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Did you know…(Part 3: Mt. Rushmore)


…that if you pour a gallon of gasoline out onto Lincoln’s head, you will gain the ability to start any Lincoln Navigator with your mind?

…that if you cover George Washington’s face with peanut butter, it will transform into the face of George Washington Carver?

…that brushing an Angel feather across Roosevelt’s nose will cause every teddy bear in the world to sneeze simultaneously?

…that playing a Jefferson Airplane song while standing on Jefferson’s head will allow you access to the secret single airplane hangar located behind his forehead?

…that if you cover George Washington Carver’s face with cherry pie filling, it will transform back into the face of George Washington?

…that playing a Jefferson Starship song while standing on Jefferson’s head will allow you access to the sentient alien scout ship housed in his mouth?

…that burning the original U.S. flag atop Mt. Rushmore  will activate the Presidential Mega-Zords?


Did you know…(Part 2: Stonehenge)


…that dealing a hand of poker in Stonehenge will guarantee the dealer one (1) royal flush in every casino he ever visits?

…that being killed in Stonehenge while singing will cause you to reincarnate in the body of a former American Idol champion?

…that if a man achieves an erection while in Stonehenge he gains the ability to climax at will for the rest of his life?

…that five (5) Thalidomide Babies riding five (5) unicorns into Stonehenge will reboot the Earth?

…that Clay Aiken can often be found in Stonehenge singing requests for people to murder him?

…that burying the ashes of Gene Roddenberry in Stonehenge will turn all the triptychs into Guardians of Forever? (not a Star Trek fan? Look it up.)

…that five (5) Thalidomide Babies riding five (5) griffons into Stonehenge will reverse the direction of Earth’s rotation?

…that if a survivor of Hiroshima rides a pegasus into Stonehenge, then kills himself, Stonehenge will supply unlimited energy to the planet forever?

…that burying the frozen head of Walt Disney in Stonehenge will cause every nation’s capital to collapse into dust, and a Disney Magical Kingdom to rise from the rubble?

Did you know…(Part 1: Landmarks)


…that pushing the Leaning Tower of Pisa to lean the other direction will turn all the water in the oceans into Hawaiian Punch?

…that inserting the Eiffel Tower into the ground at the Terrestrial South Pole will awaken the army of Abominable Snowmen sleeping below the ice?

…that Old Faithful is really just the end of a tube that Satan farts into as a joke?

…that the Bermuda Triangle is the alternate entrance to Narnia?

…that the Roman Colosseum is the Hue Adjustment dial for the sky?

…that inserting the Washington Monument into the sands beneath the Great Sphinx of Giza will awaken the hordes of Behemoth Demon Scorpions, who serve as our only defense against the Abominable Snowmen?

…that the Grand Canyon is Earth’s vagina?


You don’t recognize me.  I can tell.  You see something that rings a bell, but no matter how hard you try, you can’t place it.  Only when you look beneath the surface, under the skin, will you start to put it together.  Let’s pull back the curtain together and take a look.  You just sit right there, and I’ll walk you through the process step by step.

Are the chains too tight?  Yes?  Good.

We can start with the smile.  Right now, seeing you trapped as you are, my smile is real.  But behind it, you can see a few others.  The nervous smile, the fake smile, the smile eager for acceptance, all the smiles that one wears to cover up the trembling lip that comes before the tears.  You and your kind forced me to wear it every day.  For over a decade I carried those fake smiles with me everywhere I went.  Not to protect me from the names you called me, or the taunting comments.  There is no protection from that.  But they hid my true reactions, and that saved me from the additional mocking that would have ensued.  And it denied you the pleasure of seeing me break.

Keep struggling if you want.  You’ll only hurt yourself, and I am fine with that.

Let’s look at the eyes next.  I know it’s hard to see them now, being cold and dark like they are.  But behind them, you can see there used to be ambition, and hope, and light.  Can you tell what kind of light?  Would you even know?  Of course you wouldn’t.  That light comes from kindness and compassion.  Your kind aren’t really known for that.  You’re better known for making people like me think that the person in the mirror is less than worthless.  That we’re too fat, or too skinny, or weak, or ugly, or awkward for you to waste your time on, regardless of the fact that you spent quite a lot of time focusing on us in order to do it.  You gambled on us being so distraught by your torture that we would believe there was something wrong with us, and not notice that you were doing it for no other reason than for the perverted fun of it.  And you were right.  We did.  For a while.

You’re sweating.  Are you figuring it out?  Are you realizing who I am?  I assume you are, considering how pale you just became.

Still, I saved the best for last.  Behind everything else, behind the smiles and the eyes and the years and the growing, look at the soul.

I said LOOK, you coward!

Look at the scar tissue.  Look at the missing pieces.  Look at the wreckage left behind from your “harmless fun.”  Sure, it’s still alive.  It still works.  But not the way it could.  Like the way a car never quite runs properly after surviving an accident. It’s crippled now.  You saw to that.  Every time you pushed us aside to get through the door first.  Every time you called our talents “gay” because you didn’t like them or share them.  Every time you insulted the best clothes we could afford because they weren’t as cool or expensive as yours, you stabbed us.  You stabbed into our souls.  We were singers and band members, actors and artists, readers and poets, gamers and fanboys, but it would never and could never be enough to buy us out of that Hell, because we were also the kind ones, which is why we could never be like you.  Cruel, selfish, and unkind.  At least, not back then.  See, these days we are all adults now, and since we learned back then what it was like to live with pain, fear, and derision every day we have a better appreciation for decency.  We also learned a few things about how to make people feel like they’d rather die than wake up in the morning and do it over again, and again, and again, and oh dear God please just let it stop for one moment, just one quiet moment of peace and happiness!

You’ve figured it out, haven’t you?  I know who you are.  You are the High and Mighty; the Jocks, the Style-makers, the Rich, and the Popular.  But what about me?  I am the rest of us.  I am the Outcasts; the Drama Club kids, the Choir Geeks, the Band Geeks, the Comic Book Nerds, the Goths, the Emo Kids, the Poor, and the Lonely.

You act like you never ruined our childhoods.  We have never forgotten.  You think you’ve done nothing wrong.  We do not forgive you.  You trapped us in Hell during our most vulnerable years, and We are finally free of you.  Between us?  A bonfire, burning with every painful word, every heartache, every dismissive look You tortured us with.

You are bound by chains and locks, and We have the key.

Come on and take it from us.

Bad Deodorant Scent Ideas

  • Mildewy Blast
  • Butt-Cheek Sweat
  • Cat
  • Vomit
  • Cat Vomit
  • Zesty Burp
  • Turpentine
  • Gasoline Musk
  • Yeasty Snatch
  • Melted Rubber
  • Babooshka Burst
  • Itchy Scab
  • Warm Sulfur
  • Douche

Something Missing

He sees all his friends, old acquaintances, even his family, navigating life like masterful downhill skiers.  Slicing between flags at blinding speeds, looking as calm as they would were they walking the grocery aisle.  But then he looks to himself and sees a one-armed man trying to juggle for the first time.  With axes.  Blindfolded.  And upside-down.  Nothing comes easily except gaining weight and procrastinating.  He doesn’t know why he can’t right himself on this river of existence.  But at the same time, he does.  Admitting to himself that he is lazy and unmotivated is not the hard part.  It is sadly easy.  What is difficult for him is fighting that truth.  It is easier to stagnate and be mad at the universe than it is to stand up and cut your way through the jungle between yourself and your ideal. But there is always something missing.

If he had a better job he would be happy enough to make changes.

If his job had a better schedule he could be more creatively productive.

If he had a girlfriend he would be confident enough to take the steps needed to grow.

If he had more money he could work less and use that time to work out.

If he had higher self-esteem he could maintain a relationship.

If he wasn’t this, he could be that.

If he was here, he could go there.

If one, then the other.

If up, then down.

If future, then present.


If he had motivation, he could write.  So he stood up, took a step, and he wrote this.

Short short story – 2/6/12



Mom painted the living room wall again. Of course she painted the entire room, but she always starts with that wall. She keeps coming up with reasons. Nicotine stains were getting bad, a new color will make the room look bigger, a new décor for the new millennium. Each time she does it, I watch her. It gets easier after the first wall. But I can see the pain in her face as she moves the roller up and down that side of the room. She pushes harder, adds an extra coat that she doesn’t need. It is because in her mind she still sees what was there before.  So do I.  But I’ve learned to control it.


We see Dad, sitting on the floor. The blood on the wall, almost dry, paints a trail from his head up to the six foot high smattering of holes in the wall, made by the household shotgun he used to keep in the hall closet. Self-defense, the police decided. Dad attacked her after she discovered obvious stains on their bed. The white stains were from him. The red stains were not. She defended herself and, at the same time, got her revenge.


I like the new wall color.

A short little story


He put down his binoculars and sighed. He knew for a fact, in his heart, that he could be happy with that woman for the rest of his life. The spark in her eyes, the flash of her smile, the flow of her body’s curves made up absolute beauty. She was all he ever wanted. In his own apartment complex, no less. All he had to do was walk downstairs, across the parking lot, and knock on her door. Then he would be happy, forever.

He thought about that for a while. What would he say? “Hi, I’m sorry to bother you, but I think you’re beautiful.” “This is going to sound odd, but would you like to go out to dinner?” “I’ve been watching you all day from my window. Are you busy tonight?” He thought about their date. He thought about after their date. He thought for a while. When he was done he grabbed his binoculars again and looked at his soon-to-be love.

She was clothing the curtains. There was a man in the apartment with her.

So he put away his binoculars and his lotion, threw away his tissues, and crawled  into bed, gathering the sheets around him.

It was alright. He’d fall in love again tomorrow.

The Last Winter

The key to eternal happiness was in the backyard.

When I was very young, my favorite spot in the backyard of my house was a tall, glorious tree, with deep green leaves and a thick climbable trunk.  Spring would see it call me to its higher branches and show me the world, it shaded me from the summer sun, and the autumn wind would help it shower me playfully with gold and red.  When winter would come it was my turn to help it.  I would gaze at it through the window, letting it know I missed our time together.  When the heavy snow weighed down its branches I would venture into the cold and shake the limbs I could reach, to relieve its burden if only a little.  It was the least I could do, really.

As I grew closer to being a teenager I saw more and more of the details that made the tree what it was.  The things you don’t notice when you’re too young.  I followed the sap up to the rifts in the bark where it issued from and marveled at the fact that trees wept.  Leaves would be blemished and incomplete, and I discovered that insects were feeding on my friend.  Dad told me it was the way of things, that a tree so large was glad to offer food and shelter to the bugs, the birds, and even the boys who would sit beneath it.  I even began to see the knots, the holes, the little nooks within the tree trunk.  It occurred to me that one could hide things in them.  Whatever you wanted to keep from the world around you, and have it be yours and only yours.  Put it there, in the tree, and nobody would ever find it.  I thought I could use them to hold my magic green penny, or the necklace I got from the girl in my spelling class whose name I couldn’t remember.  But it was clear to me even then; this tree was too important for those kinds of things.  When I was older, and had things truly of value, I would hide them here.  Not before.

I was 18 years old when I discovered the key to eternal happiness.  It was not the tree itself.  The tree held the key.  Like the young man I used to be, it kept its secrets inside the knots, the holes, the little nooks.  I looked inside them in the spring and saw the tiniest of glimmers.  A blue spark in one, a red glint in another.  So many colors in so many places.  I watched them grow, and in the summer they were glowing pulses of light that looked back into me as I gazed upon them in the shade.  Autumn saw them evolve into ethereal flames, as though the birds kept a spectrum of campfires within the tree.  My tree.  Every color imaginable burned brightly inside it.  Burned only for me.  Even the cold and winter snow could not douse them, and they continued to shine, with their heatless fires telling me that I would soon understand why they were here, waiting for me to divine their secrets.

To this day, I cannot explain how I came to learn the truth about the fires in the tree.  It was as though the knowledge simply grew within my mind as the flames grew in the tree.  Wandering out to my backyard in the summertime, shortly after my 22nd birthday, I went from one flame to another and, as though I had always known the truth, I recognized what each dancing light truly was.  Closest to the ground, nestled within the mossy bark, Patience glowed a soft amber.  Above it burned Motivation, the green haze looking for all the world like a ghostly emerald.  Each in turn showed me a different trait; Creativity, Passion, Empathy, Ambition, Wisdom, and even Humility.  All of them waiting patiently, so still and so close I could literally reach out and touch them.  I knew that with the slightest gesture I could pluck these fantastic gems from the trunk and branches, as if they were fruit, and take them into myself, to become the kind of man that so many people wish every day they could become.  I could be armed with all the characteristics that successful people take for granted, and use them to shape my life in any way I wished.  The key to eternal happiness was the sum of these mysterious, shimmering orbs.

And they wanted me to take them.

I will never really know why I waited.  Perhaps I didn’t want to give up my chance to live a carefree life for just a bit longer.  Perhaps I thought that with the fires waiting for me in the tree I could save them until I truly needed them.  Maybe I was scared to succeed in life, and leave the comfortable cocoon of mediocrity I had built around myself.  Regardless of the true reason, I trudged my way out to the backyard the morning after a heavy winter storm.  I was 30 years old, and still enjoyed knocking the weighty snow from the branches of my ever-present tree.  The morning was bitter, bringing that kind of cold you can never deflect.  It cuts through to your bones without caring how many layers you’ve put on.  When that monstrous wind reared up from the west, howling as though the sky itself despaired its fury, I was surprised, but still I knew what was going to happen moments before reality was shown.  It was the sheen of ice that gave it all away.  Every branch, every fencepost, house, mailbox, and car gave a mottled reflection of the streetlights and houselights around them.  The sun had not yet shone itself that day, but it was clear to see.  It had been an ice storm.  For the briefest of moments I looked down at my feet, at the holes my boots had punched in the shell that sat atop the snow.  Although the wind sounded like it was leaning in close and shouting directly into my ear alone, it could not drown out the sound of the impending disaster.  Like a gunshot, sharp and horrific, I heard the surrender of one of the largest limbs on the tallest tree in our neighborhood.  That tree was next door.

Moments expanded into years as I silently watched that massive arm, broken like the weakest of twigs, descend toward the tree, my tree, like a hammer swung by a malicious God.  It looked as though my friend were made of paper, toppling almost without resistance as the branch slammed down upon it, sending shards of their icy skins scattering to the ground.  I barely noticed the power lines pulling from their poles as the body of my tree, the oldest friend I had, crumpled to the snowy earth.  Every light on the block winked out in unison, and the true darkness of that winter morning took a vicious grip on my world.  I gazed across the yard, unable to bring myself to move, to run, to release the panic and disbelief of what I had just seen.  All I could do was stare, unblinking, at the key to eternal happiness, with all its various shades and hues, slowly growing dimmer in the dying tree.  Within what felt like a heartbeat and a lifetime at once, the flames had gone out, and I knew that I would never be able to shed the complacency that I had become so used to in my life.

I had arranged for the stump of that tree to be left untouched when the rest had been removed.  It would have felt too much like forgetting, if I had allowed it to be taken away completely.  The ice melted in time, and the snow began to retreat for another year.  Inch by inch the grass began to advance on the remnants of winter as it waged its battle for spring.  Before too long the nights became warmer, and the first buds began to appear on the surviving trees.  Darkness settled over a surprisingly mild evening when I walked to the back door and took a moment to look upon that tree stump, still unaccustomed to the look of the yard.  I could not believe it when I first saw it.  It was too early in the year for fireflies, yet there, across the yard, was the faintest of glows.  I almost feared opening the door, knowing that if I took even a step toward the tree stump I would be allowing my hopes to rise.  When I decided to go take a closer look, I realized I was already halfway across the lawn.  Kneeling down next to the stump, my eyes sparkled with the reflected light of a single, white flame.  It was not like the fires that burned before the last winter.  They had told me, somehow, that they were waiting for me, ready when I was.  But as this guttering flare sat nestled in the remains of the once magnificent tree, it told me, with utter clarity, that I was waiting for it, and that I had always been ready.  I asked myself what this flame represented, and the answer sprang forth like it had been inside me my entire life.

It was the key to never again making the mistake I had made.  To never settling for what I had.  To never allowing anyone or anything to decide the course of my life, other than myself.

It was a dream.

Classics Plus One Word

I Know Why the Rib Caged Bird Sings.

Catcher In the Rye Toast.

Moby Spotted Dick.

Slaughter-House Five Dollars.

A Tale of Two Inner Cities.

The Great Pumpkin Gatsby.

Citizen Kandy Kane.

Joey Lawrence of Arabia.

Gone With the Wind Breaker.

The Fairy Godfather.

Mary Cherry Poppins.

20,000 Justice Leagues Under the Sea.

It’s A Wonderful Half Life.

403 Forbidden Planet.