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BY Davey H

11/01 Direct Link
Blurt me phase math November.
Wrench free of that haze:
it's a short month – remember?
With fewer than 31 days!

Slime to burn over a view grief,
grief we soon will bear.
Do ya care?

Well, October is done
Davey’s 9 days behind;
with no time for fun
and with more words to find
Of STUFF, yes, a TON
Let’s get it unconfined!

Indeed, bum to link of it, this was actually the day L took ill and entered the cash-hungry Medical Machine en route to a barrage of inconclusive tests.

No excuse for that with such unabashedly high-tech gadgetry.


11/02 Direct Link
Should doubt as to L’s stool incontinence have existed up to this point, none now did.
And the presence of that fancy, well designed hydraulic lift gave way to a sinking feeling that, even under optimal conditions and recovery progress, a wheelchair would be her method of locomotion from this time forward.

We almost always smelled shit when visiting.
It might not have come from L, but then again, many times it did.
Oh, so friendly staffers do help, but the avalanche of bills will be the true test of mettle.
The Medical Machine has no pity, expressed or implied
11/03 Direct Link

Another day, another bombing;
out in the fray, we should be calming.
As the NSA taps Angela's Merkel ring
The vultures will oh, so soon be circling,

And Rich, while not rich, is starting a venture.
For a while to beguile,
though life is a bitch,
he will need a large loan – an adventure!

Later, another financial talking head
indicated that “the 'secular' market
would experience a severe correction
in bonds, not stocks.”
Too friggin' bad, Goldilocks.

Chris, at extension 154, didn't care.
After all, he would have no skin in the game
– at least not in the foreseeable future.

11/04 Direct Link

As the pencil is pushed
The paper expands;
Oh, housefly, SHOOSH!
You don't fit my plans!

Yes, indeed, the flies still get in
With their shit eatin' greed
They are filthy as sin.

Digression:

When a buddy 'o mine
fell pell-mell down the stairs
It seems that he was alone;
He felt, shall we say, in pain without prayers
For he'd broken his collarbone!

Then we got a call
from his spouse down the hall
Who relayed this stunt of her man's;
She remarked with a frown:
“Yup, he damn sure fell down
and his hobbled-ness won't help our plans!”

11/05 Direct Link

Thinking a lot about L;
feeling helpless, so, oh, well.
She needs to muster up some kind of gumption
just to fit into the puzzle she created.
And her progress we have awaited.

Then back over to the hospital we had to go
As papers needed to be signed;
Ducking or dodging the proverbial flow
And one thousand words behind.

So is anyone watching this literal splotching
As Davey H struggles and flounces?
Indeed, his is botching
And certainly scotching
Each project off which he bounces.

Now L is okay in a gradual way
And we'll see her later today.

11/06 Direct Link

Tales Of Memorable Pissing Occasions, Part 1

Davey once did a thing that was not very nifty
Giving urine a fling from his car – going fifty!

The driver behind him
reacted with fright;
but didn't catch Davey
at the next traffic light!

So D emptied the bottle
The contents thus gone
Then tromped on the throttle
With full wipers on!

Here D will explain as it does come to pass:
“Hey, having to stop is a pain in the ass!”
As goes the pissing, so goes the swerve;
No time would be missing; the bottle does serve!

© Davey H

11/07 Direct Link

Off we go into the whiled screw ponder, swooshing bills out of the way.

A friend informed me once again,
that, “hey, it's capitalism, my friend.”
Hells bells, at least we still ARE friends.

Yet as Richard Wolff remarks in his stimulating book talk entitled “Naked Capitalism”:

“capitalism isn't working out very well for some of you – especially the young; for you, capitalism isn't delivering the goods.”

Well, Davey concurs with that assessment. But he has, for some time, been treading water pretty well. As he is fond to say, “It would be nice to play the game MY way.”

11/08 Direct Link

Davey willingly and arduously tussles in the game he wishes to play because he gets news one day that gives pause – hooray!

To that end, that gentle fellow who took robes
has been an inspiration;
tall and lanky with dangling earlobes,
he's won my staunch admiration!

When Davey heard
of K's robe taking
he thought, “how absurd!”
“These rules I am making!”

Then, after speaking with Tom,
from whom gossip purged,
a soothing balm of detail emerged:
It seemed that K had walked away
from the cutest babe on the planet;
renunciation? Yes, he say!
Wouldn't work – or can it?


11/09 Direct Link

Today is the day our Sweetie passed away, and she graced our lives for 5 years;
she hadn't taken the move up here, and this brought her lady to tears.

Hers was a remarkable story. Wandering as if lost, Sweetie had scrounged about the neighborhood subsisting on whatever scraps she could garner – say, for example, raiding bowls of cat food folks left out for strays.

At times she limped with a wanderlust waddle, as if lost. A persnickety homeowner noticed the path Sweetie had worn in the grass between his house and the next and put up a bitchin' fuss.

11/10 Direct Link

Within a year, I'll have you hear,
fair Sweetie moved in with us!
Now this was not an easy task;
in fact, 'twas a bit 'o fuss!

For starters, Sweetie was extremely people shy, looping around any object to escape her pursuer, irrespective of gentle speech or good intentions.

So clever tricks needed to be implemented in order to trap her for a trip to the vet.

Initially, folks got together and set up a doghouse behind the home that was, for all intents and purposes, abandoned. Sweetie had naturally gravitated to this property, staking it out as her territory.

11/11 Direct Link
Sweetie, continued:

Sweetie continued to bunk in the provided dog quarters each evening, only now with continued assistance in the form of donated meals from compassionate neighbors.

Her rounds continued, of course, but hopefully she wouldn't be pissing off the neat-nix as much.
We knew she had to be moved thereby, and time would be of the essence.

In due course, a creative solution presented: turn the doghouse toward the wall and place a crate next to it with her bedding and effects therein.

Voila! It worked. Sweetie lounged in her crate as the door was closed one Sunday morning.
11/12 Direct Link
The loaded canine crate was hefted into a trusty rusty pickup and Sweetie was trundled forthwith to the veterinarian’s quarters, where, much to all’s stunned surprise, Sweetie responded to her handlers “with a great deal of affection,”— quite the departure from the skittish coyote look-alike who, anytime people even feigned approaching her, did round-robins about the house where she camped.

She was taken into our small tribe's fold: two 2-leggers and a Chow mix ‘Goldenbear’ breed – the latter's moniker of which was a wholly original creation of the grate Davey H.

Sweetie would only stay with us a few years.
11/13 Direct Link
Yes, Sweetie graces our memories now and then, and sometimes the feeling is stronger;
but who could say of how or when
her life would certainly not have been
so terribly much longer?

Ultimately, it was thanks to compassionate care
of the venerable Tweeter
that Sweetie thrived
for that short time we had her,
despite that soccer ball-like growth on her side.

This bubble would eventually figure
in her demise,
though no autopsy was performed
to assure definitively conclusive diagnosis.

Her last night on the planet was horrific:
intermittent howling bouts of pain and distress.

She died in Tweeter’s arms.
11/14 Direct Link
Back to the present it will be;
no more sentimentality.

Now off to the dump, then to the bank;
in throat, a lump – old age to thank!
On my rump, seat dark and dank.
Then into town, through traffic thickly
it makes you frown
whilst looking down
as parking is mopped up QUICKLY.

Getting back to that DUMP thing, the polite term in these parts – as well, perhaps, as in many others – is “TRANSFER STATION.”

George Carlin would have a shitload ‘o fun with THAT one.

Yes, it’s where you TRANSFER your JUNK to someone else. They might treasure it.
11/15 Direct Link
Open road, and headed south
without a load and with closed mouth.
Not going south in the negative sense,
but rather for positive recompense!

Southward, yes, and forward, ho,
thanks, we guess, to the rooster’s crow!

Warmer temperatures do entice
and to be southbound would be nice,
but we’ve too much to do
in this hullabaloo
and are skating on thin ice!

But seriously now; today is Bokkler’s birthday,
and I telephoned salutations in due haste,
wishing to avoid the complications of yesteryear,
when I called him a day late and a holler short.

He was pissed. We verbally scuffled.
11/16 Direct Link
Don’t freak, antique – so soon a show;
where interests pique, we’ll have you know!
We’ll load you up, and off you go
to receive the spotlight, chimerical glow.

Indeed, we need to unload, big time.
Hells bells – if any exist – we certainly lack room
for L’s possessions,
and need to turn them over quickly.

Of course, our meager square footage serves as the utmost temporary of lodging for these effects: a couple of straw chairs, a reupholstered pink wing chair, a similarly bedecked old Victorian rocker, some frumpily green-painted tables, an odd Pfaff sewing machine and umpteen cups and mugs.
11/17 Direct Link
Both hands on wheel
for the purpose of steering,|
this ride is for real; the next stop we’re nearing!
Being a good little boy as I steadily drive,
then lapse into joy as we blithely arrive!

But prior to arrival, partially for survival, I took the stepson aside and confided that L had taken care of matters with a nest egg earmarked for him should death of the benefactor occur.

As beneficiary therefore, he stood to benefit.
After all, our system doesn’t run on kindness,
goodwill, or any other feel-good gruel;
only MONEY will trip its greedy trigger so cruel.
11/18 Direct Link
Running in the world of work, but not ruining,
I sought to complete operations, not shirk,
and get on with some much-needed pruning.
And as an aside, while not thus shirking,
I waxed a bit snide as things kept on working.

A soon-to-be order for tea;
shall we say a tea order?
Yes, the pleasure’s all mine
as I cross ‘oer the border.

Rolling past the place
where a toilet was free-cycle curb-sided,
a pause without grace
because, I confided
no shit on my face
though it had handled some,
’twas schlepped to our place
I felt like a bum.
11/19 Direct Link
Having missed out on scintillating discussions of JFK’s assassination and the many multifarious conspiracy theories encircling it, Davey walked in the morning chill and took pictures of the immediately apposite cemetery.
Quiet, indeed.
Note of intent: he planned to post such images on the Internet in some feel-good venue – perhaps in hopes of throwing ice water on the flames of pleasure seeking those HTML pages engendered.
So with the upcoming JFK anniversary, what would this have rendered but a macabre human fascination with death, for one thing, and not much else?

JFK chatter would matter; little else on the roster.
11/20 Direct Link
A stroll past the cemetery conjured memories of Leonard Price’s gripping essay entitled “To The Cemetery And Back”, which was usually presented as having been composed or filed along with its companion piece, “Dark Ages, Golden Ages”.
Captivated thus and pulled along willingly by Price’s fluid, cogent prose, the reader takes a dip in her/his own terror in the face of impending death at any moment – and acceptance with equanimity at the reality.

Lichens clearly had their way
on stones that saw a better day.
With good times topside we love to talk,
but do we dare take a walk?
11/21 Direct Link
So get this: you get in your car
to get where you are going,
then when there, there you are,
as you brake after slowing.
After all, you enthrall
with a hoot and a holler,
you went, on the ball
’cause you needed that DOLLAR.
Thus no need to fuss
and no cause for fretting;
relax, thou old cuss
whether by car or bus
for you needed to go where you’re GETTING.

Off tee blow into beguiled glue ponder:
Here’s thinking twice
about using an infernal RF blinking device.
It being a micro waver
its usage I’ll not soon savor.
11/22 Direct Link
Yes, I heard you, mister high-falutin’ architect!
What scurrilous suds spew forth
from your ivory soapbox tower!
But never with you will I ever comport!
Lacking in pith you are ne'er a good sport,
and you already have too much power!

We interrupt this post to remind you
that you have way too many things to do!
No sense in making a to-do about it.

Just perform as the friggin’ bumper sticker advises: “Gir R Done”.
They must have borrowed from a well-known toy store chain for that one – as I cite illogical usage of single-letter connecting acronyms and such.
11/23 Direct Link
OUR HOME STRETCH

Yes, it is indeed a STRETCH!
Imagine!

We little people NOT being ‘sheeple’, but actually OWNING a home!
Why, this is a travesty! After all, we are expected to exist, say, third floor, Section 8 apartment, tucked comfortably into the nearest Lay-Z Boy® recliner, soaking up mind-numbing, Rx-laden propaganda streaming forth from the babbling Boob-tube.
Oh, and by the way, we didn’t fulfill our class/ranking’s Big-Box shopping duties by dancing through the aisles of Wal*Mart, but instead drove our trusty Rustie® to a natural foods store – completely bypassing the oil-stained pharmacy parking lot, and even the drive-through!
11/24 Direct Link

On any given page, Davey could easily be distracted by sidebars – especially if they blinked or were bedecked in florescent colors such as ‘hot pink’ – the likes of those snazzy petunias of yesteryear that went by the moniker of “Falcon Pink Morn”.

You see, sidebars were meant to distract.
They pop. They’ll fizz. Such slop. Gee whiz!
Yes, these are short sentences. Very short. Choppy. Punchy. Glaringly incorrect.

Such sentence structure is, for lack of an enhanced, more apropos definitively descriptive terminology, of the ilk that plinks the pique of this modern-day ‘gold standard’ word processing software manufactured by Microsoft.

11/25 Direct Link

Davey is dropping names; he’s telling you
but not craving fame as the little do.
For Alan Jackson blithely sang
while he loved to play:
“It’s alright to be itty-bitty.”
And we plan to be small to stay.
Because in this life
so greedy and sh***y
those snide “powers that be”
are delighted, you see
to keep all the Sheeple that way!

But as mentioned in a previous post
Davey had certainly made the most
of meager assets with help from a host
to whom he’d soon raise a toast!

“Alright, indeed,” Davey H grinned
Of debt no need rescind.

11/26 Direct Link

This entry was actually ‘penned’ in the nascent days of December, and after little ruckus surrounding such penning, Davey H might be inclined to waste a bit more time attempting to replace that awful mugshot, despite the fact that Word doesn’t recognize the word ‘mugshot’ even when it is hyphenated, which is totally irrelevant within the context of this site’s dysfunction and spewing of multifarious ‘404 Page Not Found’ errors and such when users, namely this one, try and upload their updated, uppity account photos, though maybe the thumbnail would be replaceable; it being, in fact, a wholly acceptable pronoun.

11/27 Direct Link

Just a hum and whir
of an aging car,
and Davey with her
will go damn far.

So what, pray tell
are those giant piles of material
residing just east of Waconah Falls Brook?
Does anyone besides gray old Davey ever look?

It figures he notices shit like that
as he zips past those piles soon or later;
oh, he muses and quips at the drop of a hat
because he, too, wants excavator.

“They have certainly milked that bridge job to the max,” Davey said.
And now, for the remainder of winter
We’ll sit at that light – such dread!

11/28 Direct Link

TURKEY TALES

”Let’s talk turkey,” the solidly STUPID mainstream pub announced.

To which I retorted: “hey, let’s f###in’ NOT.”
Thus on his head I pounced.

Thanks, but no thanks.
Because in order for that basted bird
(there you go: a wasted word)
our table to grace,
an act of rank cruelty MUST take place.

No need of avian muscle to munch
or cold-assed leftovers in this lunch.
And we’re up to our gonads in tryptophan,
so give it a rest, why dontcha, man?!

This ‘turkey day’ nonsense just makes me shout,
but it’s nice to have something to bitch about!

11/29 Direct Link

Oh, deer checking station!
What begs thee here?
I feign jubilation
but alas, killed no deer.
A dull exclamation;
it’s that time of year.
Yup, you’re darn tootin’
they’re bound to be shootin’
so y’all better stand clear!

But it’s really too bad
that the fun hunters had
was creating and culling such fear;
whilst they plan their arrival
for sport, not survival
do they toward hardened hearts thusly steer?

My good friends Bob and one-eyed Mike,
not of the same all male hunting group
would clamber up in those woods on a hike
and hunt in their respective troop.

11/30 Direct Link

School must have had a half day.
Not so bad, as kids foray.
And pardon, it is semi needless to say,
they will not balk
nor stop at crosswalk,
but rather emit a “hooray!”

Or maybe it was a half-assed day.
Hah! You just KNEW I would write that!

The presence is noticeable.

And those large, yellow rectangular contraptions that so regularly and faithfully transport the young, twitchy learners under the watchful eyeball of surveillance cameras?
Yeah, they are out in full force, too, and early, by golly.

One thing is for sure: if one hits yours,
YOURS WILL LOSE.