What I Want

What I Want

Soak in a hot tub
Oompa Loompas feeding me
chicken legs and cake

I sucked tea down my windpipe the other day and ever since then I have been coughing my guts out; I'm quite positive I have some sort of bog situation in my lungs. I also have a sore throat and a headache from coughing so much. What does this have to do with anything? Well, I feel oogey, and the only remedy is the above: a really lovely soak in a hot tub of water, with small orange dwarf humans wearing overalls feeding me the legs of chickens and some cake. I'm pretty sure it could be any kind of cake, but I would be especially happy if it was cup cakes. Then the little Oompa Loompas could more easily grasp the food they gingerly place in my coughing gullet. And I don't care if they see my boobs either.

The Jesus Milk Intervention

The Jesus Milk Intervention

They gave me whole milk

when I only wanted non

Jesus intervened

They have given me whole milk in my chai tea the last few times I have gone to Starbucks; my friend believes it is Jesus intervening on my behalf. Perhaps Jesus wants me to be more robust in my pantaloons area. Perhaps he thinks I will be more satisfied with more milk fat in my gullet. Honestly Jesus, it just tears up my stomach. So Jesus, instead of intervening with whole milk, why don't you intervene with some crispy new hundred dollar bills? Or the ability to write a best-selling novel in three weeks and get it sold in one? The power of consecutive perfect hair days and the Artist Formerly Known as Prince-like lyricism. Yes Jesus, start with those things. Forget the full fat dairy.

What I Need

What I Need

I need some ice cream

I need to be bionic

I need sweet-ass boots

These are some of the things I need. Two of these things I said to someone today. The last part about the boots, that's true, but I didn't say it aloud. Just imagine if I had all these things. I could run bionically fast in my sweet-ass boots while eating ice cream. I believe the ice cream would be strawberry. Bionic. Sweet ass. Strawberry.

The Plea

The Plea

Honor my presence

walk in a straight god damn line

when you cross the street

Have you ever seen people cross the street in a diagonal? Take their own sweet time? Straight up lollygag? Yes, I have too. And these people should be smote with a two-and-half ton car. All I ask is that people follow the crosswalk. Walk in a straight line. Don't talk to your mother in Virginia on your cell phone and dawdle in the middle of the street because she is trying to get the dog to say hello. Honor my presence in the world and pretend you have somewhere to be and you're late. Quickly, quickly, cross the street like you just saw the man of your dreams! And he's holding two ice cream cones! And a baby wombat! Named Josephine!

A Prayer

A Prayer

Dear Baby Jesus

please help me find my haikus

Inspiration: Gone

Sigh. What's wrong with me? Some how I fell off my haiku wagon and nothing seemed worth writing. Then the wagon rolled over my legs and they came off at the knee and I was left in the mud with only half legs that I couldn't walk on and it was really muddy, did I mention that part? And then this band of Victorian pick pocket children came along and took my money and taunted me about having only half legs and they also said that I was really dirty and that it would take many washings to get all that dirt and blood out of my clothes but since I didn't have any money I should just get used to laying around in my filthy clothing and perhaps find some sort of vocation where I didn't have to have feet. Or dignity. So then I thought I ought to write something and maybe they would all come back—the feet, the dignity, the haikus. Maybe they will. Maybe. They. Will.

Peter Jennings

Peter Jennings

If Peter Jennings

arose from the dead to anchor

I would kill Diane

I miss Peter Jennings like nobody's business. I watched the ABC World News religiously because of that man. He was such a gentleman while doling out the horrors of the day; Peter could tell me anything in that slight Canadian accent and I knew it would be okay. If some sort of zombie virus infected my beloved Peter and made him rise up, Diane should probably just retire. Right Diane? Right.

Ugly Hot Celebrities I Would Do

Ugly Hot Celebrities I Would Do

Buscemi, DaFoe

Liam, Joaquin, Tommy Lee

Mickey Rourke, Clinton

I enjoy the ugly hot man, they are usually the ones I pick to date. The pretty ones are assholes, but the ugly hot will work hard to keep your attention. They know they could be tossed aside at any moment for a better looking man. Yes, this is why I would do Mickey Rourke. And you know he would just talk dirty to you. Duuurty. Besides, I could just close my eyes and picture Mickey of the past. Oh Mickey, you were so very fine.

Robo Mule

Robo Mule

Strange headless body

knees angled forward and back

Where does carrot go?

On the interwebs the other day, I spied a video that shows a robotic "mule" made to carry stuff for the military. It is at the same time horrifying and jaunty, mesmerizing and wince inducing, grotesque and eliciting anthropomorphic love. It has sort of a mule face but no real head, and some little antennae attached to its frame that bop around like ears. I love you robo mule. I will always take care of you. I will buy you carrots that you cannot eat. I will load you up so you can carry my crap. I will watch your silly legs hippity hop along as we navigate rocky canyons and gulleys. I am sad you have no head.

Tell Me Do

Tell Me Do

Why will no one tell

when dedicated crusties

reside in my nose?

I do not understand this. Why do you let me sit and talk to you when it's obvious that I have crap in my nose? Tell me I have bats in the belfry. Also tell me when I have crap in my teeth. And when I have mascara on places other than my eyelashes. And when I have obvious flakes in my hair. And smutch on my face. And when my tags are sticking out. And when my belly is hanging over my belt loops. And when my gun is showing.

Sweater Heaven

Sweater Heaven

So soft, snuggly good

made of wee kitten faces

and chinchilla butts

I bought a sweater recently that is soft and white and feels like kitten and chinchilla parts were knitted together to make a wearable piece of heaven. Like Jesus was on the loom himself. Thank you Jesus, for my chinchilla butt sweater.

On the Oven

On the Oven

In one, with cheetah

In another, wrapped in boa

Bad hair with the cat

On the side of my tiny oven, I have a couple of photos. One is me and my brother posed with a highly drugged cheetah at the Wildlife Safari. I am about 11, and I have a short curly permanent, crooked teeth and a weight problem. The photo is phenomenal. You would beg me to see it if you knew it was a possibility. The other photo is quite recent, I think I mentioned it before, where I had a boa constrictor wrapped around my neck at the state fair. This one is also phenomenal, but because I look like a dark-haired Britney Spears. Totally. You want to come to my house now don't you?

The Liquid Crack Factor

The Liquid Crack Factor

Recyclable cup

all ready for delicious

liquid crack goodness

I have become addicted to Starbucks. It sneaked into my life, a quiet little habit that has become a mind-altering need. It made me buy a recyclable cup. It made me buy a pumpkin scone on more than one occasion. It has made me utter the words, "I would like to chew on that little bearded barista." The coffee juggernaut has rolled over me and my bank account and it doesn't care. And I will go back tomorrow.

The Pouf Pie Device

The Pouf Pie Device

Build silent machine

to deliver pie to mouth

Pouf! Deliciousness

Last week I had a "Pie Friday" with a friend. We had this insanely yummy blueberry cream cheese pie, and she said she wanted some sort of mechanism that would deliver pie to her mouth while she laid upon the couch. I said that perhaps I could construct a machine like the one in Poe's The Pit and the Pendulum that would drop pie off on every sweep. She said it had to be silent, stirring no air currents and not distracting her eye in any way. Since I am not a pie wizard, nor an engineering master capable of building silent machinery, the pouf pie device will have to wait.

Cheer Elder

Cheer Elder

The rhinestones sparkled

She smoothed it with wrinkled hands

short shorts for old legs

In the gym the other night, I found an older women in the locker room hanging some sort of fabulous blue bedazzled two-piece number on a hanger. It seemed like a cheer-leading outfit for the older set and I have no idea why she had this thing in the locker room. Did she wear it to work out in? Does she carry this outfit around all the time, hoping she'll be spotted by a company that hires the elderly to lead motivational cheers for the incontinent? Before I had a chance to ask her why she possessed such wondrous garb, she walked out, taking the sparkling magic with her. I wait for her return.

A List of my Favorite Words Beginning with the Letter H

A List of my Favorite Words Beginning with the Letter H

Hydra, helix, hex

harpy, herpetology

Hobgoblin, hyrax

Hmm, yet again my favorite words are on the creepy and weird side. Gotta love it.

Pet Names = Owl Doom

Pet Names = Owl Doom

Hello pumpkin pie

Mad scientist's phone number?

But I like the owls...

Today I was calling someone cutsie names like pumpkin pie and sweet pea. They did not like it. They said they were going to get neon-eyed owls with razor claws and put them outside my window at night. Why would you say that to someone who was calling you cookie face? Now I have to get some owl traps and anti-owl spray and an owl gun. And mice, so many mice.

Helen Gurley Brown's Baby is a Liar

Helen Gurley Brown's Baby is a Liar

Cosmo lied to me

promising some instruction

showing hot sex moves

I bought a Cosmo magazine because it had some headlines on the cover that promised enlightening information that I could use in my pursuit of guaranteed orgasms and love moves that turn him to mush. Well I have to tell you that these headlines were bogus, the articles had nothing to do with what was printed on the cover. Seriously, I looked at the headlines and then at the table of contents, then at the article and nothing made sense. I still can't guarantee an orgasm, nor do I have a dozen moves that will make a man my love slave. I should have just bought the handcuffs instead.

Welcome to My World

Welcome to My World

In world of welcomes

muffin supercedes wagon

And fruit can suck it

Does this need an explanation? No, no it does not.

The Advice

The Advice

"Dress complicated,

not like a potato sack."

Advice from a man

Before I went out on a date, I asked a dude friend how I should dress. I said that I might just wear what I was wearing at work, because it was cute and comfy. He was not impressed with this comment, and said that I should dress sexy and complicated, not like a burlap bag around a bunch of potatoes. Not that I was shaped like a bag of potatoes. Why would a man want something complicated? I talked to a lady friend who asked well what does he mean sexy and complicated, like from the 1880s? When ladies had to wear corsets and those button up shoes? Then I drifted to thoughts of bustles and petticoats, and how a gentleman should always bring a button hook on a date and keep it right next to his handkerchief. And his chloroform.

Just Peachy

Just Peachy

The amazon danced

bruised, like manhandled fruit

angry on a stage

I know someone who went to a strip club and pissed off one of the dancers because he didn't tip fast enough. He said she was well over six feet tall and had bruises all over; I think I asked why she was bruised and he gave me an answer, but I don't remember what he said. All I can see is a very angry peach on a stage. A very angry dancing peach.

Dentist Gang Universe

Dentist Gang Universe

They stalk through the streets
Tiny mirrors peek in maws
spying our terror

In another universe, there are dentist gangs that roam the streets with their picks and mirrors, seeking patients and causing terror. They are like the gangs in Westside Story, snapping their way through the avenues and boulevards, dancing in tennis shoes from the 60s, spinning dental chairs around and pointing those strange space ship-like lights at people's mouths. I am so glad that I do not live in this universe. Dentists should be kept in small spaces away from the general public, preferrably in chains and cages. Although I guess I wouldn't mind seeing them dance.

The Girl Moment

The Girl Moment

My eyes passed water
For what reason? you may ask
Total girl moment

Today I teared up. It just welled up and spilled over. It doesn't happen a lot, especially at work, but on occasion the demons of being a woman come out through the vitreous humour. Strange how this happens. I am positive this must happen to men, but they would never tell. They probably cry about having a bad car day, balding scalps and shrinking penises. Do penises shrink? Frankly I would cry over a shrinking penis as a woman too; that totally qualifies as a girl moment for both men and women.

Timer's Hat

Timer's Hat

Time for Timer's hat

Wiggly legs behind mower

brought back childhood days

On the way to work this morning, there was a man mowing a lawn wearing a hat that looked just like the one that Timer wore in his classic "Hanker for a Hunk of Cheese." The hat was enormous! Conical! Flappy! It was magical and it made me happy. I sang about wagon wheels all day.

Just in Case

Just in Case

Homeless currency

hobo emergency bags

roving bums paid off

I have several bags of cans in my trunk. I keep them there in case I am attacked by roving bands of errant hobos. I figure I can buy my way out of a kidnapping, some sort of bum gang beat in, or a sad clown hobo sex scandal. I don't know why I would be involved in a sad clown hobo sex scandal, but I got payment in aluminum. Just in case.

Do You Know the Muffin Man?

Do You Know the Muffin Man?

He pumps around track

All sinew that needs slow cook

to make flavor pop

There's an older dude that walks around the park across the street from my work everyday at a furious pace. He sometimes walks with hand weights pumping his biceps, but he always walks without a shirt. Normally I would say older dude, put thy shirt back on (See: The Old and the Shirtless) but this guy has earned the right to show off his pectorals in the late summer heat. The man is nothing but muscle and sinewy goodness. One day I asked my co-worker, "Does this guy have a name?" She answered, "I call him muffin." Oh yes, I know the muffin man.

Nicolas Cage

Nicolas Cage

His dopey horse face

holds two ice blue marble eyes

that I wish to smash

What's with Nicolas Cage anyway? He's been in some great things, things that I truly love like Raising Arizona and Con Air (yes, I like Con Air), but then most of the rest of the time I just wish to slap his face and tell him to snap out of it. No, no more strange mini toupees Nicolas, just follow Bruce Willis's example and cut that shite off. Quit trying to grow out what you have because it doesn't work; long and stringy isn't sexy. Plus with your face it looks like a mane.