“It’s Kind Of My Birthday Eve”


We Can All Use Reason For Joy … 

This Isn’t One Of Those Times To Celebrate.  Not Even Close.  Call It Introspection And Reflection.

“Hey, Don’t Worry About A Gift.  Now, If You Feel Like Giving, Just Be Nice Today Like You Were Yesterday.  That’d Be Swell All Over Again.  Thanks, Friend.  I Know We’ve Been Through This Before.  God’s Given Me Enough Of Them.  A Few I Haven’t Even Opened Since Way Back At My Birthing.  There’s A Bunch Getting Dusty And Rusty I Keep Ignoring.  Also, It’d Be Helpful If I Remembered Where He’s Hidden Them.  But, That’s On Me …”

… Know What I Mean?



It’s My Point-Fiver – In Between Burfday – Comes Around Every Six Months …  

My Spring Thing.  Aprilicious.  On The 9th.

I Dump A Decimal After The Double Digits.  Drop In A Half-Of-One.  Blah-Blah-Point-Five.

… So Juvenile It Makes Me Smile.



Treat Myself To A Pretty Pastel Pink Cupcake – With Color Sprinkles – And, Creamy Icing So Sweet It’ll Loosen A Tooth …   

Or, A Carrot Ginger Pumpkin Spice Almond Muffin.  Made With 100% Real Gluten.  And, Slivers Of Pulpy Carrots I’ll Do Dental Floss Battle With Before Sleepy Time.

Maybe I’ll Burn A Candle.  Half-A-Candle.  If I Can Find One In My Kitchen Drawer Of Shit, Gadgetry And Other Displaced, Abandoned Stuff.  I’ll Entertain Myself.  Doing Shadow Puppets Dancing On The Wall.  Lip Synch …

“We Gon’ Party Like It’s Yo Burfday.”

“In Da Club” Songwriters: Curtis James Jackson, Michael A Elizondo, Andre Romell Young
© Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd., Warner Chappell Music, Inc., BMG Rights Management, Royalty Network


Image by Pexels

Dubya Pea Ghosting?


And, All Y’all – Feeling The Same Unloved Feeling – Like Déjà Voodoo. 

“What’s Going On With Our Lovely Host?”

Hearing Fables Of Lost Followers: On Again, Pissed Off Again.  Posts Gone Poof, Incognito.  Disappearing Into Sweet Nothings, Darling.

… Who’s Been Hacking My Porridge?


Photo by Gilberto Reyes from Pexels

My Valentine To Walmart


Wearing My Best Worst Resting Pr!ck Face … I Dropped:

“Oh, No You Ditten.”

Delivered with just enough of a hint of Incredulous Sarcasm warmed over by Hurry It Up, Saturday Mornings Don’t Last Forever, Daisy … 

To clue in the obvious that neither one of us wanted to be there … to the smartphone-brandishing, dismissive Little Miss As-If-Whatev’s hiding in plain sight behind the Big Blue Counter of Purgatory … about the two most important parts of Customer Service:

Nice-ish Paying Customer (All About Me) and At-Least-Feign-The-Part-Of-Giving-A-Hey-Now-About-Service (All About You). Continue reading “My Valentine To Walmart”

Play Nice


Is What I Heard Him Say …    

Annunciated phonics.


Delivered in a dialect void of thought, reason and purpose.

I doubt Hope was anywhere to be found … and Forgiveness as foreign as Love … in his hub of a miserable life.

Brandishing Hate – at will – fermented by misdirected rage was all he could offer leaning through the open window of his pick up truck. Continue reading “Play Nice”