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.

 

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”.

 

 

Advertisements

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?

 

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.

 

 

BlogCast: Tom’s Top 20 Countdown “2” Christmas: Song 1

 

Five Decembers ago on the 14th… I first learned of the Newtown, Connecticut, Sandy Hook Elementary School massacre. My heart immediately sank. I could only imagine the ghastly horrors experienced by the traumatized student body and staff… how they were forced to endure watching a mentally disturbed individual so callously and casually blow away 20 young children and 6 educators.

My thoughts then turned to the grieving survivors…of how the families and friends of these victims would be undergoing a mourning process, made even more unbearable because of the close proximity of Christmas… a holiday that is all about families and friends.

In the days to follow, with the crime scene tape still fluttering in death’s icy wind, I naively thought…

Newtown has got to be the very tragedy that’s sure to trigger an open, honest discussion about gun control… one, which will break down that wildly partisan, stone-hearted, stone-headed Republican stonewall. What Republican would not FIRST see this as America’s wake-up call and NEXT be as publicly and visibly moved… perhaps even to the point of fighting back their own tears… the same way President Barack Obama had had to do.

Death is tough enough to accept but that gets compounded a zillionfold when we consider how 20 of the victims were innocent school kids… children who had not yet lived long enough to have seen more than 6 or 7 lit candles on their birthday cakes… how they’d been denied all the good things life has to offer… growing up, discovering their innate talents, joining our workaday world, falling in love, marrying and watching their own kids growing up.

This Christmas morn, I dusted off my family photo album to leaf through its old-school, black construction paper pages… to fondly reminisce over two Christmases past… the very years when I, too, had been age 6 and 7. Yep, there was my all-caught-up-in-the-holiday-spirit, younger self… my ear to ear grins, eyes wide with wonderment. Yeah… those had been the cherished Christmas mornings that, within my memory, have lasted all my life. I could feel my present day face recreating those same smiles… but not for long.

My thoughts now turn to this morning… to Newtown’s surviving, still mourning parents… of how their own photo albums have wound up with missing of photos, empty black pages… and will continue to do so.

December 14, 2017 came and went without so much as even one whisper of the Sandy Hook massacre by the new, so-called prez. To these survivors he would not even be deadpanning or Tweeting one of his patent pending, insincere, robotic, braindead, “You are in our thoughts and prayers.”

Far worse… well… let’s now quote Nicole Hockley, whose 6-year-old son, Dylan, died at Sandy Hook Elementary School. From her Facebook post, which went viral… she justifiably lambastes Donald Trump…

 

“Not only did he ignore the five-year remembrance completely ― not even a single tweet ― he slapped us all in the face by having none other than NRA President Wayne LaPierre at his White House Christmas party that night. The appalling lack of humanity and decency has not gone unnoticed. While they ignorantly partied and remained uninformed on an issue that kills thousands of Americans every year, I was crying myself to sleep. While they got the chance to kiss their children goodnight, I kissed the urn holding my beautiful boy’s ashes.”

 

To be sure, the alleged prez has no need to fight off tears… for he has none to fight. True, his handler, White House press secretary Sarah Huckabee Sanders would likely spin this with her snotty, smarmy and sycophantic, Geeze what the hell is the big deal? What do ya want… blood? After all, this shooting incident did occur five long years ago.

To any such bullcrap, I’d counter…

 

“Oh yeah? Then how come I saw my eyes welling up this morning?”

 

During this new DC regime’s first year, we’ve seen even more massacres… to name two… Las Vegas and Texas… the latter one involving a church… A CHURCH FOR CHRIST’S SAKE! Yet, even mass murder’s blood stained, stained glass locales have yet to trigger that sorely needed, open, honest discussion about gun control… have failed to prod the infantile minded powers-that-be to take even the first baby steps towards keeping guns out of the hands of mentally unstable people… to cure American society of its gun sickness.

I realize my tough talk may’ve bummed some folks out this holiday morn. But… long sigh… any momentary depression I may’ve caused you would pale in comparison to the lifetime of grief and sorrow which the Sandy Hook massacre survivors will be forced to endure. If there are any doubters amongst my readers, just scroll up to re-read Nicole Hockley’s eloquently stated, spot-on words.

We must never forget there are countless survivors of countless other mass shootings, too. And what about those shootings that fly under the media radar because of what? Too few deaths? As if what? One person dying isn’t enough to warrant coverage? Folks, the day society becomes jaded to the point where every such death does not move us… well… long sigh… that is the death of said, sad society.

Getting back to the music… I fully and freely admit that my featured Top 20 Countdown “2” Christmas Song #1, Christmas In Heaven, is not the feel good music that will paint smiles on the faces of decent folks… but until indecent, NRA propped up politicians are cured of their sociopathy, corruption, avarice, lust for power and gun sickness… we really don’t have much to smile about… now do we?

 

Read related article HERE

 

An Open Letter To My Dear Deer Friends

 

Dear Jane and John Doe,

For starters, I am so sorry for needing to assign you made-up names. But… that’s because seven daybreaks ago there had been little time for formal introductions. And even had time permitted, there still is that language barrier between our species. After all, the two of you are majestic deer and I am merely human.

Why am I writing to you? Well, this open letter is to offer up my heartfelt apology for having frightened you off one week ago. Up till that moment, we had been able to coexist. But, in my defense, I did that in your own best interests. How so… you ask?

You see, the instant I threw open my patio window’s curtains that morning, I had to do a double-take. In spite of my having lived six plus decades in my lifelong hometown, I had never, before, seen a buck and doe paying me such an up close and personal visit… so calmly walking about my little corner of our neighborhood. Up till that moment, I had only seen you and your friends from afar… frolicking in that once-upon-a-time woodsy area right across that hazardous highway, which separates our home turfs.

And I do know you had a perfectly good reason for stopping by… namely… for too many decades, our formerly bucolic locale has been mutating into something more citified… changing too rapidly… and not for the better.

Perfect example… just this past spring, a tasteless, greed driven, environmental terrorist / land developer came to town. Obviously, he has never met a pristine natural habitat he didn’t want to sully… i.e., urbanize / pave over with wildly unaffordable, “luxury” condominiums, which are are butt ugly.

True, I don’t know for sure that we’re talking about an actual “he” here, but, that is a reasonable conclusion considering how I don’t believe womankind would be capable of / culpable for committing such a violation of Mother Nature.

As if evicting the deer population weren’t bad enough already, what makes his construction / destruction project even worse is it’s poorly chosen locale. Jane, John, I’m sure you’ve noticed how the two intersecting roads abutting this corner lot are elevated ten feet higher than the land itself.

Such a steep drop-off not only makes for an esthetically unpleasing view for both passersby looking in and eventual dwellers looking out their windows, but also makes for a potentially dangerous situation. Anyone with half a brain could’ve foreseen how, with the rooftops being at the same level as the roads… an out of control vehicle… oh… say… one spinning out on an icy patch of asphalt… could easily come crashing down… right through the roof… to maim and/or kill unsuspecting condo occupant(s).

And unbeknownst to most folks… who weren’t around back on 06/25/1968… is how a sudden, summertime cloudburst had left waste deep floodwater almost nowhere to go. Indeed, this particular parcel of woodsy land, likely from time immemorial, has proven itself instrumental in the drainage of such stormwater. This land, indeed, was what had limited 1968’s storm damage to my home’s basement.

So, I suppose I should feel a bit grateful that the condo builder, in question, hadn’t opted to truck in megatons of soil to raise the level of his land. Of course, keeping one’s own home dry probably won’t be a shared experience for those folks who eventually take up residence across the road from me.

Of course, who knows what the overall impact this newly paved over land might have on this drainage issue? And these concerns do exist even prior to our factoring in how rainstorms have been rapidly growing freakier… oft taking on biblical proportions. How global warming issues… the melting of our planet’s icecaps is causing rising water levels of our oceans and lakes… inclusive of Michigan’s Great Lakes.

This multitude of worries does raise many questions. Each and every time I take a gander at that local, ill-conceived condo project, I shake my head and ask myself…

How could our City Fathers have ever been so shortsighted to have green lighted the construction of these condos and destruction of an ecosystem?

True, I have absolutely no proof to back my suspicion, but…

Would it really surprise anyone if the mayor and councilpersons have recently come into some windfalls… now enjoy substantially larger, personal bank account balances?

But enough about me, Jane and John. I’ve only mentioned these issues to demonstrate to you, my dear deer friends, how humankind is harming itself, too… not to imply that one wrong would ever justify another.

Returning, now, to the morning I had chased you two away… I had fully realized that you’d been displaced by this ill-conceived condo project. In fact, while still remaining undetected while observing you, I could already hear the telltale racket of foremen barking out high decibel, yelled orders… backhoe and crane operators revving up their diesel engines… of carpenters carving up wood with their power saws and banging away at it with their hammers.

I had just about turned away to make my breakfast… just about left you two alone in your makeshift wilderness… when it suddenly dawned on me how this is deer mating season… how bucks like you, John, would be challenging every competing male who’d ever dare to woo over your mate. My immediate concern was that you might come charging in towards my house to attack, what, in reality, would’ve been your own image reflected in my patio window.

While I’d normally consider myself a welcoming person to creatures great and small… I had to prioritize your wellbeing… keep in mind how, were you to crash through all that glass, you could’ve easily become severely lacerated… might’ve even died from the severe injuries you’d sustain.

Not really knowing how the two of you would react I opted to risk it by cautiously sliding open my patio door. Well, you both did the rest… reacted to my just standing in the open doorway by taking that running leap over my next-door neighbor’s four foot high chainlink fence… btw… you two “totally rocked” with your gracefulness and athletic prowess.

Crisis averted? Nope, that’s likely only been postponed… that is… unless you, John, realize that, sometimes, it’ll be your own image getting reflected back to you in the windows of the homes you’re passing by… unless you can spread the word about this to the other bucks within your herd.

I’d also like to warn you, Jane and John, that not all humans will be as kind and considerate as I am. Indeed, in another Michigan community, Ann Arbor, many self-centered dwellers feel pissed off whenever deer visit their neighborhoods… have actually whined about this to their City Fathers. And these local politicians have been opting into a deadly solution… green lighting actual, within the city limits deer culls… i.e., the hiring of sharpshooters / hitmen to take you out.

Such small-minded humans deem deer as invaders of our territory… never once, even for one split second, realizing that it’s we humans, who are the invaders of deer territory.

It doesn’t need to ever be that way if humankind would stop chopping down, paving over and overdeveloping (y)our forests and wetlands. Regrettably, that MO is ubiquitous… proven out by my own hometown’s crazy condo project… one that has negatively impacted both the deer and human communities.

Jane and John Doe, I do hope we now better understand each other and that you, my dear deer friends, will accept my heartfelt apology for frightening you last week. Stay safe and stay alive!

Respectfully Yours,

CommonSenseTom

Ms. Dana Nessel’s Obvious Values and Immaculate Logic

To usher in a long overdue end to sexual harassment, abuse and assault… to not only clean up government but all of our workplaces… now more than ever, we need Ms. Nessel’s common sense, ethics driven, zero tolerance approach.

Hopefully, in the very near future, even more women will seek office at all levels of government. If all goes well, voters from my home state, Michigan, will appreciate Ms. Nessel’s obvious values and immaculate logic and elect her… most assuredly, she has my vote.