Saturday, June 7

Another Random Saturday

My wife's best friend moved away today. She lamented that she has no friends in town any more. It made me sad, because I haven't had a friend for 20 years or so. I'm not sure why. My 2 semi-lifelong bosom buddies and I drifted apart in our mid-twenties, and they have never been replaced. Oh, I have friendly people I know, and we know some personal details about each other. But there is no one over the last 2 decades that I can just call on the phone for help with a broken car, or watch football with every weekend, or plan a fishing trip, or go on combined family picnics. I'm not exactly sure why, but I'm reasonably sure the fault lies with me.

The difference is: my wife is a wonderful person who will have little difficulty finding another friend.

* * * * *

Another little piece of my youth was swallowed by history with Jim McKay's death. I was never a rabid sports fan, but he was a staple of television in my younger days. Who could forget "The thrill of victory, and the agony of defeat?" He WAS the Olympics, especially with the life changing 1972 Munich games, punctuated by his succinct and poignant coda "They're all gone." In an industry of testosterone, arrogance, and ego, he was a gentle man that made sports accessible to us non-jocks.

Goodbye, Jim. Everyone liked you, and that is rare.

* * * * *

Middle age is a capricious bitch. One day you are at the top of your game, the respected mentor. The next day you are the dismissed out-of-touch dork barraged by medical tests. It's aggravating in the extreme, but somehow the bitch gives you the resilience to ignore it all.

But she's still a bitch.

* * * * *

I love my new dog, Poppy. She occasionally succeeds in stealing a butter tub from the counter, or finds a stray remote control to chew, but she is sweet. She is affectionate, smart, and eager to please. She's learning, and LOVES Princessfisher and me. She's okay with Queenfisher. For once, the alpha female of the house is not the favorite.

That makes me laugh.

* * * * *

Shakira's "Hips Don't Lie" was on the jukebox, and it really really really really really really really sucks the vomit hose.

If you like modern R&B/Rap/Hip Hop/Dance to the exclusion of all else, you are either to young to appreciate music or you are a fucking retard.

* * * * *

Right now I am in the mood for a Cobb salad with bleu cheese that would barely fit in the trunk of my car.

Pay attention to your cravings, they usually mean something. Even the "bad" ones.

* * * * *

Fireworks stands will go up soon. Cannot wait. Bonus: July 4 is on a Friday this year. My house will be beer and barbecue and blowing shit up central. I will get to use the word "punk" around my teenage son and his friends about 47 times.

If you don't understand the dual definition, your Independence Day party is gonna suck.

* * * * *

Hillary finally gave up. Shutup feminists. The majority of us have no problem with a female president. It was her entitlement attitude, even before her run for president, that turned many of us off. If you truly believe the national persona/focus/spirit will fundamentally change with a female in the White House, you are hopelessly naive. Politics is politics. Different players, same chess game.

BTW, "Clinton" re-arranged is "nonclit."

* * * * *

Gardening in the Mojave is one of the biggest challenges I've ever faced. So far, I've failed miserably at my favorites: cut flowers, vegetables, herbs, and succulents. My daughter has expressed an interest. Given her femaleness and her mother's gifts, I have no doubt she'll do better.

She better grow some damn good Roma tomatoes to overcome my jealousy.

* * * * *

I guess that's it for now. Go Big Brown!

(And by extension, Fuck you, PETA!)

Monday, June 2

Kingfisher's Cultural Poker Hands

9 Best Hands
Lost child beats: Pregnant woman
Pregnant woman beats: Frail senior
Frail senior beats: Mentally impaired
Mentally impaired beats: Blind
Blind beats: Wheelchair
Wheelchair beats: Broken down car woman
Broken down car woman beats: Stray dog
Stray dog beats: Hitch hiker
Hitch hiker beats: Panhandler

Anything (a dead cockroach, for example) beats these 9
Winning season Little League coach
Humvee soccer mom
Discovery Channel know-it-all
Initials on tailored shirt cuff salesman
Obese bitch/bastard with handicapped plates
“Will work for…” parking lot sign guy
Sour grandma on power scooter
High speed lane changing motorcycle prick
Don’t-dare-look-at-my-obvious-implant-cleavage-presented-for-your-approval chick

Sunday, June 1


I was inspired to write something about this photo presented by Wordsmiths Unlimited in February. At the time, I was too busy, lazy, and tired to contribute. I had the idea for a prayer, which I now present much too late, much too short, much too contrived, and blasphemous in between.

This is a work of fiction. Copyright © 2008 Bolt, Ink.
All Rights Reserved.
No portion of this work may be copied, retransmitted,
reposted, duplicated, or otherwise used without
the express written approval of the author.

Prayer of Sacrilege

Mother Mary, Full of Grace
Hear my plea
I too am young in life and love
Am I ignored in my sighs?

Mother Mary, Full of Hope
See my tears
I too have no place to call home
Am I alone in my cries?

Mother Mary, Full of Truth
Feel my rage
I too am conceived without husband
Am I unworthy in Heavenly eyes?

Mother Mary Full of Lies
We are the same between our thighs