We ate Chinese

We ate Chinese
On that Christmas day
Mom was to tired to cook
Dad was to drunk to care
I had the sweet and sour shrimp
With an egg roll
We sat there in silence
In the empty restaurant
Mom and dad weren’t fighting
My sister wasn’t bitching
Inwardly I smiled
As I stabbed a battered shrimp with my chopstick
It may not seem like much
But I had just received the gift that I always wished for

Used Car

She was blue
Little
Fast
My four on the floor
Chariot of doom
With that fine European styling
That would make all other turn
Stare
And say
What a boxy piece of crap
But that little four banger could move
When prodded a bit
Prodded I did
Taking tight turns
Screaming down the highway
Hot rodding that car
Into oblivion
Enjoying the good times
And the bad
I miss her
My blue, little, fast
VW Fox

Bill Hicks and Your Heart

Standard Oil

I’ve been afraid of putting air in the tires ever since I saw a tractor tire blow up and throw Newt’s father over a Standard Oil sign. But here I was, the old station wagon had gotten a flat. I had changed the flat with a spare on the side of the highway in the blistering heat. The twins started bickering again once the car had started moving again. Adding to the cacophony of noise was my wife scolding me about taking better care of the car and the family. It was all my fault that our vacation was ruined before it even started.

Concentrating on the road ahead I tuned out my family and kept on driving. In the shimmering distance I could make out a gas station. Finally a break from it all! With a squeak the car came to a halt next to the air pump. The twins and my wife dashed into the air conditioned general store before I had the trunk open. I wheeled the tire to the pump and put the hose to it. Air rushed into its new rubberized home as I felt something ominous behind me. Slowly I turned to see a Standard Oil sign…

Seasonal Blahsphemy Syndrome (S-BS)

The Customer Service Referral Specialist transferred me to the Coordinating Member Representative's Transcontinental Telecommunication Device. I had planned and prepared well, and was ready for the Propositive Networking Conference Event, and what could spring. We were team positive rather than opponent negative, and he was Goal-Oriented and ran the Business Cooperative Association nicely. His Vocal Chord Output was Well-Versed Affirmitive Reinforcement, and the Customer Home Base Service Board Stock Holders thought this to be tres fabulous. So, I grabbed my Proficient Inking Device, and had a jolly go-go. The paper held up quite well as I took Educationally Informed, Knowledgeably Based jottings, as he spoke. Things were going positively-warm, like sunny summer. They should've, as the night before I had preprayed to the Spiritual Love Savior. However, fall fell. I spilled Mountain Grown Coffee Java all over my Executive Pro Plus Threads. Second-degree, with minor dermal damage it was. In doing so, I had Negatively-Affected his Positive Mantra Position with line and staff. We had a wintrily exchange of emotions like jagged ice. And then I was fired and burned as Support Staff Specialist Supervisor.