Pages

Monday, December 10, 2012

INSPIRED TO WRITE

Poetry:* I must write







What's this that comes to make me ill?

Dear Lord, it is the cable bill!

For the vapid shows I watch each night,

I owe a bundle, I must write.



A check! Or maybe go on line, and pay them thus,

Won't that be fine?





But my 'puter suffers viral blight.

Pass the check book. I must write.






*Using the word in its loosest sense.

Sunday, December 9, 2012

GIVE ME AN ALASKAN HOME


Ode to Alaska






Oh give me a home in the suburbs of Nome,
where the bear and the caribou play.
Where the frostbite doth tickle,
and my ear's an icicle,
and its dark twenty hours a day!





Oh no I'm deranged!
And I'm up to my tookus in ice.
Its too cold to grow oats,
and the wolves ate my goats,
and the pie is too frozen to slice.

©2012 Mac Pike All Rights Reserved
 
 
WHAT WE LIKE TO CALL "A SING ALONG" IN NOME
 

Sunday, December 2, 2012

SIZE DOES MATTER


IT PAYS TO DREAM BIG



TRACY

 



Tracy was a stripper; she worked the go-go lounges, 
Selling dreams to biker men, and cops, and other scrounges.
She left her home to prosper in the clubs of San Hose,
Her legs were long, her bottom schweet! Her boobs alas, just “A”.
 




She had an A-team dancer’s moves, she had grace and charm and pluck,
And when it came to cuteness she’d disgrace a baby duck.
She could work the floor and work the bar her people skills were deep,
The way she buffed the old brass pole made Jaded patrons weep!

 
 

But when she counted up her tips they barely made a dent,
In the car and light and phone bills; forget about the rent!
As Tracy left the club one night Bill the bouncer caught her frown,
He led her to a table and he said, “Hey kid, sit down.”
 

He signaled to a waitress, “Trixie, set us up with shooters!”
Then turning round to Tracey said, “The problem is your hooters."
Oh the fellows really like you; they love to watch you wiggle,
But to separate them from their pay you’ll need some frontal jiggle.”
 

Tracy clutched her chest and said, “How can this cruelness be?
I cannot be a jiggly gal, all I’ve got is what you see!”
“Trace, take this, it holds the cure.” – And Trace required no urgin’,
Bill handed her a business card: “Sol Goldstein, Plastic Surgeon”
 




Next morning at the clinic Trace said “Doctor Solly please!
Can you help a Sister out and turn these into “B’s”?”
“Ho, ho,” the kindly doctor laughed, “Dear girl, it is no trouble,
To turn those bee stings into “D’s”. Said Trace, “Make those a double.”
 




Now Trace lives in Monaco in a mansion by the sea.
She drives a Bentley and a Jag and Royals come for tea.
She has a cook, a parlor maid, and a butler (his name’s Bill),
She dances sometimes just for fun and to give the crowd a thrill.
 




She sips her champagne cocktail on the fantail of her yacht,
And reflects some times in wonder on the good things she has got.
As she oils her phony assets she is sometimes moved to snigger,
It’s amazing what a girl can do, if only she’ll dream bigger.
 

Saturday, December 1, 2012

KNOW YOUR BIRDS

Do you know what is on your bird feeder?




This is a red headed woodpecker and he should be encouraged to attend.




This is a red headed peckerwood and he should be slapped repeatedly with a halibut until he goes away.

No need to thank us.

Monday, October 22, 2012

COTTAGE INDUSTRY

Need a few extra dollars? If you do not, then what is your secret? if you do and live in the right type of geography here is a cottage industry that can put several hundred to over a thousand dollars extra per month into the family coffers.

COTTAGE NOT ACTUALLY REQUIRED

In order for this to work out for you, these parameters must be met:

You must live in a relatively rural environment.

The climate must be such that people burn firewood for fuel.

You must be capable of some minimal level of physical labor.

You hopefully have not pissed off the local Government, or your immediate neighbors.

You own or have access to, a minimal tool kit of a chain saw, a sledge hammer and at least one splitting wedge.

HAMMER, WEDGE AND CHAIN SAW ARE VITAL. THE RED HANDLED OBJECT - A HEAVY DUTY WOOD SPLITTING MAUL - IS DESIRABLE, IT SPLITS MANY WOODS QUITE EASILY. THE STURDY KNIFE IS ALSO QUITE USEFUL FOR MARKING CUT SIZES AND OTHER PURPOSES AS WELL, BUT KNIFE AND MAUL ARE NOT STRICTLY SPEAKING, ESSENTIAL. THE VODKA MAY WELL BE, BUT ONLY WHEN WORK IS COMPLETED. EMERGENCY ROOM PERSONNEL HAVE A NAME FOR PEOPLE WHO USE A CHAIN SAW WHILE HALF IN THE BAG, AND IT IS NOT ONE YOU WOULD WISH TO BE CALLED.*

 

So what is this business? As you may have guessed, it is cutting, splitting and selling (usually on the honor system) small stacks of firewood from your front lawn. Stacks costing $5.00, $10.00 and if you can get enough wood, $20.00 are usually best. Many folks simply stick to $5.00 amounts and let the customer work out his own multiples.

Payment system can be as simple as leaving a coffee jar lying on the ground with a note on it "Put wood money here".


$5.00 STACKS - NOTE CASH BOX LAG SCREWED INTO A STUMP. THIS IS PURELY COSMETIC IF SOMEONE WANTS TO RIP YOU OFF THEY WILL. IT WILL ALMOST NEVER HAPPEN. AND EVENTUALLY, YOU WILL CATCH THEM.

Is it work? Sure is but it is good for you. Is it money? You bet. I won't tell you how much because next thing you know the State and the Feds will have a firewood patrol slithering greasily around looking to grab some taxes to which they are not entitled. (In my opinion).

Of course you could keep records and pay taxes like a good boy or girl but I say, enough is enough!

Now go sharpen your chain saw!



*However, it rhymes with "claiming bass pole"




Wednesday, October 3, 2012

SOLE MAN



Comin' to yuh, on a real nice boat,
When it comes to fishin', man I ain't no scrote!
Got a brand new net, got the strongest line,
When I start fishin', Lord that fishin's fine!


I'm a soooooole man!
Badababadapadapbada!
I'm a soooooole man!
Dootdootboodlydoot!

Wednesday, September 12, 2012

G is for...

LC/174 MUZIO ATTENDOLO

United Systems light cruiser Muzio Attendolo was a mere 2 hours out from the sector naval base on Alderbaran 6 when the trouble started. With a groan the portside main engine lost power while the starboard gained thrust. The great vessel immediately began to slew, a motion which if left unchecked would send it whirling through the Alderbaranian system like a poorly aimed boomerang.
 

“Shit!” said Acting Captain Luigi De la Penna, slapping at a red button on his console intending to kill the engines. It seemed to him that the button turned green a split second before his hand struck it. “Shit twice!” he added.

“What?” exclaimed a panicky Cadet Mulsberger.

“Gleason Box.” Said Della Penna and the intercom at the same time.

Dela Penna remained silent but the intercom was not finished. “I’m still faster.” said the disembodied voice which in reality belonged to the Attendolo’s only other regular navy crewman, Chief Boson’s Mate Fenrus Hoggarty in Engineering. ”I had you by a quarter second.”

“Yep” replied Dela Penna. “But I still have what it takes. Which explains the bunking arrangements. “

He switched the intercom off, imagining the profane and outraged reply and grinning.

On active duty the Attendolo carried a complement of 52 officers and ratings, with accommodations for a dozen Marines and perhaps another half dozen supernumeraries. For the milk run to Alderbaran to refit, rearm and re-crew the current complement of two regular Navy personnel and four Cadets in Training should have been enough. If nothing went wrong.

Presently Cadet Mulsberger was on the Bridge with Dela Penna, Cadet N’gon was annoying Hoggarty in Engineering, Cadet Ni was presumably sleeping and Cadet Yum was in the Captains stateroom, creating ever more transparent lingerie items using the auto-tailor while rubbing interesting scented oils into her equally interesting topography in anticipation of shifts end.

CADET YUM
 
“What’s a Gleason Box?” queried Mulsberger.

“It's right behind you, kid”, said Dela Penna, pointing “It’s not working correctly. Normally it balances the ion flux between the anti-polarity nebulizing generators and keeps us running straight and true, rather than cartwheeling off into the void and exploding into tiny and in some cases bloody bits. But it isn’t working. Thump it with your fist, there’s a lad.”

“Thump it?” said Mulsberger, “Fist?”

Dela Penna rose, sighing. He approached the Gleason Box. This device was about 2 feet on a side, and projected perhaps a foot from the bulkhead. A twelve by twelve inch monitor, currently inactive,  occupied the center. Across the bottom were 6 controls; an on/off button, an archaic twistable dial numbered 1 through 13, and 4 more dials labeled “volume”,  “contrast” “vertical roll” and “brightness”.  He whacked the top of the console with a clenched fist.

Mulsberger gasped.

A pinpoint of light appeared in the center of the dark grey screen. It expanded to a horizontal line and then the monitor brightened. The image of a fat man in grey appeared briefly. Glaring at an unimpressed and garishly costumed woman he gestured flamboyantly.
 
THE MONITOR
“One of these days, Alice, one of these…” said the Gleason Box.

The voice faded into white noise. The image on the monitor morphed into a sea of black and white stipples.

“Not good”, said Dela Penna, “Snow is not good”

“No snow?” said Mulsberger

"No." amplified Dela Penna

The screen flashed, concentric circles appeared, quartered by one vertical and one horizontal line.

“Damn!” swore Dela Penna, “Test pattern!”

“Not the test pattern!” screamed Mulsberger.

The pattern faded, the screen went dark.

“What does it mean?” quavered Mulsberger.

“That’s a fade to black and it means we’re effed. It will take two weeks to reach Base on auxiliary power and we only have food for one week. I expect you cadets will be mighty hungry. It also means no digitally re-mastered episodes of American Scene Magazine or the Honeymooners.  Oh we’re effed all right.”

“Can we make repairs?” inquired Mulsberger?

“Depends. Let’s see what we got in the tank…”

On top of the Gleason box was a circular object, which proved to be a cap. Dela Penna twisted it free and removed it, a dipstick was attached. It was dry as Bernard Shaw’s wit.

“Tri-fusioned Gleason Box oil. Worth its weight in honest politicians. And we don’t have any of either.”  He regarded Mulsberger glumly. “Mulsberger! Did you receive any training at all? What is the acceptable emergency substitute for tri-fusioned oil?”

“Twice fusioned oil?” Mulsberger hazarded.

“Idiots. We have idiots in our brevet officer corps. I blame the Bush Administration for this. No, Mulsberger, the acceptable emergency substitute for tri-fusioned oil is good old fashioned spar varnish. The very same varnish that Nelson’s old salt’s coated their spars with before Trafalgar. Ring any bells, Mulsberger?”.
TRAFALGAR
 
Mulsberger's bells remained unrung. He had never heard of Nelson nor of Trafalgar, separated by a thousand standard years and half a galaxy as they were in space and time. He found the idea of rubbing anything on his spar prior to battle bizarre. And who the hell was Bush? But he was learning.

“Oh yes! Spar varnish! Nelson and Bush, yes indeed! Er, where do we keep the spar varnish, here on the Attendolo?”

“Points for trying, Kid!” Dela Penna was beaming, “Hoggarty has a 55 gallon drum of it down in engineering and I expect he has a quart, which is exactly what we need, waiting for you. Just pop off and fetch it back would you?”

Mulsberger popped.

“Oh hey and kid?”

Mulsberger paused in the hatch.

“Do NOT rub any on your spar, there’s  a good boy.”
 
 
Mulsberger fled.


ALWAYS REMEMBER, AND NEVER FORGET:
"A WELL VARNISHED GLEASON BOX, IS A GLEASON BOX WELL VARNISHED"


THE ORIGINAL GLEASON BOX
 
 

 

 

 

Friday, August 24, 2012

LOOK AT THIS!



 
 


Look upon my picnic bench a box that's what it is!






Look upon my picnic bench a box that's what it is!
 
 
 

 First there is a Vida,
 
 
 
Then there is no Vida,
 
 
 

Then there is!
 
 
I now have a piece of original art, produced by my good buddy Lynn! And so can you if you have the notion!
 
All of Lynn's goodies and some of her paintings as well can be viewed right HERE!
 
Now would be a GREAT time to order while Lynny has NO idea what her stuff is worth and is undercharging scandalously!
 
Thank you, Lynn! 


Wednesday, August 22, 2012

Monday, August 13, 2012

ARE YOU READY FOR AUGUST 25TH?

Because you know what happens on that great day in the humble unincorporated town of Buttzville, New Jersey, do you not?



You really should we've been beating the drum hard enough to get your attention! For those of you who have been sleeping for the last month there will be a spontaneous manifestation of, not UFO's;  you'll recognize these things when you see them - but of butts!



What point in calling it Buttzville, if not for butts?

There are apt to be a positive plethora, a rich phantasmagoria, and may I ad an overflowing cornucopia of smoking butts in Buttzville on the 25th of Agust, 2012!



And who could doubt the presence of some smokin' butt sporters smokin' their own butts! Oh it can get confusing; that's why you must be there! What if you missed it? What to tell the Grandkids??


Well I think we've exhausted it for the time being. You know where it is. You also know when, and you know that you have to compete or at least, observe. Wouldn't it be fun to trick your girlfriend into competing? Tell her you are going for a pleasant ride in the country! Which is, of course, part of the truth. Hey it works for politicians. 

She could be a big winner!*

*There are, of course, no losers. (There also are no prizes.).


Like they say in Buttzville: "A well-smoked ham is a ham well smoked!"

And who can argue with that?




DISCLAIMER: Seeds and Weeds and its peeps assume absolutely no responsibility for anything that happens, has happened or will happen anywhere or at anytime, in any place for any reason. We are never responsible, and only rarely are we coherent.

Monday, August 6, 2012

THE MOMENTUM BUILDS...


Buttzville, NJ, unwittingly hosts the "Best Butts in Buttzville" contest August 25, 2012.



Vida has a truly great butt.


Hot dog Johnny's is located in Buttzville.


Vida likes hot dogs!

This will be the day that finally puts Buttzville on the map! Be there, or you know what you will be!

DISCLAIMER: Seeds and Weeds and its peeps assume absolutely no responsibility for anything that happens, has happened or will happen anywhere or at anytime, in any place for any reason. We are never responsible, and only rarely are we coherent.

Sunday, August 5, 2012

TAKE A FAST TRAIN TO BUTTZVILLE



Take a fast train to Buttzville
In New Jerseys Northwest region
There's a tookus contest happening there
and things are steatopygian
So won't you go?
Oh wo wo wo!
Oh wo wo wo!

Its the 25th of August
In sunshine or in rain
There will be wardrobe malfunctions
'cause those seams are under strain
and you know that's true
Oh woo woo woo!
  Oh woo woo woo!


DISCLAIMER: Seeds and Weeds and its peeps assume absolutely no responsibility for anything that happens, has happened or will happen anywhere or at anytime, in any place for any reason. We are never responsible, and only rarely are we coherent.

Friday, August 3, 2012

ICE FISHING!


As we swelter through another steamy summer it may be pleasant to look forwards to one of the cooler and more charming winter pastimes...



Erm. Perhaps neither that cool nor that charming. We are speaking of ice fishing here! Isn't that cool and charming enough for a hot afternoon?



An ode therefore! To the dauntless brethren and cistern of the ice auger!

Ice Fishin'

You may shoot a round of golf with your goofy neighbor Rolf,
or smack handballs 'round until your fingers bleed.
You may pump your mountain bike up the peak named after Pike,
and I'm sure we'll all applaud the mighty deed.


You may hunt the antlered moose, you may perforate a goose,
or with bow in hand confront the ring necked pheasant.
But a sportsman's not a hero t'il he fishes in sub-zero
temperatures that lesser men would find unpleasant.

There is nothing quite as nice as to lumber 'cross the ice
when the northern lights are shimmering o'er the pole.
With your tip-ups and your thermos and frost bitten epidermis
and a double headed axe to chop the hole.

On your upturned spacklin' pail there you'll squat through sleet and hail,
and snow so deep that folks can't see your hat.
And some may call you "nuts", and some "a silly putz",
but you're a proud ice fishin' man for all of that.


Though you've never caught a trout and never will, I doubt,
that the prospect of a catch is what will tug ya,
to the frozen lake each season; no you do it for the reason,
it's the only place your spouse won't go to bug ya.



©2012 Mac Pike All Rights Reserved

 

Friday, July 27, 2012

WILL THERE BE CHEERLEADERS IN BUTTZVILLE?

On August 25th for the "Best Butts in Buttzville" event? Why would there not be?




Such a silly, silly question, actually!



DISCLAIMER: Seeds and Weeds and its peeps assume absolutely no responsibility for anything that happens, has happened or will happen anywhere or at anytime, in any place for any reason. We are not responsible, and rarely are we coherent.

Thursday, July 26, 2012

BUTTZVILLE, AUGUST 25, 2012




Best Butts in Buttzville makes Woodstock look eminently forgettable. Be there or you'll have to explain why you were not to your embarrassed grandchildren one day. Butt us no butts!





















Except, possibly, this one.




That is all.

DISCLAIMER: Seeds and Weeds and it's peeps assume absolutely no responsibility for anything that happens, has happened or will happen anywhere or at anytime, in any place