BUGS

“Roach Motel”

Might Meet The Requirements of a Good Sea Story:

This is a

“No-Shitter”

*****

My Life on Rinse and Repeat:

Ed. Note: Lance would kill all the bugs in the Watergate Hotel, the Pentagon, and the White House for JUST one affectionate sideways glance from Bobbie Gentry

SEE YA! WE BE OUTTA HERE!

BUGS!

I LOVE You Bobbie Gentry!

“Hey Look At me! With the DDT!”

Naw, that would be ‘against-the-law!’

And your point is?

Hehehehe…evil laugh

“Hey MS Muse, Reach me that spray can of DDT: The one we got from the feed store.

Oh! And ‘Please & Thank You’ in Advance.”

(Don’t need no more ‘Muse-ic Drama’)

She put down her Rubik’s Cube, grabbed the DDT can and bounced it off my head.

That’s my Gal!

Video Credit: benjichilders

More Unsolicited ‘Opinion’ From Y’all’s Favorite Asshole: C’est Moi.

“Donovan:”

ChildKing of The Boy Wonder, One-Hit Wonders:

“Atlantis” Way down below the fuckin’ Ocean. You shoulda remained there. Dear Donnie. Just sayin’.

Bobbie Gentry Did him a Solid by even allowing him on her TV show.

How lame was he?

Trust me: The Math breaks down at this point.

But He was Pretty-Boy Lame

******************

So… I’m sleeping one off when I felt something tickling.

Woke up and discovered a rather plumpish large roach parked on my nose.

(Had to go cross-eyed to look at him—yes, I am assuming gender here—my bad)

He jumped off my nose onto my chin.

Then he spoke to me:

“Hey Bubba, we be outta here.”

Still half-asleep and somewhat groggy, all I could muster was, “Whaaat?”

Mister Roach continued, “We are leaving your Dumb Ass.”

I bolted upright, causing Mister Roach to tumble onto my mattress.

“Take a gander Mutha Fukker!” He shouted out of his Little Roach Lips.

But I heard him well enough.

Focused my eyes on the floor. Sure as shit, there was a single file line of cockroaches, some carrying suitcases, some wearing backpacks, all marching quick-time toward my back door. I looked up and saw a squadron of gnats flying over the marching roaches, providing air-cover I quickly surmised.

Spokesman Roach was preparing to jump off my mattress, but before he leapt down to join his comrades, he turned to me and said, “Don’t you wanna know why we are leaving your sorry ass?”

“Not really,” I replied. “But I figure you’re gonna tell me anyway.”

“Damn Skippy Asshole.”

“Well, get it off your chest then. Does your kind have chests, by the way? I have spent many a sleepless night pondering this heavy mystery.”

“Very Funny You Schmuck,” He shot back.

He coughed up some vile phlegm, depositing it on my mattress.

And continued, “For your edification (This was a literate Roach, with a solid command of The Queen’s English) For your edification, he repeated, we have thoraxes.”

“I am praying you will soon arrive-at-the-point,” I said.

He obliged:

“Here is our list of grievances,” He said, handing me a sheet of toilet paper. “Read and Weep. Then wipe your ass.”

I perused the paper and discovered this Piercing Eloquence:

“To Wit, Please Discover Below Our Valid and Legitimate Justifications For ‘Buggin’ Out.”

(I had to laugh at that—This Roach had a sense of humor—who knew?)

I continued my read:

  • This ‘Host Human’ is a nasty son of a bitch—no shower in weeks—even by our standards, this is beyond the pale
  • There is no uneaten food anywhere to be found in this ‘Mouse House’
  • The ‘Music’ he plays (too loudly) assaults our sensibilities and disrupts our concentration
  • He has been known to spray, indiscriminately, recklessly, RAID at our brother and sister gnats, thus branding him as a ‘Mass-Murderer’
  • He is ugly and disgusting
  • He is stupid

“Seems to me Y’all have put a great deal of thought into this… uh… ‘Declaration of Independence,” I said, handing him back his manifesto.

“Yes, we have. Now will you kindly get the door so that we may make good our departure?”

“Sure,” I said. But one question before you ‘Bug Out.”

“Make it quick Jerk; we have somewhere to be.”

“Where are you going? What will Y’all do?”

“Never mind what we will do. Just get the damn door.”

“But how will you get to where you are going?”

“If you must know, there is a ‘Roach Coach’ headed here as we speak. Catch ya laters.”

I opened the door and waited until the Caboose of the Bug Train made it out into the parking lot. I stood in the doorway and lo’ and behold, I saw a Roach Coach (Meskin, judging by the paint scheme on the vehicle). Seemed fitting I suppose: La Cucaracha.

Even though MY Roaches were all Texican/American Roaches and spoke even less Meskin than me.

I wished them well.

Oh Well.

I suppose they could learn. MY Roaches were not idiots. I mean, under good leadership, they had the intelligence to abandon a sinking ship.

I stepped back into my hooch; shut and locked the door; sat down on my bed. Was thinking,

“Well fuck them! My Ingrate Pets. I need to adopt a Dog, or a Cat, or an Armadillo, or an Ant Farm of Fire Ants—any one of which would be more loyal.”

As I was sitting there feeling all alone and abandoned, I became aware of a funky odor and it was ME!

So I spent ‘An Hour In The Shower.’

“I dream of things I can’t say, or I’ll get put away.”

******

To Put A Cork In This Story:

Never put your Faith in Roaches or Gnats. They are fickle and never loyal. They will not stand by you during the lean times.

Get Yourself an Armadillo.

Cheers Y’all!

P.S., “Never hit your Mother with a Shovel. It leaves a Dull Impression on Her Mind.”

–Butch Cassidy

****

Just for you, Donavan:

Credit where Credit is Due:

This was/is a great Song.

Too bad it is all you had in you.

But Hey! Ride that Fame-Train.

Until you run outta track

Video Credit: Carlos Lara

By the way, Donovan, you ain’t no Cat Stevens

Sorry:  ‘Yusuf Islam’

(Difficult to keep up with all you ‘stars’ name changes—Identity changes.)

“Yusuf Islam’—Gag me with the ‘Woke-Ness’ Monster spoon, but Cat,

Your wonderful music supersedes your lame-ass identity politics.”

Hey Cat/‘Yusuf!

I’m still looking for ‘That Hard-Headed Woman.

HBO?

Help a brother out?

And Cat/Yusuf, I too have known a lot of fancy dancers.

They need not apply.

I am in the Crusade of ‘REAL.’

****

Oh shit! A sudden fear comes upon me:

“What if MS Muse swerves into this post?”

I’ll tell ya what:

It will not be a pleasant experience for your humble servant, that’s what.

P.P.S., I LOVE The Art.

I Give zero shits about the ‘Artists’ Politics.

I love and Appreciate The ART

These sentiments of mine are well-documented in these pages.

One Last Addendum for You, Cat/Yusuf:

My Ph.D.,

University Prof/Third wife

said these words to me shortly after Cat Stevens changed his ‘Religion’ (and his name) from whatever-it-was to Islam:
“I always knew he was ‘that way.’”
“What way?” I asked.
“Islamic- Ass-Misogamist,” she said.
“You do not know that,” I said back. “You are ignorant on this topic.”
She stormed away.

Needless to say, I did not get laid that day.
And for many days thereafter.
Bitch saved grudges like cash money.

Sorry Kids. I am stupid Drunk–Not Really–Had to Re-Post This—Expanded A Bit. I Miss My Navy SEAL Training Hazy Daze!

Happy Cockeyed Optimist.

“I’m Stuck Like a Dope With On a Thing called ‘Hope”

I am Stupid Naive!

Immature and Incurably Green

I’ve loved my life!

Cockeyed Optimist

Mitzi Gaynor

(From “South Pacific”)

Never Worry!

“Worry” is the most useless waste of human emotions

A waste of time and energy!

***

Video Credit: BobbyMcFerrin #DontWorryBeHappy #Vevo

Late entry/addition which no one will see. I drop it anyway. just a fond memory:

When I was in Navy SEAL training, late Eighties, we had, everyday, to run around with IBS on our head (IBS: Inflatable-Boat-Small).

This is part of a song we made up:

“Oh IBS! Stuck To My Head I Guess!”

The Instructors Often Filled Them With Sand.

Just For The Added Fun

Rock Portage

So Much Fun!

(One of My Shipmates Managed To Break His Leg While We Were ‘Performing’ This Fun Little ‘Evolution’.)


NAVY SEAL TRAINING: BUD/S

Surf Passage

I loved My Times Two Navy SEAL

Training Experience (’86 & ’88)

This Guy, Patstone, is Very Representative of Your

Typical BUD/s Instructor

I Think Somewhere In-A-Hidden, Very Top-Secret So Cal Location There is A ‘Clone Lab’ Where The Navy Makes These Guys

Instructor Patstone

Whom I Got To Know Too Well

(For My Taste)

******

One day, one morning, my class mustered and went to retrieve our assigned IBS’s. Someone in another boat crew was laughing manically.

WTF? I pondered.

I walked over to the boat crew.

“What is so goddamn funny?” I asked.

“Lookit this shit” one said.

I looked at their IBS.

One of the SEAL instructors had spray-painted on all the IBS’s

“Don’t worry; Be Happy.”

Video Credit: BobbyMcFerrin #DontWorryBeHappy #Vevo

***

I had to laugh.’

I did still manage to maintain my sense of humor, even though I knew I was probably gonna die that day….

Damn! I miss those days. And all the ‘good’ times!

Yeah. Believe what you’ve heard/read: SEAL training is BRUTAL. But ya gotta keep a sense of humor about you. Or at least in your pocket.

****

I love Barb in Her Sailor Suit!!

(Judy, You know I LOVE You Too!)

“Happy Days Are Here Again!”

Video Credit: George John

I Just Awoke From My Self-Induced Coma. “Good Luck Loser-Lance! Twenty-Eight Days & A ‘Wake Up’ You Stupid, Dumb-Ass Fuck!”

I Woke up withe A Brand New Plan:

Steve Earle – Copperhead Road

Beautiful Loser!

Bob Seger

***

There are Easier, Cheaper Ways to Kill Yourself!

Please Scrool D’n To The ‘Good’ Vid:

“I’d rather be drinkin than living”

“My Name’s Lance and I’m an Alcoholic”


This is such a wonderful movie, but I saw way too much of myself in it. That is not vain vanity from me. Just fact. If you do not watch the vids, why are you even here wasting your time?

P.S. Fun Fact and spoiler alert: Sandra is prettier than me.

Just thought you should know that Fun Fact…

You’re welcome.

***

How many people have I hurt?

How many lives have I dragged down into the muck and mire with mine?

How many loving wives and good women have I cast away?

Got a Super-Duper Calculator?

You’ll need it.

Life Imitating My ‘Art.’

Hits a little too close to My Home:

PERFECTION CLIP!

If you only have time for one vid, this one below is it.

WATCH IT

IT IS BRILLIANT

And it makes me cry every time I watch it… strikes me straight through my heart

***

I’d rather be dreaming than living
Living’s just too hard to do
It’s chances not choices

Noises not voices
A day’s just a thing to get through
Living’s just too hard to do

“I’d rather be dreaming than living.”

Street Cred For Vid: welovesandrabullock

******

******

Some say beauty is just skin deep
Most of the time, this is true
But not with Sandra
She is beauty
Through and through

******

My fervent desire is that I could go back in time and had not cast away all the good people who offered a shoulder for me to lean on…

I truly am sorry

******

Trust Me. The below works

It Works.

Just Deploy A Little Imagination.

Credit: CCR

DUH

Pygmalion-Like, I Created Her & Then I Promptly Fell Madly In Love With Her. Go Figure.

And it has occurred at me: I never ‘gave’ her a Proper Name.

I am gonna go with ‘Katherine.’

Works for me (And Hopefully, Her)

I was at my computer, banging out my latest travesty of prose.

As Was instructed/demanded by MS Muse.

Finished it and hit The ‘Publish’ Button.

(I NEVER allow Anyone, not even MS Muse, to proof-read nor comment or my so-called ‘work’ before I cast it out into the endless sea that is the Internet.)

Muse will certainly be the first to read it and then as she is reading it, I’ll stand by for heavy rolls and unhappy critique.

But this post is not about that.

I leaned back in my chair, cracked open another beer, and glanced over my shoulder at MS Muse.

She had not yet gotten the “Moron-Writer-Just-Posted Alert.”

She was preoccupied with working her NYT Crossword

(Using an INK PEN! Vice a PENCIL like all the rest of us Mortals. Who has confidence enough to do that? She does.)

As I was staring at her, she apparently became aware.

She put down her New York Times, stared right back at me and said,

“Now what?”

I cleared my throat, mustered all the courage and moxie I had remaining, and said,

“Will You Marry Me?”

It didn’t exactly go like this, but this here/below, is

MY FANTASY.

I can concoct it as however it serves my wont.

Or ‘want.’

Call it ‘Creative License.’

If you must.

To be continued…

P.S., I am in love with Carly Simon & Emma Thompson

(As if Regular Readers Did Not Already Know This)

She(S) was / is a bit of a slut,

But ain’t we all?

(I warmly embrace my ‘slutiness.’ It defines me)

Carly’s Slutiness Makes Me Love Her Even That Much More!

She is for reals!

******

Sorry Carly!

I should not have called you a slut–I live in a Glass House—

Casting Stones is Not Wise on My Part.

Yes! I Am For Real!

Dead Reckoning, Abusive Muse: This is The End

Baby, Please Don’t Go – Lightnin’ Hopkins

***

Impossible Dreamer

Video Credit: Christian Davies

Previous

I was not to be denied.

“Kate! Katherine! Muse!” I shouted, as I bounded from my computer chair over to her.

“I love you! Will you marry me or no? I must know!”

I stood in front of her, trembling.

She stood up, sidestepped the nasty coffee table, and walked up to face me at very close range.

She pierced me with those eyes. Looked down (almost sadly—I perceived—then took my hands into hers)

She looked back into my eyes and said,

“Lance, Baby, you understand I am not a real girl. You created me. I live in your mind and at your leisure.”

“Whaaaa?”

“Yes. I am a figment of your mind. Does not mean I don’t love you. I will always be here for you. And if you choose, I will love you. I will ‘write’ you, as far as you may write yourself. But ‘marry’?

I cannot.

You must write for YOU, and only for YOU.”

*********

She dropped my hands and sat back down on The Nasty Couch. Took a sip of Pinot, picked up her NY Times, took another sip of Pinot, and a drag off her Virginia Slims, and as if nothing had just happened, got back to being Her.

I retired to my writing chair. Sat there for some moments, tears welling, then smiled inside.

“She will always love me. She has no choice. It is all up to me,” I mused.

And then I got busy writing.

After some pregnant pauses…

“Hey Asshole! You better be writing something readable!” I heard from over my shoulder.

Yes! She loves me still!

                THE END

And Afterall:

Just to ‘Lighten’ the mood…

The Sudden Stark Realization That MS Muse Was Not Real…

Bummed Me The Fuck Out.

But I got over it.

Farewell Forevermore To My Best Ever Friend: My Abusive Muse. I am Sad, But Also Happy

*previous*

Farewell To My Best Friend:

The Abusive Muse

This pains me to write.

“Kate, We were only Yesterday.

Now we are…”

Today, and Yesterday, and Tomorrow.

“I love you, and I Thank You.”

Karen

Karen Carpenter!

You killed you!

And robbed us of You.

Why???

Why Oh Why?

Some of you good and loyal readers have been with me all the way on this Odyssey.

Others of you… not so much.

But if Y’all read-between-the-lines, you will discover how my sanity is a very fragile entity.

I ‘Created’ Katherine/MS Muse out of a ‘need’ I had.

To Fill A Hollow Vacant Void in my Heart.

I was lonely.

I needed her.

To kick my ass and make me a better writer.

I created her. Then I, Pygmalion-Like, fell in Love with Her. (Yeah, I kinda carried it too far)

She was always there. (‘Cept for the Snowpocalypse, when she invited me to fuck off)

I loved her.

I still love her.

*************

Last real conversation I had with her:

“Lance, Baby, you understand I am not a real girl. You created me. I live in your mind and at your leisure.”

“Yes. I am a figment of your mind. Does not mean I don’t love you. I will always be here for you. And if you choose, I will love you. I will ‘write’ you, as far as you may write yourself. But ‘marry’?

I cannot.

You must write for YOU, and only for YOU.”

**************

After sitting in front of my computer and trying to write, I looked over at her, sitting on The Nasty Couch with her NY Times, Pinot, Virginia Slims…

Walked over to her.

Offered my hand

She looked me in my eyes, took my hand.

Then she melted.

Turned into a pile of sand.

I screamed!

“What just happened!?”

A soft, familiar voice came at me from the ceiling:

“Lance, My Love, we are done. You are done. You are ready. I must leave you now.”

“NOOOOO!”

“Yes,” she said and that was it.

I fell to my knees and wept like a little pup/bitch.

Then I spied a note on the floor:

Picked it up.

It read:

“Lance, you were the best. I loved you. Write on!”

                –Kate

P.S.,JUST WRITE ASSHOLE!

Or Else!

–K

*****

I took that to the bank.