Can’t Find A Better Man

better man

There comes a point in everyone’s life that they think OMFG I look just like my father, or mother, as the case may be. We catch ourselves using some of the same phrases we hated as kids, saying things like “We’ll see” instead of no way kiddo, “I‘ll give you something to cry about”, or the ultimate in fear mongering, “If you don‘t keep quiet I‘m gonna turn us around and go back home.” Well Dad I have to tell you, this hurts me more than it does you because yesterday I caught myself pointing that finger of distain you were so good at. Holy shit I’m mimicking my parents bad behavior. But let me tell you that shit ain’t nothing compared to that day you look in the mirror and the face looking back is no longer the handsome rebel rouge but a carbon copy of your old parent. I would say its deflating but my stomach is as big as my Dads was and it is showing no signs of deflating. A combination of genetics, way too much beer, munchies, and constantly swallowing my pride. I remember thinking once that the bags under my fathers eyes could count as carry on luggage and the wrinkles in his not so tight fitting skin were not character lines but fault lines. Thing is his look somehow found its way over to me. And of course the hairline, or lack there of which has gone way beyond receding has gone topless. Now on my license I’m required to list my hair color as transparent!
This getting old and looking like Dad shit is enough to turn me into a grumpy old man except I don’t have the energy it takes to be grumpy all the time. Trips to the bathroom, which are like a recurring bad dream at night, leave me short of breath, and every morning all my weary bones complain in a crackling and creaking language called osteoporosis. But such is life I’m not the only one infected with the “It sucks getting old” virus and like most everyone who reaches the age of reflection I wonder about my mistakes, where could I have done better ,what things could I have changed. In the end its just flat out too late, what’s done is done and history can’t change. Fostering regrets are fruitless growths that like weeds can destroy the memories of a beautiful garden an at this point in my life I spend a lot of time in the garden and have no use for weeds. I know I’ve had my fair share of mistakes, made some poor choices, wandered down some questionable paths but WTF, it is what it is and many of the bad choices are now some pretty goddamn funny stories. Life is what we make of it and not a single thing we do can change what’s passed.
I’ve lost both my parents and had to view their stages of death like some morose real life film. With my Mom I witnessed the horrible ravages of cancer as it slowly decayed her mind and body while ripping out the hearts of our family simultaneously. My Mom and I had many issues with each other but we finally saw eye to eye a few months before she took ill. My Dad died from cancer as well, but it was much quicker and more merciful as well as occurring many years into his life. One of the odder effects aging had on him was his renewal of his long overlooked religious rituals and beliefs. I assume he was hedging his bets, stacking the deck in case he was wrong about the significance of religion and if he really did meet his maker wanted a few years of church on his resume to heaven. He was seeking validation, not only with God but with his children. As his time came closer he had a rare opportunity of connecting with his children, something he wasn‘t especially apt at as when we were growing up.
His reflections found all of us reflecting as well, I can’t speak for my four older brothers or my younger sister but many things I reflected on as to my Dads fathering was weak at best. I always loved him but to me he wasn’t the greatest Dad he could have been. Not saying it was a crap way to grow up or he mistreated or abused me but as I reflect on my childhood I realized my Dad was negligent to his own kids. Never once had a catch out back with me, never took me fishing, never even gave me the sex talk, those were all jobs of my older brothers. My Dad spent most of his adult life building his community reputation convincing near about everyone not living under his roof that he is the perfect father. Ward Cleaver crossed with Steve Douglass and Andy of Mayberry and me as Dennis the Menace. Actually one of my older brothers was the menace, I was more like Beaver Cleaver I guess. Our friends and neighbors would proclaim how lucky we were to have him as our father and how perfect our lives must be. Upon reflection he was a helluva father figure to the neighborhood kids but spent little to no time with his own. I think the most attention I ever got from him was on those few, very rare few….Okay maybe more than a few encounters with the long arm of the law. When it came to his son placing a mark on his precious reputation he flew into damage control, me being the damage.
I went sort of underground for a while and lost contact with my family soon after my Mom passed away. When I finally reinstated contact with my Dad he was married and living in Florida, so he and his wife flew into New York to meet me. After a big hug he turned to his wife and said to me, “Meet your new Mom” Now if I were like say ten that might be appropriate, but I was in my thirties and had been on my own for quite some time and in no need of a mother. It just sort of underscored for me how out of touch he was with me and what the center of the universe was for him. But fuck it. No big deal, that’s the way my old man was so I just rolled with it, never fostered any anger or resentment, so I wrote it off as past practices and repeated history. That was his vision of how to be a successful parent, find a woman to do the parenting for him. All in all he was a good man, volunteer fireman his whole life, on the volunteer rescue squad every Sunday, and was what they called a “Well respected man about town” But truth is for me he was just a crap Dad, seldom took me anywhere with him, only showed interest in things if it involved him. Like I say, I always loved him, he wasn’t a bad man he just neglected his own children and concentrated on the community. When he reached the point where all he had left was reflection it began to haunt him and he wanted to make amends.
I know some of my brothers allowed him to talk, some didn’t , my sister surely did as he spent his last days in her house. I have never been one to hold a grudge, I find the weigh far to much to carry around all the time so I was very attentive hearing him reveal his laments of a failed fatherhood. He repeated phrases like “I know I wasn’t always there for you boys” or “I wish I had been a better father” I deflected most of it allowing him his confessions. I gotta admit though, it did seem like an opportunity to unleash decades of pent up frustration at my Dad for never being there for me, for not accepting me for who I am until I left his life for a few years, and for constantly attempting to steer me away from what I really wanted to do, write, or act, or something in the arts, at times even forcefully. My last four years of high school he spent telling me I would never make any money because I have no talent, and I should either get into business courses or face the fact I will be a laborer the rest of my life. I began to wonder if some of my poor life choices, my pension for self medication and such were not a direct result of his interference. Maybe if he had spent more quality time with me I would have made better choices myself. But no, those choices were all mine, I own them. I could have gone other ways but I chose what I chose not because of my own insecurities, not any brought on by either parent. Then again, what the hell, I had him in a position in which he would be forced to hear me out and these angers are much more deep rooted than I had previously believed. I thought about all the things I could say to my father, unleash on him all that he deserves, because it wasn’t just me, he treated my brothers the same way. Yea my brothers, all of which became devoted fathers with great relationship with their children. Everyone of us spent time with our kids, why couldn’t he? Then it struck me, maybe we were all such hands on Dads because our Dad wasn’t. So he inadvertently taught us more about family than he knew. And really, what did I honestly know about how he was raised, my grandparents were great as grams and gramps but I wonder if they were great as parents. You never know, maybe he had it worse than us. A decision had to be made, I was calling him up for perhaps the last time ever, the doctor said it could be an hour or it could be a day, but no more than four or five days tops because he had aggressive brain cancer.
I called my Pops for what I was sure would be the last time. Give him shit and feel better or let it go? I listened intently as he rambled on about all the things he felt he did wrong as a father and he hit on a good portion, but left out some important errors that effected me personally so when he finally stopped talking ready to listen I took a deep breath and said, “No Dad, that’s not true….. You were a… You were a great father, you loved us all and we all knew it. I wouldn’t trade you as my Dad for any other father in the world, you were perfect and I love you.” There was silence on the phone. Well not total silence, I could hear a soft sniffle and knew my Dad was crying, hopefully from joy and relief. During that silence I realized that for all the faults he may have had, he taught me something priceless. My father taught me how to be a better man, and I hope I passed that along to my son in my own way. My Dad gathered his composure, cleared his throat an said, “Thank you son, I love you too.”
That was the last words my Dad spoke to me. It was in stark contrast to the last thing my Mom said to me which was “Who are you? I don‘t know you!” But that was the cruel ravages of cancer that robbed not only my Moms life, but didn’t have the mercy to let her leave with the quiet dignity she maintained her entire life. Maybe he wasn’t the most perfect Dad, maybe there no such thing, but I am a loving caring father and that had to come from somewhere. Thanks Mom and Dad, you made me a better man.

Death the Redeemer


Shadow of sorrow
Crooked sly smile
Creeping the corner
Nefarious and vile

Reeking deathly odor
Cross upon the priest
Shouting last rites
Expelling the beast

Only one way out
Admitting the crime
Own up to the act
A confession in time

Gently he soothes
Removing the strife
Enticing the sinner
To forfeit his life

Its death the redeemer
Collecting the debt
For crimes of the heart
A blade soaking wet

Son take my hand
On this I insist
Power in your hand
Answer on your wrist

Sins have been written
Deep into cement
Death is a calling
Its time to repent

Release the dark faucet
Close with your breath
Close tightly the mirrors
Encounter your death

The Existential Bakers Guide To Coping With Stress


Stress is a most dangerous emotion no matter what religion you practice. I bet given enough time and the right person even the Dalia lama could lose it an be sent into a tirade. “You better hope I don’t see you in next life because Dalia Lama never forget face!” Why? Because stress is just the trigger for being really pissed off, the motivation to become a temporary mixed martial arts expert an unleash your fury on the on pissing you off. At that moment. But stress does other shit to us too, it alters us mentally, emotionally, an even physically in ways that are out of our control. Or is it?
Most of us, unfortunately, are all too familiar with the five steps of grieving. Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, Acceptance. It takes a long time to reach the level of acceptance because when we lose someone we love very dearly it leaves a void that can never be completely filled but in order to continue living we find a way to manage the pain and the loss. So we go through the stages in order to cope with our loss. The same stages apply to stress.
Stress doesn’t leave a void but rather creates a spike in anger and frustration that raises the blood pressure and effects our overall health negatively. It can be dealt with in many ways, weed, xanax, vodka, primal scream all the way up to murder, which I personally don’t recommend. But the end result is the same as grieving, acceptance. Stress also involves that all too familiar five stage process and as an existentialist I have trained myself to go directly to the acceptance stage at the start, thereby decreasing the power the stressful situation holds over me. As an example I will use the very stress inducing situation of a traffic jam which causes many an over-extension middle finger injury as well as an unnecessary blinding road rage to fill the inside of your vehicle. I find it works best to just realize at the onset that I cannot control the jam, if I am going to be late all the screaming and middle finger waving in the world will not get me to be where I need to be on time.
The anguish riddled inconvenienced traffic negotiator goes through the five stages of stress. He comes upon the traffic jam and heads directly into denial. “Oh no, not now! This can’t be fucking happening, not today. God dammit this is not happening to me.” This often escalates rapidly to the anger stage in which the middle finger exercises its right to free speech, the head often takes to trembling, and the driver voices his opinion paying strict attention to the vocabulary he learned in the schoolyard not the classroom. “Are you fucking kidding me?? Pull the fuck up asshole! Move you piece of shit fucking worthless scum. Get off your god damn phone dipshit and move!!” Anger as an emotion is seldom in a hurry and loves to stay and visit so this stage will last quite a long time. Usually until enough yelling is done to satisfy the stressed out driver that every other driver on the road understands that their appointments pale in comparison to the depth of importance of the angry drivers schedule. But inevitably, once the face is full to the brim with angry throbbing blood vessels anger concedes to bargaining. “Oh my God if you make this traffic go away I’ll go to church every Sunday for a year. Maybe if I go this way I’ll save some time. There has to be an alternative route!” ……….. After all alternative routes have been exhausted and traffic is still laughing it ass off directly into the drivers face is when depression sets in. “God fucking dammit, why always me? Why do I always get stuck in this bullshit? What the Hell did I ever do to deserve this?” Finally the angry driver relents and accepts the fact that we live in a three dimensional world and cannot travel through the other cars but must obey the laws of physics governing that all things are made of matter and solid object such as automobiles and trucks are impenetrable without serious consequences. Once the driver has complete the first four steps, denied it will last, shouted every expletive in the known universe and begins foaming at the mouth, finished figuring out a way out of the mess, an fought back the tears of defeat he’s ready for acceptance. At this point he may begin forming and practicing his role as the apologetic late arriver. “I am so sorry I’m late the traffic was unreal, I swear I left in plenty of time but first there was construction, then an accident, and the traffic was relentless. I did everything I could to get here on time, I am so so sorry” or he may opt to just allow his anger to apologize for him, “I can’t believe this damn traffic, I swear there has to be a better way. If you have to go anywhere DON’T take the highway! Friggen traffic, what’d I miss?” Either way he allowed stress to ruin his day, or at the very least his morning.
I get that its hard, but with the practice and meditation it is existentially possible to convert this conundrum of traffic jam into a less stressful and perhaps even temporarily enjoyable ride. The existentialist knows he is going to face whatever consequences he must for being late, but only need to suffer them at the moment of impact with whomever it caused distress. Worrying about the consequence in the car merely prolongs the life of the consequence. Accept that even if existing there are and never have been any god or gods that would concern themselves in the slightest with your traffic plight. They would be far too busy keeping their promises to football players, baseball players, and boxers who have all petitioned them for a win. Accept the fact that no matter how you react, the vehicle in front of you will not simply go away. Select some favorite music, put in a CD,(EB recommends some Grateful Dead, or even some Traffic, ironically) adjust the interior temperature to a comfortable position and go with the flow, however slow. Amuse yourself by checking out the inflamed angry faces of other rivers who are stuck in the stage and far away from acceptance. Wave to them, blow them a kiss. It make them even more angry and stressed and the amusement you get will help you to forget you may be losing your job, or an account, or just en route to an enraged person at the other end of your trip. On the other hand, don’t mistake kindness for weakness because even though you may see an existentialist smiling, almost enjoying a traffic jam he is still just as fragile as the rest of the world and if you happen to push him too far…. I will kick the everloving shit out of you motherfucker!…. I mean, he will respond accordingly….Peace

Cupcake Wrapper’s Delight… by Vanilla Cupcake Dude


Yo, Yo,
Everyone from the 123, grab a cupcake and follow me
Look, look.
I’m the cupcake dude and I’m here to say
Eat friggen cupcakes every day
Sweet and airy that’s my style
Eat one now it makes you smile
Pistaciaretto or Spice N Ice
Vanilla Classic is really nice
I dig Utopia and Serenity Now
But Sexy Sadie man make you say wow
Yea cup cup cupcakes, we got em stacked
Jarets Stuffed Cupcakes are really whack
Come on in you’ll dig the taste
Raz beret or raspberry lace
These cupcakes man their the bomb
Bring a dozen home give em to your mom, ….WORD!
Yea I make cupcakes that’s what I do
A hundred eighty flavors just for you
Cool Runnings, Red Velvet make you sing
Canoli eclipse and Bada Bing
If you got taste buds bring em to me
I’ll make them buds as happy as budds can be
Yea, yea, Jarets, yea Yea yea, Cupckaes Yea.
Eat em up Y’all
Jarets Stuffed Cupcakes
Tell them The Cupcake Dude sent ya!

Voice Of No Reason


Golden is the silent mind
Sound judgment at the core
But silent voices deep inside
Can make ones temper soar

Quiet time is happy time
Serenity has its perks
But in calm and quiet corner
The voice it always lurks

Do you hear the silent voice
The voice from deep inside
If you hear the silent voice
Its best you run and hide

Cuz when you hear the silent voice
It tells you who you are
If the silent voice screams loud
Your brain will burn and char

You don’t want to hear that noise
Or be who it says you are
Cuts deep inside your thinking dome
And leaves a nasty scar

Silent shrieks prohibit you
To know left from the right
Wrong is right and right is wrong
Inside a constant fight

Towering whispers cloaked in reason
A message may change your life
If you obey the stealth command
You’ll find blood upon the knife

When that sound gets hold of you
It bends and shapes your mind
Forcing you in all directions
Commands you from behind

Thoughts they echo in your head
The voice is in control
Smiling at you ear to ear
As you fall through the hole

Break the rules the judges set
Fill your heart with treason
Kneel and pray to what you hear
The voice that’s lacking reason

An Unexpected Trip


Today’s lesson, hide your drugs better!

Alan was feeling a little bit guilty about violating his son‘s trust. He respected Ian’s right to privacy but his suspicions were so deep he felt he had to infringe. He didn’t want his son smoking that evil devils weed or worse. As a devout Jesuit he was responsible to raise his son to be a follower of The Society of Christ and if he found Ian straying he could use that to send his son into a Jesuit school, maybe even go to Loyola someday. His wife Sadie was catholic and had opted not to upset the forbidden apple cart by converting and as long as Ian was swathed in the catholic blanket of Jesus they could compromise. The compromise was a typical agreement between husband and wife in the 50‘s, Sadie agreed to have sex with Alan and not cut him off and Alan agreed to just about anything uner the threat of the vaginal wrench. In truth that was the single bone of contention between them, Sadie insisted on Ian remaining a “Good catholic” and not a Jesuit so Alan gave in for now. That was the one and only time she dared to air any dissidence.
All Alan needed to convince Sadie that being a Jesuit would be in Ian’s best interests was to catch him in a sin. He was relatively certain his son was smoking pot and he wanted to find some evidence of wrongdoing that would give him the upper hand and release the wrench Sadie clenched on his desire. Alan was the man of the house and as such he should in theory have final say in major decisions, but in practice he opted for bedroom bliss over being boss on this one. He looked over his shoulder nervously and began opening the desk drawer as silently as possible. After rifling through the entire desk he was disappointed to not find any evidence but relieved his son seemed to be keeping his head on his shoulders. He wasn’t thinking about anything in particular when he placed the life saver in his mouth, it was more of a reflex. He had no way of knowing he had just unwittingly ingested a tasty tab of Orange Sunshine LSD. In fact it would be almost an hour until he even began to feel any effect, much too long of a time lapse to connect the two together even if he had suspected something. The rest of the covert search also turned up nothing so he left his son’s room and went to his secret haven, his escape room to relax before mowing the lawn. He locked the door behind him and sat down in his lounge chair, his hidden throne to enjoy a quick Budweiser before leaving his sacred sanctuary to begin the chore.
It had always seemed funny to Ian that his Dad spent so much money on a Cadillac but turned the room meant to keep that expensive car into a fortress of escape with no room for the car. A small fridge filled with beers, a lounger, a small TV and a radio all surrounded by his tools. That plus a hidden box full of two years worth of Playboy magazines. But that’s where you could find Alan whenever the stresses of suburban life got to him. He called it his palace. Alan needed to relax because he always stressed out at the thought of performing his most despised suburban chore. Lawn maintenance. People here in Hamilton New Jersey were judged harshly by the state of their lawns. A well kept lawn was the ultimate status in town and would make the homeowner a well respected man about town, but an unkempt lawn was a ticket to the lowest rung of suburban development and a surefire way to have yourself snubbed and ostracized.
But the yard had to be manicured and Alan dutifully mowed and trimmed his sacred acre of green pride with an unusual joviality which at times made him actually laugh to no one in particular. When Alan finished his dreaded chore he found his smile refusing to leave having found mowing mildly amusing and uncharacteristically pleasant. When he performed the finishing touch of edging it was so funny to him he laughed loudly. A thought came into his head so he talked directly to the yard, “I have to go so you’ll be all a lawn.” Nearly a full minute passed before Alan realize he was laughing with the lawn to his silly joke an the neighbors may see. A sudden wave of paranoia rushed over him which felt foreign. He decided he would be better off alone in hi sanctuary so back to the garage he went.
Alan sat down wondering what was going on, maybe he was catching some strange flu or something because he felt very different. A beer an a nap was in order so he opened one up before putting away his tools. He had done some very deep thinking while tackling this normally mundane chore and surprised himself having come up with some new concepts and theories about life. His life to be exact. He put away his lawnmower and edger and then sat back in his recliner to close his eyes and consider the implications of his newly gained perspective. As he laid back and relaxed a sense of serenity settled across his body and mind. Alan was meditating without even realizing. After fifteen minutes his cheek muscles began to move involuntarily forcing a rather large smile back onto his face. His eyes were closed yet bustling with activity as they entered REM even though he was far away from sleeping. He found himself inexplicably listening closely to all the sounds around him, the leaves gently tickling the ground a they danced clumsily across the cement floor, the wings of some kind of bug flapping melodically, a cricket scratching a tune on its hind legs. Sounds that were always around but never noticed, at least not is such a grand way. Alan was smiling and humming and the visions in his minds eye were churning up childhood memories. Cartoon characters. He saw Popeye and Olive Oyl, Mighty Mouse, Huckleberry Hound, Top Cat, and many more cherished cartoon characters all involved in some bizarre collective cartoon specifically portrayed for his entertainment. He was smiling a huge involuntary smile and he knew it. He felt it! He felt the muscles of his cheeks pulling upwards pressing up against his eye sockets, the corners of his mouth contract inwardly, and his jaw line stretch halfway around his head. He chuckled to himself understanding he was rising to a new conscientiousness.
For quite a while Alan merely sat back and enjoyed his trip as he contemplated his life and what it was all about. His smile began to desert him as he realized what a rut he’d found himself in. “What the hell am I doing? The same thing day in and day out, go to work, come home, have dinner, watch TV, and go to bed. What am I doing this all for?” He continued feeling morose and sorry for himself for living what others had convinced themselves was “The American Dream”. But what the hell kind of dream is this drudgery of existence? Why was he just going through the motions, why wasn’t he an international spy, or an astronaut or something exciting? Anything more exciting than a carbon copy of every other shit middle class robot in town. His mood was taking a dangerous turn from comedy to tragedy in mere seconds.
Alan clasped his head between his hands attempting to squeeze the bad thoughts from his mind. Bugs seemed to be buzzing around e3verywhere but one bug in particular was just outside his ear and singing a song to him. Not a song he recognized, more nonsense singing in a weird bug voice like “eyy ya ya dadada dadeedadee, dadada…..get outta my ear!” Wait, was the bug trying to tell him some profound truth? Could this be where he finds true meaning? Alan contemplated intensely what message this omen bug was showing him when he laughed out loud, “Get out of my ear? Hahaha, did some bug just fly in my ear and say get out of my ear?” He laughed some more, not startled or confused but back in a state of control, of understanding, as though tripping on LSD was his true calling and not some foreign experience impossible to understand. He opened his eyes and continued talking to himself, “Holy shit, I feel so strange. I’m not sure what in the Hell is going on but I think I like it. I feel like I‘m in some bizarre 3D movie or one of those optical illusion pictures” The bug continued to sing the same song over and over in his ear and much to his delight he was neither concerned nor puzzled, he was comfortable with it. Suddenly startled Alan thought he saw movement from the corner of his eye as he jumped up from his chair.
“Is someone here? Come on now I know someone else is here, I can hear you and I know you’re in here. Who is it?” Alan was still chuckling lightly but beginning to feel uneasy. The bug stopped singing and in a much deeper and human voice it said to him, “Its me Alan, Franco. You remember me don‘t you? Saint Francis from project Ultra. I sure as hell remember you, all of you. You guys all laughed and called me Franco. Then you did those things to me, those horrible things. I can still feel the pain.” Alan sat back down now suddenly frightened and uncertain of what was happening. An old buried memory he was unaware of was being stirred up and settling in his head as he flashed back to a room from the days he was in The Agency. The top secret Ultra Project, but what was it? Alan thought back hard, a repressed or even worse an erased memory. He was remembering, the room, the lights, the constant loud noises, and….and “Franco? Oh my God, I remember now Franco. They told us no one would get hurt, we never meant to”….. A knock on the door sent a shiver of paranoia erasing the memory and replacing it with profound worry. “Dad? Its me, Ian. Can I come in? I think we nee to talk.”

Disciples Needed Will Train (Easter Special)


A Sick Bastard Bible Excerpt (an equal opportunity offender. Turn off your moral compass before continuing)

It’s not easy making friends when you introduce yourself as the Holy Messiah, even the latter day saints cast their doubts. That made it extremely hard for Jesus to find himself a posse but he knew he needed an even dozen so he set out to find them at the fishing hole. The first two men he met were Andrew and Peter. After a lot of convincing and a few parlor tricks God taught him they finally believed that he was the son of God that they had heard so much about and promised to follow him to hear his teachings. They had some friends fishing over at the pier who they believed would make perfect disciples (for the right price) so they took Jesus to it. With his fantastic personality, great training from Mary Anne, and a few money cards for Bob’s Bait an Tackle it wasn’t long before he had a handful, twelve to be exact, of real life disciples. Twelve men who promised to follow him in exchanger for everlasting life and the latest in rods, staffs, and reels as well as the promise of net income.
Jesus took them to a secluded area where they coul have their first bored meeting. They sat together in a large circle and after a rousing rendition of Kumbaya introduced themselves. “Let me start. My Name is Jesus and I am the son of a Jewish carpenter who taught me his trade. Well let me clear that up, Joseph is my Dad but my real father, my biological father is a God and he sent me here on the garden….I mean the planet Earth to teach man how to live correctly. Men have strayed from the path of nature and are creating wars, killing creatures they don’t like and generally fucking up the landscape. There are those among you acting like the world belongs to them not to God. So in a way I’m here to save you from yourselves. If you guys follow me and listen and learn from me together we can go back to following the natural laws of life and survival an God will give us Utopia. Any questions?” Of course a litany of questions rang out like “Does that mean I don’t have to serve in the military? Can we still have sex? You mean we can’t kill any animals? Etc.” Jesus held up his right hand which would soon become his signature move. “Okay, okay, I get it, you all have a lot of questions. Let me just put it this way. If you follow me and do as I say you will all live happy and fulfilled lives. We are planning to be together for quite a while so let me find out who you guys are and what your names are.
The men began introducing themselves. “My name is Simon, sometimes known by the alias Peter but that’s a long story. I have been a disciple since I met Jesus yesterday. I want to follow to learn the truth of the world and get some brownie points from the big guy upstairs.” Next Pete stood up, “I’m Peters brother Andrew, and I too want to follow.” They all began responding, “I’m James” “I’m John” “My name is Bartholomew but you can call me Bart, and I believe in Jesus” (Friggen brownnose that Bart) “I am Phillip” “My name is Thomas and I must admit I am somewhat skeptical but I’m willing to give this guy a shot. But as I said, my name is Thomas, or Tommy, and I have my doubts.” “I’m Mathew, or the Matt Man as they the ladies call me, and unlike doubting Tommy boy here I trust in Jesus completely.” “My name is James too, but to avoid confusion call me Jimbo.” “Ah, my name is like Thaddeus, no jokes please it was my father idea, but please call me Thad.” “Damn, my name is Simon too, so I guess you’ll have to stick with your Peter alias there other Simon” And finally the twelfth. “Hey Y’all, I am Judas. Judas Iscariot and I do believe in Jesus and I will follow him and listen and obey. You are my liege, my lord Jesus, and I will be a faithful servant unto you“……“Trust me.” (Cue evil grin)
So it was set, Jesus had his followers and would now set out to change the world with their help. It had been very stressful getting to this point and the J man was feeling a need of some relief. He went to a house of ill repute and choose a prostitute with which to help him relieve that stresses. Looking up towards the heavens he mouthed “Don’t juge me a, I’m a little horny an this is one tough job you sent me on”. The hookers name was Mary (What Another Mary?) Magdalene and she comforted Jesus much the same way Jesus’ mother had comforted Gods rod and staff. She spent hours very skillfully extracting every ounce of seminal fluid in his body and did things to him he had only had wet dreams about before. She was satisfied beyond her expectations as well what with Jesus being half god and all, and she had a never ending freshly satisfied smile stuck to her cheeks. Mary sensed a deep connection to Jesus. “Try not to get worried, try not to turn on to problems that upset you. Jesus. Don’t you know everything’s all right?” Maybe it was the sexual explosions or maybe it was her tenderness, but it touched Jesus deeply. It was moving and made Jesus feel calm and relaxed as he never had before. “Mary, I don’t think I told you this but I am the son of a god and I have been sent here to save the world. I have a posse of 12 guys with me and we are going to change the world. Would you follow with us?” Worried she was being asked to pull a train she glared at him suspiciously. “Are you saying with you or do you expect me to do all 12?” Jesus shook his head and laughed, “No, of course its just me and you in that way. By the way, the sex has to be our little secret. On the surface we need to appear righteous and free of sin. In private, well anything goes baby.” Mary smiled. “Okay Jesus, I’ll follow you and be your maiden. Changing the world huh? Ha, and they said I would never amount to anything. Wish my friends could see me now!”
Now Jesus had his core group totally set, Mary the repentant sinner always at his side (and then some), and his band of merry men strolling through the countryside giving motivational speeches and teaching classes on how to live the natural laws of life and he was becoming quite well known. But he needed something big. Something that would put him over the top and get him noticed globally. He needed a miracle! The bait and switch.?! That’ll work. There was a high profile wedding in town to which both he and his mother Mary were invited. It was a kick ass affair but the celebration had run out of Ernest and Julia’s jug whine. Jesus’ moms came to him and said “Honey, we’re all out of wine. Can you do something. Jesus was ready, he had eight gallons of wine behind a tree, and spoke very loudly so all could hear what he was saying. “Judas, Simon, no the other Simon, bring me some water.” While his Mom created a distraction Jesus switched jugs and soon the party continued with all in attendance believing he had changed the water into wine. Jesus now had mad street cred’s. It was all anybody talked about for the next two weeks. “Did you hear about this guy Jesus? I heard he took a gallon of water and turned it into 20 gallons of preamo whine. An urban legend was forming and it got bigger as it grew. 20 turned into 40. 40 turned 100. Soon he not only turned water into wine and brought 10 huge pigs to BBQ. He carried them all on his back as he walked across the river! It was incredible. Everywhere you went you heard about some dude named Jesus, his hooker girlfriend, and his 12 faithful followers roaming the world creating miracles, feeding the poor, healing the sick, and stopping war. The towns and villages were abuzz with hope for their future. Everyone was elated. Well not really everyone. Remember that dude Herod, and the salad loving Caesar? They were none to happy. Neither were the hierarchy of the Jewish religion. Seems like Jesus was gonna have some problems with the Romans and the Jews. They didn’t like having their authority challenged. Something evil was afoot…

Love, Actually?


Two years old she came to me said Daddy what is love
I told her

Butterfly kisses and a unicorn dream
Candy of cotton delicious ice cream
Stare at a rainbow visit the zoo
Love is us baby Daddy and you
Not the advice one gets from a sage
But what could I tell her at that tender age
Not that the question wasn’t profound
But those were the answers I felt were most sound

Tens years old she came to me said Father what is love
I told her

Love is my princess with her magic wand
You and me feeding the ducks at the pond
Rolling your eyes as we walk through the town
But hugging your Daddy when no ones around
Perhaps catching frogs with the boy down the street
Then punching his arm and kicking his feet
You feel kind of awkward and give him a shove
These funny little things that we call puppy love

Seventeen years old she came to me said Dad, what’s love feel like
I told her

When you’re this young its just called a crush
True love will come so you’ve no need to rush
When true love finds you you’ll know right away
You think only of the one you love every day
True love will be there a to give you a chance
But tonight’s for fun so just go out an dance
You look so grown up all dressed for the prom
My beautiful girl you look just like your Mom

At twenty one years old my baby girl came to me, Dad, tell me now I need to know
I told her

When somebody loves you with all of their heart
You know that there’s nothing could keep you apart
With equal commitment your love gets returned
Love will come find you child don’t be concerned
You’re always gonna be Daddy’s little baby girl
Even when some body comes rocking your world
One day there will be another who fills up your heart
But if he ever harms you I’ll tear him apart

Twenty five years old she came to me said Daddy I think I’m in love
She told me

I know that he loves me with total devotion
We both share a love of the strongest emotion
I want to be with him the rest of my life
He asked me today if I’d be his wife
There’s one man I’ve loved since the day I was born
Its you daddy dear so please don’t be forlorn
I know in my heart that you’ll always be near
Come give me a hug and I’ll wipe off your tear

I told her
My child I’m not crying that’s water you see
Well maybe a tear for how happy you’ll be
I have worried about you every day I’m alive
I knew deep inside that this day would arrive
Does he promise to treat you with love and respect
Give you all of his love which he’ll never neglect
He better stay true if he knows what is best
Or having him castrated will become my quest

Her new love came to me to ask for permission to wed my baby girl
I told him

You told her you’re ready to share her your life
You asked her to marry and become your wife
But my Childs not a possession for sale or for parry
Its her you must seek your permission to marry
And you better give her the utmost respect
So here’s what I want for you most to reflect
If you give her so much as a slap in the head
I’ll cut off your balls and fill you with lead

Congratulations and welcome to the family

The Other Side Of Despair


Clenched fists and crimson tears
Bearing scars across the heart
Filled himself on dreadful dreams
Of the lives he’d torn apart

Obsessive echoes dipped in green
Reverberates to the crowds
Outside they gather spectators all
Castle falling through the clouds

Steadfast bonds of love torn down
Sugared promises now dissolved
So hard to keep strong the vows of love
Once the money becomes involved

Pressure filled his worthless soul
A screaming whisper inside his head
Telling him his loving wife will be
So much more happy if he’s dead

He had the answer in his hand
In the form of Smith and Wesson
As she walked out the door that night
The trigger would be her lesson

Dressed to kill down on the floor
With Scarlet ribbons through his hair
The grass seems richer when you reside
Out on the other side of despair

Today I Am A Man


Today I am a man
fighting hand to hand
Gonna kill a man
Leave him in the sand
Gun firmly in my hand
Today I kill a man

Today I am a man
In a foreign land
I killed another man
His blood is in the sand
I watched it as it ran
Now I am a man

Today I am a man
I finally made a stand
I watched a dying man
I didn’t lend my hand
He bleed out in the sand
Today I am a man

Today they made a man
New member in their clan
Murder was their plan
They made me understand
To follow the command
And kill another man

I am a soldier man
Who killed to be a man
But killing by my hand
Was not what I had planned
But still I am a man
Today I am a man