Fruitcake Times

   
   "Fruitcake Times"
   
   The late, great Johnny Carson used to say that there was only ONE fruitcake in the world, and that people kept re-sending it to other people, and that nobody ever actually ate it; furthermore, in Oliver Stone's movie Nixon, the President is heard calling G. Gordon Liddy a fruitcake, but I honor the man; however, am viewed as the fruitcake in my family.
   Anyway, my Grandma taught me to love the yummy Christmas combo of fruitcake, coffee, and cigarettes.  She was so much into sweets that one night, she ate two boxes of chocolate-covered cherries, imbibed two pots of coffee, and smoked three packs of cigarette--all in less than eight hours.
   The next morning--she told me that she had been very nervous.  And as a gunslinger smoker, sometimes having two smokes in each hand at the same time, every so often she'd develop a sore throat; next, spread Vicks VaporRub over her throat, wrap it in a towel, put a menthol (which is toxic to bacteria) cough drop in her mouth, and continue to smoke, but don't discount her, for she had talents.
   One night in her condo, I was walking to the bathroom in order to make an attempt to relieve my full bladder, for having Social Phobia--it ain't easy fella; then, I heard Grandma, with super-symmetrical aim, bull's eye her pee jar, filling it up with a furious-sounding urination.  Then, she lit up a Lucky.
   She would raise her hands to God, as did Moses do in times of war, asking for the Almighty to assist her elderly needs, and the Man Upstairs always came through; plus, she would always tell me to live by the Ten Commandments, though she gave me possibly some false testimony, informing me when I was a blossoming adolescent, that if I ever touched my private parts for pleasure; next, I would mess up the tube inside my pee pee.  
   I loved her so much, and my favorite times in life were playing Gin Rummy with her during the Midnight Hour, while we burned candles, drank coffee, and lit a few smokes--laughing, laughing, laughing . . . 

Tangerine Ascendancy (1)

   
   "Tangerine Ascendancy (1)"
   
   Blaine was not your garden-variety vegetation god; moreover, he was an organic vegetation god, grown without pugnacious pesticides; furthermore, with ALL the beauteous best of pure fabric from HOME--God; specifically, the Source, the Light, knowing--taking a bit of home's solace and sanctuary was putting the Holy Spirit within, a piece of Home; a piece of the Light, asking:  "Heart of Jesus--source of ALL consolation, may you enter?"
   He worked in produce; specifically, handled the Rainbow Chard; plus, made sure to eat his canned beets, as his was a testicular problem, entering through the urethra, yet stamina by a force unseen, and a little cranberry powder here and there.
   He lived in a box, though not boxed, and drove a moped with power pedals, yet was more than that of Homo-sapiens, but superior in his four-breasted mutation, though his last girlfriend had chewed off his small little nipples underneath, attempting to milk him, but he was no cat, yet had some wild and wily dog in him.
   He had a buddy named Swede--a tall, Nordic fellow from an invaded country, but immigrating politely, learning the Declaration and the individuality of man, morphing into a true American, without bringing his home flag, and he didn't like tacos.  But Blaine liked the taco in the Nacho Doritos shell, and produced smooth bowel evacuation after the faster of funky food, waiting for the Easter Bunny to lay some platypus eggs.  

Big Touble in Little China - Airport Kidnap Scene

Karate Kid Scene (1984) / Bananarama - Cruel Summer (HD 1080p)

Wackadoodle Dandy

   
   "Wackadoodle Dandy"
   
I came to the American South, riding on a spoon,
Turned the corner just in time to see Don Ameche be a star in the movie Cocoon.
My in-law is a robot, but I'm not mad;
However, she put me in the hospital twice, with Caesar Salad and Pesto Sauce gone bad.
My sibling ruthlessly rattles my cage constantly,
Though he eats bananas, doing so unapologetically,
And my Bio-Dad was a Nordic alligator needing plenty of Sun;
Plus, could bench near 300 and played college football, getting concussions for fun.
My Step-Dad is a Cowboy and drinks my laxative lotion,
Causing his poop to swirl down the toilet in a swirly motion;
Alas, it's all good--if you have a sense of jocular keen,
Not judging the wise/fool with a coyote's sense of lean.  

PS:  I married a Wookiee--
In her defense, she always shaved her mustache, and I still think she's cool.  

Yup, even Jesus loves the weird ones . . .  

Prayer To Saint Michael The Arch-Angel

   
   "Prayer To Saint Michael The Arch-Angel"
  
Saint Michael the Archangel, defend us in battle.  Be our protection against the wickedness and snares of the devil.  May God rebuke him, we humbly pray; and do thou, O Prince of the heavenly host, by the power of God, cast into hell Satan and all the evil spirits, who wander through the world seeking the ruin of souls.
In Christ's Name--Amen.  

Grackle Nation (7)--Holy Saturday

    
   "Grackle Nation (7)--Holy Saturday"
   
  They lack the Apocrypha and the Messianic obnoxiousness, challenging him to trust in his God, as he unmasked as might a wild dog eating vegetation and toxic waste, knowing what it's like being poisoned.  Slim Jim Grackle didn't care.  Wasn't involved.  Knew his last wife buttered the bread of betrayal, thinking her creamy spread was smooth, when fooling the mentality of masses, and yet he forgave, as he did everyone, further getting walked on, until they walked him out into the backwoods of Tennessee; therefore, they were truly happy for his exile, thinking him having erroneous ego, when they possessed a pungent passion for the celebration of life, without knowing they were monitored beyond the spying bravado of Intelligence Agencies.
   Slim Jim didn't mind.  Good old boy, petting the simplicity of Echo on his lawn chair, watching the Sun rise and unlock the doors to Heaven, him a head dropped, having lost a family they claimed was a catastrophe of his own making, yet he had kept it in his pants, knowing the sophistication of family espionage and egomania, while all a good old boy wants is the love of a Jimmy Carter, not shocked at what the government told him, but following his schedule, yet Reagan kicked Congress in the teeth, and he was celebrated, standing out, slicked back hair like Bob Barker, though not a Black Belt as was the game show host.
   Slim Jim Grackle wasn't a gambling man.  Didn't shoot shit with a pool stick, or compete against anyone, just a wandering Hebrew, nomadic in lonely spirit, like a prison his whole life, and still no visitors, not that he desired anyone, but a fruit basket would be nice, or a mint on his pillow in the morning; nonetheless, there was no use in silence, holding it inside making it less golden, for others do the underhanded action of communicative tunnel rats, rolling your reputation with double ply and not giving a damn about the forsaken.
   Well, the keys to the Kingdom were here, and he obnoxiously spit a load of tobacco juice in the grit of  gravel, not giving a damn, for as he was stoically told:   Everybody's gotta die, and we gonna hurry that purpose boy, assisting the Grim Reaper, unless you flee to even greater states of poverty--but he was too dumb to be depressed, and never running from a fight, but standing up like a Mahatma Madcap in country fashion, fueled by the unusual, as does destiny determine the deeds of every soul, already dead, his candle lit for a purpose, and some not to be understood, but to finally understand, calling out the cooters for beer cans spilled on his property, and getting a knuckle sandwich, not wearing his black eye with pride to screw an uncouth vaginal cavity loosed by the over lubrication of political propaganda, while he found angels in his mind, weeping at the bow-pointing travels of his last wife's wide hips hurting him for no other reason than to simply hurt him, and he had loved her bouncing buttocks, believing big butts to be a brilliant beauty, but you never know them, unless you eat their fruits, which are too toxic not to be deemed forbidden.  
   Echo waved her tail, and Mr. Grackle knew the Spring evolved into Summertime shine, and flight would he fancy onward, without the loving V of geese gelled together for flight's forever harmony.