“The Vomit Commenter’s Collection of Sad Commentary” or “How to Lose Your Readers in 4000 Words or Less”

Dear My Long-Suffering Patient Readers…

All five, four, three of you.

(“Type quick Son; they droppin’ like flies.”)

Uh, Dear Readers,

This is a “HOT MESS” collection of some recent, decent and some not-so-recent, not so decent, not so ‘normal’ comments and added value ‘vomit comments’ and some other weird shit that spills from my mind from time to time, thus making me feel fine.

Go ahead: Try to Diagram that Sentence.

Good Luck.

I’m Sorry in Advance.

Le Space Race flashback—if you do not know of the ‘Vomit Comet” I’ll help you out

OK Go – Upside Down & Inside Out

Licensed to YouTube by LatinAutor – PeerMusic, LatinAutorPerf, ARESA, Abramus Digital, CMRRA, BMG Rights Management (US), LLC, and 8 Music Rights Societies

(NOT Licensed to One Lance A. Marcom–“I pays my money; I takes my Chances–Just how I roll.”)

***

“Where you goin’?”

“I isn’t goin’ anywhere.”

“Can I go with you?”

    –Bro Dave Gardner

***

Some dude, [emerging from bedroom half-dressed] yawing and scratching his butt, “So, what’s for breakfast?”

Elizabeth Perkins, “Egg McMuffin, corner of Broadway and Belmont.”

–from ‘About Last Night.’

***

Dear Your-Name-Escapes Me,

When I choose to waste my time, I prefer to do it on some guilty pleasure.

Something talking to you is not.

I thought I had dismissed you yesterday.

Apparently reading and comprehending is not your strong suit.

No matter.

Let’s review, shall we?

You are tediously boring Kid.

Why don’t you go outside and play?

On such a lovely day.

Or maybe find something better to say.

Or start a one-man-band.

Your kind: ten-a-penny here in Radio Land.

We’ve been here before…

***

A poet of such piercing eloquence

But covered with misguided arrogance

He throws out the meats

Then shits where he eats

Oops! There goes the inheritance!

–Lance

***

“Fear?” No fear.

“Biggest mistake?” Deluding myself into thinking English was my ‘First Language.’

‘Texican’ is my first language.

I’d do well to remember that.

“Southpark will depress you, repress you, digress you, ingest you, digest you, and shit you out (if you allow it). Writing saved me from insanity there.”

–‘Letter from a Southpark Jail’ (Afghanistan, 2012)

***

Dear Fortunato Musico,

Did you enjoy reading my comment? Insulting, was it not? Would you read an entire story written in such a fashion? When you are so lazy that you completely ignore proper grammar (and spelling, and punctuation), you insult the intelligence of your reader at best and you show a complete disrespect for yourself as a writer at worse. In short, you fucking lose both ways.

“Us, you people, knows grammar be important to write because of if us people are be writer, to be take serious, us knows us had to serious used prospered grammar. It was crucial to we as to be good at you craft.”

If you want to fuck-up The Queen’s English for writing effect, that there above is how you do it.

Rangoli / cannoli

Linguini / martini

Houdini / Fellini

Pacino / Tarantino

Let’s call the whole thing off

Ima just jerkin’ yo chain Bro. Tit for Tat. You da quintessential chain-jerker, yo!

–Lance

***

OK. I’m confused.

Did the man you spoke to say “That is how you get held back in kindergarten?”

Or was that part of your commentary?

Punctuation. Use (or not use) of quotations

Be kind to your readers.

We don’t deserve it though. We should be able to just ‘know,’ no?

Weak knees

Knocked trees

Bee stings

Laugh strings

Freak out

Geek out

La Shriek?

Très Chic

New Dance Craze??

“Well, allow me to retort.”

***

“Diwali is called the Festival of Lights and is celebrated to honor Rama-chandra, the seventh avatar (incarnation of the god Vishnu). It is believed that on this day Rama returned to his people after 14 years of exile during which he fought and won a battle against the demons and the demon king, Ravana.”

–Lance

***

No phone

No pool

No pets

Ain’t got no internet…

Hell! I’d do it for one billion.

(Yeah, I’m a cheap date)

Quoth the raven

(That black whore)

“How to get to Elsinore?”

“Elsinore, you ask?”

“Yes, Elsinore, which way?

In Elsinore I’ll stay.

“And with Lenore, I’ll have my way.”

“Say ‘Elsinore’ one more Goddamn time!

“I dare ya; I double-dare ya!”

“I feel like a black crow flying…

“On a blue, blue sky.”

Vid Share Cred: MysticPieces

(Sorry Edgar. Sorry Joni)

***

My condolences for your dear departed free-thinking mind as you are led, sheep-like, to the slaughter.

But of course, “Things will be much better in the Celestial North Korea,” that is Heaven, eh?

Fair winds and following  seas to you Friend.

Why go to all the trouble to create a meme and not even proof read it before subjecting the entire FB world to an inferior product?

My beliefs…

“The Cowards Never Started and the Weak Died Along the Way” –Old SEAL sayin’—jus’ sayin’.

Don’t know much about History…

Don’t know much geology…

Don’t know much about the French I took…

Don’t know what a slide rule is for…

But I do know English.

Angle: “a figure formed by two lines diverging from a common point or two planes diverging from a common line.”

Angel: “in some religions, a divine being who acts as a messenger of God”

Your meme is a crime against, not only logic, but English as well.

Unless of course you still are trying to say the “The Devil is Not in the details.”

If so, then one-thousand apologies.

Cheers,

–Lance

***

Yeah Alex, I’m down with this.

By the way,

What color is your parachute?

Cheers!

–Lance

***

Thank you Elizabeth

You have saved me from spilling more virtual ink and killing more virtual trees and wasting more virtual paper on this thread.

In other words, ‘I could not have said it better, nor agree more.’

Welcome to Writer’s Fight Club

Where the men are mostly men

And the women

Never nurture (nor suffer) fools.

Cheers and good luck.

You’re gonna need a bigger boat, by way of a first post.

Just a suggestion

Hope that helps your ‘writing.’

–Lance

***

Are you aiming at ‘cute’ here,

Or just showcasing your stupidity?

If the former, well, FAIL!

If the latter, Congratulations!

“Any plans for tonight?

Fork?”

***

TEXAN TALES & HIEROGLYPHICS: A Memoir

(Working title)

Nap time, that feared time, that dreaded time, that hated time.

Everything recounted above actually happened, in one form or another; me no Alamo.

“Call me Ishmael.”

“That was a whale of a ride, was it not?”

–Lance

***

Hi Belinda,

Thank you very much for spending time on my piece. Just home from work and of course was anxious to dive in and read your critique. You have provided excellent suggestions and have asked excellent questions. “Pregnant” golf ball. Yeah, whatever was I ‘thinking?’ Haha (Just plain old ‘golf ball’ will certainly suffice here, eh?)

There are many other fine examples in your comments showing how I might improve this selection. No need to recount them here, as you wrote them. I will copy and paste all your comments into my draft, in order to more easily work through them.

Again, your time and efforts on my behalf are much appreciated.

Thank you,

-Lance

***

“Ah Mortisha, I love it when you speak ‘atheist.’”

–Lance

***

“I’ve learned more from this group in the past 2 months than all the rest of my life.”

Now now Kelly. That’s a bit of a stretch, doan’cha think? Heheheh. Love you, you Manson Girl, you.

“It’s like sprinkling shit with the word “God” and that’s how you get holy shit.”

I am soooo gonna steal this…

J/K

It’s brilliant.

–Lance

***

“Allahu akbar!” BOOM!!!

(May often be heard in Shit-holes Paradises like Iraq)

***

It’s been a while since my last

Shitpost

So, without further ado…

*Zen and the Art of Commentary Maintenance*

Likes and Loves and Laughing Faces

Thumbs up Thumbs up

We’re off to the races!

A cheap thrill sensation

Brings joy and elation

With so much emoji

I’ll never be lonely

But cheap thrills ain’t lasting

Only forecasting

A sugary crash

Just a quick flash

Comments we want

No matter the font

Comments are golden

They fling the door open

Provide inspiration

Never inflation

True comments auspicious

And very propitious

Writers need feedback

Not smiley Prozac

If compelled to emoji

Don’t do that only

Take some small time

Drop a thin dime

Comment away

Make someone’s day

© Lance Marcom

***

Keeps rockin’ the nation

Emojis so cheap

But so fucking neat

We love ‘em to pieces

Like all them Meese meeses

–Comments, admit it…

Being “fatigued”

I have re-read (not that much fatigued)

Some of my recent comments.

Discovered this little gem:

“Comments are our life-blood”

Yup.

Some live for comments.

I love comments (and comets)

Even if they’re vomits

There is no real point to this post.

Save this:

If you like/don’t like a post,

Leave a little something of yourself behind,

by way of a comment, of course.

Even if just to say, “Hey! This sucks!” or “Hey! This rocks!” or “Hey! Don’t quit your day job!”

Out now

Comment, anyone?

“I know your monkey”

Would be a great title for… something.

Loved this John. Outstanding piece.

(You wouldn’t happen to have been influenced any by

“Joe Cartoon,” by any chance?)

–Lance

***

Hi Ginette,

I didn’t notice that at first (Mary Beth’s observation about the distance to the gas station—was it a gas station?). I do understand leaving the lights on, however. I have seen people do this before, if the venue was not particularly well-lit. Although, now-a-days, I’d suspect it might be difficult to find a dimly lit gas station.

Sorry, got caught up in all that…

The ‘hook’ worked for me (probably why I didn’t notice the gas-station walk)

Overall, I think it’s tight and flows well and I would definitely keep reading.

Hope this helped.

Good post.

“Fear kept Wendy Smith from staying in the rusted Sedan. The compact car smelt of stale beer and cigarettes, but it had been her ticket to freedom. She needed to get gas. She left the headlights on, grabbed her rugged back pack and opened the car door with a trembling hand.

…When their heads were bent down, she turned and ran as fast as she could.”

Cheers,

–Lance

***

The lament of every writing generation,

“We suck!”

And maybe this one does, but I hope not. For I am a cockeyed optimist, à la Mitzi Gaynor…

***

There are still great writers; always will be.

What is distressing, however, is we are the first generation with tools available unimaginable.

And how do most use them?

Cute-Cat-Memes!

Fuck me and hand me a quill and ink pot.

***

Some of your best writing Alex/Marie. Kept me locked up inside.

Love it.

My opinion does not match Dave K’s.

It all works (for me)

‘Cept this below:

“They must have knew their prince was missing by now.”

“must have KNOWN’ (Just typo…)

Bravo Marie!

–Lance

***

My first day in typing class in Honey Grove High, the old Broad K. Trout began our introductory lesson with an exercise:

“Class, two fingers and one thumb and it goes like this:

‘F   space  J    space  F   space  J    space… Keep doing that until I get tired.”

And if I’m honest, I thank her. Learning to touch-type is the only thing I took from HS that was worth a shit.

So… I Thank You Kathy T!

Last thoughts; then I’m off the air on this.

(If you’re lucky)

I am not an apologist for LBJ.

Honestly do not care how many ways y’all want to spin your history.

I have not the energy, inclination, nor desire to try to change your mind.

And I have far better things to do than become a caretaker of dead presidents or of their memories.

Unless of course, their visage is printed on some paper I am fortunate enough to be carrying around on my person.

I am not interested in taking part in a trolling war on this subject.

Y’all have expressed your opinions; I have expressed mine.

In parting, I will just add this to that:

It is disheartening to see so many who obviously have not taken time to actually learn anything in detail of the life of Lyndon Johnson or of the good he actually accomplished, jump on some lazy SJW bandwagon and ride it for likes to their comments.

Yes, Viet Nam was horrible, but that was not all that happened during the years, 1963-68.

–Lance

***

Hi Shawn,

Well, it’s massive.

Three ‘massive(s)’ in the first paragraph

Four additional ‘massive(s)’ and one bonus ‘massively’ sprinkled in the rest.

Seriously?

You can do better.

“A wee bit over 2000 words.” (Try 2592)

Ok, so arithmetic ain’t your thing; not mine either.

But, honestly, it’s a hot mess. There is NO HOOK at all, just mind-numbing exposition.

Why should I care about Admiral Sarah M. Visherly? Other than the fact she wears leather black gloves, carries a dress dagger and a concealed gun? Or because:

 “She… flashed her considerable teeth in a warning snarl.”

My suggestions?

Write it up as a ‘wee bit over 500 words’ piece.

Give us some dialog. Make us interested in Sarah.

Then leave us wanting more.

Save all the ‘massive’ detail for later.

 Get-us-involved-in-her-story-right-away.

It’s not all bad. I did slog through as much as I could.

There is some potential here, I think.

Unleash Sarah and let her show us.

Cheers,

–Lance

***

Juditta,

I listened right now, since it’s night.

Loved it.

Shared it to my timeline.

Cheers

–Lance

***

“For twenty-five cents more…”

–Lenny Bruce (“Hubert’s Museum”)

***

Hi Ginette,

Thanks so much for reading and taking the time to give feedback. Adverbs are surely my nemesis. Thought I had cast most of them out of this piece (Yes! There were more, believe it or not), but you’re correct. Further ruthless editing is in order.

I think my problem can best be stated by Gertrude chastising Polonius,

“More matter with less art.”

Your critique is appreciated as is your time. As for MWTD, I think I was trying for cute there. I’m still schlepping about a lot of my ‘hobbyist writer’ baggage, trying desperately to become more ‘professional.’ If I do keep the “Massive Weps,” they probably should be downgraded to lower case at the very least…

And certainly, I love that you love my (developing) style; coming from another writer that means so much.

Cheers, and thank you again,

–Lance

*For Barney*
(RIP, My Old, Old, Old, Friend)

Trigger Warning:

May be offensive to people of faith:

***

Barney’s not buyin’
The bullshit they’re tryin’
Space rock was his ending
Not God’s will unbending

They say the Big Bang
Just weren’t a thang
They ‘know’ evolution’s
Not their solution

Yet science creates
Kids who think straight
It don’t take no sleuth
To find the true truth

Religion is pending
A major upending
Then faster than light
All Religion is shite

© Texantales.com

Bar…

I don’t have any kids (that I know of), but the idea of dealing with eight kids and nine grandkids scares the shit outta me. I never could relate to kids, even when I was one.

Just saying

–Lance

I actually wrote a bit about my pet cougar, “Charley The Cougar,”

But, I dare not post it here.

OK, screw it!

I post it!

Dragons and cougars…

Oil and water.

–Lance

You say imbuing

I say imbibing

You say black cat

I say who dat?

You say screeching

I say that’s reaching

Let’s call the whole thing off.

(Kidding—love it)

Hey, I posted an apropos

 while back:

“Time Sink”

Fighters an’ Writers

Righters an’ Smiters

Takin’ all my time

Spendin’ all my dime

Readin’ here

Fightin’ here

Sometimes even writin’ here

–Lance

Okay: I’ll play.

Lemme consult my ‘history’

Last Googled:

“Blogging for idiots”

“Creative drinking”

“Tell it; don’t show it”

–L

As an erstwhile distance runner, this post caught my eye (or maybe my foot’s eye?).

Enjoyed it.

I always kept a runner’s log when I was doing my forty or so miles a week, and in addition to the usual mundane, but necessary stats (time of day, weather, locale, distance/time run, etc.) I found myself writing longer and longer entries describing the run, my mood, interesting things I saw or experiences I had, people I had notice or notice me, thoughts that invaded my mind, pain, and on and on.

Ran across some of my old logs a few years ago (sadly re-lost to me now) and what wonderful reading they held for me after so many years of almost forgetting that I used to even write such things.

Certainly you are keeping logs as well.

Keep them safe.

You will cherish them mightily some years from now.

–Lance

***

Khalid,

This is far and above anything I could write (today), but I’ll get there.

Maybe.

Amazing.

So many wonderful turns of phrase/ wonderful observations.

“…outerwearly Arab, underwearly Western. That’s also the image of the rooster gone crazy. A funny story I read somewhere. A rooster not knowing exactly the time when to start crowing because he happened to find himself in the Eiffel Tower somehow.”

Wow.

Just fuckin’ wow.

I have a ‘Layla’ in one of my memoir stories.

I am going to shoot her now, for not living up to the name.

Have you more of this piece?

–Lance

***

“Every morning I was dead as a doornail”

When I first read this I read it as “dead as normal”

And went, “Hmmm… I like that”

Then looking closer (yes, I need new glasses), realized I had misread it.

My point: I kind of like my misread version.

Your thoughts Mimi?

Uh, my comment shoulda read, ‘R’Amen.’

As an atheist, I am well-vetted, and my credentials are bona-fide.

–Lance

BELIEVE that shit! 

“SHOUT! SHOUT! LET IT ON OUT…”

Credit: Tears and For Beers Fears (Duh)

***

Hi Mona,

“There was compete silence in her mind. No need to escape.”

Maybe: “No thoughts threatened her mind; no need to escape” (?)

Just a thought. (no pun)

I like it overall.

–Lance

If I ‘Learned’ from all my myriad mistakes made, the hard-disk-drive that is my ‘mind’ would first become fragmented, then full, and then just explode.

So where would that leave me?

It would leave me with just-one-more-mess to clean up

(Uh… I think I have recently written about ‘messes.’)

“Should I go for it?”

That one is near to the top of my page. It is the post with the dog falling over in bed.

Yuk, Yuk, Yuk! (I love to laugh at Lance. It is cathartic)

And YES!

Sometimes merely ‘surviving’ is enough.

Great post.

Thanks for sharing the quote.

Cheers,

Lance

***

“But here lies the difference between low-vibing fake ones and high-vibing someone.”

Great line (and meaning)!!

I may be ‘compelled’ to steal it for a future post of my own.

(I will, of course, credit you. I may be a thief, but I am an honest one—does that make sense?)

Great post Angry Bird.

Cheers,

–Lance

Very well-written and thought provoking.

Bravo!

***

To add my ‘two cents’… well two cents which I stole from someone else, namely this guy: some old dude from several years ago,

“And if I say that the greatest good of a man is daily to converse about virtue, and all that concerning which you hear me examining myself and others, and that the life which is unexamined is not worth living—that you are still less likely to believe” –Socrates

I had a similar experience with one of my ex-wives, before she became one of my ex-wives (seems I am always in the market for the ‘future ex-mrs-marcom’ And the astute reader will recognize that I just stole that line from ‘Jurassic Park’ –Jeff Goldblum’s character)

Anyway, I was saying…

Oh yeah, my first ex. We were in Tel Aviv (I used to work in the Sinai for the U.S. State Department. You may have read some of ‘those’ posts: Sinai Field Mission.—SFM—Search for them on my blog if you’d like to ‘read more about it.’

Or not.

LOL

***

Damnit! I am gonna finish writing this ‘comment’ ‘even if it harelips the Pope’.

We were sitting at a sidewalk café on Dizengoff Street and I casually remarked,

“You know Janet, maybe we should get married some day.”

She took that to heart. (Or maybe she ‘heard’ me say “Sunday”)

Damn!

I wasn’t meaning ‘right now!’

Next day we were married.

(I had a problem back then with the whole concept of ‘Just say no’ when it came to women, and Nancy was still somewhere far off on the event-horizon at the time: 1979…)

***

***

Dear Reader(s),

If you have come this far, I humbly suggest you find something better to do with your time.

Jes sayin’.

Cheers!

Jury Duty, Texas Style: A Re-Post

Several years ago (before I went to Iraq) I was called for Jury Selection.

jury-summons

My first thought was, “Damn it! I cannot afford this; I live paycheck to paycheck.” I was living in Commerce, Texas and though I had a decent and secure job, the pay just barely supported my lavish lifestyle: Beer, Cigarettes, a three DVD per week habit, computer games… Not to mention dog food, cat food and Lance food. Gasoline was not an issue: I had no car.

On the appointed day I dutifully showed up at the Hunt County Courthouse (in a borrowed car) along with about one hundred twenty thusly cursed potential selectees. They assembled us into a large room and passed out the questionnaires. It was quite noisy and seemed disorganized. I don’t recall any of the questions, save one:

“What is your religious affiliation”?

That was easy: I scribbled ‘atheist’, which was an honest answer and one certain, I surmised to exempt me, as Hunt County probably has more churches per capita than most counties in Texas.” Brilliant!

Imagine my disbelief (no pun), when I was selected.

The trial, as it turns out was for a felony charge of robbery and assault. I will summarize to the best of my recollection. The defendant was a young man, say, twenty something. The plaintiff, a young woman, also twenty something.

The alleged crime: The defendant (white male) broke into the trailer-house of a third party again twenty something, with the intent of stealing a shotgun and maybe a few beers. By the way, all the principles in this event were white and actually knew each other and were supposedly ‘friends’.

The defendant was unaware that the trailer was occupied by the young woman, who happened to be engaged to a fourth party, but claimed to just sleeping in the trailer, “because she had gotten too drunk to drive home.” The owner of the trailer was not home at this time.

Once discovered by the young woman, the defendant threatened her by leveling the shotgun and promising with utmost sincerity that he was about to “blow her fuckin’ head off.”

That’s the gist of the complaint.

The testimony took most of the day, and then we retired to our chambers. Hunt County Courthouse is not a new facility (1929).

The jury chambers were musty but reasonably well lit, due to the several large windows in the room. We were on the third floor of the courthouse and could see ‘freedom’ on the streets below. We seated ourselves around a wonderful solid oak conference table which reminded me of the dining room table my father had in his Victorian Era ‘Marcom Manor’. All that was missing was the fireplace and the crystal balls and the pewter figurines of demons and witches and dragons.

On the walls were old paintings of Texas pastoral country scenes, one requisite Texan Ranger on horseback with a Walker-Colt six-shooter in hand, and one poster showing “Justice is Blind” frayed at the edges and stuck to the wall with yellowed scotch tape, probably added some years after the paintings as an after thoughtful motivation, or reminder, or inspiration. Who knows?

First order of business was to select a foreperson. To my dismay I was elected through no fault of my own. I was trying to fly under the radar, and apparently had failed miserably. And after all that stealth training with the SEALs too! Shit.

We began the laborious debate on the testimony and evidence. Personally from the get go, I was leaning toward a guilty verdict, but not ‘beyond a reasonable doubt’ at this initial point. As I recall, our first ‘secret’ ballot, which I called for right off the bat, just to see where we were, reflected an equally divided jury. Clearly we had some work to do if we were to come to a unanimous decision. We spent what little was left of the rest of the afternoon kicking the testimony around and getting to know each other.

Seated just to my left was a white man, about my age sporting a crew cut and an out-spoken demeanor. By his words, it became immediately clear he had an education and was also of the mind no gray area existed here. The guy was guilty. “And what he needed was to find Jesus Christ.”

There was an elderly gentleman at the opposite end of the conference table who had a mild-mannered air, quite soft-spoken. He could go either way.

Much to my surprise a woman I had known years before, who was still married to a good friend, fellow Honey Grove native, and also a co-worker of mine from the Seventies was also there. Not sure which way she was leaning.

An elderly blue-haired lady sat next to her, and I could just tell, she did not feel the young man deserved prison. (The crime called for a minimum fifteen year sentence, as the defendant had a previous record. In Texas, I think it must be two strikes and yer out)

The rest rounded out our ‘Twelve Angry Men’ scenario.

At the end of the afternoon, and having taken one more secret ballot and having not come anywhere near to a unanimous decision we departed to return the next morning.

***

Jury Duty, Texas Style Part Two

Part Two

Part Five of a Sailor’s Scholarly Series on U.S. Naval History in The South Pacific: ‘The Beautiful Girl With The Red Balloon’

After a good night’s sleep and an uneventful day at ‘work’, Matt and I hit the beach at 1600hrs. Rog was not to accompany us because he had ‘The Duty’ and could not leave the ship.

That is the little part of The Naval Service Experience the recruiters never tell you about:

“The Duty”

No escaping

“The Duty”

Briefly explained:

A war ship must be ever-ready to put to sea.

Or put out a fire.

Or counter a terrorism threat.

Or clean the shitters.

Or Worst of All: Standing Watch!

Hence, a percentage of the Ship’s Crew must remain on board at-all-times.

AT ALL TIMES

Call it a ‘skeleton crew’ if you will.

This is fitting since while stuck on board, unable to leave, one feels as if better off dead than…

Suffer the dread

Of Duty.

Because Having The Duty Sucks!

AT ALL TIMES!

“Navy: It’s Not Just a Job. It’s A Pain-In-The-Ass.”

***

Magsaysay was a little more frenetic than usual for a hot, humid sunny day.

Or maybe it was my imagination.

“Matt,” I remarked as we sauntered down the street heading for Viva Young, “Seem a little busy today?”

“It’s a Filipino holiday,” he said.

“No shit? What’s the occasion?”

“Magellan Day.”

“I thought the Filipinos despised him.”

“They do. This holiday commemorates that poison arrow they embedded in his ass back in Fifteen Twenty-One.”

I laughed. “You’re bull-shittin’ me Matt!”

“Yeah, I am.” And he laughed. “I have no idea what, if anything special’s going on today.”

“How do you remember?”

“What? Remember what?” he said, while wistfully gazing at a Filipina standing in a barroom doorway.

Matt was easily distracted and had already lost the train of our conversation.

“The year of the untimely death of ‘Ferdinand-The-Fucked’”

(“Don’t know much about History. Don’t know much Biology. Don’t know much about a Science book. Don’t know much about the French I took …” But this sailor knows just enough to get him into trouble.)

“You remember who I married right?”

“Oh yeah. Of course. But I didn’t take Josie for a Philippines’ history buff.”

“I married her for her brain, not for her big tits and tight ass.”

“Now I KNOW you’re bull-shit.”

We laughed some more and continued down the street dodging the ubiquitous  Jeepneys and Trikes and street vendors and sailors and marines and… You get the picture.

As we were making our descent toward Viva Young, we passed a balloon vendor who was struggling with an armload of bright balloons.

A light-bulb idea lit up in my brain (This sometimes happens, not often, but sometimes)

and I stopped dead in my tracks. Matt did not notice and kept on walking.

 “Hey Matt!” I hollered, “Wait a sec. I wanna buy a balloon.”

Since Matt is a sentimental artist, he thought nothing of it.

Now if Rog had been with us, there probably definitely would have been some unhappy words exchanged.

But Rog was stuck on the Freddy. And I smiled inside, imagining him stewing over doing his ‘Duty.’

I walked over to the kid selling balloons. He must have had no less than a baker’s dozen and a-half all trying to escape into the sky. Since I am such a prince of a guy, I decided to relieve him of his burden so he could call it an early day.

“How much for all?” I asked.

“Whaaa?”

“How much for all?” I repeated. “I wanna buy all your balloons.”

“Uh, Pive Hundred Peso” (This is roughly ten dollars)

“Sold!”

I gave him the money.

He gave me the balloons.

Matt shook his head.

We walked into Viva Young.

And all Hell and Pandemonium broke loose.

The girls squealed with delight as they, en masse, stampeded over almost knocking us down in the doorway.

‘Gimme! Gimme! Gimme! Gimmie Balloon!” fifteen voices yelled in unison as thirty arms reached out from bouncing girls.

“That’s what they’re for Little Darlings” I said as I untied the bundle and passed them out.

The girls dispersed back deep into the bar with their new prizes.

I felt some cold blue steel penetrating my head. I glanced in the direction of the source.

“Where MY Balloon? Goddam Chew!”

“Uh, Mama-San… You don’t want no balloon. I have something way more special for you that I picked up in Hong Kong.”

During our last Hong Kong port visit, anticipating such an emergency, I had purchased a semi-cheap but nice, lovely locket on a gold chain. I fished the little box out of my pocket and handed it to her.

She opened it, smiled a sweet smile at me, then caught herself and said, “Why you no gimme this before?”

“I was waiting for a ‘special’ occasion.”

“What special occasion?”

“I was waiting for the ‘special’ occasion of you being in a good mood.”

“I no in good mood now,” she said.

“Yeah, I know, but I got tired of waiting.”

“Well, ‘salamat’” (Filipino for ‘thank you’), she said. “It nice.”

“Walang anuman,” (You’re welcome) I said back. Two can play at this game.

Thinking this was the only opportune chance I would have, I broached the subject:

“I didn’t see New Girl. She here today?”

Instant frown: Just add Lance-the-Butterfly-Sailor and stir the shit.

“I told you! She off you limit!”

“Ah, come on Mama-San. I just want to talk to her. You know you have my heart.”

“Chew bull-chit-man! Yeah, she here. Go to look around you-self asshole.”

“What’s her name?”

“Lourdes.”

“Thanks.” And I went off on my quest before Mama could say anything else.

I discovered ‘Lourdes’ at the back of the bar. Why she had not claimed her balloon, I have no idea. But I theorized she was still very new to this ‘business’ and quite shy.

There was an extra balloon bouncing off one of the hanging light fixtures. I rescued it and walked up to Lourdes.

“Hi. My name’s Lance,” I said as I handed her the red balloon.

She looked up at me through beautiful dark Filipina eyes, took the balloon tether from my hand and said quietly, “Tank you por balloon. Red my pav’rit color. My namb ‘Lourdes’.”

“Yes, I know. Nice to meet you Lourdes.”

“How you know my namb?”

“Mama-San told me.”

The mention of ‘Mama-San’ seemed to make her nervous, so I quickly changed the subject.

“Come sit with me at the bar, okay?”

“Uh… Okay” she said as I led her to the part of the bar furthest away from the prying eyes of Mama.

We sat down and I must have gotten lost in her for a moment. She fidgeted a bit. I finally found my voice and asked,

“Aren’t you supposed to say it?”

“Say what?” she asked.

“Say, ‘You buy me drink’?”

“Oh yeah. I por’git. You buy me drink?”

“Of course I will.”

***

Some things are universal.

In these ‘types’ of establishments, no matter what town, city, county, country, or continent, the ‘game’ never waivers:

The girls hustle way over-priced drinks which more often than not, especially in Olongapo, consist of weak tea—no booze—but cost three times as much as top-shelf scotch.

It’s just the little dance we all must do and I have always been just fine with the arrangement, never being one intent on breaking the rules nor upsetting the balance of power in the universe.

***

We chatted for an hour or so over several beers for me and several ‘scotch’s’ for her.

Eventually, she began to relax having come to the conclusion, I surmised, that I was not a monster and actually a decent guy to hang out with.

Sad to have to say, but most sailors and marines have a ‘I buy you one drink baby, then it’s I-pay-your-bar-fine and we go to the show.’ standing policy.

Your humble sailor is not such a man.

Wasn’t then.

Isn’t now.

***

“’Lourdes’ is a lovely name.” I said, gently brushing her hair back from her cheek.

“Tank you. I like it.”

“Not your real name, is it Honey?”

“No,” she admitted. “I pic it outta book.”

“Kind of a ‘stage name’ eh?”

“’Stay… namb’?”

“At-work name.”

“Oh, yeah… Kinda. Yes.”

“Would you tell me your real name?”

“Mary-Lou. Mary-Lou Perucho.”

“I like that better,” I said. “May I call you ‘Mary-Lou’ from now on?”

“Yes, but not in pront of Mama-San.”

“Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me. Where you from Mary-Lou?”

“I prom da prob’ence.”

“Of course.”

***

To be continued…

Part Six here:

***

Previously:

A Respectful Tribute to Our Lil’ Man Kim: Who Put The Yin & The Yang into ‘No Complain…’

Pyongyang!

Song Artist: Jimmy Lloyd Logsdon

***

Dear Mister Kim
I’m at it again
Love you to pieces
You sack of raw feces

You think you’re King Kong
‘Cause you’ve got The Bomb
But remember Kong’s Fate
He fell from Emp’ State

Shot down from a ‘bye’-plane
Not even an eye strain
We shot his dumb ass
Took only one pass

And Rat-a-tat-tat
He fell with a splat
In flames he did tumble
No King of the Jungle

Your last act’s the same
We’re tired of your game
So here’s our fair warning
You will be in mourning

For loss of your State
And we’ll think that’s great
Goodbye North Korea
And that’s Panacea

Our simple solution
To speed execution
No biplane comes knocking
Yet something more shocking

Is heading your way
You will rue the day
My rhyme’s now concluded
But don’t be deluded

The ending draws nigh
So say your goodbye
Your death’s coming soon
Mister Jong-Un

©Lance Marcom

Just in case she needs backup (Which is doubtful)

***

***

“Lil Kim’s got the hydrogen bomb”
His news bitch announced in singsong
“He’ll mount it one day
“And launch it your way
“Then smartly fuck off to Hong Kong”

©Lance Marcom

So rong!”

***

There once was a boy name of Kim
Who decided to act on a whim
He launched a big bomb
In the direction of Guam
And that was the ending of him!

©Lance Marcom

***

In a Loon we call Kim Jong-Un
The World sees a silly buffoon
But he put up his Dukes
Oh Fuck me; They’re Nukes!
And The World is now singing new tunes!

(So soon?)

©Lance Marcom

Idiot!

***

Bonus “Added Value’

Barney was shamelessly created by Sheryl Leach of Dallas, Texas.

Yes,

In pain I declare

To those unaware

Barney’s from Dallas

I say that with Malice

(Tex Love for Purple no where)

Anyway, now Y’all know why they call it ‘Big D’

***

Barney’s not buyin’
The bullshit they’re tryin’
Space rock was his ending
Not God’s will unbending

They say the Big Bang
Just weren’t a real thang
They ‘know’ evolution’s
Not their solution

Yet science creates
Kids who think straight
It don’t take no sleuth
To find the true truth

Religion has pending
A major upending
Then faster than light
Their god turns to shite

©Lance Marcom

***

“With God on Our Side” by Bob Dylan

Street Cred for Vid: godriczimmerman

***

But now we got weapons

Of chemical dust

If fire them, we’re forced to

Then fire, them we must

One push of the button

And a shot the world wide

And you never ask questions

When God’s on your side

***

Credits: Bob Dylan – Masters of War (The Avener Rework) by Ultra Music

Tattoo (or ‘This is awkward,’ or ‘Open for Suggestion’)

Author’s Note:

Yes. I’ve done some incredibly stupid shit in my time.

Below is an actual-for-real email I sent to a soon-to-be former boss (an attractive lady-boss, of course.) and is sadly very close to the top of the Misfit Hit Parade of lame-ass-actions I have perpetrated on innocents.

***

I have swerved into the solution for Drunken Emails.

Who could’ve known it would be this simple?

Street Cred for Vid: Big Play Films

***

From: Moron <lance_moron@misfits.fubar> cc bcc:

To: Lady_Boss@job.yrfired

Subject: Tattoo

Dear Suki,

Yes, I am getting a tattoo (for my ‘mousing’ musing hand).

It will read simply, succinctly, in Big Bold Letters:

“No!”

Subtle Reminder:

“No! Don’t Go There Lance!”

Brevity? Yes. (‘That soul of wit.’)

“Words have meaning Son,” my father often told me.

And short words, I have discovered, oft hold the most meaningful meaning.

It has been ‘awkward’ (to say the very least) to face you of late.

After my ‘email shot-gunning’ you, off-the-chain escapade of recent shameful regret, but… I did it and today found the courage to read all of what I did send and happily discovered, most were not of the obnoxious caliber of my historical wont.

Thank God and Baby Hey Zeus!

Alas, I wish I had an excuse.

Yet, in searching, there is one to be discovered, but so probably painfully evident that it requires no verbalization:

Two times per year, I get to ‘explore’ my darker side.

Two times per year, I choose a ‘lucky’ recipient to ‘share’ in my darkness.

Two times per year someone gets to be ‘it’.

Guess what?!

Tag!

You won!

You’re the New ‘IT’ Girl!

Congratulations!

You’re in Good Company.

Clara Bow: The Original It Girl, 1927

***

The thing about writers (and those so-called writers who call themselves ‘writers’) is that they are so full of themselves, and vain by nature (it is requisite-with the breed), and every writer and so-called writer I have ever met, are… assholes. All.

Vain, pompous, drinks-too-much, full of sound and fury, and desperate.

“A tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.”

Desperate for…

Crying for…

Waiting for…

FEEDBACK

I am not (not really) stupid.

I know you cannot ‘comment’ nor even acknowledge, via email, all the posts I posted ‘at you.’

I dare say you would be wise to ignore me and my ramblings, given our professional relationship.

Yet, if you did read even one of the posts on my blog, (actually I think you read the first one I begged you to read—not the ‘best’ one, but one which apparently was on my mind–at the time)

It is a very simple thing to comment, ‘in disguise’ as

‘anonymous.’

Or ‘any-mouse.’

Or simply, “A Fan.” (tongue in cheek)

Too easy.

Do that once and I will be sated.

Do it twice and you get a Mickey Mouse Pencil Sharpener,

OR

An Autographed 8X10 Hollywood-Type-Glossy Photograph of Jesus Christ.

Sermon-on-the-mount, highly recommended, and our best-seller

But you cannot have both; there is a limited supply.

Do it thrice:  You should seek counsel.

Professional help.

Honestly.

Never mind…

“Writers are assholes.”

“Lance is a ‘writer’”

“Ergo, Lance is an asshole.”

***

Suki,

There is a point to this post, but most assuredly, I have forgotten my initial inclination in that regard.

***‘Jeopardy musical theme plays***

Oh yes!

Now I’ve got it!

This is my convoluted apology to you.

I am, and shall always remain, an Honorable Military Man.

I am cognizant of the duty (and the mission)

And, admitting I was wrong is something which seems to be easier (and more difficult—same time) to do lately.

My first wife once accused me of aspiring to be “King of the Idiots.”

(She was an idiot savant…well, you’d have to know her to get my meaning, yet, I think–know, that I have posted about her…ON-MY-BLOG)

Back to my point:

Suki,

I am beginning to grow bored with my job.

You are the best supervisor/boss I have had in recent memory. All, and I do mean ALL respect you.

This should be enough for me (and for the foreseeable future it shall be)

But…

I don’t like to shit where I eat, BUT (and this is a curse), I have a opinions and I need to get that tattoo—post haste—and with all due prejudice.

I like you Suki.

I respect you.

I am trying to help you professionally (in my way).

And NO!

I am not trying to ‘do’ anything other than ‘talk’ to you and ‘work’ for you.

To quote Nixon:

“Let me make one thing perfectly clear…”

I am a whore, but only when it comes to my writing.

Nothing else these days (aside from my computer addiction) means anything to me.

Rest easy.

I am not as bad as I may, at first glance, seem.

(Truth: I am worse, but I do not bring that to WORK)

Cheers,

Lance

(Yes: you may quote me. I’d be flattered…. Hahahahaaa)

See you on Friday.

And remember not to work too hard.

Life’s best moments can be fleeting.

Cherish Them

***

Number One

Beautiful Joni

More Dispatches From The Front Lines Of My Facebook Flame Wars

Author’s Notes:

  1. My ‘War’ With Kent was better-natured than it may at first appear.
  2. No Gods were harmed during this war.
  3. Some mortal egos may have been bruised however.
  4. This post is a chocolate mess.

***

I once knew a Theist named Kent

Who told me his Joy Heaven Sent

But his mind slipped a gear

His faith fled in fear

So I gave up on Kent for Lent

***

What do you call a ‘Facebooker’ who accuses another ‘Facebooker’ of hacking his own post and then reports said ‘hacker’ to Facebook for hacking his own post and then posts on his timeline, in excruciating detail how he, using his stellar sleuth skillset, figured all this out?

Take your time…

OK, time’s up.

“A Self-Made Fool, Devoid of Logic, who plays the ‘Pity Me’ card because he wants to become a laughing stock for anyone who knows how Facebook actually works.” (And for some who don’t)

Or succinctly put, you call him “Kent”

But don’t take MY word for it; you can read some samples of his ‘piercing eloquence’ below:

***

To let everyone get a little good news or good thought or just bring a little happiness on Facebook. I try to be positive and enjoy getting in contact with others old and new friends.

Check my profile I want to share and be friendly with all post and maybe make a positive difference in as many peoples’ lives as I can. Try and let the good things in the world come to light. Every now and then I may post something negative but it is trying to make a positive difference.

This is as good of a world as you want it to be. I choose to try and stay away from the bad things in the world. There really is a lot of good going on out there. I want to enjoy and be as happy as I can. While sharing my happiness with all I can. Happy,happy,happy

–Kent

***

Dear Kent,

“While sharing my happiness with all I can. Happy,happy,happy”

Classic case of ‘The lady doth protest too much, methinks.’

Who are you trying to convince of your “happy, happy, happy,” happiness?

You or ‘they’? All of ‘they’?

I think you, as do probably 99.99 percent of posters, just seek validation of your self-worth.

All are just ‘chasing likes’.

And this is fine—human nature, as it were.

I have read a lot of your posts on your timeline and your profile.

Sure.

And it seems to me your ‘happy happy happiness’ is primarily just a proselytizing form of sausage wrapped in a saccharine pancake smothered in syrup.

Once again, who are you trying to convince?

You?

Them?

Us?

Does your ‘faith’ require incessant posts requiring the great unwashed mass of the rest of us to “like, type ‘amen’, and share” if we too believe?

I’m actually not sure that I completely discount your sincerity, but it does tax credulity.

Marvelous much.

But you go Bro!

Keep posting your syrupy praises of God, Jesus, and whomever else gives you that happy,happy,happy.

Why the hell not?

Still a free country, eh?

Peace be unto you Kent.

Or perhaps that should have read,

‘Peace is onto you Kent.’

Cheers,     

Lance

***

My friend are you hell bent on trying to make people think you are an arrogant inconsiderate individual that places one under a microscope to disrespect their character coming to a narrow minded hypothesis attempting to destroy or manipulate their actions in such a manner that will somehow give you the feeling of superior intelligence that has no effect or the ability to change the individuals status or manner in which his goal to share and maybe bring a little faith and joy to their likes and beliefs.

Thank you.

I am only trying to stand strong by my spiritual beliefs. Sharing with those that I feel are doing the same. God bless you Lance. Thank you for two things. Bringing attention to others that my self worth and my ability to share my faith with others is of most importance to me.

I want nothing and I give God my Heavenly Father all the Praise and glory. For with out him I nor anyone or anything could be possible or exist. You should get what I have been blessed with.

Yes, you can be happy, happy,happy. Go for it it is a free Country. I truly believe you would have a different perspective on life in general and you can have topics that have a more sense of purpose. You are close what I think of my self is as important to me as what other think also.

I really appreciate your concern. At least you know the content of the majority of my post. This is my purpose to share with and post to my friends that enjoy and appreciate what I have to share. This is Facebook just as you shared your opinion you opened the door where I can share mine.

I hope you are not offended. This is not my intention and it will never be. God bless you Lance thank you for this humbling experience. Remember always give God all the praise and glory. Bless you once again.

–Kent

Dear Kent,

Your response is in serious need of an edit. Allow me to distill it down to the salient points:

  1. Lance is a pompous ass
  2. Lance believes (i.e., Lance has ‘Faith’—joke there for ya Kent) that he is the smartest person in the room.
  3. Kent is trying desperately to hang onto his faith by shit-posting endless memes over-expressing same, even though he freely admits that his intended audience already ‘believe’—preaching to the choir, as it were.
  4. Lance needs to ‘find’ God in order to be happy and have a sense of purpose.
  5. Lance needs to give an imaginary friend all the credit for everything Lance ever does. (I assume this includes both good and bad??)
  6. Lance needs to be blessed, and often, and by someone who knows how.
  7. That about cover it?
  8. You’re welcome

***

Dear Kent,

Lest I forget

I wrote these for you

Added a photo too

Share away!

Make someone’s day!

***

*Death Poetry Day*

He born

He torn

He die

He fry

*The End*

***

A post was once written

No one was smitten

I’d call that fittin’

Shit it was named

Its one claim to fame

Now that’s a damn shame

***

He once wrote a post

Lesser than most

Shit it was called

Comments were stalled

The content was trite

Just didn’t seem right

To waste all my time

Nor even a lime

To drop in my rum

Ho Hum! Ho Hum! Ho Hum!

(The lack of the lime was the least egregious of the sins)

***

A Cunt of a Man called Osteen

Built a Church so very Pristine

But he refused to let in

Those flooded in sin

“Fuck ‘em! They’re way too Unclean.”

“I know y’all love me. You need to get on social media. But First give Harvey-TheHurricane the ol’ heave-ho! God Blesses you, but I don’t. Move along. We’re closed.”
–Joel Osteen

“My God, they killed them all!”

Here comes the story of the Hurricane.

Bob Dylan

“WoW! Who would’ve ever thought they’d find me doing God’s work?”
–Lance

***

“Lil Kim’s got the hydrogen bomb”
His news bitch announced in singsong
“He’ll mount it one day
“And launch it your way
“Then smartly fuck off to Hong Kong”
So rong!”

***

There once was a boy name of Kim
Who decided to act on a whim
He launched a big bomb
In the direction of Guam
And that was the ending of him!

***

In a Loon we call Kim Jong-Un
The World sees a silly buffoon
But he put up his Dukes
Oh Fuck me; They’re Nukes!
And The World is now singing new tunes!
(So soon?)

Cheers Kent,

–Lance

***

‘A Celestial North Korea’

Credit: Christopher Hitchens

***

A full week has passed

Since Jon GOT that ass

Even Dany GOT pleased

By Crow’s bended knees

And now we must fast for Season The Last

(And That’s The GOTcha)

Bonus Content Below:

The Most Lovely and Captivating and Charmingly Endearing Emilia

***

The Iron Throne – Game of Thrones’ AWFUL final episode

Vid Content Cred: Critical Drinker

***