The Turtle On The Box.

Myrtle invited some friends for an evening’s spot of tea. Cape, the cetacean and Bering, the pinniped. They went back to the Good Ole Days and whenever they had a chance afternoon teas ruled the day. Talk began about climate change and how it was killing most of them. Myrtle the oldest held court plus it was her abode after all. “Dat ways I sees it it’s a losing battle fighting dese bureaucrats and their billshit legislation,” Now there, there, my old friend can’t get yourself worked up as you know we all gonna need your wisdom and advice, said Cape the Cetacean, who despite his massive size spoke quietly and with a precision unheard of in whales, narwhals and such. “Remember Myrtle and Bering that we have lots of good friends fighting for us. Bering wasn’t the sociable type as he lived among hundreds of thousands other seals until about 2016 when he was forced to go upland for food and shelter. It was the scariest thing ever and Bering lost hundreds of friends so they understood the trauma of Death.

The Bronx River Winds its way to Hunts Point and Rikers Island.

Trump’s Bombast

As of today, 45 will return to his native city to address the United Nations as to North Korea’s threat to the Free World as it launches missiles left and right of its territory. As we all know, “Boys will be boys.” That in my humble opinion is the crisis we face today. 45 and “Rocketboy” as far as we seen have small hands and are too overly preoccupied with their “manhood” and their show of false bravado are nothing more than hamming it up for public consumption. All this talk of war is nothing more than Madison Avenue being used to confuse the masses as the Big 3: Russia, China and the U.S.A. continue to manipulate and run this farce we call global politics. Go on with your lives and continue to love your families. 45 is a gasbag who would make a great cushion along with Rocketboy to sit on, but it would blow wind, you know? “Wind” like gas, passed.

The Menu Got Too Heavy

It was another indescript day, mundane lacking possibilities. Thursdays unless you’re a lady offers no discounts to men. Thursdays; Ladies’ Night. Free drinks all night baby. What ya complaining about? Come on stop, you know you imagining shit awright stop!

No I’m not, yes I went to the john with him but he grabbed my arm, twisted it and pulled my panties down.

Okay I ain’t no saint but why force yourself on me? I was down but not that way. Screw that dirty foul stinking son of who knows what, taking crotch when it is squarely in his face, motherfugger crazy that’s all.

The City Far Off.

Beyond in the distance, there she lies the City far off…In my imagination she evokes and creates panoramas that lead to the high seas and the o.k. corral; cowboys and Indians playing war games, but essentially we came too late for the Wild West and Vietnam too but frankly, we never felt OVERDUE as war leads to intransigence and hate; hopefully we won’t be late; GOD BLESS America, OKAY.

Fifty Nine Winters by m.e.

The hawk dove and its wingspan reached its peak, the centrifugal winds spread out across the wide expanse below frigidly ascertaining its hold upon our corporeal beings.

Fifty-nine winters of anything just seems too MUCH of anything to put up with, endure, withstand UNLESS you LOVE WHAT you do. Living, with all its attendants and occupants, has always been a dear friend; controversy, sass, back talk CONFLICT

MY BEST FRIENDS, DEAREST TO M.E. AS CARPE DIEM FIFTY-NINE TIMES JUST SEEMS SUBLIME.

SUGGESTIONS FOR FUTURE GENERATIONS: Speak your mind, formulate don’t hate as it is a YUUGE waste of TIME. Love family, friends but KEEP YOUR Dignity don’t vacillate or LEARN to be LATE as everyone I know REALLY HATE late people: always with lame excuses and sick dogs, kids and TRAINS; Notice in their Late Tales The Trains are to BLAME.

Well for lack of a better tale don’t blow IT ALL TO hell, enjoy LIVING as WELL as raising dust as you scrap with the general details of FIFTY-NINE WINTERS, HOW HAVE I REACHED THIS PEAK? WITH ITS BEAK, THE HAWK, pointed north, east, south and west THEN with its keen EYES said, “Son, the REST IS UP TO YOU to consider LIVE LAUGH ENJOY the RIDE remember GOD IS on your SIDE.”

59! WELL let’s RIDE…Thanks Everyone for your good wishes, GOD Provides.

Somewhere Beyond.

In the distance, south of Westchester County lies 57th Street; there within the tower true history is being revisited as the 45×3, Eric, Junior and Ivanka reap rewards beyond compare and God forbid anyone dare speak of POTUS, Flotus or Hocus Pocus because the h2o is tainted with bug juice or some ole kool aid saved from back in the day.

45×3, Ronald Trunk, the standard bearer for the GOP, an elephant so large but his trunk has no surprises it is short, flaccid filled with acids and by-products of green, red and blue pills seems the elephants and donkeys up on the Hill all love their pills.

On 57th Street and 5th Avenue, all the merchants and vendors are in an uproar; due to the popularity of 45×3 or the lack thereof, protesters and White supremacist groups scream obscenities all day LONG. The din is maddening with po-pos on the scene, traffic, tourists and real new yorkers wearing frowns as they attempt to walk around the standing only crowds.

How did we go so off track, well one- third of Americans chose the pig we GOT; seems change was needed after Hope and Change Man became a lame ass apologist for Muslims, Jews and Don’t Want To Work Americanos who are always ready to diss those who DO WANT TO WORK. Terrible thing when 1/3rd of voters decide winners and losers but here we all knew that DJT is a raging egomaniac full of delusional apparitions of Daddy Fred and Mentor Roy Cohn, both REALLY GREAT GUYS.

As the sun sets, storm clouds rumble in the distance but it is not rain merely the incantations of a madhatter flipping hats, parties, wives and lies as he works fastidiously covering his tracks and footprints before the shit blows back to 57th Street. Mueller Time, no SORRY, i meant Miller Beer.