Humor

Interior Monologue (Girl with Smart Phone)

By on Sep 25, 2016 in Humor, Poetry | Comments Off

Though it’s no mace, but cell phone in my hand, I’d like to favor you. But I’ve a slew of messages whose import countermand desires of my awestruck retinue who pass me with petitions on the street. Because of this, I claim the royal right to read my e-mail following a tweet to devotees while you keep me in sight. Indeed, not only are my hands not free, but texting makes it difficult to turn, acknowledging those holding doors for me. Thus, I can’t give the gratitude you yearn for who suppose a royal highness grants indulgence to her abject...

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Princess and the 21st Century Space-Age Mattress

By on Sep 25, 2016 in Fiction, Humor | Comments Off

Pete, my roommate, is a strikingly handsome guy; he’s tall, blonde, strong, jovial, and he’s equipped with what a girlfriend of mine once described as, “A face to die for.”  My girlfriend.  She said that about Pete, to me.  Thanks, honey. Pete’s got this problem, though.  Pete only dates crazy people.  I know what you’re thinking: “Women, am I right?”  No, you’re wrong.  I mean, wait, Pete dates women, yes, but not in the “all women are crazy” sense.  The women Pete finds are straight-up...

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Barbarian Soiree

By on Sep 11, 2016 in Fiction, Humor | Comments Off

“Blessed are those servants whom the master finds awake when he comes.” – Luke: 12:37    I text my girlfriend: “Maybe the menus are carved in stone.” A sophisticate in the waiting area talks on his cell, and gapes at a meat slab on a rotating spit. A teenage boy with jeans tighter than a court jester’s leggings detaches from his phone and snorts as a meat-bearer—they call these guys “gauchos”—passes him. Here at the bar, the carvings in the crown molding have all the refinement of a shore of bludgeoned seals. And that wainscoting? With the decorative edges?...

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Dear Mr. Shakespeare

By on May 10, 2015 in Fiction, Humor | Comments Off

Dear Mr. Shakespeare: Sir, some are convinced that your wisdom and creative genius are unsurpassed; others believe someone else is writing those so-called masterpieces that bear your name. To point 2 above, I say “Sir Francis Bacon? Christopher Marlowe?” To point 1, I say “Baloney!” I have waded through your most recent  bloodbath, Macbeth, which you recently proffered for publication. Having recovered from several nightmares about drowning in an ocean of blood, I am ready to respond. Since I can’t address every weakness in this lurid “historical”...

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The Truth About the Expulsion

By on Feb 23, 2015 in Cuttings, Fiction, Humor | Comments Off

An Address Delivered at the East Orange Women’s Conference First of all, I wanted to go. Adam was the one who wanted to stay. If it was up to him, we’d still be there, spending eternity in mind-numbing peace and tranquility, every day sunnier and cheerier than the previous. Sure, it was Paradise, but Paradise gets old real fast without any contrast. Besides, it wasn’t Paradise with a guy like Adam. Bloated with his First Man persona, he thought it was he and only he who should name all the creatures that walked on land and swam in the sea. And they were the most boring names....

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Choices

By on Jan 4, 2015 in Humor, Poetry | Comments Off

“…if poets (often lacking God, less often lacking cats)…” – Dan Chiasson I’ve often heard that politicians own dogs and we with creative natures tend towards cats, and I wonder why. Do politicians need clear emotions, eyes filled with slavish devotion or rage on the verge of attack, while we of poetic bent have become accustomed to the blank, disinterested...

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