The World We Deserve

All of our problems are self-inflicted. We have the ability to solve them but not the will. Human nature doesn’t change, yet the technology to do harm becomes exponentially more lethal. As a result, the human race is headed for inevitable extinction. Who or what should we blame for the suicidal tendencies of humanity?

God? Satan? Homo Sapiens?

Science? Entertainment? Education?

Democrats? Republicans? Apathetics?

Fox News? The Catholic Church? The NFL?

Plastic? Hydrocarbons? Corn Syrup?

Assault Rifles? Antidepressants? Social Media?

Hormonal Imbalances? Violent Urges? Good Intentions?

There is nothing or no one to blame because this is the world we deserve.

From the Encyclopedia of Snarky Rants and Offal Nihilisms, Toxic Press (out of print)

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Confessions of a Psychological Gigolo

You pay for my time, but all we do is talk.

There’s very little touching, but feelings are exchanged.

You consider us friends, but you have no idea who I am.

We have weekly dates, which are prepaid and predictable.

We’ve been together for years, but it’s purely economic.

It’s time to renew our friendship, er contract.

Declaration of an Introvert

To me, fame is a curse. It’s a loss of freedom. I’m free because I am anonymous. I never wish to be known for anything. No one you know

Sensitive Nerve Irritant

Cold metal tips bite frozen snow. High pitched squeak sends shiver waves.

Bedrock Geography

A collection of stolen words from A History of Europe by J. M. Roberts

Geographical facts. A set of shapes. The subcontinent at the western end of the Eurasian landmass. A big promontory jutting out to the west from Asia. Not far from the sea. Offshore islands to the north, west and south. Subsidiary peninsulas of Scandinavia, Brittany, Iberia, Italy and Greece. Shoreline indented with multitude of inlets, gulfs and bays, some fed by rivers winding hundreds of miles inland. A place of history and millions of lives for thousands of years. Europe.

The first of several writing exercises from The Art of Brevity by Grant Faulkner

The Inheritance

My fondest memories of me and my dad involve bicycles. He was an avid rider when he was a young man and he got his sons into touring as soon as we were able to ride without training wheels. I like to brag that I rode my first century (100 mile ride) in 1972 as an eleven year old. When I was a boy scout, my dad was the advisor for the bicycling merit badge and he organized the troop’s bike trips.

Although not highly competitive, my dad enjoyed the occasional amateur race — especially the time trial, “The race of truth”. He also had an eye for quality craftmanship and in 1970 he purchased the exceptional Schwinn Paramount complete with Campagnolo components for his weekend races. My dad cherished his top of the line, chrome painted racer and he kept it in pristine condition while I was growing up.

As he and his prostate got older, my dad’s interest in riding waned. After my parent’s divorce he gave the Paramount to my brother while I was given an 1880’s Rudge (high wheel bike) that my father had painstakingly restored to a rideable condition. We used to ride his antique bikes in small town parades wearing period costumes when I was a youth.

Years later my brother decided he had no need of a vintage racing bike while living in Los Angeles so he sent it to me. I cleaned it up, had it professionally overhauled and took it out for a few rides. Sadly, I found it uncomfortable to sit on for more than an hour so I let it collect dust in storage.

This year my wife and I moved to bike friendly Durango, Colorado where I found work teaching cycling classes to a fitness obsessed town. Recently, I saw a poster advertising a bicycle swapmeet fundraiser for a local organization. I decided it was time to find the silver beauty a new owner.

I knew from research the old Paramounts were highly collectible so I attached a $1000 pricetag onto a brake cable and watched it get placed in a long aisle reserved for road bikes in the large exhibition hall at the fairgrounds. [the charity gets 20%]

The next day I paid the modest entry fee and was immediately pleased to see several men huddled around the Schwinn. I watched as one guy kept going back to drool, fondle the brake levers and caress the crank. I was even more pleased to return on the final day to find the old gal had indeed been purchased.

Today I feel sad to see a significant family heirloom sold for rent money, but I am confident it has found a new home where it will be cherished once again. And if I ever see it flash by on the road, I will feel a rush of emotion thinking of my dad.

Going Green

Grand Junction’s curbside recycling service charges $1.75 per month to pick up its customer’s pre-sorted materials.

Meanwhile, local recycling centers pay 50 cents per pound for aluminum cans.

An undercover investigation revealed the average value of aluminum left at the curb equals the cost of collection.

In addition, investigators found that some enterprising and modestly unethical individuals were cruising the collection routes and hauling away containers of cans.

This possibly illicit behavior is known as ‘GOING GREEN’.

Censored from my own thoughts

Funny thing…I was preparing a clever search engine experiment where I filled a post with naughty words to see if it would spike my blog traffic. I first got the idea after receiving a large number of views following my post, “My Vasectomy Appointment”.

Besides the standard anatomical terms and sexual slang, my unpublished draft contained humorous (I thought) references to Gold’n Showers Assisted Living Center, Queef Latifa, Gone Fistin’ Bumper Stickers, Welch’s 100% Felch juice, and Got Drty Sanchez?.

Because I don’t own a computer, I do most of my blogging from the local public library. The day after creating my draft, I returned to the library to edit it for publication. Imagine my surprise when I was blocked from accessing my blog because of software filtering out ‘pornographic’ content!

As you can see, I eventually logged on and edited the original post. Ha, ha, joke’s on me — Momus Enormous.

Commodity Price Alert

With the New Year, Western Colorado has seen the price of  recycled aluminum rise to 50 cents per pound. This represents an increase of over 50% in the last six months.

This is great news for those of us investing time in day trading cans for cash. By spending just a few hours per week treasure hunting, I can maintain assets in my Beer Fund portfolio.

Senator Crushcan

The Vengeance of a Pacifist

A usually mild-mannered, tolerant man was walking down his street towards home when he passed in front of a neighbor’s house. The man had never met this neighbor but was very familiar with the neighbor’s yard full of highly agitated dogs.  A collection of mixed breeds, the dogs predictably launched into fits of barking, growling and high jumping against the fence whenever pedestrians dared to cross in front of their territory.

On this particular day, one of the obnoxious mutts had escaped its chain link captivity and was racing helter skelter in the front yard. As the unsuspecting man approached, the dog charged towards the sidewalk and surprised the man when it leaped up and bit him on the thigh.

The man became instantly enraged and screamed profanities at the animal sending it into a hasty retreat. Almost blind with rage, the man pulled up his pant leg to check the wound. He saw teeth mark imprints turning red from broken blood vessels but was relieved to discover the skin was not broken.

The seething man, after determining his neighbor was not home, left the scene wondering what he should do. Several days went by and the man, not seriously hurt and not a confrontational person, decided to ignore this minor indignity.

The next day, the man was again passing his neighbor’s house. He noticed a large pile of recyclables left at the curb for pick-up. He determined which bag contained aluminum cans and hoisted the bag over his shoulder. He took the cans to the recycling center for redemption and used the proceeds to purchase a six pack of his favorite microbrew.

That evening, the man enjoyed his beer while watching his alma mater play in the college football championship game. Although his team lost, the man felt satisfied that balance had been restored to his personal cosmos.