Throne of Solitude.

May 12, 2017

My waking hours consumed
Collection calls, stress, depression
No promising leads
Minute by agonizing minute
Uncertain about which way to go
Life at a dead end
Yet I still sit on my throne
My throne of solitude
Noisy farts in its porcelain chamber
I sit on my throne
For a brief excursion
Of a loud explosion
Of gas from my butt

The demise of Captain Kangaroo.

May 12, 2017

(Enter Captain Kangaroo. Moose is wearing armor.)

CAPTAIN KANGAROO: Hey, Moose, why are you wearing armor?

MOOSE: Why not?

CAPTAIN KANGAROO: Well, it’s a nice day outside, so you don’t need a coat or anything like that.

MOOSE: So what?

CAPTAIN KANGAROO: So if you wear something heavy then you’ll be hot. And being hot isn’t nice.

MOOSE: Well, I just wanted to try it on.


MOOSE: Oh, I don’t know. Say, would you like to read a poem for me?

CAPTAIN KANGAROO: Sure, I love to read poems.

MOOSE: Just read this. (produces paper)


“Hold down those cheers
Because those spheres
Have grown teeth
To make things neat!”

That doesn’t make sense.

MOOSE: It what?

CAPTAIN KANGAROO: I said, it doesn’t make sense.

MOOSE: Okay, guys.

(Ping pong balls with daggers fall on the Captain)

CAPTAIN KANGAROO: Well, I guess it makes sense in one way or another, but the message itself is perfectly clear. (Collapses. Moose laughs.)


Apologies to Captain Kangaroo

Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood And The Motorcycle Gang.

May 12, 2017

What if there was an episode of Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood in which a vicious motorcycle gang decides to drop by for a visit?

(Camera shows mini-diorama of street, littered and buildings spray-painted. Cut to Mr. Rogers’ house, untouched. Move camera to entrance. Enter Mr. Rogers, spray-painted and soaked by egg yolks. He sings his usual song, and then…)

MR. ROGERS: Hi, neighbor. I got attacked by some mean men. They wore black, and they drove noisy motorcycles. And then, one of them knocked over a garbage can and scattered the garbage all over the street. I hated them. And then, one of them came up to me and he said, “Won’t you be my neighbor?” I said yes, and then, that wimp picked up a trash can and socked me across the cheek. And then some other guys spray-painted me, and as I ran away, they threw eggs at me. I’m all right, kids, but this is something you should never do. (rock sails through window) Oh no, I’m surrounded. Let’s see what this note says: “Won’t you be my neighbor?” I sure will. Always be a good neighbor and never do stuff that is as bad as this. (Mr. McFeely flies through window) Mr. McFeely! Are you okay?

MR. MCFEELY: Yes, Mr. Rogers. My wife got away and is staying with Chef Brockett. Our house has been destroyed! I am very scared of those guys. I was making a speedy delivery to the puppet house, when those guys came to me. They pushed me around, and they even punched a hole in my hat!

MR. ROGERS: There’s only one thing left to do. Take the trolley!

MR. MCFEELY: But it’s too small!

MR. ROGERS: I can hang on to the back of the trolley and you can hang on to my feet.

MR. MCFEELY: But it’s not strong enough!

MR. ROGERS: Stop being pessimistic! Let’s make believe that we are safe in the Neighborhood of Make Believe! Let’s go, trolley!

(Trolley moves, screeching its wheels, dragging Mr. Rogers and Mr. McFeely through tunnel. In the Neighborhood of Make Believe, King Friday overlooks arrival of Mr. Rogers. Bridge collapses under Mr. Roger’s weight.)

KING FRIDAY: Are you all right?

MR. ROGERS: Yes. We are very safe here.

MR. MCFEELY: Mr. Rogers! I’m stuck!

QUEEN SARA TUESDAY: Somebody help Mr. McFeely!

(Mr. McFeely is stuck in tunnel. Mr. Rogers walks over to tunnel and tries to pull him free. Suddenly Mr. McFeely shoots out from the tunnel and gang members’ faces can be seen.)

MR. MCFEELY: They pushed me out! Get rid of them!

(Suddenly, King Friday is yanked down and whapped around and thrown aside. Queen Sara Tuesday screams and is yanked and thrown aside. Castle is torn down as gang members appear. Mr. Rogers screams.)

GANG MEMBER: Oh, scream, Mr. Wogers! We are the rulers here. Everyone is hostage.

(One member with axe chops down tree with Henrietta Pussycat and X the Owl’s houses on it, while another member destroy Lady Elaine Fairechilde’s Museum-Go-Round and attacks her. Gang member pulls her head off and throws it aside.)

MR. MCFEELY: Oh, no! I don’t like what they’re doing to us. They’re giving us a bad name.

MR. ROGERS: (hysterically) Let’s get out of here! Move on quickly! Let’s not waste any time! Go! HALLP!

HONCHO: Hey, man, what’s the rush? Say, won’t you be my neighbor?

MR. ROGERS: Sure! (Honcho punches Mr. Rogers) It’s a pleasure to have you as a neighbor. You’re destroying my shows, and we’re supposed to keep things neat and organized.

HONCHO: SHUT UP! (picks up Mr. Rogers and throws him through the wall)

(CUT to Mr. Roger’s room, now a disaster)

MR. ROGERS: Well, normally, you can take the trolley to the Neighborhood of Make Believe, but, I guess there are other ways to get there, too. Well, it’s such a good feeling to know you’re alive… (sledgehammer flies through wall behind Mr. Rogers and knocks him down)


Apologies to Fred Rogers

Dr. Mike Nelson’s Journal.

May 12, 2017

One of my early writings from my high school years.

My white car, Government Issue Label #YS-7293, slid down the ramp of the truck, and I turned it down a dirt road. This road led towards an air force base that was in need of a special solution that would provide energy for an underwater rocket. I knew I was perfectly capable of succeeding in doing this because my white car is actually a laboratory with wheels. This puts me at an unfair advantage over some other guys who speed way above the speed limit.

As my car traveled down the road, I saw a few soldiers stand by the entrance to my home base, the Woodville Air Force Base, which is a subdivision of the National Government Security Division, or the NGSD. The soldiers saw my license plate, and my ID card, nodded and let me pass.

As I was going down the road, I rewound a cassette describing my mission, and listened to it again.

Dr. Nelson, your mission is to establish fuel to provide enough energy to force a rocket out of its launch pad underwater and yet retain the equalised force to push it into open space, and beyond the earth. Your fellow comrades should give you assistance upon your arrival at the base, but I know you are virtually self-sufficient. I wish you the best of luck, Dr. Nelson, and we hold you as the true American hero. Sincerely, Ronald Reagan, President of the United States.

Some soldiers halted me and asked me for identification. Again, I presented the card, and the soldiers guided me to a huge warehouse where the colonel was discussing plans about the rocket. He showed me the plans and then asked me to devise fuel for it.

I went to my car and opened the trunk, and then took a Hex crystal, and put it in its slot. Then the walls of the trunk protruded outwards to reveal a miniature laboratory. I then pulled out drawers containing chemicals and then figured out the appropriate chemical for fuel. My years of scientific experience told me that Ferrit Colmonite combined with Valtionium would provide power so forceful, it could push my car for kilometers and kilometers.

I took a tennis ball and punctured a hole in it, then I stuck a test tube with Ferrit Colmonite, and a very brittle tube containing the Valtionium, inside the ball. I told the scientists to stay 100 meters behind me, and I threw the ball high into the air. It was some time before it hit the ground. The force of impact broke the Valtionium tube, thus mixing the two chemicals together, and then, with a loud roar, the tennis ball shot up into the air, sailing up about 1 kilometer, before it fell back to earth again.

I told the scientists that there was only a small solution involved in the liftoff. The successful test led to Stage 2 of the tennis ball test.

I prepared the tennis ball again, but this time I put twice as much chemical components inside the ball. The set-up was the same, with the use of the brittle tube. I fastened a small, radio-activated explosive at the bottom of the tube and then I put the tennis ball in the 3-meter mark, the deep end of the pool. I dove in and then put the ball under a net so the ball would not float back up to the surface.

After I dried myself off, I then took the remote control and then I asked all scientists to stay away from the pool. I pressed the button, and the explosive burst, puncturing the Valtionium and the two chemicals mixed together. Seconds later, we saw the ball fly up from the pool into the air, where it was never seen by any of us again.

The successful testing led to the creation of the UWM-TP1 missile.

The Salesman.

May 11, 2017

SCENE – Store.

BOSS: Now, Bud, wiser men prosper –

BUD: No, Miller Light men prosper most.

BOSS: Huh?

BUD: What?

(Enter 2 customers)

BOSS: Forget it. Here are your customers.

BUD: Oh – (walks up to customers) Can I help you?

CUSTOMER ONE: I’d like to buy a pair of jeans for him. (points to Customer Two) My son.

BUD: Okay, step this way. I recommend Levi’s jeans. They’re made in the U.S.A., and –

CUSTOMER ONE: So what! Let’s buy these Swapaki jeans. They’re cheaper, too. Size 34, please.

BUD: No! Buy Levi’s. Did you know that those Swapaki jeans are Japanese jeans?

CUSTOMER ONE: They are! Well, let’s get ’em. Size 34.

BUD: When you fart in those jeans, people hear a loud “Skrappafftabbubbulbb!” and that’s embarrassing.

CUSTOMER ONE: No, we’ll take the Japanese jeans anyway.

BUD: And – And those jeans will blow up upon being stretched!

CUSTOMER ONE: Bull! Here, Son. Try these on.

(Customer Two takes the jeans and goes to dressing room at left. Door closes. Then, a loud “Skrappafftabbubbulbb” followed by a loud pop. Door opens, and Customer Two steps out with tattered jeans.)

CUSTOMER ONE: (sighs) Levi’s it is. Size 34.

BUD: Good choice! You’ll receive a 10% discount plus an additional 30% savings –


BUD: Heh? (pause) – Oh, and you’ll get a 40% deduction from your personal savings.

CUSTOMER ONE: Sure, sure.

BUD: (at cash register) That’ll be 29 dollars. (Customer One pays money) Thank you! (Exit customers) Well, another successful sale.

BOSS: Yes, but you must remember, Bud, wiser men prosper.

BUD: No, Miller Light men prosper most.

(BOSS and BUD exit at opposite ends of stage)


The Heckler.

May 11, 2017

SCENE – Dinner table. Mac and his wife seated. Mac is reading a newspaper.

MAC: (throws down paper) Darn!

WIFE: What’s wrong?

MAC: Tom Wilson is seeking office for mayor! He wants to sell this town to Metropolis!

WIFE: We do have a small town.

MAC: Yeah, even a toddler could jump over it in a single bound. Lissen, he’s going to give a speech tonight at the city hall. I’m thinking of throwing him out, so we can have Zachary Tipper back as a mayor with enough attitude to keep an old town the way it has been for 70 years. Nice, small, and independent. I gotta get ready to go.

WIFE: Well, okay. Just don’t get yourself in too much trouble.

SCENE – City hall. 30 citizens facing Wilson. Mac is in rear.

WILSON: People, I have raised over 10,000 dollars to help our community during the last 3 months.

MAC: That’s nothing. I can raise 25 dollars in 2 seconds.


MAC: By raising my wallet.

WILSON: Officers, keep an eye on the man in that back row. Thanks. (clears throat) Now, selling our town to Metropolis will create thousands of jobs that will blend our town in with the rest.

MAC: The rest of what? Of eternity?

WILSON: Shut up! (pause) Excuse me. But, I will have to raise a whopping 50 thousand dollars for this process to begin.

MAC: I don’t think you can.

WILSON: Now what’s wrong with that?

MAC: You’ll never find 50 thousand dollars that can whop.

WILSON: Officers, remove that man!

MAC: Stop! Mr. Wilson, you’re a nice guy.

WILSON: Huh? Well, uh –

MAC: You are popular and handsome.

WILSON: Gee, thanks!

MAC: You would make a thousand women follow you!

WILSON: Wow, thank you! That will do! You give nice comments, sir.

MAC: Enjoy them, my man, ’cause I ain’t lettin’ ya run for mayor! (charges up to stage)

SCENE – Breakfast table. Mac and wife. Mac reading newspaper.

WIFE: Why are you smiling?

MAC: Wilson has resigned, and good ol’ Tipper’s back as mayor.

WIFE: I’m proud of you, Mac. You really do have that town spirit.

MAC: Yeah, but one thing.

WIFE: What?

MAC: I don’t believe in ghosts.


Frustrated persistence.

May 11, 2017

on top of organized trust
of stale aroma
in a condemned hunger
they don’t understand musical strings
the silence of squishy excuses
they speak of fancy scum
it sounds like a obstructed administration
without black choices
of flowing silence

A pretty good computer joke.

May 11, 2017

From A Prairie Home Companion’s Pretty Good Joke of the Day:

Working with computers is like living in a submarine: everything’s fine until you open windows.

During the surgery.

May 10, 2017

Right now I’m in a waiting room at the hospital. It’s a nice small room with comfortable chairs, a TV and a computer with Internet access. Along the wall is a radio playing some soothing music. There’s also a rack with magazines to keep my mind occupied, but I’m more interested in the computer. I can browse the web, check out the latest headlines and get the weather forecast, just like at home. Oh yeah, and type this blog post.

On the wall across from where I’m sitting is another TV screen, but this one has a list of all the surgeries in progress. And there I am, in room 2. There’s nothing more to do but wait and hope everything goes well. In the meantime I look around the waiting room and see if there’s anything else I can do besides wait. Maybe one more trip to the Web to check my email.


I just heard a soft beep coming from the screen. I look up to see the newly updated list and to my delight, I can see they’re finally finished in Room 2. I also see a smiley face next to my name, which indicates the surgery was a success. I still don’t know why I was so nervous in the first place.

I float out of the waiting room and return to my body in the surgical recovery area.

Hesitant direction.

May 9, 2017

I spent the past week expanding my AutoIt poem generator script to include an array of 500 adjectives, 500 nouns and 100 various opening lines of poetry. This poem came from the first run of that script, the first of many to come.

sensing lame patience
my scented family
in a bittersweet steel
you sing about the rubbery stupidity
listening to the self-inflicted duplicates
they don’t understand underrated rescue
can you see the walking features
under the sworn sickness
listening to the dazed thunder