The Annual Ball

Willow has graciously invited US ALL to her digs for a grand gala--

~00~

What Fun!

hope you don't mind, I'm just going to throw on my suit--after all, I've only worn it once.

Now for a date--I've looked in all the usual places...

Work, eh...maybe not a good idea.

My old circle of friends. Harvey didn't seem like the sensible pick. But he tells a good knock knock joke...

A couple of blind dates. Rolled the dice, but came up bust.

I settled on Internet dating and I guess she must be the right girl for me....Hey, we matched up, so all's good, eh?

See you at the ball, and please don't step on my date's tail!

ack...here comes Monday!

hey, hope y'all enjoyed yer weekend...

great fall weather, with summer winding down...anyone roast up some weenies?

...those summer gas prices should start dropping!

Go Green, use public transportation! ...or your feet

a tropic fog

I'm smoking you
like some distorted twig
that I drew with my toes in the sand.
That singular day
on an earthbound cloud
when the water was hot
hot as our bodies
only hotter
and we swam with the sharks
circling below
we swam so deep and
bird island was beyond our strokes
though it looked so near.
I left my sketchpad on the blanket
and the roots
like inverted candelabras
took hold while we swam
as the cold Caribbean tiger sharks coasted
we floated on our backs
languid
laughing
at the commotion of the birds
the locomotion and aerial tumult.
Gentle waves tossed we two
into a sandy nest
beneath the shade
of charcoal branches
and I smoked you
in a fever
under shivering shadow twigs
we flickered in and out.

Dog Vs. Cat

It's Saturday--don't Despair!

Gone Fishing

We can take the phrase 'gone fishing' back as far as the neolithic period of human development; to go back further is just plain silly, because mostly all anyone did was to go fishing. About 10,000 years ago people had entered what we like to call the 'new stone age', or the 'Flintstone Era.' Take your pick.
A polite stone worker known as Bobstone somehow mass produced the first Gone Fishing sign when he was chipping out multiple doormats for local merchants. Bobstone apparently was attempting to etch a pleasant 'stick design' into the stone mats when he accidentally invented language and coincidentally spelled out 'gone fishing' in a rudimentary caveman font, sans serif. The rest is history, for these were the neanderthals and everyone knows that they eventually phased out, to be totally replaced by yours truly, ahem, modern man.

...and that is your history lesson for the day, or more likely, the year.

Enjoy senseless comics:

screee

The Little Man in my Garden, and gnomes at work

First off let me say that not only am I losing the battle of the weeds this summer, I have thrown in the towel. The war is over. Weeds is won it.
This year the Little Man in my Garden and his uber weeds have taken the day. They have won the season.
I've been pretty good at working about the garden, but the yard is a disaster. Not too many dandelions, but the crabgrass. Ich! And there's some viney stringy stuff too, and the thistle starts creeping in when I take my eye off of it.
Yeah, the Little Man is having his way with my green space. I went to search him out beneath the William Shakespeare Mulberry with Toby (backup) and got a surprise.
“Nay, he has not been here this long summer of your discontent,” said Willy, and he ruffled his tresses. I'd given him a bit of a haircut and by George, the old man was looking pretty dapper. A bit of Will's structure could even be discerned, and he didn't look like an unruly mop head anymore. Toby sniffed at his leaves; some were trailing onto the Coreopsis below.
I asked about the little man's whereabouts. “He went up North, so say the Finches, to visit his mum; but 'e left weeds about for the spreading. These wee creatures have gathered and sewn. Precious mites.”
Incredible. I was expecting a shouting match, and garbled slurs. Instead I get mulberry soliloquizing. And weeds! No rest from the weeds, even with the little sprite gone on vacation. Toby was no help. He didn't even pee on the tree. Just shuffled off to sniff a snapdragon and get startled by a mammoth bumble.
Gads! I can't even win the fight when the caustic little shit is away! Okay, so next year will be different. I'm doing the winterizer this fall and the preemergence next spring, and we'll see who gets the jump on who.
“Aye, snigger a digger! Ya puny googliget!” What's that? “Is he back? Toby, go get him! Bite his head off!”
“Woof.” wag waggity wag.
“Erg, ya crumbumbler. My mum booted me; said get thee back and weed 'im up, ya scraggler. Yer no son o' mine if ya let'im get those weedys by der roots! Har.”
“I'm gonna take my yard back next year, Little Man. You just wait and see; you may have won this summer, but I'll be back!” Thanks for the help, Toby.
“Ar...teweedly heehee and snicker snicker pffft.”
And he's getting all the best of my grape tomatoes now. Drat, I just can't win.
“Hee hee. Hoo! May a toad pee on yer toes! Ya sniggle tee hoo!”