Services No Longer Needed

Forklifts buzzed about the storage lot
He had practiced this in his mind
So much, It seemed real
Didn’t B. S. around–got things done
Comfortable swinging his body
On and off, stake-bed trucks
Liked by bosses–associates, as well
Until the day, things went wrong
Nobody dared look him in the eye
Loyalty–what a joke that was
The case, argued, and closed
Just another has-been, trudged
Through the gray, gravel parking lot

 

Little Bit Of Truth Goes a Long Way

An accusation flew. There was very little truth behind it.

After all, the event occurred forty-eight years ago. In another era–another time, during the Cold War.

A story about basic training in a share group.  My decision, the better of two bad choices, almost forgotten.

I was somewhat surprised to be judged by someone who hadn’t been there. Chalked it up to the anonymity of the internet.

At first, wanted to lash out, but reconsidered. Who knew what the motivation of the accuser was? Not my place to psychoanalyze.

It just proved, that a statement as benign as, “The sky is blue,” could be objectionable to someone.

All of us have opinions.  Sometimes I wish people would keep their opinions to themselves.

The Boss

Dexter was the boss. Not because of business acumen, or people skills; certainly not because he ever wanted to be.

He became boss, because handlers and staff, convinced him that was the way things should be.  If things went wrong, there was no one else to blame.

“Wolf fangs” bared when things didn’t go right. The offenders backed down. If they didn’t, staff intervened.

“Dexter, what a good manager you are,” They chorused. Everyone believed it–especially Dexter.

With a sigh, Dexter loosened his collar.  Ego massages were so refreshing.

All the news that wasn’t news.  Wasn’t that pitiful?  Alone again on Saturday night.

Dexter, cared little what others thought of him.  There was nothing left to prove.

He lay on his back, fancied himself running carefree through an open meadow.

One Cool, Cloudy Day

“Hey, White Beard.” Mike greeted.  Bob grinned–stroked his chin-whiskers.  Yeah, some got it–some don’t.

“Where’s Alan hiding?”

“I don’t know–saw his girlfriend yesterday.  Said she was working at Dugan’s or some other place,” Mike answered.

Mike hadn’t seen Alan since the day before.

Gravelly voiced Mike, was the group’s unofficial spokesperson.  Alan had been charged with bringing picnic supplies.

“He was a no-show, because he’d stayed up he whole @%&$# night,” Mike speculated.

“Just made it worse for everybody else.” Mike said between coughs.

“How many we got left?” Asked Bob.

“Here’s more hot dog buns. They’ll work the same for brats.”

“Mike–do you want me to run out for some more?”

“There’s no need for it.”

“That cat–comes around here every night looking for a meal.”

“It had better stay away from my food.  Scat, cat!”  Dave threatened.

“Don’t chase it off, Dave,” Mike said.  “We’ve never had any rats.  Or, snakes, either.”

The stray tabby ran, hid somewhere in the kudzu along the park’s edge, near the railroad tracks.

 

What a Wacky Week

In Waynesboro, VA, a renegade cat shaver is on the loose.  Residents are perturbed, because pet cats have been captured, and returned with their bellies shaven.

It’s not only animal cruelty–it’s just plain weird.  Saving cats from cat shavers should not be on cat owner’s to-do lists.

Nordstrom’s marketed fashion jeans replete with fake mud stains for 425 per pair.  Do-it yourself jean muddying is free.  It’s done with pure mud from your own backyard–not with chemicals.

My current state of residence was featured on “The Daily Show” this week–complete with the usual stereotypes.  Rednecks, buffoonery, lots of politics.  Our governor was recently impeached after a year of denial.

About baiting game with jerky–funny skit, but not true.  We’ve got our share of weirdos, but doesn’t every other state?  My state of birth, currently has two ex-governors in lock-up.  What about Anthony Weiner?  Maybe your state’s governor just hasn’t been caught up with yet?

 

Whew–What a Week

The Crazola Conspiracy:  Crayola crayon company should be renamed for fixing what wasn’t broken.  The color “dandelion” kicked-out of its 24-pack.  A social media poll will select a replacement.  Did this mean,  the 24-pack would actually be a 23-pack in the interim?

This was strangely similar to Hasbro’s, Monopoly game piece shuffle stunt.

Whoops–there goes another conspiracy giraffe.  Some, are now convinced that April, the allegedly pregnant giraffe, is just another in a growing list of conspiracies.

Yee Haw–Bovine terror in North County:  Mid-week, my daughter was detained from leaving work, by escaped cattle from a slaughterhouse.  Cattle roamed the parking lot, until law enforcement rounded them up.  None of the law seemed eager to get out of their vehicles.

Why did some folks mute the sound track on commercials?  Commercials were frequently more entertaining than regular TV prime-time programming.

Dropped mikes:  Verizon’s spokesperson’s mike dropping sales pitch I found annoying.  I got the points–just not the dropped microphones.

Overused movie quotes:  AT&T was vying for most annoying commercial of the year, with its “movie quote guy.”  If I hear, monotone “Bueller, Bueller” just one more time!

Just to keep warm–or something more sinister?  Transients built a fire under a section of Atlanta’s busy I-85 corridor, causing damage, and major traffic delays in the foreseeable future.

The Brand New Stephen King Conspiracy:  Which I’m starting immediately–pass it on.  An entire generation is deathly afraid of clowns.  It’s Stephen King’s fault.

Ronald McDonald is exiled, till wackos in clown suits stop jumping out of the woods and scaring the unsuspecting populace.

You want more proof?  Stephen King convinced us spirits could communicate with us through our television sets.

Vintage Plymouth Fury automobiles with tail fins went on murderous killing sprees–  Stephen King’s fault.

Empty hotels made lonely writers go insane.  Weren’t those twin girls creepy?

After Cujo, nobody looked at Rottweilers the same, ever again.

It’s not that I don’t like Stephen King.  Who can you trust?  You can trust Stephen King to spin a good scary yarn.  He’s too good, for his own good.  It’s all Stephen King’s fault.