My father used to
say that
back in his old
neighborhood
no one was ever
known to lock
their front door
at night.
***
We never thought twice about it. He’d say.
***
At least, that is,
until that
fateful morning,
when the whole
neighborhood
woke to find that,
as they had slept,
ALL
of their front doors
had run away.
.
.
How
can the
moon be
full,
it barely
eats.
my favorite
brand of
toothpaste is
Rembrandt
toothpaste,
because it
keeps my teeth
looking
dark and moody
with
occasional
high-lights
of gold.
I remember when
my great grandmother
came to visit us
from the Old Country.
***
It was my nana’s
first trip abroad, and
her first trip anywhere
on her own.
***
My great grandfather
had died a year earlier
at the grand old age of
one hundred & nine,
when he was accidentally
crushed to death by
his own hat.
***
Fortunately for my nana
they had managed to save
a small fortune.
***
My great grandfather
never trusted banks, so
he kept all of his money
hidden in his mattress,
& he kept his mattress
in a money-market
account, in the hopes
that one day,
God willing, they would
have accrued enough
interest to buy
themselves something
comfortable to sleep
on.
***
But now
my great grandmother
used that money
to travel to the states
to begin a life anew.
***
Problem:
Nana spoke not a
word of English,
and we, in turn, spoke
not a word of
Old Country.
***
Fortunately, my father
came up with a novel
solution, which came to
him after a night spent
watching Marx Brothers
films.
***
Like, Harpo Marx,
our nana could learn to
communicate with a
horn!
***
Problem: the only
horn we had was the
horn attached to my
father’s Cadillac.
***
This was solved by
moving my great grandmother
out of the back cottage
and into the garage.
***
And over time, she became
quite adept at communicating
with the car-horn.
***
What follows is a brief list of
what each car-honk meant.
***
One car honk: Can somebody bring old granny her tobacco?
Two car honks: Old granny is still waiting on her tobacco.
Three car honks: Did every-body forget about old granny?
Four car honks: Old granny is taking the caddy out to buy tobacco
***
Then came the holidays
and with relatives arriving
we knew we had to find a
better solution …
***
End of Part One
Honk-honk!
q.
Do you know
why
it’s so hard
to get a
professional
magician’s
license?
a.
Because
the test is
all trick
questions!!!
I do every-thing
by the book
and that book is
titled,
Oh no! I Fucked Things Up Again
ONE day,
long after I have
shaved my last shave,
someone may turn to
someone else, and say,
“I bet George is
spinning in his grave.”
***
And no doubt
they will hit that square
on the chin,
for what else is there to
do in a grave, but spin?
***
Still, who can
reasonably say, I thought,
for maybe that day,
my plan was to stay
completely still, and rot
***
That is why my friends
I come to-day to tout
that my grave is to be
automated,
so as to erase all doubt.
***
Just press the button
on my tomb-stone,
you’ll be happy you enquired.
And what’s best,
the button is free
to press!
No offense in my name
required.
***
AND finally then,
my friend,
for certain you will know,
for six feet
under-ground,
there I go!
Round and round and
round
***
Weeee!
I know I tend to
preach to the choir,
but, deep down,
what I really want,
is just for them
to sing to me.
If I
should
ever see a van
and it’s
a-rockin’
***
I promise you
to
never come
a-knockin’
***
unless,
of course,
it is my
car
the van’s
a-blockin’
Last night,
I was visited
by
the Angel of Food Cake!
***
Now exactly how this
angel got into my room
I do not know, as the door
was locked, but she
tapped a few times
on my forehead to wake
me up.
***
The angel was dressed
entirely in paper & string,
and in her grip she held a
flaming cake-stand, made
of the finest Bakelite.
***
I asked the angel if
she had come from
heaven to bring me
cake.
***
But the angel
just laughed,
and said,
“Like you need cake.”
***
I said,
“Aww, come on,
please, angel,
I’ll put on some coffee.
It’ll be great.”
***
And lo,
the angel presented me with a
large cake of orange hue,
which I instantly recognized.
***
“Wait, carrot cake?”
I said.
“I hate carrot cake.”
***
Parenthetically, dear readers,
Carrot cake is the worst.
***
It’s like,
when you were a kid and
your parents told you there
would be NO desert unless
you ate all vegetables on
your plate.
— So, you did —
only to discover, later,
that dessert, was
more vegetables!
***
But, in reply, the angel
only smiled, winked an eye,
and exited out my bed-room
window
***
The next morning,
I left the carrot cake in the
office break-room,
un-touched, and still on
the flaming cake stand.
***
A few minutes later
I heard someone say,
“Oh, cake!” And, then,
“Ew.”
***
I hear you brother.
t r e f o l o g y 