Wednesday, January 28, 2015

Saltines, Saltines, Saltines, Saltines!

I was having my midnight snack, at eleven, as is my usual habit, of that great Ambrosia, peanut butter and crackers, when this song sprang into my noggin', fully formed, like an epiphany. My apologies to Dolly Parton.

Saltines, Saltines, Saltines, Saltines!
I'm begging of you please don't take my man
Saltines, Saltines, Saltines, Saltines!
Please don't take him just because you can
Your beauty is beyond compare
With flaming locks of auburn hair
With ivory skin and eyes of emerald green

Your smile is like a breath of spring
Your voice is soft like summer rain
And I cannot compete with you, Saltines

He talks about you in his sleep
There's nothing I can do to keep
From crying when he calls your name, Saltines

And I can easily understand
How you could easily take my man
But you don't know what he means to me, Saltines

Saltines, Saltines, Saltines, Saltines!
I'm begging of you please don't take my man
Saltines, Saltines, Saltines, Saltines!
Please don't take him just because you can

You could have your choice of men
But I could never love again
He's the only one for me, Saltines

I had to have this talk with you
My happiness depends on you
And whatever you decide to do, Saltines

Saltines, Saltines, Saltines, Saltines!
I'm begging of you please don't take my man
Saltines, Saltines, Saltines, Saltines!
Please don't take him even though you can
Saltines, Saltines

Wednesday, January 14, 2015

# THIS IS MY PLATE OF LINGUINI

This is my plate of linguini. There are many like it, but this one is mine.

My plate of linguini is my best friend. It is my life. I must master it as I must master my life.

My plate of linguini, without me, is useless. Without my plate of linguini, I am useless. I must fire my plate of linguini true. I must shoot straighter than my enemy who is trying to kill me. I must shoot him before he shoots me. I will...

My plate of linguini and I know that what counts in war is not the rounds we fire, the noise of our burst, nor the smoke we make. We know that it is the hits that count. We will hit...

My plate of linguini is human, even as I, because it is my life. Thus, I will learn it as a brother. I will learn its weaknesses, its strength, its parts, its accessories, its sights and its barrel. I will keep my plate of linguini clean and ready, even as I am clean and ready. We will become part of each other. We will...

Before God, I swear this creed. My plate of linguini and I are the defenders of my country. We are the masters of our enemy. We are the saviors of my life.

So be it, until victory is America's and there is no enemy, but peace!

Monday, January 12, 2015

Wear A Hat

I saw a guy riding a bike out in this weather, on these icy roads, and all I could think was:

"Sir, you need to put on a hat."

Because he wasn't wearing a hat. You need to wear a hat out in this stuff. Its friggin' dangerously cold out there.  Put on a hat, dude.

You know that picture of the guy in Vietnam (or Cambodia, or wherever) getting shot in the head? And the photographer snapped the picture right when the guy pulled the trigger to shoot the guy in the head?

The guy on the bike looked like that dude. He looked that miserable.

Put on a hat. Jeez.

Thursday, January 08, 2015

Thought Experiment 15_01



Fifteen people are in a locked, windowless room.

#1 thru #10 are just random people.

#11 thru #15 are siblings.

#11 has a gun. He's waving it around and saying all kinds of crazy things. He has a long criminal record. He beats his wife. He's a major-league sociopath.

His siblings, #12 thru #15 are embarrassed and alarmed by his shenanigans, but #11 won't listen to reason. #11 is sensitive about his mother, and he makes this clear to everybody in the room.

"Anybody jokes about my mother, I kill him."

His siblings, while they might also be offended if someone insulted their mother, are at least reasonable about it. They don't like guns, and they are relatively sane.

So #1 thru #10 keep their mouths shut. Perhaps in the future they can reason with him, or disarm him, but right now, he's bat-shit crazy, and waving a gun.

Everybody keeps quiet except #3. He says:

"Your mama's so fat... "

BLAM BLAM BLAM

The crazy guy shoots #3 dead, as promised.

Now we all agree #11 has to be stopped, somehow. We understand the sibling's embarrassment about their psycho brother.

But what about #3?

About Me

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I am the author of 8 books: Android Down, Firewood for Cannibals, Brain Giblets, The Cubicles of Madness, Booze and News, Get Your Zen On, Zen Happens, and most recently, Robot Stories. I live and write in Michigan. My website is at danmanning.com

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