Teenage Punchline, Mischief night, 1970


Being the youngest of five boys I was pretty much predestined to be the practical joker of the family. Sometimes pissing off your big brothers is the only way to get noticed, even if the result is a painful punch in arm. I swear there must have been a target on my upper arm because each one of them wailed on my arm in the exact same spot. But pain aside it was worth the effort to piss them off. Dirty smelly sock in their pillowcases, fake puke on their dressers, fake shit in the bed, fly in the ice cube, dirty soap, stink bombs, I did it all. My cornerstone trick was to place a book atop the lightly opened door so when they came home drunk it would crack them in the head as they walked in That is until the last time I pulled it using my chemistry book my middle brother. He was so pissed when that heavy text book crashed on top of his head he threw it towards my head as I lay in bed giggling odd job style effectively turning the periodic tables on me.

So mischief night was pretty much a challenge to me. TP’ing trees were cool and if trivial history reports can be believed it was when a brown bear first experienced the joy of the softness of Charmin. Shaving cream flowed like silly string and eggs got hurled by the dozens, but everyone did that. Of course a bag of strategically placed dog shit set on fire was popular but using the front stoop was beneath me. It was up to me to raise the mischief stakes.

I choose my victims wisely most of the time. On this particular evening I thought it woul be hilarious to care my steady girlfriend. Her younger brother was enlisted to distract and prepare her with some scary stories. The usual array, maniacs in cemeteries on the loose, strange noises and typical Goosebumps style tales. So my cute little blond high school sweetheart was feeling a bit anxious when I set my plan in motion. I had snuck in her house, into her room and hidden myself in her hamper. I know it seems kinda creepy now but back then I wasn’t a pervert yet. There I waited while her brother warned her about the lunatic seen around the neighborhood the last few nights. Coupled with the twice told tales I was certain she was on edge and when I surprised her she would jump ten feet in the air. It was all I could do to contain my laughter covered in her dirty laundry as I imagined the results.

I heard her enter her room and tried to ascertain exactly where she was so I could get the most benefit. I lifted the top of the hamper up ever so slightly and slowly hoping to get a good view when I noticed her walking directly toward me. As she got into striking distance I jumped up throwing the hamper lid in the air and gave her my best maniacal goblin scream. That night I learned something new I had not even considered. I learned that my cute tiny little blonde bombshell had a right hook that could earn her the golden gloves award.

My head snapped sharply to the right and I could feel my eye socket swelling already. By the time I regained my composure and turned to face her loud scream prepared me for the delivery of the left cross that was to follow. That cute little bundle of fifteen year old sweetness damn near knocked my ass out. I went reeling to the ground and she stood over me like a warrior ninja waiting to finish me off. When she realized it was a lame attempt to scare her and she had just punched the shit out of her boyfriend the mood changed. Huge surprises come in small packages. She hit harder than my brothers.

Now of course there is a silver lining here, my cute little hey babe felt absolutely horrible for having put my lights out and causing my eye and cheek to swell up coaxing her to apply the perfect amount of tender loving care for a sixteen year old impressionable boy. I just never imagined the impression she made would be on my face. After a number of kissing and soothing followed by a hint at possible extreme measures to make me feel better the reality set in. “What the hell were you doing hiding in my laundry trying to scare me?” I rubbed my sore face and decided the prudent thing to do was leave that unchallenged and just apologize. No more mischief for me….PEACE

The Great God Swindle (it is written)


4th Century AD
“Verily I say to thee have you heard yet the news Donatus? Galerius was found dead!” Donatus paused and rubbed his hairy chin. “No Arius, I have been to Carthage these two weeks. What of his ass-holiness Galerius, in what way did the old boy meet his fate? Foul play think you?” Arius looked at him sheepishly, “Not for mine to ponder Donatus, only what I know of is that Augustine and Ephrem talked of an ailment suffered of severe bowel pain. Perhaps stomach disease is what they speak of.” Donatus smiled, “I see Arius, the old man shit himself to death? No doubt his brains were found in the discharge a as well.” Arius smiled as his mentor continued, “I don’t trust Augustine nor that other asshole Ambrose for that matter. But I know not of Ephrem. Who is this Ephrem?“ Arius was eager to please his liege, “Ephrem is a scribe who writes tome for Constantine. My source claims he is writing the story of the beginning of all time. Well as Constantine and his cronies see it anyway.” Donatus shook his head knowingly, “And just who now shall take the reigns without Galerius in charge?” Arius bowed and chuckled, “ Constantine the lame, the son of Chlorus is looking to bring his fervent brand of Christianity to Rome. He wishes to have the Roman soldiers he fought alongside proclaim him so. If you asked me I believe Galerius was poisoned.” Donatus tightened his face, “Then I ask you. Why do you believe this to be the case?” Arius was gaining confidence, “You see Donatus, Constantine wishes to turn all of Rome into Christians and I have it on good authority that Plebius the physician paid him visits in the dark of night. I wouldn’t put it past Connie to have him fashion a poison to kill Galerius with. It is said Plebius studied under Botchelai the scholar, and is believed to be a follower now of Botchalism Now I hear that Connie wants to put all the stories of his Christian brethren on paper in a bound style.” Arius glanced at Donatus hoping for approval. “Who then is your good authority?” Without hesitation Arius told him it was Basil from the Trentino Province, a strong supporter of Donatus. After some time in deep thought Donatus declared, “Summon Basil, we shall all three dine this evening and speak of this momentous event”

Constantine was in an extremely good mood and had planned a feast and an orgy to celebrate the good news. With his best friends and confidants, Ambrose and Augustine he had successfully trapped The Emperor Diocletian with the lure of an underage maiden, forcing Diocletian into abdication. And now Plebius had taken care of the Emperor Galerius. It would only be a matter of time before he himself was named Emperor and with his cohorts he would spread his Christian faith throughout Rome, maybe the world. He would have his revenge then on the families of the one who killed his father. He would have their ancestry blackened forever by creating demons in their names, armies of the devil. They would be forever linked to Satan and their entire lineage would be damned for all time. The Arioch, Pursin, Dagon, Abbadon, and Balam line as well as many others will be marred. Oh the joy was near overwhelming him. “Thadeus, where is Marin? Am I to understand she has yet to come back from France with some chefs? I want this evenings feast to rival anything before created. Bigger even than Caligula! I have brought in Kumarajiva to translate this Kama Sutra of the Sanskrit. He has traveled far and brought many exotic women. This shall be the party of parties and the perfect time to have me proclaimed ruler of the Roman Empire. Where is Marin?” The faithful Thadeus had the plans well in hand already. “My lord, Marin is in the kitchen. He returned just this morning and has brought twelve cooks from France. They have a feast of food that shall be talked about for years to come. And the orgy room is at the ready as we speak. I promise you my lord, I have everything planned to perfection for the next Emperor of Rome. I would never let you down.” Connie laughed aloud, “Because you worship me or because you don’t want your head removed and added to my collection?” Again Thaddeus bowed, “If that be my fate my lord I would accept it happily. My only wish is to serve you.” Yes, but served how? Skewered on a plate of silver? Time shall tell.

Basil arrived just prior to dinner. Donatus and Arius had already begun sipping the wine. “I am here Donatus, an I have much news.” Donatus wiped the wine that had been settling amongst the thick hair of his beard. The back of his sleeve now red from wine. “Ah Basil, come on we have much to talk about.” Donatus poured a large chalice of wine, “Come on then, you must catch up.” Basil pounded own the devils beverage and held his chalice out for refill. The smile on his face was genuine, despite the rapid enhancement of alcohol. “Donatus this shithead Constantine is certain to be crowned emperor of Rome. He has had Galerius poisoned, forced Diocletian to abdicate and now he plans on writing this book he is calling The Holy Bible or some shit in which he claims God creating man and Satan being the devil. Nary a word of Azazel the all mighty. I have spoken directly to Jerome who is working with this Ephrem the scribe. He plans to create a list of something he is calling demons and wants to include the story of that Christ fellow who wandered around preaching lies until Caesar hung out to dry. He is spinning some story of the guy rising from the dead. It could change everything.” The concern of Basil was real, and he was right to be concerned but Donatus had to know all the details. “So Basil my dear friend, how is it you know so much of this? Surely you aren’t relying solely on the word of Jerome, an out of work storyteller.” All three paused to drink more wine as the first course arrived. Breast of whippoorwill flambé. Basil grabbed the breast hole and bit it in half and spoke while chewing,” Of course not Donatus, not just Jerome. I had Thadeus over the other day and I fed him some absinthe and herb and his tongue got looser than goose shit.” Donatus glared at him and spoke, “I wish you hadn’t said that!” The pause became slightly awkward and both Basil and Arius were frozen. Basil found enough nerve to speak. “It was just a social visit, I never mentioned anything at all to Thadeus.” The two men looked up at Donatus who had stood up, “Oh fuck no, I’m not talking about Thadeus the little shit, I mean I wish you didn’t say goose shit.” Donatus had an impish gleaming smile in his eyes, “ Goose is our entrée tonight.” Through a conclave of laughter Arius claimed, “I should know you by now my liege. I nearly shat a pigeon!” The tone had changed, the mood lightened as the three men enjoyed their dinner with gaiety. The profound discussions would wait to allow the men some mirth. Later the rituals.

The Gospel According To Fluke (another sick bastard bible selection)


A disastrous misprint was made in the preface of Fluke when describing his reason for writing it. A typo of biblical proportions has us believing Fluke was writing a historical account when what he actually chiseled onto the slate was a hysterical account. Fluke was the joker of the group, the merry apostle. The disciple class clown always making fart noises when Jesus was preaching, and goosing Mary Magdalene when no one watched. Mary would squeal and turn around never sure if it was Judas “roaming hands” Iscariot, Peter the pedophile, or Fluke The Funny. So when Fluke set out to tell his version of the life of JC it was meant as a comedy.

Flukes version contains the story of John Hobbit The Baptist and is followed with a trilogy of parables about A prodigal son, a good Samaritan, and a gold coin. The true authorship has been in question an many biblical scholars disagree on whether he had a ghost writer named JRR, or if it was written by a team of Jewish writers up in the Catskills. No matter, The existential Baker plans on using his creative license, which doesn’t expire until next year, to re-interpret the important stories in the Gospel According to Fluke.

John the Baptist was a short man with huge feet whose ministry practice was limited to The Shire, a land of god fearing hobbits who were as diminutive in strength as they were in size. John convinced them they were the meek and would one day inherit the earth. He left out the part about it being middle earth, but they’re brains were pretty tiny as well. In fact the only disproportionately large part of them at all aside from their feet was their…. well their hobbit poles. Many believe it was the incessant squealing from the lady hobbits that drew Jesus to the Shire when in fact he heard “Son of god are you coming” when they were screeching “Oh my god I’m coming.” But Jesus did arrive and John the Hobbit was there to baptize him in the wilderness of the Shire.

After dunking Jeez a few times in hobbit water John announced to the crowd watching that this guy JC claims to be the son of god and he believes the story asking them to follow him. On Twitter. Jesus acquired over 200 followers that day and thanked John, who noticed his gold wedding band was missing. He was concerned perhaps the carpenter had snuck this the ring off his finger and pocketed it for himself. Aside from being his wedding band the ring had magical powers.

It seems that during a wild bachelor party hosted by a wizard friend who gets John Hobbit drunk and convinces him to become a burglar to steal a gold ring from a dragon that had stowed away on Noah’s Ark. But John comes across an outcast named Gollum who challenges him to a game of Candy Crush Saga. John Hobbit used his gaming skills to extract the ring which can turn the holder invisible.

John cornered Jesus in a temple bingo room but just as John grabbed him Jesus disappeared one can only assume, using the stolen ring. John would never find out as the last part of Flukes story of John The Hobbit Baptist ended with Johns head rolling around on a platter some Orcs served to King Herod as a present from Sauron.

Having some decent success with his first story of the Shire Fluke sat down to write a trilogy of three parables Jesus had told calling it “The Lord Made Off With The Ring” It would one day become a blockbuster. It is Fluke tale of how Jesus convinced a theater full of people to believe in his god with reverence. The crowd gathered to hear how they themselves could become free of sin in five easy payments, and this is how Jesus accomplished the feat.

He started out so simple, with the fellowship of the sheep. Seems a farmer had 100 sheep and one of the sheep was a sinner, sneaking around an getting into the lady sheep’s woolen love buttons. So ecstatic from the sex was this sheep it got lost. The shepherd asked Jesus why he should chase this one sheep instead of just caring for the other 99. Jeez said, “There is great joy in heaven when a sinner repents. Go to him, forgive him and allow him back in the flock.” The shepherd did as he was told spending hour searching for the lost sheep to find an forgive him. As a reward for doing as he was told, Jesus gave the shepherd a woolen sweater and a case of Woolite for the flock.

The second parable was the Coins in The Tower. A woman was up in her ivory tower counting her coins when she noticed one missing. She called down to her friends and everyone searched. When the woman found the coin Jesus aid to her, “There is great joy in heaven when one rejoices with others in the presence of angels. Call your friends, rejoice with them and make the angels happy.” So the woman called her friends and to help her rejoice invited them to Marini’s Bar, where every time a bell rings an angel gets their wings. The angels got their wings, the woman’s friends got drunk for free, and the woman got Jesus out of her tower so she could go back to her old lifestyle.

The final story the J man told the crowd was “The Return Of The Son”. This was to be Flukes cornerstone parable, the one everyone would remember, maybe even resulting in a few prequels. It seems a father had two sons and the youngest one asked for his inheritance early before the Dad croaks. The father can’t wait to get the long haired lazy boy out of the house so he agrees as long as the kid takes the money and runs. He does just that, blowing all the money, much of it ironically blown on blow, and en up running out of money. He skulks back home but surprisingly the father has had a change of heart. Literally, he had a heart transplant and was now much stronger and virile. He had found a new lover and was into partying himself. The older son was livid and denied his little brother existence. Jesus took the older brother aside and told him, “God is holy and cannot allow sin, but he must leave room in his heart for forgiveness and remain humble. So shut up, be humble, and go have some friggen fun!”

These are the stories Fluke was working on at any rate. Of course this version never made it to the official bible, but it can be found along with many other truthful accounts of ancient times in The Sick Bastards Bible. So stop reading and go have dome friggen fun!!!!! PEACE

Show Some Anger For All The Three Piece Grinners


If there is a shark in the water circling a lawyer, the only real question is how do you save the shark? Maybe its not a lawyer, maybe a banker who has lost your interest or an account who’s fuzzy math you never calculated in the scenario. Everyone seems to be pissed off at lawyers and congress these days and rightly so, they have shown little regard for anyone’s agenda except their own, but don’t let up on other suits with lying smiles. They’re gonna like the way your money looks on them, I guarantee it.

There are half a million bad lawyer jokes, not that the jokes are bad but the lawyers are. Why are lawyers always the butt of the joke? Mainly because they’re butts, but also because they smile in your face while emptying your bank account. I have heard countless stories of lawyers making a fortune screwing people in divorces, contract disputes, inheritance issues, just about any legal matter they can extract a penny. Its actually hard to not have distain for those ass clowns that use the “letter of the law” to screw one party over to make themselves a good living. They leave you with three letters of the law, an IOU. Politicians have entered the rant on arena as well and now the popular jokes about political ass clowns are all stuck in a tiny car as well. Why they even dragged up joke formats covered in dust to rail out at congress, throw a hundred dollars out he window of a plane and make a hundred peoples day. Throw all of congress out an make everyone’s day. Ass clowns! Big shoes to fill.

But seriously, if we toss out congress who will fill their giant clown shoes? Enter the bankers, accountants, and other smiling suit clowns. So what I’m proposing is to back off just a little bit on the lawyers and politicians and throw some disdainful jokes at accountants and bankers. The accountants wife was having trouble sleeping so she aid, “Tell me all about your day.” Then she pulls up the balance sheets and bores herself to sleep. He’s upset because he was hoping she would use spread sheets. Or why is the banker crying? He found himself a loan. No one depreciates a banker, no interest. What I’m saying here is widen the circle of distain driven jokes, keep giving shit to lawyers and politicians, but add other smiling sharks in three piece suits as well, because they can be just as self centered and devious, and they deserve to have some of the mud slung at them as well. Beware the smile behind the suit, it may very well be hiding a knife in its briefcase.

Transcendental Medication, episode III


Previously on Transcendental Medication:
Nothing is the absence of anything. Anything is something so nothing must be something if its anything

She was very attractive with piercing hazel green eyes and long straight black hair tied up neatly in a swinging ponytail but allowing perfectly cut bangs to cover her forehead. Her eyes were as stunning as a Montana sky and just as vast.

Butterflies had left my stomach and created a chrysalis caravan traveling through my digestive tract straight towards my reproductive organs. It was complicated even more profoundly by her sensual and suggestive tone echoing through my soul. Maybe she wasn’t even there to begin with, the line that separated reality from non-reality had become wafer thin.

III Begin At The Beginning

When I got home the first thing I did was pour myself a big glass of wine. A very big glass of wine. I needed to process what just happened today and decide if it was wise to go back. The more I thought about the nurse the more I feared it was all in my head. Was I imagining some pornographic manifestation of a dominatrix nurse? A scene from “Romancing The Bone” or “A Cockwork Orange ” in the hopes of some spiritual sexcapade while under acupunctural meditation? A wet daydream? Maybe I’m hoping for a close encounter of the supernatural sexual kind. Everything about it seemed so very real and she seemed to know me almost intimately. Besides I need to know what the hell this nothing bullshit was all about and how far I would be taking this so I’m definitely going. Then again what if I go back to the opposite universe and its Kha that ties me up and toys with my pleasure zones. Erotic adventures involving Dr. Kha’s thermometer probes and patient doctor confidentiality. Then again if it is the nurse she was so hot and so sexy my libido did triple somersaults with a full twist and was hoping to stick a landing. I would have made a contract with the devil himself for an evening of exploration with her but who and what can I trust? Doctor Kha said equal and opposite! I’m not even sure if she was a manifestation of my inner desires or if that sweet temptress really exists. Maybe its nothing!
I finished the large glass of wine and as I poured a second I glanced at the calendar. My eyes went directly to two days from now, Friday the 27th. Twenty seven is a good number as numbers go. Two is balance and union and seven is a very spiritual number, in nearly every religion. Together they add up to nine which is the highest level of changes. Hmmm, union, balance, and change! I looked away closing my eyes as if to think about it but I knew my mind was made up. I mean a night of deep philosophic discovery contemplating the secrets of science followed by a fantasy involving wild abandoned sex, what’s not to like. Secrets of science? OMFG, have I become a nerd? Maybe so, but when I wake up Saturday morning I will be one happy and satisfied nerd. I glanced dreamily back at the calendar but all I saw were those beautiful hazel eyes filled with longing and promise. Friday it is!

The day couldn’t possibly have dragged on longer if it were fitted with friction bars. From the moment I woke up all the way through the day all I could think of was my dominatrix nurse. I made four errors on my lunch orders at the restaurant which is four more than usual, and my head just wasn’t in it at all. But the shift finally limped slowly to an end and I flew home to prepare for my journey. Nothing was on my mind. That is to say nothing and sex was on my mind. Maybe nothing but sex, but I was very excited on so many levels. After the longest shower in history I did my best to look my best and it certainly wasn’t for nothing, at least I was hoping it wasn‘t.
When I arrived no one seemed as excited as I was, acting as if this were just another mundane visit. Maybe it was for them but I came here to be enlightened and turned on like never before. Dr. Kha led me back to my cot, my waiting room to nothing, and began inserting his needles. “Hmmm, I feel much tension JT, I think I need put more puncture in foot today. Not want you running away, eh?” Oh yea, he knew something was up, or rather that nothing was up. “Just really looking forward to what’s in store Kha, to pick up exactly where I left off the other day.” My smile must have been huge. “I see. Remember JT, every session new session. Like snowflake nothing ever exact.” I turned to look at him but he was already gone. I thought about a line from The Wizard of Oz and laughed, “My, people come and go so quickly here”, then I laid back to meditate while thinking of other Oz quotes. “Some people without brains do an awful lot of thinking, a heart is not judged by how much you love but by how much you are loved by others, you’re confusing courage with wisdom my friend.” I entered my zone, incense and music comforting me, a soothing sitar solo and I was transported again.
“Dr. Kha?” I pushed my way past the dimension curtain. “Very clever JT, using Wizard of Oz. You think other dimension same as Oz for Dorothy? Maybe you same than Dorothy.” I could feel a strong burst of air pushing me back towards the curtain and had to fight it off. “You gotta admit there are similarities Kha, I know I’m not in Kansas anymore.” The air kept me at bay. “True, no Kansas JT, but no Oz either. If you want learn about nothing you need to enter completely.” I fought off the air blast, “I can’t seem to get any further this air current is keeping me away.” Kha smiled, “No air current JT, is nothing. Nothing is what keep you from moving forward. If you want to understand nothing you must first conquer nothing.” Conquer nothing? What the hell is he talking about? I concentrated hard and the wind stopped. I could see my nurse off in the distance, on the other side of a pond or something. She caught my eye and smiled. I looked back at her and then at Kha.
What you see is desire JT, but before you receive reward of what you desire lesson must be understood. You are in paradox JT, time and space much different than what you know. In this dimension Schrödinger’s cat exist and not exist” I shook my head full of doubt, “Are you saying we are in a box Kha?” He laughed loudly, “Box? No JT, here no box, but here always need think out of box. No use logic, use sensory instincts. Let feelings guide you.” I glanced back over the pond but no nurse. “So am I really here or am I still laying on the mattress?” Kha smiled, “I sorry JT, cannot answer. Anyway wrong question. What you should ask is when are you here and when are you on mattress. First to understand time you need let go of perception. You measure time in linear progressions, seconds, minutes, hours. But time constant and wobbly, no straight. You have already existed and already ceased to exist, time not wait on you. Your life is how you experience time, how you put it in order to understand. But time not linear JT, time flexible.” Kha pulled out a yard of string, “This your life JT. For you it have beginning and end. But time have no beginning, no end, time ownry exist. You see your life from one end of string to other. If I give you string in different pieces you think it useless, just like if I show you your life at 19, then at 5, then at 30. Not make sense because out of order yet it all happen. That ownry way you can see time, moving straight and forward every second. If you want see time as time truly is need more than acupuncture and meditation. For special people I give transcendental medication. Combine acupuncture with special medication to help you understand. I believe you ready but it up to you JT.” He paused looking at me as if I needed time to consider, but he must have known if my life has already been that I was going to go for it. “Dr. Kha, I want to understand. It would be my honor and a privilege to undergo transcendental medication.” I gave him a sly smile, “When did I start?” I looked at him hoping he got my joke and saw he was smiling. “Very good JT, I see I have chosen you wisely. I leave now but I back to arrange session.” He pointed across the water to where my fantasy had been waiting, “Meantime, I recommend you take rowboat across pond.”
Right there in front of me was a small dinghy with oars. I jumped in and rowed like a maniacal teen about to lose his virginity towards whatever waited for me across the pond. When I got there the other side it was even more amazing than I thought possible. It was like an island paradise, brimming with plants, trees, and flowers of all colors. It smelled clean and new, lilac and fresh cut grass with a sense of serenity. I followed a path taking in the sheer beauty around me. Flowers with their genitals boldly hanging out on display for all to see, giving off intoxicating scents to tickle the minds of men. With every breath I felt desire building up inside me awaiting release. Then I saw her.
Not a nurse, not a dominatrix, not even an exotic island native woman, but that gorgeous hazel eyed enticing beautiful woman from my first visit dressed as if for a date “I’m so glad you chose to come back JT, I am Ambrosina. I’ve been waiting for you. Come to me.”
To Be Continued


Drying My Eyes On The Wind

meg walks

22 years ago today was the worst day of my life. The worst day of the worst week of the worst year. Our beautiful 19 month old daughter lost her courageous battle with heart disease. At only two months old Megan was diagnosed with cardiomyopathy, an enlargement of the heart. Little Megan endured countless medical tests, blood draws, and a series of stays in hospitals. Through all of those tough times she cried in pain as she squeezed our fingers in desperation yet whenever my wife and I were in need she somehow managed the strength to give us a much needed smile. Megan is my hero.
One lazy Sunday morning we were just getting ready to enjoy a day of relaxation with Megan when a strange noise crackled over the baby monitor. Maureen knew instantly and instinctively that something was wrong so we both ran up to her room only to find her struggling for breath. I pulled her from her crib and began mouth to mouth having received barely adequate emergency medical training as Maureen desperately dialed 911. An ambulance arrived in extremely rapid timing and two experienced EMT’s took her away from us. We closed up the house making sure everything was off, gave our confused sheltie pup food and ran out to meet her at the hospital. When we got there the ambulance had not yet arrived and we were triaged to a private room. In that room our imaginations got the best of u and through our tears we hoped by some miracle it didn’t mean she was gone. Subsequently we learned that Megan had ha a stroke brought on by her enlarged heart and the EMT’s had stopped to use defibrillation paddles on the way in. Megan was in intensive care with her cardiologist. There is something wrong about a seven month old child having a cardiologist.


Around eleven o’clock, over twelve hours from first arriving the doctors informed us Megan needed a heart transplant. The news hit us hard, an electric shock circling my head then shooting down my spine. It took about two minute for the reality to sink in, and about twenty minute to intellectualize it and understand what we had to contend with next. We spent way too many hours in hospital, Maureen pretty much took up residency in the room with Megan and every free second was spend bedside. The doctors determined they were unprepared for a child heart transplant so Megan was airlifted to Philadelphia to a Children’s hospital. We lived in that hospital for about two months until one day one of the neuro doctors told Maureen that Megan had suffered a seizure and due to her poor chance of “normal” life she was removed from the transplant list. The did not believe she would ever walk or talk. We worked diligently with Megan and finally had her put back on the transplant list at Columbian Presbyterian in New York where she received a heart in September.

We lived in the hospital again for another 30 days me going to work then coming back, Maureen never leaving Megan’s side. The transplant was successful but she still had to endure daily poking an prodding and blood draws. We got to take her home and the feeling of relief was beyond compare. Seven days after being home Megan defiantly walked, and she smiled and was happy. On the eighth day I was at work and Maureen noticed Megan in distress and had to return to the hospital. Megan had contracted a very serious infection and we were back to round the clock care. It was devastating, but the real devastation was yet to come.

Megan was to weak and immuno-compromised to fight off the infection. I am still haunted by the mornings events of that day when I stood by my baby girl. Megan looked up at me with the pain of a million lifetimes in her eyes, still trying so hard to fight but looking exhausted. I knew what I had to do. My baby girl had fought so hard and so courageously not for herself but for us. She had endured countless hours of unpleasant tests and needle probing and she was in intense pain. I placed my hand on her head and looked lovingly into her soul, bent my head to her ear and whispered, “Its okay to let go baby girl. You don’t have to fight anymore.” She understood me as her eyes dampened. With tubes and hoses in her everywhere the only way she could communicate was with her eyes. She looked at me with a profound sadness and her eyes said “I’m sorry Daddy.” But she didn’t have anything to be sorry for, she had taught me more in her short life than I could have taught her in a lifetime. Now it was Maureen and I who were in intense pain. We stood back as a doctor performed his last official task, the beeps slowed to a stop and there was silence. Megan lay there with her eye closed, motionless, yet it was obvious she was relieved. One day I will write a story with this inspiration but for now I can only manage short recaps. Seems every time I recount Megan’s story my keyboard floods with tears and I dry my eyes on the wind.

I’m not looking for a pity party, not looking for condolence, I am merely sharing the story I am sure Megan would want me to. If you want to read the whole story you can visit our Facebook page, Megan Jarets Legacy. All I really hope to accomplish here today is this. Spread the word of organ donation awareness, please become an organ donor if your aren’t already, an please please please, take a few minutes out of your day to tell the people you love exactly how much they mean to you. We never know when an ultimate joy can be snatched from our hearts plunging us into a deep dark crevice. Maureen and I had both on separate occasions considered the possibility of suicide, we were the walking dead for over a month having a hard time finding a reason to go on. The funeral was horrible, a tiny casket with a beautiful child surrounded by her favorite toys and an endless line of well meaning people, most giving us responses that didn’t help a thing. Unfortunately many more have gone there before, many after, and many still to come, but for those still here, before the precious time runs out, share your love. Don’t keep all your love to yourself, spread it around…PEACE

All Shallows Eve


It comes as a surprise to many that Halloween is my least favorite holiday. The Existential baker is basically a fun loving dude who seldom misses an opportunity to party but like most things these days I feel the celebrations and revelry have spun way out of control. Back in the day we donned wafer thin material over our bodies with a hard plastic mask that fastened with a cheap rubber band across the head. That was the costume du jour. Spiderman,. Superman, Beetle Bailey (What?? It was 1st grade and I was impressionable) , whatever, those hard plastic face masks caused massive facial sweating while the slit for the tongue allowed us to dribble spit inside it as well. Those days were fun. Today however, the average costume costs near $30 with a ridiculously expensive $850 dollar collector edition Halo Master Chief taking the prize for most extravagant. Its become a who can outdo who for the best kid costume sparing no expense. Toddlers and tiara’s for a day. The adult costumes are even worse, many going to crazy lengths to be the talk of the ghostown. There are stores which dedicate their entire showrooms for that one holiday. I guess that’s why the begin advertising in August but at any rate in order to be in the height of Halloween fashion one needs to completely transcend just dressing like a goth or a slut. My Mom’s trick was to fool me into thinking I was a hobo by making me wear my older brothers ripped up clothes carrying a pillowcase as she marked my face with a mascara beard.


Don’t get me wrong I loved trick or treating as a kid and went to great lengths to choose the perfect costume. I enjoy the fun size bar as much as anyone although today my standards of fun span much more than a half inch of chocolate bar. And of course part of my misspent youth involved some pranks and mischief but in my adolescence I found limiting it to just one day was just inviting trouble. I never did the burning paper bag of dog crap prank but I had my moments. But Halloween is overdone and has been taken to the edge. I mean, how are they gonna top it with the next generation?

With so many of us taking immature adulthood to new heights and responsible parenting to far below sub basement levels perhaps it will become a day set aside for today’s “whats in it for me” irresponsible adults so arrange for a babysitter. Start with a ghost haunting in the home because it would be full of boo’s. Or I mean booze. Picture this, at everyone’s door a stash of alcohol or other happy hour helpers at the ready. We dress up as authority figures, like maybe a mall cop, or “event security” and go door to door with our shot glasses and red solo cups. Ring the bell, and when the owner answers we all yell “Buzz or Beatdown” The owner then either pours a glass of beer or wine, fills a shot glass with their favorite liquor, or places a doob ash side in their mouth and proceeds to give a shotgun of silly smoke all around. I would go with the doob cuz there’s less of a chance of a beatdown from someone stoned than there is with alcohol laden drunkards. At worst a stoner will kick your shin. The occasional home of a chemist or pharmacist may have some prescription drugs or tripping product and everyone in the neighborhood will be sure to stop there before heading home. That would be a hellacious way to celebrate but there will be more sick outs the next day than the ay after the super-bowl.

But its not up to me as to how anyone chooses to celebrate their holiday and my job a it were is to come up with an offering of cupcakes that are themed out for October 31st. So here’s what I have coming up with at Jarets Stuffed Cupcakes for next week. The “Drunkin’ Punkin,” a pumpkins cupcake filled with bourbon pecan custard, “Apple Stumble“, an apple cupcake filled with rum raisin, and for the kids “The Tricking Treat,” a chocolate cupcake with candy corn custard and candied topping.

Have a safe and fun Halloween, enjoy the crazy holiday responsibly and remember, never underestimate the power of a cupcake….Peace

Upper Crust Tailgating


Existential cupcaking to raise money at The far Hill Steeplechase Race was an eye opener for the Existential Baker. We were asked by Neiman Marcus to supply cupcakes for their heavy hitting guests at The Far Hills racetrack who were donating bookoo bucks for a hospital. Always prepared to assist a great cause we agreed and had a nice section on top of a hill overlooking the track to set up. As a bonus I was permitted to enjoy some wonderful sushi and sashimi, shrimp, crab cakes, lamb chops, Veuve Clicqout Champagne, and to wash it all down some Grey Goose. It also afforded me an opportunity to walk around trackside to engage in some hoity toity people watching.

The existential Baker knows little of how to hobnob, never knowing if I’m hobbing or nobbing, but I am always at the ready for something new. Having lived amongst the 99% for my entire life I was unaccustomed to uppercrust customs. Now to start I am admittedly not much of a sport fan, but I have been to numerous football, baseball, and hockey games not so much for the cultural experience but more for the atmosphere. Not being vested in any one team made being an observer much less of a spectacle in a spectator sport. Never one to paint my face in team colors, or dress head to toe as if I should be on the field, or otherwise engage in any of the fanatical aspects of being a fan I watched. I enjoyed people watching even more than the sport itself. During Ranger Islander games I scoured the crowds noticing for all its negative publicity for fighting on the ice there were far more fistfights in the stands. At Yankee games I learned how elitist and condescending a fan can become, but football was the golden jewel of people watching by way of the phenomena of football tailgates.

The parking lot is transformed into cave-like tribal sections complete with all the grunting and food gorging and beverage swilling one would expect of a Neanderthal Reunion. Rival factions wearing their tribal colors begin the tailgate as friends and on an equal respect level until enough hops and malts are consumed to strengthen their bravado muscles. Mostly the ones in and around the vocal chord area. Each tribe has its tables and cooking sources and the food is nothing short of a famed Roman feast with a modern twist. Grills loaded with whole chickens, huge massive beef parts, lamb, more grilled items than an caveman could shake a stick at. A grilling smorgasbord with an array of sides. But the main function of the tailgate is to imbibe a massive amount of beer. The result is feuding tribes of sloppy drunk average guys and girls heading into a stadium to watch professional gladiators play a game. Not at steeplechases!!!

The difference was immediate. Their style of dress was not weekend warriors but reserve fashion chic with a few over the top statements like bright pink striped pants or unusual tophats, but very expensive clothing. Nothing off the rack, everything very chic. Burberry boots, Dolce and Gabbana, all the best. Like LL Bean on very expensive designer steroids. Hair recently coiffed, manscaped and manicured couples all in neatly pressed clothing. Their cave sections were less barbaric as well, instead of grille meats it was a catered affair, complete with waitstaff. Bars set up with premium liquors, chaffing dishes of food everywhere, and red solo cups? Oh Hell no, not at this party, actually glassware. And they openly place their bets on the horse. “Oh for heavens sake I dropped another ace” means Holy shit I lost a hundred bucks on that horse! But it was nothing short of just another tailgate, the result being a more sophisticate brand of drunken idiots. The buzz from Grey Goose isn’t much different from the buzz achieved by Wolfsmith vodka. A number of heated disagreements broke out leading to some major face to face reddened angry speak.

But in the end a lot of money was raised for a great cause and I had a opportunity to see how the beautiful people spend their free time during their preferred sporting events. All in all the guys were lacking in couth but it was accepted as boys will be boys banter, with a bit too much stress put on sexual innuendo. This leads me to believe that the well off young men are quite sexually frustrated, and either the sex talk went over much of the young ladies heads, or they just ignored the boys knowing that I have a headache will work later on. PEACE


The Monarch Of The Universe

mon of uni

Another never again moment. I’ve had way too many of them, late nights hugging the toilet bowl somehow empting more contents from my stomach than went in. How many times was I thinking I may have just thrown up my liver or pancreas? How may times have I said never again? Well at least this time I’m saying never again not because I’m puking up my internal organs from mixing every alcohol I could get my lips around. Nope not this time, this particular never again moment is because my hallucinations are over the top. Never again will JT take five hits of barrel acid, a favorite tripping substance for LSD users like myself. One is sufficient for a fantastic trip because barrel acid is pretty powerful, two is pushing it a bit closer to the edge and not normally recommended. Taking three hits is unusual and dangerously close to going over that edge but its not unheard of. But five?! That’s just fucking insane man, something that even the most seasoned tripper stacked with frequent flying miles wouldn’t do that on purpose. To be honest clinical insanity was what I feared most.
So how is it that I am laying in bed in a room I share with my brother tripping like McMurtreys cast of loonies in the cuckoos nest? Because in a moment of sheer marijuana driven panic I made an ill advised choice. My Mom came back unexpectedly and I had five hits of premium trip-worthy barrel acid on the table. I was looking longingly at my freshly acquired controlled substance contemplating who I would abuse them with when I heard the door open. In a rush of paranoia I grabbed all five and shoved them quickly in my mouth. Not in my pocket where they would have been safely stowed from sight but in my mouth! I heard her threatening heels clanking closer as she approached the kitchen and I did the only thing I could think of. I swallowed. Mom came in and glared at me, “What are you doing here in the kitchen? What are you up to now young man?” As I swallowed the tabs I nervously responded, “What do you mean up to? I ain’t doing nothing.” Mom believed that parenting was a responsibility in which she was obliged to constantly belittle me and correct my English. She was relentless at making me feel like shit, “You aren’t doing anything JT, and don’t lie to me I can tell when you’re up to something, you look like the cat that swallowed the canary.” I had recently smoked a joint blowing the smoke out my window and I almost chuckled thinking about Tweedy Pie and Sylvester but I needed to keep it together and switch the focus, “Okay, okay I’m not doing anything mother, just looking for a snack. Why are you back so early anyway?” she stared at me in an all too familiar way, deadpan suspicion “Yea well I forgot something and your dad is outside waiting. But if you don’t want to tell me what’s going on maybe I should just stay home.” Jesus Christ no! Just the thought of that made me shiver perceptibly. Time to use my ultimate teen weapon, the disdainful you never trust me sarcasm, “Yea sure Mom, I’m planning an mass murder, I was just in here choosing which of your knives will make the cleanest stab! Why is it you always think I‘m up to something? You never trust me.” I knew I sold it. Mom shook her head in mock disgust and started towards the door, “One of these days JT you’re gonna say something you’ll regret and someone will take you serious. For gods sake grow up. You stay out of trouble and we’ll see about lifting your grounding tomorrow. Go clean your room and then we can talk about trust!” As she walked out the door I sneered while under my breath I spoke bravely, “Yea fucking right, my groundation! What a fucking joke!”
I was pissed off because most everyone else I know is at the Civic Center at the Jethro Tull concert and I’m stuck here because I missed and assignment in social studies. Social Studies, another joke! Anyway this acid is gonna start coming on in a while so I need to prepare. Time to head up into my sanctuary away from this screwed up world. Up to my bedroom which I share with my older brother who just won’t move out so I can have it to myself. 22years old and still living home the damn loser. Not me man as soon as I turn eighteen I’m outta this shithole of a house. Fuck it, at least I will be tripping my brains out tonight. Little did I know how close to literal that would become.

The cid was kicking in so I got settled in. What to do? First things first. I lit some patchouli incense and turned on my blacklight to make my psychedelic posters burst with colors and movement. I pranced over to my cheap stereo to choose an album. Being in a Jimi mood I put on Bold As Love, side A. It starts off with a funny UFO spoof then quickly kicks into a typical Jimi Hendrix guitar explosion. The album was awesome and premium tripping material. I laid back on my bed and began seeing some very strange visions. The ceiling was normally blank but because of the LSD I perceived it to be full of images, most of which were moving like a film strips. Popeye strangling Brutus, Road Runner and Wile E. Coyote running in circles like a dog chasing its tail, and that sort of thing. High def hallucinations. After watching these assorted hallucinations awhile I had to keep reminding myself that they weren’t real. Then I focused on one in particular, Wimpy humping Olive Oyl and he was pumping away to the music. Popeye, Brutus, and an array of cartoon character I don’t remember were all watching and cheering them on. Olive was panting and moaning her skinny and boney legs way up in the air, and Wimpy had lost some weight and was unbelievably in time with the music, thrusting along with the chords. Other characters were clapping, Olive was screaming “Ohhhh Popppppeye!!!“ and Wimpy kept saying “I’ll gladly pay you Tuesday for a good fucking today” still pumping as if dancing. I laughed out loud until I realized something strange. Not that the scene wasn’t already strange enough but this was scary strange. The music Wimpy was humping to was not the album I put on. As a matter of fact it was music I never heard of before, filled with really weird electronic sounds. I jumped up, the hallucinations disappeared and I ran to my stereo. The album was over and I had no clue how long ago it ended.
I shook my head trying to get straight and flip the album over. I stood to reassure myself, “Its just a trip JT, you’re tripping and everything’s okay. Only a trip, it’s the acid, none of this is real.” Feeling only slightly better I headed back to my bed but someone stopped the album. When I looked over it started again, then happened once more. I was certain my asshole brother had come home, knew I was tripping and thought it would be funny to goof on me. “hey cut it out man, that’s not funny!” No response. I looked around. No sign of Robert, no one anywhere, but the music was now playing normal. I turned to get back to my bed when one of my posters, an American Indian chief with tie dye colors all around him began moving. He was breathing and flexing his muscles, holding up a tomahawk. “Holy fuck! This isn’t fucking real man, it can’t be.”
The full force of the five hits of acid were hitting me now. I slinked back into bed and closed my eyes tight but they kept popping open. I had to keep reminding myself I was tripping so I wouldn’t flip out. Can’t sleep, no one to talk to, I gotta see myself through this. But right now I have to take a pee. Off to the bathroom. One of the things about tripping is it intensifies every feeling, whether its making love like never before, hearing music that pulls at your soul, or even pissing. Even better than that pee held in during a long road trip waiting for the next rest top. But there is another oddity when tripping, when you see am image of yourself and its distorted you need to focus and look away before you begin to freak out thinking its how you really look. As I turned from the toilet bowl I was confronted with a full length mirror that had a most frightening and imposing figure staring back at me.
Everything seemed to come to a halt, even time itself. I was staring at a foreboding image of myself painted like a warrior of some sort complete with a bizarre war paint. Split directly down the center of my face and body was a line, on the right side everything yellow except two stripes of dark brown war paint on my forehead angling upwards, a semi circle around my eye, and two more stripes on my cheek in a downward angle. My left side was a dark brown yang to the bright yellow yin. I must say I looked fierce. I stared for a few seconds trying to intellectualize the event and put it into perspective but my perspective had gone out for a walk in the woods and I wasn’t sure it would ever return. The war paint began breathing, or pulsating and changing colors. War paint of dark brown, bright yellow, and dayglo orange were spinning around my face. My cheeks were drooping, my nose twisted and my forehead protruded immensely. I was hideous, a worse image than finding a face full of pimples the day of a date. I issued a long drawn out “Ohhhh My God” and forced myself away from the image. Like I was a Piccaso portrait escaping from a Salvador Dali landscape Nothing was real, I had never come close to hallucinating this hard. I trembled and forced myself to head back to my sanctuary feeling like I was stepping on feathered mattresses repeating “that wasn’t you. That wasn’t you” as my Mantra.
“Shit man, I gotta get a hold of myself here and start enjoying this again. Where the fuck is Popeye and shit?” I thought I was alone but to my surprise I received an answer. “maybe I can help.” I looked about the room, no one here, only me. Oh Jesus now I’m hearing hallucinations. I walked over to the stereo thinking it may have come from the speakers. Nothing. I laid down and tried meditating when a butterfly fluttered in front of me and landed on my chest. I stared in confusion when out of nowhere it began to talk to me. That is to say it communicated to me, it didn’t actually move its lips and speak. It communicated in an unspoken language it called the language of the cosmos.

Ran out of life but not out of time

Behind the sparkle
Light grows dim

Under the smile
Dark and grim

Run out of verve
But not out of time

Hard day by day
Towing the line

Don’t let them see it
Don’t let them stare

Turn on a floodlight
Hide from the glare

Condition and acceptance
Its what they expect

When everything’s gone
You’re left with respect

A wink and a nod
Everything’s great

Time will catch up
And show you your fate