if i could press
a magical button
and wipe you
from existence
i’d press that button
but
i wouldn’t just press that button
i’d press that button
in style!
there would be a parade
with elephants
and horses
while marching bands played
girls in short skirts
twirling batons on fire
and old men in fezzes
what are they called?
shriners?
shriners!
went around
on those scooters.
and bringing up the rear
a massive cannon
that would fire me across
two football fields
my hand outstretched
smacking that button
and sending your
ugly
disgusting
evil
miserable
vile
obnoxious
ass
to
hell
Tag: personal
Help
For the longest time, I used to say that the most powerful key on the keyboard was the F1 key.
F1 is the shortcut to Help for most applications.
Have you used the Help menu recently?
Just search for the topic or ask your question, and Help gives you steps to complete your task.
Or, you can look up tutorials to learn how to use various functions.
With Help, I’ve learned how to do everything I need to do on the computer.
Well, almost everything.
I hit the power key on my laptop, and it shuts down.
(Now that’s powerful.)
Feed The Ducks
When I was young, my dad would take us to the ponds out by the Volkswagen offices. We’d feed the swans there.
These days, I’ll pick up a sandwich from the local Subway, eat the meat and vegetables out of it, and then walk to a small landscaped lake. The ducks and swans get the leftover bread.
Once, all the ducks and swans were gone. In their place were a set of wooden decoys, floating out on the lake.
What do decoys eat?
I quickly scribbled pictures of loaves of bread on my notepad and tossed them into the lake.
Damned
Single mom with terminal brain cancer.
The experimental medicine keeping her alive is killing her.
Take it, and it keeps the brain tumor in check, but healthy braincells die.
Don’t take it, and the tumor grows and spreads, which will eventually kill her.
She’s scared out of her skull, sent the kids away for the weekend, and called me.
“Find me a third option,” she says.
“Sure,” I say.
Before I left that night, I blew out the pilot lights, and turned off the gas alarm.
Her kids came home early, didn’t want to wake her.
They fell asleep, too.
Baby Panthers
On the way to work, I walk through the park next to the courthouse.
Down the steps, into a maintenance area under a bridge where a small cat colony lives.
There’s a calico, a tortie, an orange and white.
And two black cats.
I call them the wild baby panthers.
I carry cat treats in my work bag, and I leave a pile or two when I walk by on the way to work.
And the way home.
I know they’ll never trust me, or rub against my leg, purring or meowing.
That’s fine by me. To give is enough.
The Missing Site
When other people can’t reach their sites, they freak out and panic like it’s the end of the world. Me, I don’t worry so much. I figure that the server deserves a break every once in awhile. Let the poor thing get some rest now and then. Plus, I’ve got backups, so in a worst-case scenario, I can always start fresh and reload all of the site data. Here… let me show you… the backups are… they’re… wait a minute… and… The backups folder is empty? Maybe they got saved somewhere else… I mean… they were just here… Oh shit.
Too Ugly
Folks still ask me what it was like working with Marvin Zindler.
There was a piano in Studio B, and when things were slow and Marvin had checked his stocks enough, or he’d had his daily fight with the News Manager, he’d sit down and play.
I’d listen and enjoy.
“Simon,” he said, smiling Texas-wide, twinkling eyes behind blue lenses, never missing a key, “we’re bigger whores than the ones at the Chicken Ranch. They just got themselves prettier makeup.”
You know, early in his career, he got told he was too ugly for television.
These days, nothing’s too ugly.
The Four Best Words
It’s been a while since we talked.
So, we talked. Caught up.
It’s rough out there. I know.
And then you say: “He’s wonderful to me.”
I think of all the things going on in my life, all the bullshit and frustration and worries and… and…
It’s nothing. Just knowing there’s someone there, treating you so well, being so good to you.
Well, I can feel all that stuff just wash away.
I know it’s not really gone. It’s all still there.
But just hearing those four words, knowing that…
We’ll catch up again soon.
I look forward to it.
Rending
Do you like my shirt?
Thank you. I just got it.
Yes, it’s a very expensive shirt.
Oh, sure, it was on sale and there’s that sales tax holiday going on, but it still cost me a pretty penny.
I wanted to look my best for my sister’s surgery.
You see, it’s an experimental surgery. Very risky.
We’re hoping for the best, but things could go wrong.
And when things go wrong, well, we Jews do that whole “rending of garments” thing.
So she knows how much I’m pulling for her.
(But if things go wrong, I’m tearing my pants.)
A Rainbow At The End
I take the stuffed catnip rainbow from the shelf, turning it over in my hands.
Of all the catnip toys, this was his favorite.
The memorial candles, the collars, the others’ favorite toys.
The boxes of ashes.
And a note: Their tenth lives are our memory of them.
The kittens run around, chasing each other.
Two years old, but I call them the kittens.
The older one, much older… naps in the bedroom, with his uneasy stomach.
Will he be fine tonight? Yes? No?
I reach down, his head rises to meet my hand.
Not yet, my friend. Not yet.