, you pussy!’” This gets a good laugh too.

“So she’s out there with the rope wrapped five or six times around each hand and I gun the engine. O’course, right off she’s face down in the water and can’t let go of the rope. I cut the engine for a sec and then idle back to pick her up. She’s coughin’ and spittin’ like she swallowed ten gallons of lake and inhaled two more. Then she’s yellin’ at me like it’s all my fault… of course.” The men all nod in assent.

“But the best part is, when we get up close we can see that her bikini top got pulled clean off and she don’t know it yet. So I reach out to help her into the boat. I get her half-way out of the water and I guess she can tell that I’m lookin’ at her tits ’cause all of a sudden she lets go. She’s back in the lake, tryin’ to cover up and screamin’ for a towel. We laughed our asses off and we never did find that bikini top.” Fred downs the rest of his beer and looks around with a smirk. “But let me tell you… Ginger has nice tits!”

[Note: Learn more about Fred and Ginger here. ~Tim 6 Dec 2009]

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RRR: Seeking the Elusive Treble Entendre

Reduce, Reuse, Recycle.
The first two-thirds of this was originally posted on 18 February 2005.
But, there is trouble with trebles — this feels incomplete without a third part so I’ve added to it.

complex – noun: a group of repressed desires and memories that exerts a dominating influence upon the personality
complex – adjective, 2 : hard to separate, analyze, or solve
complex – noun, 1 : a whole made up of complicated or interrelated parts (a complex of university buildings)

Therefore, if you have repressed desires about a hard to analyze group of university buildings, you have a complex complex complex.

fob – transitive verb, archaic, DECIEVE, CHEAT
fob – noun, an ornament attached to a fob chain
fob off – transitive verb, 1: to put off with a trick, excuse, or inferior substitute
2: to pass or offer (something spurious) as genuine
3: to put aside

I took it off my keychain. It was a little plastic license plate I carried for three years. Because she gave it to me. Because we flirted a little. Because even though I knew we could never be, it was fun to pretend a little that maybe…. But it was chipped and faded. And it wasn’t really the one she gave me anyway. My keys were stolen so I bought one just like it. It seemed like a good idea at the time.

fool – 1 : a person lacking in judgment or prudence
fool – 2 a : a retainer formerly kept in great households to provide casual entertainment and commonly dressed in motley with cap, bells, and bauble b : one who is victimized or made to appear foolish : dupe
fool – 3 a : a harmlessly deranged person or one lacking in common powers of understanding b : one with a marked propensity or fondness for something [a dancing fool] [a fool for candy]

What kind of fool am I? [Yeah, um, this is what you call a rhetorical question....]

Definitions from Merriam-Webster Online

Crash

I have a morbid fascination with events that you can see coming yet cannot prevent. [Events which we don't see coming, which take us completely by surprise are a fascination too, but not in the same way.] Last Sunday afternoon while running my final errands for the weekend I suddenly realized the vehicles ahead of me were stopped and the laws of physics were insufficient for me to prevent a collision. [Yeah, that's exactly what went through my brain, I think.] The feeling couldn’t have lasted more than half a second or so.

On the plus side, everyone walked away with nothing worse than bruises. And I’ve always wondered what it’s like to have an airbag deploy in your face. Check that off my list of things to wonder about. And totaling a vehicle? Check that off my list of things to do before I die. [It wasn't really on my list before, but now I have both added it and crossed it off. That is, if I really had such a list, which I don't, that's what I would have done.]

I limped around for a few days with a bruised knee and I have some real pretty colors on the bruises from the shoulder harness and seat belt. And I, a life-long phone-o-phobe, have spent hours on the telephone this week with the insurance company, rental car company, towing company, auto auction company, and car dealer. As if going from 30mph to 0mph in an instant weren’t enough to shake me up! [And, boy was it ever.]

Now I have a new car [and this blog post, but I don't recommend crashing a vehicle as a way to get either] and I hardly notice the bruises any more. I wish I had a moral to this story to finish out this post, but alas it is just a story.