The Threat To MLK’s Dream (One Quick Limerick #037)

 

A shithole regime’s “prez”, with demented glee,
Boasts he’s the least racist guy, there’ll ever be???
But he’ll buttkiss KKK,
Let bad cops blow blacks away,
And scold pro sports protesters, who “take a knee”!

 

FYI… you can access archived limericks, poems, and lyrical parodies by clicking onto my poetry category.

 

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The Undotted Infinitesimal “i” and Uncrossed Teensy “t”?

 

It almost seems like just yesterday that I was a high school senior, settling back into the normal classroom routine following the Christmas break. That’s when just prior to my physics instructor beginning his lecture, he took me aside to inform me of my summons to the assistant principal’s office. The incredulity in his voice was both palpable and justifiable since I’d never given anyone any reason to peg me as a troublemaker.

At that point, my only option was to close my books, make my exit and walk “the final mile” through the now deserted hallways. Peering into the countless classrooms I was passing by, my mind flooded with envy. Why? Well, unlike my classmates, I was being denied my education.

My clear conscience notwithstanding, I was also keenly aware that that assistant principal… let’s refer to him by his initials, CC… was a school rulebook hard-liner. Which raised the big question…

Just which of HIS infinitesimal “i’s” had I undotted and which of HIS teensy “t’s” had I uncrossed?

Upon my arrival, I counted myself amongst the approximately one dozen students… all male… all standing in a semicircle before our judge, jury and executioner. That morning, the bug up CC’s ass turned out to be our long hairstyles, which were in direct violation of the school’s oppressive, grooming code. To paraphrase “Da Man’s” gruff, grunted out ultimatum to each of us… Either get a haircut or get the Hell out… and stay out!

From my side of “The Bench”, His Dishonor’s edict flipped off strict Federal and State statutes which, btw, explicitly state that attendance is MANDATORY for all school aged kids.

Well, the next morning, thanks to Mom’s barbering skills, I wound up passing CC’s inspection. He next handed me a re-admittance form. This required signatures from all six of my teachers… their acknowledgement that they were required to “award” me Fs for all incomplete assignments and/or missed tests.

Admittedly, how two of those six handled this signing “ceremony” certainly turned out to be priceless.

My cool physics teacher, Mr. S (who, btw, sported a much longer hairstyle than what I’d been expelled for) just glumly shook his head side to side while delivering his tongue-in-cheek “tsk tsks”. In guarded, hushed, more serious tones, he expressed both his disbelief and outrage that such a good student could’ve ever been treated so shoddily. When I lamented over how the previous school day’s “Fs” would mess up my GPA, with a conspiratorial smirk Mr. S informed me that I hadn’t gotten any Fs from him. He had had my classmates spend the entire hour quietly reading the next chapter in our textbook. He had also set up a chess board in his office where he had matched wits with anyone who had already read ahead.

My not-so-cool English teacher, Ms. D couldn’t wait for her golden opportunity to gleefully and publicly humiliate any of her students… especially longhaired “hippies”. Yep, I hadn’t even made it halfway to my assigned desk, when, with her stern “So-where-do-you-think-you’re-going-mister” glower… she goose-stepped over to block my path. Had I not first waived CC’s form before her very eyes, that gestapo officer-in-training could’ve easily snarled, “Papers Please!”

It wasn’t until the next day that several of my fellow, readmitted exiles told me how, on the very day of our suspension, our town’s barber had “conveniently” kept his clip joint open for biz well past his regular 5 p.m. closing time. Ah yes… corrupt, small town politics had apparently, heavily influenced CC’s ruling. You see, that barber also moonlighted as one of our school board members… and likely also moonlighted as an author whose self-serving, potentially wallet fattening verbiage had mutated much of our school’s grooming code.

The good news here… mere days later, Judge Damon Keith had ruled to strike down our school’s grooming code. You see, a fellow longhaired student (and friend of mine) had also recently faced down a similar expulsion. But, instead of knuckling under to CC’s BS, his parents… with an assist from the American Civil Liberties Union… had successfully argued that our entire school board and administrative staff did not have the legal right to deny an education to their son or anyone else.

On the upside… from that day forward, I regrew my hair until it reached waist length. And even on the occasions where I’ve opted for substantially shorter “dos”, I’ve always made damned sure my style would, in some way, remain in violation of CC’s code. Why? Just because that’s what freedom is all about. It also feels so good to get the last laugh. And, ever since my retirement, I’ve been free to maintain my mane in all of its lengthy splendor.

On the flipside… my long hair has flipped folks out in varying degrees. Must I point out the obvious… namely that the Y chromosome does permit such hair growth? Just who, beyond that local barber from out of my past, felt they had the right to countermand nature and restrict any man’s individuality? Why the hell should my personal grooming choices ever open me up to profiling… e.g…

  • One man, who couldn’t contain his intolerance, called me a “GD hippie!” Had he been packing heat, he’d have likely blown me away!
  • In an era where customer service within brick and mortar establishments is nearly non-existent, I’ve experienced retail managers and salesclerks first swooping down upon me like buzzards and next shadowing me. I’m almost tempted to (truthfully) claim, “Hey, buzz off! I’m not now… nor have I ever been… nor will I ever be a shoplifter”… but such reassurances would only make them more suspicious.
  • I recently dealt with an Urgent Care physician who, while removing three stitches from my thumb, asked me if I was a musician. True, I do play piano. But, mercifully, I choose not to do so before a captive audience.
  • This past summer, while seated on a park bench, a man mistook me for a homeless person and actually offered me money. Since I’m still solvent I rejected his donation, commended him for his attempt to extend a helping hand, encouraged him to remain philanthropic… BUT… in the same breath… offered my friendly reminder, “Don’t be too quick to judge the book by its cover”.

This would also be a good time to offer up yet another friendly reminder. It’s just as easy for folks to misjudge a well groomed person to be electable. Throughout human history, this has resulted in grotesquely, corrupt regimes headed by the well coiffed, fashionista fascists… such as Bashar al-Assad, Vladimir Putin and Donald Trump.

Of course some might point out how Donny’s “do” does appear a bit unkempt. Hmm… maybe we could coax CC out of retirement to expel him?

 

Stories of Loves Lost

Although nowhere near as dramatic as either author William Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet or singer / songwriter Daniel Fogelberg’s autobiographical Same Old Lang Syne, I do have my own, personal, love lost story to share.

In my case, my “Juliet’s” father had broken us up. His rationale? Not only were we both too young but I was also from the wrong side of the tracks… his belief being that his daughter could do much better than “lowly” me.

What had made this so much more emotionally painful for us… the star-crossed lovers… was how I was… and still am… a man of good character… all of which I had amply demonstrated by respecting her father’s wishes that I stop seeing his daughter.

But… truth be told… I never really got over my feelings for her… and to this very day, I do consider our love to have been mutual, genuine and true.

Interestingly enough, we did have a reunion of sorts when… on the sly… “Juliet” had phoned me on New Year’s Eve 1972. As we talked… just for a fleeting moment… I sensed we had both been tempted to follow our hearts… but… all we wound up doing is audibly sighing while wishing each other, “Happy New Year”. I can still hear the finality of that long, long ago night’s clicking sound in my handset’s earpiece.

Considering all of those similarities between my story of love lost and Daniel’s… his Christmas Eve reunion with Jill (the decades later revealed real name of his old flame) it’s easy to see how his song resonates so well with the perpetually lingering song in my heart. Whenever I’ve ever heard it… either played on the radio or over @YouTube… I’ve also heard my audible sighs… especially as saxophonist Michael Brecker plays the Auld Lang Syne coda.

A short addendum here… I’ve never actually wanted to add this particular Fogelberg track to my vast musical library… need I even say why?

But what I do want to add here is how Dan and Jill could’ve chosen a far better place to drink their “toast to innocence” than consuming a six pack of beer within her car. If he truly had strong, lingering feelings for her at all… or even if he hadn’t… he’d have never allowed her to drive home impaired.

And considering how many states here in America have recently legalized the recreational usage of weed, no one should allow anyone to ever drive home while in that altered state of consciousness, either.

Just to clarify, I’m not some goody two shoes who’s saying it’s wrong for you to put a good buzz on… what I am saying is don’t drive if you ARE buzzed. On this New Year’s Eve… and the same goes for any other time of the year… it is far better to figuratively crash at your party host’s home than actually crash while driving home drunk or stoned. If you cannot arrange to sleep it off there, rely on your designated driver or arrange to be picked up by an Uber driver or a cabbie.

You’ll have a far better chance of arriving home safe and sound… that is unless the cab which pulls up reeks of burning rope and the song playing in the cabbie’s earbuds is Harry Chapin’s Taxi

 

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2017’s Too Real News (One Quick Limerick #036)

 

Let us review 17’s real bad news,
Fake Prez taunts Un online, World War 3 brews,
For the worse, tax laws changed,
And 2 gun nuts, deranged,
Killed concert peeps, congregation in pews.

 

 

FYI… you can access archived limericks, poems, and lyrical parodies by clicking onto my poetry category.

If you’ve enjoyed this post, don’t forget to like, follow, share and comment… click onto this blog’s headline to access the “LIKE Button” and “Comment Box”.

 

 

Tweetstorms, Terrorism, Taxes & Testosterone

 

Being a big fan of alliteration, I could not help but notice all of the “T” words in which one can neatly compartmentalize this past year’s front page news… hence my above blog headline.

Indeed, we are just about ready to say, “Good-bye”… or more to the point… “Good riddance” to 2017… a lousy year that was all about unevolved, little boys trapped in grown men’s bodies… little boys behaving badly… very, Very, VERY BADLY!

While I never opted into parenthood… nonetheless… my fatherly nature is still thoroughly ingrained within my DNA. To be sure, every instinct within my being now tells me that the time is ripe for some much overdue Father – Son chats.

And in spite of these talks involving XY entities, I still invite and encourage everyone in possession of XX chromosomes to read on, as well.

 

Tweetstorms

 

Bad Boy Donny:

You have the uncanny knack of knowing the exact wrong thing to say at any given moment… and then ignorantly and undiplomatically Tweeting / uttering your inflammatory words. Most notably and worrisome is how you’ve been targeting the enemy of your own making… North Korea’s Kim Jong Un.

Are you even remotely aware of how much carnage your “fire and fury” Tweetstorms could unleash? How there’s the potential for other, mentally deranged “world leaders” getting into that “the more the merrier” and “let’s all pile on” mindset? Thermonuclear exchange reducing our entire world to a burnt out cinder and irradiated graveyard may be how you choose to partay… but… then again… is that not how all of you terrorists roll?

FYI, don’t expect anyone who winds up being a survivor to ever come staggering towards what’s left of DC. No well-wishers will be gathering around you just to stroke your massive ego… to thank you as you boast about your “historic,” “epic,” “tremendous,” “biggest ever,” nuclear holocaust (NOTE: Words in “” are Donny’s uttered faves). After all, it’d be tough to talk while one is puking from both the radiation sickness and the revulsion we feel for you.

The best way you could “Make America Great Again”… the only way you could serve and save our nation… indeed our entire world… would be to veg out in front of the TV and/or go golfing every last damned day, which remains in your term… and not run for reelection!

 

Terrorism

 

Bad Boy Mass Murderers:

If you ever believe the voice in your head is god’s… guess again. If his words are prodding you to kill people, rethink that NOW! Guys, we are taking about a Supreme Being… an entity that created an entire universe. Do you really, Really, REALLY SERIOUSLY believe such an omnipotent force would even need to stoop so low as to outsource the extinction of the human race to insignificant blobs such as you?

In other words, you are no longer needed. Why not… you ask? Well, that’s because we already have two terrorists who are far better equipped to kill off seven plus billion humans. Indeed, you can outsource that task to the professionals… Dotard Donny and Killer Kim.

On a more positive note, believe it or not, there just might be some hope for you rank amateurs. How so… you ask? Well, many of you DO dredge up your god to justify your maiming and murdering of the masses. If you could no longer do so, might you even feel remorse? Think about it.

If nothing else, first, wrap whatever is left of your warped minds around that preceding paragraph and then stand down.

 

Taxes

 

Bad Boy Wealthy Whiners:

To be clear here, I have nothing against prosperous businessmen who live the good life. What I do take exception to is how you ingrates don’t fully appreciate America, a nation where the entire financial system is totally rigged in your favor… where this system lavishes upon you a “too big to fail status”. You, the powerful, are permitted to totally F-up your dirty deals, tank out the global economy and then gleefully laugh your asses off when Uncle Sam… in the role of Robin Hood in reverse… bails you out by shaking down the powerless working poor.

I also take exception to how you’ve accumulated more bucks than you could ever spend in five lifetimes… yet, still refuse to pay even five pennies in taxes.

Wake up call… if, after taxes, you still can enjoy your outrageously opulent lifestyle… just pony up and shut up!

 

Testosterone

 

Bad Boy Politicians, Hollywood Bigwigs and Mass Media Types:

Wake up you vile little boys. Guess what? In reality, healthy interpersonal relationships DO NOT play out like hardcore porn videos… ones that, no doubt, insensitive creeps like you routinely fast forward just to drool over the “money shots”.

Guess what? The male appendage (let’s refer to it as “IT”) is not akin to some sort of key that, on your mere whim, will open every door. “IT” does not act as a magic wand that… upon dropping your drawers and wildly waving it about… will instantly cast a spell that’ll suddenly, somehow, make you irresistible to your targeted, soon-to-be traumatized victims.

Even in the straight, consensual context… from a purely anatomical perspective… “IT” is primarily designed to provide the male pleasure… not the female. In other words Bad Boys… that blows your magic wand theory.

Until you Bad Boys stop objectifying the people you meet… until you first establish genuine friendships that’ll last even if they don’t lead both of you to the bedroom… until you learn to respect humankind… especially womankind… just zip up and shut up!

 

End of Father – Son Chats? Not likely… we are talking about unevolved, little boys trapped in grown men’s bodies… little boys behaving badly… very, Very, VERY BADLY! And, regrettably, that’s a species that’s nowhere even close to becoming endangered.

 

 

Footprints in the Snow

Just before the ’17 winter solstice, I had set forth on one of my early a.m. power walks, which upon arrival at my favorite park, typically transitions into a more contemplative, leisurely stroll.

On this particular occasion, it soon became evident that while we homeowners do a good job clearing snow from the public walkways we’re responsible for, the DPW does not always shovel those they’re required to maintain.

Judging from the neglected, snow-covered condition of that park’s asphalt paths, I presumed that some austerity program adopted by our city fathers had either furloughed some of their snow removal crews or had assigned them to less frequent work-shifts.

Looking glumly at the sorry state of affairs, I soon found myself wishing I had worn my boots instead of athletic footwear. My options were now limited to two. Either walk gingerly to prevent snow from collecting inside my shoes or do an about face and head for home. Since I normally slow my pace in this setting, anyway, I figured I’d be OK with cautiously staying the course.

As I soldiered onward, all the sudden, I spotted a trail of fresh footprints, ahead. My lucky day! Executing a slight course change and matching the previous park visitor’s stride, I had found that third option. In other words, my following in the footsteps of an anonymous, out of sight trailblazer had saved the day.

It was afterwards, on the return home leg of my fitness walk that I sensed something much deeper than those actual footprints in the snow. True, my observations are hardly anything unique and groundbreaking. But, upon factoring in how, our increasingly “What’s in it for me, Me, ME” driven society needs an attitude readjustment in that regard, my following “deep” thoughts are worthy of mention. Let’s refer to them as…

 

A Refreshing Refresher Course

  • In humankind’s walk through life, we are following in the tried and true footsteps of others who came before us. It’s that intergenerational continuity from where we learn what worked for our forebearers and what didn’t. In other words, if we watch where we are / where they were going, they’ll save us from repeating their mistakes… and, if nothing else… that’s a great time saver.
  • It’s our slowing down, thinking on our feet and… when appropriate… accepting someone else’s fresh, course of action (e.g. our following those footprints) that can work wonders whenever we’re trying to work through some unanticipated, problematic situation.
  • More importantly, regardless of our “shoe size” / our station in life, at any given moment anyone with a good idea has equal footing.
  • We humans are helping one another even when we don’t realize it. And that says much about each individual’s importance. Of course, this doesn’t even take into account how much better life can get when we do consciously cooperate / work well with each other. Words such as “offering a helping hand” and “walking hand in hand” do come to mind… that latter phrase possibly even adding the dimension of love into the equation of life.
  • Seeing how the person who had walked in the snow before I had, wore a smaller shoe size, as I enlarged that original trail of footprints, I may’ve even made life easier for the next person to follow in my footsteps. And maybe, someday, some newly arriving person (with even bigger feet) will do the same!
  • It’s safe to say that the spirit of human kindness and cooperation can have a snowballing effect…and that improves the quality of everyone’s life.

 

In spite of how those footprints in the snow had helped me, I do know they best serve us as a metaphor. Were that not the case, with the arrival of the warmer months everything would soon melt away and we’d lose our way. We’d then have to depend on the next snowfall to regain our bearings (and with global warming snow days could become rare).

That means we must take great care to heed the wisdom of our past and present, actual, venerated trailblazers… many of them brilliant scientists, who are ignorantly ridiculed by the present DC regime. After all, it takes trailblazers to hurdle political speed-bumps and roadblocks… to help us stay the correct course upon humanity’s path to survival.

 

 

‘Twas Not Rachel, Bridgette or Carman

CommonSenseTom

Yesterday, I blogged about the robocalling robo-women, Rachel, Bridgette and Carmen… told how the persistence of these scammers… their flat out refusal to take my “no” for an answer… has ruined my life… has gotten me to the point where I actually dread answering my landline phone.

My true story, in this day’s post, points out why we must never permit these vile entities to sour our view of our world…

‘Twas in the waning days of December ‘15, when my phone rang. Glancing over at the clock… it was still well before 9 p.m…. so… the window of opportunity for more robocall abuse was still wide open. I had even considered letting my answering machine field the call… but…

Just before the fourth ring I picked up the handset… time seemed to freeze. Palpable was that moment of hesitation, both the caller’s and mine. Then I heard a female voice…

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