Slippery When Wet

OK...What's with Water? Are we stucks on the Elements?

Anywho, here's a little water quiz:

Glub glub. I hate that my feet are so heavy now…guess I shouldn’t have skimmed that c-note. Who am I?
.
Here one minute, gone the next…only I’m not really gone, just different…what am I?
.

Say, have you got a second? Btw, love your cage…it’s shiny, so today! Y’know, I get a really bad rap; I’m not so bad once you get to know me…won’t you come out to play? What am I?

.

Ooga, booga…I haven’t any bones, brains, heart, eyes or ears, but I pack one hell of a wallop…don’t touch me! What am I?
.

Hi, I’ve been called a “watery tart” and I collect mythical swords. Who am I?

.

I wear seashells and a tail like a tuna fish, and can sing …usually. Who am I?

.

I love the water. I was born in it and now swim in it and do flips and eat fish… what am I?
.

Hi, I love the water, also too. I was once a little egg, among other little slimy eggs and once born I had a tail then some little arms and legs, then I got up out of the water for a bit…mostly to lounge about and catch flies. What am I?

.

Hi, I love, like, the water, like. And polka dots, and, like, boys and shoes. Hee. What, like, am I?

.

I can stay underwater for a good long time, and I am responsible for more Nile deaths than that overrated crocodile…they are big sissies. What am I?

.

Dooby dooby …I am weird looking…gots two eyes on my one side and can blend in to the lake bed…there’s some scientific term to that...but ,dooby, I can’t think of it…what am I?

.

Hi! I am an otter! Oops, I wasn’t supposed to say that? Okay, I am not an otter… what am I?

.

Boom! I am impressive and loud and a big wind bag! I love to spoil a good picnic. Why? ‘Cause I never get invited! What am I?
.

Hola, I am known for having the qualities of intuition and emotion, and am situated between air and earth. Plato made me famous. What am I?
.

Answer if you care to…there are no wrong answers (because everyone is special and no one should feel bad!) Happy Thursday!

The Curious Case of a Space Moth

coming soon...to a theatre near you...

Here Dolittle spurns the isolation;
Alone he hunts the space moth,
The moth that flirts with a
Voracious lust for the burn.
Its painted wings thrust
And dip in to the currents/orbits
Weaving amid the galaxies,
Battering the glowing sun-orbs into
A submission that kills/dulls the flush,
The warmth to feed its planets,
Instead plunging verve
In to a fog and frigid demise.


Here Dolittle secures a gravitational pivot
And drives his vessel to scuttle the moth,
The moth that had
Beautifully swept through his universe
Into view of an applauding race
Only to exhaust their sun
Making of it a dark empty hole.
Here Dolittle primes the
Unfortunate Course of Action;
He targets the fluttering planet-wrecker
And thumbs a toggle,
Away with it, UCA,
The odious missile to puncture the
Intergalactic carapace of the
Space moth.


The moth that knows; it senses the
Conspicuous craft that hunts and circles--
has for parsecs and all the while

The moth's kept its painted wings--
The eyes and swirls--
Leeward to the shadows of the stars,
But now
Space moth bares all
Unfolding an arsenal
An eyeful of distraction.
Here Dolittle wonders and with a courage
Gained only by awe and love
He shifts to hyper drive
Efforts to retake the bomb
To save the spectacle
The glory, behold the
Space moth…
Deliver us to our doom.

"I'm burning, I'm burning!" --Wicked Witch of the East

Ouch, fire!

…girl we couldn’t get much higher, Come on baby, light my fire;
I can take you higher; Oh oh oh, I’m on fire;
You say you don’t like it, but girl I know you’re a liar,
‘cause when we kiss, fire.
I fell into a burning ring of fire…and it burns burns burns, the ring of fire.
We didn’t start the fire, it’s been always burning since the worlds been turning.



Could anybody know the entire list of songs singing about Fire?
No way, there’s bunches and oodles.

Fire !!!

It’s been around before something B.C.; before the wheel; before the cigar; before love or the back hoe; before macaroni & cheese!



It’s Fire, and it’s Hot! It’s the latest fad, here to stay…
But other than the occasional Boy Scout or Tom Hanks, how many people out there can really make fire from scratch?
Here is my mother’s recipe for Fire, handed down over the generations; it’s a big secret, but what the heck, here it is:
--Buy matches from the grocery.
--Keep matches in a cool dry location.
--Strike match tip on provided striker strip.
--Run like hell!

Fire is good for more stuff than I ever remembered to forget.

Some of the good stuff:
1)roasted wieners
2)roasted marshmallows
3)sparklers
4)Micheal Jackson Pepsi commercials
5)magic wand duels
6)keeping firemen employed
7)machine gun effects and explosions!
8)scaring away bears
9)jack-o-lanterns
10)leisurely strolls over hot coals.





Some favorite presidential moments involving Fire:



*George Washington chopped down a cherry tree, but did you know he burned down a Dutch Elm?
*Andrew Jackson rode around with a flaming arrow through his hat during an entire Indian raid; his troops snickered the entire time.
*T. J. (Jefferson) set Benjamin Franklin’s wig on fire for kicks. Often.
*Madison burned down the White House trying to spark a pilot light, and blamed it on the British.
*Lincoln carried around candles in the dark and made scary faces to scare the staff.
*Teddy Roosevelt haphazardly set Smokey the Bear aflame, but made reparation by appointing Smoky lifetime Forest Fire spokesbear.
*FDR supposedly began the famous Fireside Chats because Eleanor was a closet pyromaniac.
*JFK burnt his big toe on a bath side candle at Marilyn’s apartment.
*Jimmy Carter famously roasted peanuts in the Oval Office.
*Clinton eshued fire for his George Foreman Grill, weirdly over conspicuous of his love handles.
*George Bush loved flipping missile ignition switches and yelling: “Boom! Yeah baby!”
He also commonly flashed his nuclear codes and firing key at summits. It was so cute.



So, what’s your favorite Fire story?



....click on pictures for picture credits....

HappyEarthDay

Today I am going to celebrate by

Eating some luscious blackberries

Running 3 miles

and Hugging the Earth!

Last years Blossums...this year's are tardy...
Today I am getting down the bikes,

might even ride in to work the next few days.

Yes, still waiting...but spring is on its way;
the weatherman said sunny and 70 for the weekend!

Have you hugged your Earth lately?

Further Histories of Pestilence

Following the rule of Aardvark:

Of the demise heaped upon Pasty,
Son of Amoritorius
He that revealed plotted vile of Hastius X,
Know we little
But that he succeeded Aardvark,
Dead of substance abuse; the abuse
Being glutinous abuse of ants.

Poor use of the Porridge subsidy
Amid a failing Depravity
Fed the Pestilent population
Squat,
So a revolution
Spurned by Marsha
Queen of the Pie Plates
Doomed he her paramour
This plucky Pasty,
Buried beneath Demise.

Happenstance of the untimely exit
Of Pasty,
He who knew Marsha
Quite well we have heard,
Hatius X that kept the old ways
In his spare time--
Just a hobby--
Uncovered a second disquiet,
That lied fuming for an age.

But upon a gruel staff
X

Gnarled a famishing repugnance
To the delight of Pestilence
And made him their King.

que Richard Strauss's Also sprach Zarathustra

Darkness. Inky black
Staring into nothingness
Arms outstretched
Searching groping at the void

An imperceptible change
Empties into the void
Allowing fuzzy metaphors
Then a shard of night
Is pierced
And the day begins

Earth, Erath, Thare, Ethra…The Dirt !

It appears these days that change comes too quick; the Earth is evolving in ways we haven’t witnessed…
...In our lifetimes.

Come the next ice age, does it surprise you that there might be another (and another and another…), what will become of Canadians?

As the Earth continues to cool and the tectonic plates pitch into high gear and the Rocky Mountains grow and loom larger and the continents split or converge or sink into the crust to recycle themselves endlessly,
Where will the Buckeyes go, and the Hoosiers, and the Wolverines and Marmots and Unicorns and Banshees?

Frightening heat
Unrelenting fever stirs the dust
Baking the chalk into a tar
Crust and hardens to crack
A landscape of dearth
Desolate resolution from which
No one will escape
No amount of human ingenuity can stop the Worlds and Galaxies from their dance, and universes will drift and Galaxies will collide and mix and some eon a race of Beflemopeps with 4 limbs and a foofoo-pomet to scrath their itchy backs will stumble over our transmitted Beatle’s recordings and snoot their penny-wiggles at the chrome plated cloud ducts and smile, sideways with a lolling pooch.

Someday my Spring May Come

Happy Wednesday…day off in the middle of the week…oh joy!

Things to do, because they need to be done.

Eventually.

Before the coming of the next ice age.

1) Change out the empty propane tank.

2) Buy lawn fertilizer slash weed stuff.

3) Find some blackberry plants and stick ‘em in the ground.

4) Get out my feathers and do the Anti-Rain Dance.

5) Get back on a coherent running schedule.

6) Is it time to get the bikes out yet? Will it ever warm up, will it ever stop raining?

7) Stop whining.

8) Replace the porch lite bulb.

9) Replace the garage lite bulb.

10) Learn how the spell ‘lite’ correctly.

11) Quit worrying about the little things… like spelling.

12) Find the workbench.

13) Paint that thing on the workbench that needs to be painted.

14) Take a nap.

15) Buy food

16) Cook food.

17) punctuate

18) Isn’t that enough?

I whiled away
this day, eyeing some bugs--
the time flies.

Pictures from Pestilence

An incomplete account concerning the kings of Pestilence:

Hail Aardvark, king of Pestilence,
The consistency of oatmeal.
In the first wave, mirth
Is an overture to a Boris Depravity
Excavated blindly by Hastius
The Greekless wonder.

Next week the pick and brush
Uncovers a secret of unsustainable
Disquiet, thus upsetting the king,
Who dines on ants.

In a bald attempt by Hastius
To unpack,
The livid disquiet is reviled by Amoritorius
And betrothed to a mossy stump.

The tenuous balance of Depravity
Recoils into mischievous chaotic wellsprings
Of sumptuousness,
Thus confirming the slight,
Revealing recalled overtures
and securing a future Depravity
For the kingdom of Pestilence.

3 (#) m0re 0f n0 c0n5equen(e

Tres Moody Morabunderies, Duex

Flying In the face of the pickle
His atrocious locks
Accidentally
Mentioned a palindrome
And caught an epic wave
~

The triumph was ours,
A perpetual intersect
Knocking out the terracotta
Codicils from a paper sack
Of isms.
~

As the meandering synthesis
Hasten illicit transmutation
Soon this world will
Lurch into overdrive
To whip up
An intriguing batch of protoplasm.

Now you know the rest of the story...

EGGS !!!

Eggstra, eggstra:

Finally the truth is secured
Of what the question was,

This is it:

Which was it now? The chicken or the Egg?

I have it from a source beyond retribution
That with no uncertain disparity,
And overwhelming with doubtlessness,
That what comed first was unmistakably

The Egg !!!!

Here is the scuttlebutt, sirs and madamses…

From the reproduction units of a prehysterical dinosaurish lady lizard
Was deposited upon some fine dirt in maybe a nest of crackly twigs and stuff
This thing a bit lopsided but oval still,

An Egg.

Our dinosaur lady was surely feathered, and a beaker too..
And the daddy was no horse, but lizarddish in fact
And so it (he) did thus entice his main squeeze to
Procreate.

Imagine the noises, what a scene! They made quite a pair,
Everyone said so.

In an unfortunate twist of economy the first of the ovaloids
Was et all in all by a mammal, whole and unscrambled.
But mother disbanded the rascal and sat on junior for the duration.

Her beau of a matter of business was off squirreling about
And causing general mayhem with similar ladies
But they being of a different feather eked out just more lizard things
Which did then go extinct to be fossil fuels or such.

In no time at all this little egg, for it was commented on as puny
In certain circles,
Rattled about and commenced on cracking open
Which did it emerge then as being tiny and fluffy
Yellow and beyond cute…
An infant chick.

So there it is, from a source at the scene, and passed down over the epochs,
Or mere eons, from one whiskered pest to the next,
To the current rat, with whom I have spoke:
What came first was the Egg,
which then grew up to a chicken…and a tasty snack they are.

A rollicking Springtime Musical

Picaro & Barbara, The Musical

Cast of characters:
Movie the narwhale
Picaro, the feral pig
Barbara

The setting:
A wading pool in the Joshua Tree Forest, next to a tree named Joshua.
Picaro and Joshua sing and dance about a twirling Barbara. Movie accompanies the frolicking with his musical tusk.

Picaro: Ciao, baby. Yo llama el Que Pasa Pig!
Movie: Stop speaking Squid. You ain’t doing it right.
Barbara: Oh, but I love Picaro’s atrocious French accent!

Laughter erupts from surrounding trees.

Joshua sniggers weakly and topples due to a violent termite infestation.

Joshua: Ahhhh…
Movie: Hey, what’s his problem? No shade!
Picaro: Ciao baby. Burrito! Asta yo mamma, bueno nachos!
Barbara: titter.
Picaro: Hey, get your own girl, you ******* pigs!

Silence, the irony is too obscure for the trees.

Barbara: Oh, Picaro, you are so vulgar.

She sings of springtime and pollen.

Barbara cries and flings herself into the arms of a waiting Joshua tree.

Curtains close.

a pocket full of sand

In a few moments
A pocket will descend
From outer space
From imagination

,

A place so undefined
So unsought of
Speculation is moot
It is beyond the Dark Matter
.

The pocket transcends logic
It is more than that
At once it enters atmosphere
And announces nothing
;

Beyond all dimensional capability
The pocket maneuvers
Over beloved landmarks
As one entity at once
.

Cameras in every country
Capture the illusion of aerial tumult
And a ripe discouraging ballump
Nevertheless lenses respond
,

And show upon reflection
askew perpendiculars
Of nothing in common
With human spatial relations
,

Beyond that of the moon
Above our shoulders
Following or leading
Until the sands run out.

Thursday is a Ten !!!

TEN (10) X 1+9 11-1 ten ten ten Ten TEN !!!!!!!

Hang on to your hats, which if you are frugal you buy in 10 packs,
For ten is the word and the number of digits on the average hand,
And it is a polygon, more precisely a decagon , which is like a stop sign or the Pentagon, only more so.

Ten is a lot of things incomprehensible to anyone but very brainy nerds and geeks:

It is the aliquot sum of only one number the discrete biprime 14... What?
It is a semi-meandric number… Huh?
It is the number of limbs on a decapod crustacean… OK, I can see that.
Ten X Ten = One Hundred, and Ten Squared is One Billion Billion Millions… I think.
The Roman Numeral X is the sum of two Roman numeral V’s stuck together, all catawampus. Roman numerals are very confusing.

Some other worldly Tens:

十，拾, י , ១០, 십, ๑๐, १०! Neat-O!
Ten backwards is neT, or 01, which are both something other than 10.

Ten is significant in other meaningful ways, such as:

The Ten plagues on Egypt in Exodus,
The Ten Commandments, an excellent action adventure movie starring Clint Eastwood, who had a ten-shooter, instead of a Six-shooter.
Ten is the number of cents in a dime, which is worth less than 10 cents, incidentally.
The number of pins in Bowling is Ten!
Ludwig Von Beethoven composed Ten violin sonatas, and they were great, because he said so… always believe what a man with a funny name says or he may become violent.
The atomic number of Neon is Ten.
On a scale of one to Ten, Ten is the best. Unless it is an inverted scale, or if the thing being rated is based on a scale of best to worst or cleanest to dirtiest or nicest to creepiest, or relatively normal to complete eye-bugginess, or any number of other stuff that also makes no sense.
Supposedly Bo Derek was a Ten, but on a scale of one to Ten, her acting skills were more like a Two. A number two…you know, poo. Also she had 8 less than 10 glorious oh-my-gollys.
Ten is in digit form (10, if you weren’t sure) composed of the two binary digits ( 1 & 0) which are used in programming and stuff.
Ten is not the loneliest number. It is a happy and fulfilled number.
There are Ten little Indians, Ten kinds of cheese, Ten big fat Hens, Ten reasons to stop smoking, Ten dollars in my pocket, Tennessee Titans, Ten of swords, Ten most wanted, top Ten lists, and that’s everything, completely…

Oh, and Ten, being one more than 9.

Oh
,My

Word
Until

Peni’s
Whales’

Blowhole
skies high

Will we go
Exponential