This is a very serious and sad excerpt of a story mostly funny. It’s a peek into the dark side of my hero’s sad life
You’re Cheatin’ Heart
Kayla was sound asleep, and on any other night I would have been asleep too, knowing Tina would come home after she was done with her shift. First maybe have a drink or two before coming home. I worked in many a restaurant and a few shots after service was common. But this wasn’t any other night. This was the night I was confronting Tina. I had been relatively certain she had been cheating on me, but now I had some hard to dispute evidence. Her best friend and normal excuse for being late called looking for Tina a few hours ago, and on the counter sat a receipt signed by her from the Miller Edge Motor Inn. I laid in wait in the darkness as my anger percolated. When I heard her car pull up a rush of adrenaline churned in my gut then gathered in my head. I was shaking. This was it!
The second she walked through the door my fears were confirmed. Her face wore an all telling satisfied smile. The kind of smile I remembered seeing so often after our nights at the Jade Feather before we were married. That freshly laid smile. It cut deep into my heart. Here it goes. “So where ya been babe?” Tina was startled, caught off guard not expecting me to be awake. I could feel the nervousness in her lie. “Oh, Joanne and I stopped of for a drink and it turned into 4 or five. We had some late customers and Jo and Jacob are having problems again.” I took a deep breath, anger growing by the second. “That’s really odd because Joanne called about two hours ago to remind you that you promised to cover her shift tomorrow.” The silence sat for an extremely uneasy four seconds as Tina began to attempt a backtrack. “Oh, did I say Joanne, I meant” I cut her off instantly” Stop the bullshit Tina! Stop it right now. You weren’t with Joanne or any other work friend. But I think I can guess where you were. More than likely at the Millers Edge Inn. It seems like that’s where you like to go, at least according to that receipt that was in your coat pocket.” I held the receipt out tyo her in a shakey hand. My body responding involuntarily to the ssour mix of anger, nervousness, and anxiety. She just stared, eyes wider than I thought possible. Busted! She had nowhere to take it. She looked down at the floor. Her face was flushed blueish red from the guilt and the sex drugs and alcohol that were more than likely involved. She raised her head, eyes now pathetic an pooling up with tears. At the same time they were profoundly sad eyes. It must have taken all she had to issue a sad mumble of “I-I’m sorry JT. I’m so so sorry.” A sniffle for an exclamation point.
“You’re sorry? Sorry about what Tina? Sorry that you’ve been fucking somebody behind my back or sorry you got caught?” My face must have been bright crimson red because I could feel rivulets of livid red blood cells swirling around my face. I wasn’t done yet. “ I have been faithful, all the time faithful. We had a fucking pact Tina, we’ve both been fucked over before and swore we would never o that to each other.“ The next question asked itself because I son’t remember thinking it. Who is it? Who are you sleeping with? Someone from the kitchen? A waiter? Who the hell are you fucking?” She paid no attention to the fact that it was more a demand than a question, Through her tears she softly asked, “JT please, does it really matter?” Actually a fair question but for some reason I felt I had to know. “It makes a difference to me, Tina, me your husband. You‘re partner for life!!” Tina looked up at me and streams of tear had begun sliding down her cheeks. “Please JT, don’t make me, it isn’t important. I ssis it and I’m sorry. I don’t know what you want me to say.” Head still burning hot with anger my voice was getting a bit too loud. “I’ll tell you what I want you to say, I want you to say it didn’t happen. But it’s too late for that now isn’t it Tina. So I guess I’ll just have to settle on knowing who it is I can blame for ruining my life.” My sarcastic tone was over the top and I regretted the moment I used it, but fuck man, I was pissed! She looked at me defiantly and just spat out his name. “Johnny” A Louisville Slugger of shock cracked me dead in the temple. Sent resounding waves of disbelief across my skull. My head throbbed with a combination of bewilderment and almost uncontrollable anger. Johnny?! Fucking Johnny boy, the love of her life before we started dating. The very dude I had taken her from, who abused her, calledd her names, and cheated on her right under her nose!. The mother fucker she cried to me about for weeks after they broke up. The piece of shit that treated her like dirt for years. I couldn’t breathe. I was aware of how loud it had gotten and didn‘t want Kayla to wake up. Choked with incredulousness my voice sounded squeezed .“Johnny. You mean Johnny boy the fuckhead that you hate? That fucking Johnny? I can’t believe this! How the fuck did this happen?” Now her tears were in full flight and forcing their way through her finger. Tina was shaking visibly and breathing in uneven pants. “It doesn’t matter.” Fury was at an all time high. “Stop saying it doesn’t matter. It does matter. It really does fucking matter!”
After a deluge of wet sobs Tina attempted to explain herself. “I went out for a drink with the girls after work last week and Johnny was there. He came over and we started talking. Just talking, nothing else. He wanted to tell me how sorry he was and wanted to be friends again, we had a few drinks, one thing led to another and I-I don’t know. It just happened.” I was still in stun mode and the anger needed to escape in the worst way. “It just happened?” I was pissed and I could hear Tina sobbing heavily. “Something like that doesn’t just happen Tina. That’s bullshit. You have to know that something might happen. You say to yourself, this is a bad situation, this is wrong. This asshole fucked me over an now I’m talking to him. I can’t do this cuz I’m married. I’m happily married and….” The Louisville Slugger struck again, this time filled with reality. “Wait! Shit! Oh my godd no!? Oh no no no. Oh shit Tina. You’re not happy are you!? You were hoping. Oh Jeu god you were looking for someone or something that would free you out of ….of life with me. An unhappy like with me! What about Kayla? Are you unhappy about Kayla too?” Now Tina’s face looked distorted. The sockets of her eyes were sunken and wrinkled, deep reddish brown from so much rubbing, Soaked through and through from an all out cry. Every pore of her face looked sad and defeated. He looked old to me for the first time. Oh my fucking god id she hate me that much? I was consumed by a combination of anger, betrayal, guilt, sadness and deep self loathing. My old pal, the demon of self hate. How I hated myself so back a few years. Back when I told Carrie about my theory that everyone that gets to know me either dies or leaves. That’s probably why I got so fucked up all the time, did so many drugs. Fuck man, even I couldn’t stand being near myself. Why should Tina feel any different. The years of confidence building collapsed in a single instant. I was crushed and beginning to understand it was my fault. But Tina was clearly blaming herself too. Neither of us were able to talk. All we could do was shake and cry and sniffle. How did it come to this? I poured myself a huge glass of straight vodka from the freezer. It was half gone in a matter of seconds, and being a half empty type of guy at this moment I filled back up, then emptied it.
We sat in silence for about ten minutes until Tina found the courage to talk. “Now what JT? Where so we go from here?” I thought for a few seconds, said ”I don’t know Tee, I just don’t know.” My voice had taken on an eerie even tone and I almost didn’t recognize it. “I think I need to go home to Centerlawn and think things through. And I think you need to think too. I guess we both need to figure out what we want. But I guess this is over” Surprisingly Solomonic. Tina just stared at me with a profound sorrow in her eyes so deep it made her look totally detached from life. “I am so so sorry JT. Its all my fault. I don’t even no where to begin.” I put my finger up to her lips, “Shh, there plenty of blame to go around. I’ve been so consumed with work and, fuck man I don’t know what. I-I just never saw this coming. We both fucked up. Maybe we should never have been, I don’t kmow. Like I said, I need to think shit through. I gotta split. I’m going home to my Moms, I need to think. I’ll be back to see Kayla after work tomorrow.” I pounded down another glass of vodka and took what was left of the bottle. I could hear Tina sobbing loudly in the background as I walked out the door. I took one last look at our home, our once happy home and could see Kayla’s window. Her parents had just become the monsters under her bed. I thought about Kayla and broke down and cried again. Not a soft cry, not even a cry like I had when my brother James died. This was a deep guttural cry with an ugly darkness. I have lost Tina, I lost my dignity, and worst of all I lost Kayla. All in the blink of an eye. I blew Kayla’s window a kiss through my tears, wiped off my soaked cheeks and took a seep breath. I got in my car and left. I wondered if I was ever coming back.
Tag: humor
Arose….. by any other name
The third day he rose from the dead and the world had a new category to lump people into. Christians. Oh vey, it wasn’t enough to have Jews Hindis, Buddhists, Taoists, Pagans, Friend, Romans, and Countrymen. Religion is like Jell-O, there’s always room for more. And damn man, did they ever torture that dude. The stuck a sticker bush full of pricks (not to mention the pricks that whipped him first) on his head, handed him the 200 pound lumber they would nail him to and said “carry THIS J-Man!” So he had to carry his death instrument down the street while people yelled hit at him like, Go back to Nazareth carpenter boy, and Who da king now bitches” No doubt some real asshole prolly yelled “Bring your own nails woodworker!” Treated the dude like total shit, then nailed him angled at southern exposure so the sun would burn slower. Rude Roman sadists! Anyway, they took hiss dead carcass an stuck it in a cave. Three days later, GONE! Did Mary sneak the body out? One of the dirty dozed? Coulda been a grave robber. Or……or he really did rise from the dead. Either way, Christianity was born.
What is with people and their damn categories anyway? Just yesterday a friend of mine said to me, “Oh, you’re an existentialist? Does that mean you’re an Atheist?” Just the question itself made me chuckle. As usual I attempted to explain.” Well Existentialism is a philosophy that excludes the necessity of God from my life. What I mean is whether he or she does or doesn’t exist has no effect on my life so I don’t give it much thought. For my part though, I don’t believe in God the way in which you do, so I guess by your definition I would be an Atheist.“ His next question magically transformed my chuckle into a laugh, “So then, that means you’re not a practicing Atheist, right?” WTF??? How exactly does one practice to not believe in something. Did I become a practicing Anti-Santatite when I stopped believing in Santa Claus? Athletes practice. Musicians practice. Lawyers and doctors practice. (I know right? I don’t want a doctor that still has to practice either, but just go with it) Atheist pretty much have it mastered by the time they say no I don’t believe in God. No practice necessary. I don’t need to attend service and sing songs about not praising anyone, I don’t need to go through any ritualistic behavior like snake handling, or ganja smoking like Rastafarians. I admit the ganja ritual sounds cool, but I don’t need to practice that either. I had that all figured out in the early 70’s. I once practiced playing the piano until I figured out how badly I suck at it. Then I stopped practicing. So I guess I’m still a pianist, just not a practicing one.
I get it, certain categories give you an insight into the person. But it can be misleading. I have been called a hippie. Originally meant to lump me into a group. Long dirty hair, smelly and unbathed body, pot smoking environmentally aware peace lover , communist, socialist, and so on. You dig it, I know you have been lumped into some sort of category. There are o friggen many of them. Its kinda like the zodiac. Every person will find some character traits in their prospective sign. Why? Cause they make generalizations. That’s what categorizing does, it sticks you in box of generalizations. Many people place others in boxes in a lame attempt to make themselves somehow superior. A good example in America is the “Gay marriage” debate. And here’s some of those Christians again, shouting how god called homosexuality an aberration. They call themselves Christians so they can feel like the superior religion, the one making decisions for everything. Turn your cheeks guys, its not gay marriage its marriage. Its about love not sex. I don’t have gay friends, I have friends who happen to be gay. I don’t introduce anyone as my hetero sexual friend so why should I introduce anyone as my gay friend?
Point is too many of us pre-judge based on beliefs or looks. Okay I confess, every date I have ever been on (while fully conscious) was at first based on attraction. Something about the person attracted me, either esthetically or sexually. I chose to pursue them based on looks. But any long term relation hip was based on mutual interest’s and content of integrity as it pertained to how they viewed me. It’s hard sometimes, some of our pre-conceptions are so deeply ingrained in us its almost impossible to disregard them. They have been hammered into our minds since birth. Boys don’t cry or play with dolls. Fat kids are just pigs that eat too much. Girls should look for husbands when they grow up, and learn how to take care of the home. We are put on overload of generalizations and prejudices from our parents and other authority figures. Hopefully we become intelligent enough to regurgitate the really mean and hurtful ones and not pass them on to our kids. Not easy. I grew my Moms finger pointer and I raised my voice like my Dad more often than I would have hoped, but I gave my best attempt to instill a sense of individuality and integrity in my kids. It wasn’t easy when my son stood up to me after heated disagreements, but didn’t harbor anger. I turned away and smiled and thought, “My boy is growing up.”
If anything, make a consorted effort to not judge. It may not be easy, but this world is getting crazy. Over-crowed, high tech, fast paced and more dangerous every day. Every hour. Give the next generation a fighting chance by teaching with patience and tolerence. Let them grow. If we can’t figure out a way to appreciate each other free of preconceived notions our warring angry attitudes will end our reign as the most intelligent species on earth.………Peace
Busted, Disgusted, and Can’t Be Trusted
“Shit Out Of Luck, South Carolina, 1979”
I couldn’t waste time worrying about tomorrow, I had to deal with right now. I was being taken to my room for the night and it wasn’t going to be pleasant. First came the strip search, which the guards seemed to take a special perverted delight in making rude comments about my naked body. Maybe they were playing some sort of cop intimidation game, or perhaps they really did dig it. Whatever, it made me very uncomfortable and I was especially intimidated when a deep voice bellowed, “Okay boy, now bend on over and spread your cheeks”. Reluctantly I complied to a new round of rude crude and lewd remarks which totally emasculated me, whether as a by product or by design. Feeling oddly dirty, even after being hosed down, a young guard handed me a towel and an orange jumpsuit. I could tell he was not a willing participant and thought it might be a good chance to create an ally, but he was unreceptive to my questions, like “where am I going,” or “what’s gonna happen to me.” I was a bit surprised at how meekly I asked this guard, but he just avoided eye contact and paid me no mind. “C’mon, dry off, git dressed and foller me son.” I obliged, still feeling dirty and not very dapper in my oversized orange jumpsuit with large white letters. ACDC. It wasn’t a rock band. It stood for Aikon County Detention Center. So here I was, dressed in the height of convict fashion following a young guard who had just handed me the thinnest mattress in history, as well as an itchy wool blanket all rolled up like a sleeping bag. “This is your bed.” He informed me. I tucked it under my arm and followed as the guard walked down the hall, through a series of bars and gates. I had my bed tucked under my arm, and my tail tucked between my legs.
The last gate we went through opened up into a sort of Cineplex of jail cells, and I could see many prisoners sticking their heads between the bars to try and get a look at the new arrival. I could hear shouts, mostly things like “Here come some fresh meat,” or “check out this long haired girl,” and other such nonsense that added profoundly to my discomfort. A voice somewhere off in the distance let out a very loud directive. “Alla Y’all Shut up!!! Its time for lights out.” The young guard walked me down a hallway of jail cells, and it looked like a dormitory of bars. He stopped about halfway down the hall, turned and unlocked a set of bars. “Go on ahead in boy” . It was a relatively big room with a stainless steel sort of picnic table and chair to the left, and to the right on the wall was two shower heads but no stalls. “All the way to the back on the left” down a short narrow corridor I saw a room on the end with an open door. I went in, and saw a board flush up against the wall, and a stainless steel toilet and sink. I remember thinking to myself “ I’m going to be seeing a lot of stainless steel here in this joint”. The young guard spoke to me for the final time. “Put yer mattress on there, you will git yer breakfast under the door in the morning, and your cell will open up to the common room at 10AM. Lunch is served around 12 noon, and 6 PM its back in to your personal cell. Every Wednesday the canteen cart comes around so you can buy candy and cigarettes if you have any money. Church is on Sunday Morning at 10AM sharp in the chapel. You will get one clean towel every day, and a clean jumpsuit once a week. Enjoy your stay.” The last part was added with a touch of sarcasm, and the rest of the “speech” seemed to be by rote, like he has said it a million times. But why did he give me the rundown on the entire place. After all I was leaving tomorrow. Wasn’t I? I began to worry again. How the fuck did I get myself into this God damn nightmare? I unrolled my makeshift bed, laid down, and stared at the ceiling. Completely exhausted from an extremely trying day, I fell asleep.
The next morning I woke up to a school cafeteria type of tray scratching along the floor. It was being passed through a rectangular cut out at the bottom of a cell door that was my overnight home. I was somewhat disoriented, the entire thing seeming rather surreal, as if it were happening to either someone else or in a dream. But it wasn’t a dream, and it was happening to me. I looked at the tray which consisted of a bowl of what I could only assume was oatmeal, a small dish of fruit cocktail , and some toast that I had no doubt had ceased being anything remotely close to actual toast hours ago. A very grim reminder that this is a real situation here. I had to do something, had to act and get myself back in control. Was Max coming back? Did Sandy just order him to move on without me? Or more likely, was Max and Sandy both beginning to feel the pains and discomforts of drug withdrawal? That was the most worrisome and most likely of outcomes. They either found some drugs out on the streets of Aikon County South Carolina, or they forged on ahead to the next methadone clinic on their route and turned me into a distant memory. I now knew that I had to take matters into my own hands. I was alone now, too embarrassed or too proud to call my family for help. Again! Too stubborn to just give in call someone, anyone for help. Not only that, I was aware that I had only one phone call, and I needed to make it count. Phone call! That’s it! I get one phone call. Shit man, I better makes this call count. Who to call though, that was the problem. I remembered a girlfriend I had while I was living in Myrtle Beach a few years ago. Rebecca. I could call Rebecca. Surely she would remember her Yankee lover and be willing to help me out. Why she even had a brother who was working a chain gang, so surely she would be sympathetic. So that’s it. I will call Rebecca, and she will rescue me from this hick hell hole. Now I just need to get to a phone. My mind was working overtime devising a plan to escape this nightmare. I was already thinking what I should do, track down Max and Sandy and kick their asses, or head back to New York and regroup. But first things first. I need to make the call.
I managed to eat about three quarters of the hideous representation of oatmeal and all of the fruit cocktail. I opted out of the born again toast. I now had some nourishment in my stomach, and it was time to get the ball rolling here. I had heard some of the other “Inn” mates call the guards by the term “turnkey” So it was time to establish my dominance with my jailors while developing my “street credentials” with my new roomies. I determined that a perfect place to start was right this very moment by showing these local yokel criminals how we do it up north. So in my toughest NYC voice I let out an authoritative directive. “Ay Oh, Turn-key”. I need to make a phone call.” I had attempted to inject just the perfect modicum of distain and rebellion as was necessary to achieve my goal. An awkward silence befell the cellblock, as a burly mean looking police officer began to stare at me with such a deadpan sarcastic glare, I almost felt jealous. I’m from New York, where sarcasm is a second language and he had just read me a cynical short story without even uttering a single word. I began to wonder if I was taking the proper approach, or if I should rethink my options. It was then that this komodo dragon in uniform began to saunter in my direction with a slow and deliberate pace that screamed “What we have here is a failure to communicate.” The oily haired officer got his face as close to mine as humanly possible, and just stared at me a moment. I had a sudden and humbling memory penetrate my tough NYC exterior and turn me into shimmering mass of spineless amoeba. . “Suey, let me hear you scream suey!” I attempted to coax myself back from my baseless paranoia. Oh Hell, stop thinking like that and get your shit together tough guy. You faced bigger opponents in Spanish Harlem just three days ago. You have spent countless hours in a Pagan Motorcycles Club bar. You have faced off with New York City detectives. (not very successful with the detectives, but stood up none the less. Well maybe stood up was not the right term) I gave my head a hair clearing shake, swallowed hard and began to feel like I was back in charge again. Apparently, none of this mattered to sergeant Komodo dragon. He began to speak, and I swore the voice was the same voice I recalled from that scene in the movie. “Say what boy?…. Did I hear you say turn-key you long haired piece of shit?” I couldn’t help but detect a certain note of arrogance and alarming distain in his voice. But alas it was too late, the drama had begun. I sensed that any second now, the proverbial pig shit was headed directly in the vortex of the rotary oscillator. And the fan was humming! The two of us stared each other down for a minute and the silence began to burn loud in my ears. Then as if right on cue a big shit eating “who the fuck do you think your dealing with” kind of grin broke out on his upper lip and quickly spread across his jaw until it took over his entire face. Now I am staring directly into this shit eating Cheshire smile and I can sense that it is a smile with some very serious implications. I had to think quick to get out of this predicament, to ease the tensions with my captor, while not losing face with my new room mates. “Hey Billy, we got us a real rebel Yankee here what wants to make his phone call.” The silence continued in the most uneasy pause I had ever experienced. After being stared at by a smile for what seemed like ten minutes, an even bigger almost obese guard came walking over with a look so serious I damn near wet myself. His stare was deadly. When he finally spoke, his voice did not match his body or his demeanor. He had a high pitched almost feminine voice. “Well Gawd Dang Jimbo, by all means lets give this boy his call, just as soon as we git his Yankee ass back from the room.” The two of these grease ball cops smiled at some kind of sick inside joke, and Jimbo opened my cell. “Put yaw hans behine you boy, youse comin’ wit us fer a spell.” His Cheshire shit eating grin was in overdrive now and it made me somewhat uncomfortable. They cuffed my hands behind my back and walked me out of the cell, down the corridor and through a few hallways until we stopped at a big wooden door that said Interrogation Room, ACDC. I thought to myself, so this is where they must be where Boss Hog and John Boy are taking me. Jesus when will this fucking nightmare end?
Cupcake Tops With Peeps?? Off With Their Heads
Watch Me Pull An Easter Bunny Out Of My Hat
Another holiday another challenge. It doesn’t matter your culture, your religion, or your nationality, if it’s a holiday and your in the food business in any form, you need to know all about it. That’s how an existentialist baker ends up being challenged with tapping into the cultural aspects of holidays like the one facing me now, Easter. Yea, yea, yea, I get it. Palm Sunday Jesus came to town on his ass (I have to admit hearing this as a kid made me chuckle). Him and a dozen compadres ate together for the last time and it was a feast fit for a vampire. All body and blood. One of the twelve dudes dropped a dime on the J man and Roman guards whipped him and then crucified him. A few days later his ghost rose from the dead and they proclaimed it a holiday. Celebrating his death seems counter-intuitive but religious obsevervances have always befuddle me a bit.
No matter, I’m not making a cupcake that rises from the dead nor am I making one out of wafers or wine. I am tapping in to the cultural aspects of Eater. The happy stuff, like the candy part. So what do I have to work with? Chocolate bunnies are too old school and besides, they already have a stronghold just being themselves. Jelly bean are a must, I can do something with those classic favorites. What else? Peeps! Now there a tradition worth raising some insulin levels over. A marshmallowy ball of cooked sugar coated in……more sugar of course. Only colored sugar.
Not just yellow anymore, these stretchy marshmallow treats shaped like little chicks come in array of color these days. Pink, Green, Blue, purple, and the old standby, yellow. And not just little chicks, these Easter basket must haves can be either a chick or a bunny. Gender appropriate candy, amazing how much we have evolved. Evolutionary advances aside, I plan to stick to the original. Well original shape anyway. So I’m set. I will use jelly beans for one and Peeps for the other.
Just making a jellybean cupcake or a marshmallow cupcake is not much of a challenge for The Existential Baker. I need to dig deep own into my creative culinary depths and so something different. So not cupcakes for this holiday, but Cake Sliders. Or maybe I’ll call them stuffed cupcake tops!? Elaine made it work with muffins on Seinfeld so WTH?
The first one will be Stuffed Jellybean Cupcake Tops. Now I am somewhat of a jellybean aficionado. Gourmet, No name, spiced, Jelly Belly, all brands, all types. I’ve tried them all. (with the exception of the jelly bean featured in Harry Potter. However, if they were available to me…..) But The Existential Baker can’t just make what he like best, I need to make what works the best for my cupcakateers. After careful sampling of a number of easily available jellybeans it hit me like a sugar rush. A stomach ache. After a few Zantacs and some Pepto, I went back to my notes and discovered that the winning bean contestant was the “LifeSaver” brand jellybeans. Why them? None of them singularly overpowers the others, the coloring and size is perfect, and the flavors blend effortlessly. Since there are apparently no beans left from the testing I went out and got ssome more.
My first attempt was a bit of a disaster. I placed some vanilla cake batter in the whoopee pans, topped them each in an artistically arranged collage of jellybeans and popped them in the oven. Cooking time is about 12 minutes so I checked them after about six. To my dismay the designs had sunk to the bottom and seemingly disappeared. No worries, I’ll flip them over when they finish and cool. Uh uh..No, no, no! Thee delectable cute innocent jellybeans refused to let go of pan. The cake part had no such attachment and instead of having my base I had to carefully clean the mess and start again.
Once bitten twice shy I settle on the same theme with a new approach. This time I filled the pans with vanilla cake batter and right into the oven. After six minutes I removed the pans, sprinkled them with jellybeans in a totally random pattern and back into the oven. It had to be done quickly and efficiently, and I felt like the Jason Bourne of cupcakery. Identity, Supremacy, and Ultimatum. The most perfect looking cupcake tops ever. Randomly arranged and barely beginning to show signs of melting they were a masterpiece. Now to cool and fill.
A variety of flavors began dancing in my mind. What best to fill these beauties? I settled on a strawberry custard and chopped up the remaining jellybeans and folded then inside. The result was a pleasing pastel pink custard dotted with an assortment of tiny bright-colored jellybean segments. I placed a scoop of the delish filling on top of half my cupcake tops, reserving the prettiest ones for the toppers. Another success for the EB’s guests at Jarets Stuffed Cupcakes this weekend. But I’m not done there, I need to do something with the Peeps.
“Peeps for my Peeps” cake sliders take center stage to the cupcake tops understudies. This time I used a heart shaped pan, because I love my peeps. Not the candy, my peeps. Yea, I have peeps! A few anyway. But I digest, lets move on. This was a bit more of a challenge for a few reasons. First those cute little chickies are hard to cut up, and if you put them in a bowl together they begin to re-knit into a glob of marshmallow madness. The other challenge was the presentation. What I wanted to do was top each heart shape slider with a head of the Peep. Just the head, the whole Peep would look messy. But will the EB look like a murdering marauder who hangs the heads of his prey like a trophy on the wall? A game hunter proudly displaying his kill for all to see atop a cake slider? Will it cause lasting scars on the hearts of my little peeps? Will my peeps children forever view me as the villain that slew packets upon packets of sugary chicks removing their heads? Profound quandary. I mean after all I am a lifelong pacifist. I admit to killing more than one lobster during my days of restaurant life. That lobster scream still ways on my conscience. But these Peeps are not and never have been alive. So I can move forward with eight inch chef knife in hand and remove the heads of my peeps. The candy, not the people.
There it is. Heart shaped chocolate and vanilla sliders waiting patiently to morph into a treat. I had reluctantly beheaded all the colored Peeps and set them aside. What to do with the bodies? Wrap them up in blankets and toss them in the sink? No, no way. I want the short temporary lives of those seasonal marshmallow favorites to mean something. So I cut them into pieces. This created another problem. As I mentioned they have an uncanny ability to reform into larger pieces of themselves in various shapes. My solution was to cut and mix in small batches using some marshmallow fluff to keep them bound . Success! Next I took said mixture of mallows and folded them into some vanilla mousses. The result was a bowl of marshmallow mouse dotted with pastel pieces of Peeps. A scoop on a heart shaped cake, topped with another heart happed cake, then adorned with a small dollop of buttercream. Then the prized peep head went on top. Cute, but I feel like they are all looking at me now. Menacingly!! How I suffer for my art!!
Happy whatever you celebrate. If you don’t celebrate any specific occasion, then Happy Life.. What better to celebrate than that???….Peace
Unholy Thursday (the last straw)
Man, that dinner was to die for!
Now neither Cosmo nor Jesus had any clue what was going on and they just kept on trying to save the garden. Cosmo created more miracles to enhance Jesus’ image and Jesus kept teaching and preaching all over trying to get the youmans back to global synergetic activity. He was gaining ground but his message was being misinterpreted. He became very frustrated and began referring to Cosmo as God just like the people did, and he even went as far as to use it as a threat. “You need to seek Gods forgiveness for your sins or he will bring great misfortune upon you.” It seemed to work so much better than plain old reasoning. People trembled at his feet, washed his feet, kissed his feet (Which really pissed Mary the jealous off). They were worshipping not only this God, but Jesus as well. The ego stroked so often becomes inflated to a huge hard self centered chaotic balloon. . (much like the body part that had caused so much of the situations herein). What I’m saying here is went to Jesus’ heads. Both of them! He began to believe he could control these mere mortals. He was healing crippled people, lepers, and handing out forgiveness as if he himself were a full fledged god. On one very memorable occasion he came into a temple while traveling through Jerusalem and did not like what he saw. Old people playing bingo for money, a flea market of rip off sellers, sex being sold openly, and no one seemed to care he was there. He went up to a money monger who was conning people with a game of three card Monty and tossed the cardboard box with the cards and cash all over the floor. Everyone stopped and stared mouths agape as Jesus yelled, “Get out all of you! Get out! This is supposed to be a place of worship but you have made it a den of thieves. Get out!” Everyone left uncomfortably thinking that Jesus had just had a breakdown, and Caiaphas saw this a the perfect chance. He got Annas and told him to set the plan in motion. The end of Jesus was in sight and Cosmo was at the District visiting Mary Anne and was unable to step in and help.
It’s well documented how Judas betrayed Jesus just before their big dinner but there are a few undocumented occurrences that were left out. First of all it wasn’t supposed to be the last supper, it was an awards dinner where Jesus was gonna give props to his twelve disciples. Before dinner Judas came up to Jesus really high on opium and tried to lay a sloppy French tongue sporting kiss on Jesus while at the same time reaching down and massaging his rod and staff. Concerned when his man meat began to respond eagerly he through Judas away. “Judas stop this sinning. I don’t want you to do that.” Judas was now spurned and yelled “Cut out the dramatics you know very well you want me to do it. Fucking A, now I’m glad I told that fucking Lucifer where you would be!” Silence spoke volumes. Judas had thrown Jesus under the bus and the shit was about to hit the fan. Tears welled in Jesus’ eyes, “Judas, must you betray me with a kiss?” Judas took his seat and sat in silence, ashamed of what he had done. Jesus took his place at the head of the long table.
“My faithful, this was meant to be an award dinner to show my appreciation for you, but it seems we have a traitor amongst us this eve.” All eyes turned toward the nodding out Judas Iscariot. Jude tried to play it cool, “What? Wait, you all think its me? Fuck each one of you all have skeletons in your closets. Paul, did you tell Jesus about the goosing you gave Mary? Oh yea, that’s right Jeez, Paully boy was hitting on your honey. And the murdering Thomas who has actual skeletons after killing the women who doubted his sexual orientation.. And you Bart, any mention of the crown of thorns you made for Caiaphas? Didn’t think so.” Jesus cut him off loudly. “Enough! That’s enough, its over. Okay, here’s the deal, They are going to crucify me, shortly after dinner tonight. Some of the hotels already have ’Jesus Slept Here’ signs in front of their hostels.” Peter spoke up, “No, it can’t be true messiah!” Jesus looked sadly at denying desciple, “Peter, Peter, Peter, you know its going to happen. I know you’ll deny this but I heard you tell Simon it was going down tonight.” Peter objected, “No, its not true.” J man just shook hi head. “I swear, its untrue Jesus, I said nothing!” Jesus turned to Andrew and whispered, “Check this out, he will deny it again. Three time he’ll deny it.” Everyone was looking at Peter except Simon, who was looking up at the ceiling and whistling hoping to be undetected and left out of the conversation. Peter stood, “It’s not true.” Andrew addressed the group,“ ”Holy defecation, its as Jesus predicted, Peter denied it three times.” Sensing the dinner was getting out of control the leader stood up and grabbed a goblet of wine. He held the goblet high, “Drink my faithful, drink your wine as it were my blood.” The men all looked at each other in confusion. Blood? Its fucking wine! But hey, oh, this is Jesus talking so they humored him. All guzzled their wine with abandon muttering things like “Yes, your blood. Uh huh, were drinking your blood JC.” Then Jesus held up a loaf of bread and began ripping parts off and handing it to each man. “Eat this bread as it were my body.” Now the men were thinking that maybe Jesus was tripping or something, but they obliged, each filling their goblets of wine to the top before taking the bread.. The rest of the meal was silent, most wondering if Jesus should be committed.
By the time they were finished, more wine had been consumed than food. One by one the men passed out where they sat. All but one. Jesus wasn’t tripping, he wasn’t even drunk. He was wondering what the fuck happened to Cosmo and why he had left him alone to face this. He looked up towards the eternal clouds and clasped his hands. “Pops, where are you? Do you know what they are doing to me? Okay, I know you did the miracles and shit so I guess you have a plan, I just wish you would share it with me. But its okay, I’ll go. I’ll walk into the belly of the beast an await your advice.“ But alas, Cosmo couldn’t hear his words. Cosmo had been summoned to the Bobaloo Galaxy for a seminar “ Mind Over Anti-Matter” held by the universal science mind of TED. Jesus walked into the Garden of Gethsemane and the rest is history. As for Judas, he went back to Lucifer for something stronger, and Lucifer of course made it way too strong and Judas OD’ed. By the time Cosmo had returned from the Bobaloo his son Jesus was dead on a cross.
Shock filled Cosmo to the brim. Shock and anger. His beloved youmans had not only lost their way, they had killed the only son he and his love Mary Anne had. The worst part was how violently they killed him. Cosmo turned his back on his youmans and headed back to the District to be with Mary Anne and the child who had become Jesus’ body double. There he would remain for eighteen hundred and twenty three years and he returned just in time to see some dude named Louis Pasteur had figured out the world of tiny little organisms he called germs. After checking out his garden Cosmo “thought, holy shit, what the fuck has been going on here?” He needed to review what had been going on in his garden during his absence so he went to the videotape.
Cosmo and Mary Anne watched the various stages of growth the garden had undergone since their son was killed. Some of it was appalling and some of it endearing. Overall Cosmo was filled with more disappointment than he had expected. “Look at all this Mary, all the wars, famines, and diseases on Earth! What the burning underworld could they be fighting over?” Mary was very bright and able to grasp situations well. “Cosmo, these battles they have been waging seem to have two things in common. Arbitrary lines of land ownership and the belief in different gods. They have been killing each other for so long I believe some of them have forgotten why. Look at all these atrocities Babe, wars fought in Rome and France between protestants and Catholics, Sudanese war between Christians and Arabs, The Crusades, The Inquisition, my sweet nebula what have they done to the memory of our son?” Cosmo shook his head, “it’s true my love, they have blighted the memory of our son and used it as an excuse to kill and maim. Its deplorable. And they have undergone deadly plagues, measles, anthrax, rabies, typhus, small pox, and the bubonic plague. The Black Death. The Bubonic plague that spread everywhere and claimed over 75 million lives. How could those micro-organisms possibly get in my garden?” Mary Anne thought carefully before giving her opinion. The persons name she was about to use was a source of some displeasure in her relationship with Cosmo, but he did after all know what kind of work she did before they became an item. Even so, Cosmo was not happy that Mary Anne had some history with Mychrighton. “I’m not sure I should mention this or not babe, but Mychrighton is pretty well known for his experiments in micro-organism in the Andromeda Strain Galaxy.” Too upset to allow jealousy deter his thoughts it was an a-ha moment for Cosmo. “Of course, the pathogen killer, using satellites to destroy his own creations. Saved by the brilliant Lucy when she introduced the Kalocin that became a universal antidote. I have to figure out a way to introduce Kalocin in the garden. Maybe this Pasteur guy can help.” If Cosmo had dropped Lucy’s name on purpose to counter the subconscious feeling of jealousy it worked. Mary Anne’s face reddened ever so slightly and she angrily reminded herself of the once hot and heavy relationship that was all the rage in the District gossip papers. She thought about firing back with another comment about Mychrighton but took the high road because of the important work ahead.
Life Is A Cabernet Old Chum (the anti-easter saga continues)
Spill The Wine, Dig That Pearl
(I need a miracle every day!)
Now Jesus had his core group 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. They were becoming quite well known but they needed something big. Something really big. Something that would put him over the top and get him noticed globally. They 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. This is our big chance Jee. Time to do something huge. Make your miracle my son.” Jesus was ready with eight gallons of wine hidden behind a tree, and spoke very loudly so all could hear what he was saying. “Simon, bring me some water. This party is not over. I‘ll make wine for everyone.” 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 40 gallons of preamo wine. An urban legend was forming and it got bigger as it grew. 40 turned into 60. 60 turned 100. Soon he not only turned water into wine but brought 10 huge pigs to BBQ. He carried them 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 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.
The camel shit hit the fan when the antichrist came to town. The who? The antichrist. Remember earth Jesus’ sister Rosemary? Well Rosemary claims her and “The Superbly Endowed Evil Dude” had a baby and his name is Lucifer. Lucifer the antichrist. Rosemary’s baby all grown up was challenging this righteous dude trying to make people feel god to a duel of apocalyptic proportions. A revelation of epic battle was here to upset the forbidden applecart. His first stop was with a Jewish high priest named Caiaphas.
Cosmo caught oracle like wind of this. He was profounly alarmed and arranged for Jesus to sneak away for a secret meeting and update. “Hey pops, how’s Mom?” Como hugged his son. “She is well J, she misses you a lot. How are things going in the garden?” Jesus shrugged his shoulders, “Well it’s not easy pops. I have my disciples and my family behind me, and some other follower but it’s going kinda slow. I pulled off a fake miracle and that got me a lot of new followers but I need to do something big. I gotta tell ya pops, for some reason they call you God, not Cosmo or a god, but God Almighty. They are scared shitless of you.” Cosmos eyes sparkled with a touch of pride, but he knew that he needed to stay on point. “Yes, yes, I see how they act. But we have bigger fish to fry here my son. Those people will come around. Here is the deal. I’m gonna help you and create some more of the miracle things that work. I’ll have you heal some lepers, help the poor, and let’s see….Walk on water! That’s great, you can walk on water. That should convince the doubtful that you are the real deal three course meal. Once they all believe in you all you need do is get them back on the path of live and let live an teach them how to live a good life co-existing with the rest of the living things in our garden.” Jesus gave it some deep thought. “Easier said than done Dad, but I’ll do my best. I think I have a few cards left up my sleeve.” Cosmo gave his son a stern glare, “Its not what’s up your sleeve that concerns me, its what’s in your pants. Which brings to mind son, what are your intentions with Miss Magdalene?” Now it was Jesus turn to glow with pride. “She’s a looker eh Dad? I think I may bring her back to the District some day. I really do like her, I’m not using her.” The glare sprung into a knowing man smile. “Just be careful boy, men have been known to do some pretty crazy shit for a woman.“ Jesus chuckled, “I hear ya Pops, she does this strange thing to me and wants me to’ Cosmo cut him off not wanting to hear about his sons sexual practices. “Never mind that Jesus, just make sure your decisions only come from your main head. Now get going, I’ll set up your miracles.” Cosmo described his plan. “Your disciples are on a boat fishing and the boat is stuck. When you get down there I will freeze the sea just long enough for you to walk out and save them in front of a big crowd. After that it’s up to you.”
Jesus went down to the sea and just as Cosmo had promised the disciples were stuck out on the water and a huge crowd had gathered by the shore. Judas cried out, “Jesus, help us!” The big J man closed his eyes and started walking, and true to his word his father froze the water beneath his feet with each step and gave the appearance of walking on top of the water. He grabbed the line of the boat and to the jaw dropping amazement and cantankerous cheers and applause he guided the boat to shore and saved the group of hapless following fishermen. A thunderous display of accolades followed and word spread very quickly. Soon everyone had heard of this dude who claims to be the son of God walking on water, and changing water into wine. With the hand of Cosmo as his guide he roamed the countryside with Mary and his band of merry men healing sick people and feeding poor. At one point the took one loaf of bread and fed twenty people, but by the time the story got out it had evolved into feeing thousands with only one loaf of bread. Jesus was rapidly becoming the most popular man on earth. People everywhere spoke of his good deeds, his teachings of tolerance, and his ability to convey Gods forgiveness to those in need. But not everyone was happy about all this pomp and circumstance. King Herod, and the emperor Caesar wanted nothing less than to have this guy Jesus killed. Caesar summoned one of his high priests and told him something must be done. As it turned out that high priest was none other than Caiaphas, who had become fast friends with Lucifer the anti-Christ. In private meetings of the Jewish high priests and the leaders of Rome they set about a plan to create a more permanent solution to their problem. Caiaphas spoke to the cabal, “What then to do about Jesus of Nazareth? Miracle wonderman, hero of fools. No riots, no armies, no fighting, no slogans, one thing I’ll say for him Jesus is cool.” Lucifer sneered and made a pfft sound. Caiaphas continued, “seriously guys, how shall we deal with him? Any suggestions?” Annas, the high priest of the newly formed Roman province spoke first, “My dear Caiaphas, I have a bag of silver and we have Lucifer right here with us. That dude Judas is strung out on opium and I feel he is vulnerable. What if we have Lucifer become his dealer and give him high grade shit and then raise the price drastically. We can force him to make a deal with the antichrist for a bag of silver and a supply of opium. We can not only get the 411 on what this Jesus fucker is doing, we can have Judas set him up.” Caiaphas smiled one of the biggest shit eating grins any had ever seen and replied, “
Annas, you are fucking brilliant. Lets go nail his ass to a cross!”
The Gathering Of The Desciples
United We Stand
Unbeknownst to Cosmo, two mean ass dudes has heard about this baby Messiah and were not happy at all. One was the emperor of Rome, a dude who loved garlic laden dressing on his Rome-aine lettuce, the other a King. The emperor Caesar and King Herod. Herod was the meaner of the two, and when he found out from the wise dudes that they had hidden the baby somewhere in Egypt he ordered every male child two years or younger to be put to death. Caesar took a different route having heard from some shepherds about the whole Johnny the Baptist Revival thing. He ordered Johnnies head to be cut off and brought to him on a silver tray. He eventually got the head, but it was too late as Jesus had already been successfully baptized, schooled, and well hidden from the clutches of evil. For 33 earth years.
But now it was time for part two, the switch. The real Jesus had been trained and taught what to do and now had to set out an find a bunch of disciples to help him get the word of Cosmo out. Fake Jesus was extremely confused but he liked Mary Anne and had lots of computer games left from real Jesus so it was a bit easier to swallow. Real Jesus though, really had his work cut out for him. It’s not easy making friends when you introduce yourself as the Messiah. The first two men he met were Andrew and Peter. After a lot of convincing they finally believed that he was the son of God they had heard about and would follow him to hear his teachings. They had some friends down on the shore fishing and they took Jesus there. With his fantastic personality and great training from Mary Anne it wasn’t long before he had a handful, twelve to be exact, of disciples. They sat in a large circle an 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 and killing creatures they don’t like and generally fucking up the landscape and acting like the world belongs to them. 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. 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. Now let me find out who you guys are and what your names are because I think we will be hanging together for a long time here.
The men began introducing themselves. “My name is Simon, sometimes known as Peter but that’s a long story. I have been a disciple since I met Jesus. I want to follow.” “I’m Peters brother Andrew, and I too want to follow.” I’m James” “I’m John” “My name is Bartholomew but you can call me Bart, and I believe in Jesus” “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.” Mathew, or the Matt Man, and unlike doubting Tommy boy here I trust in Jesus.” “My name is James too, but to avoid confusion call me Jimbo.” Ah, my name is like Thaddeus, no jokes please, but please call me Thad.” “Damn, my name is Simon too, so I guess you’ll have to stick to being called Peter to avoid confusion 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.”
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 his stresses. Her name was Mary (What Another Mary?) Magdalene and she did for Jesus what Jesus’ mother had done for Cosmo. 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, with Jesus being half god and all, and she had a never ending 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 an 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!”
Some have a way with words, others say &#@K it
What Are Words For?
Freedom Of Speech Is Accompanied With The Responsibility To Listen
Words. Play on words, word to my Mom, word on the street, word of honor, big words, small words, funny words, all kinds of words. That’s why most of us are here on WordPress! We write because we are passionate about words. I love words. I use words. Sometimes I even eat my words. (a good reason to sugar coat my words). Words have gotten me into passionate situations. Words exercise my vocal chords keeping them in shape so they can get loud during conjugal episodes. My words come out of my mouth faster than a horny bumble bee on Viagra during sex. Well if its good sex that is. (mine, not the bumble bee’s). Words convey my thoughts. Words are thoughts with the speakers turned up high. Words are words whether your like it or not.
We all use them. They express, teach, and communicate. They frighten, warn, and ease the pain. They have unending uses. When used correctly they can coax feelings of euphoria, send you into a panic, or make you feel like shit. What they don’t do is offend! Oh I hear ya, people can say some real mean shit and you get pissed, even offended. But its not the words that did that, it was the person that used them. Words aren’t hurtful it’s the intent behind them that aches.
I don’t speak French but I worked in a French restaurant. While I couldn’t tell what the chef was yelling at me I got the gist of it. Oddly the words themselves sounded beautiful. French is definitely the nicest language to get bitched out in. And that my friend is no merde. (that means shit, I learned quick)
Shit, a good place to start, because the specific words I want to focus on are the PROFANE words. What makes a word profane? If you are offended by profanity than you should just get the fuck out now because Ima bought to let the shit fly here.
Words do not offend me because I understand they are merely words. When I was very young I said shit at the dinner table and my Mom dragged me right to the bathroom and stuck a bar of Ivory Soap in between my mandibles. All 99 an 44/100 of it. Soap didn’t taste clean nor did it make my mouth feel clean. Actually it left a film, and never showed me the fucking err of my ways. I didn’t curse at my Mom but the soapy lesson was futile in keeping me from thinking fuck this!
My mom wanted me to understand that some words are bad. A little later I was helping my brother with his car and I broke some piece of shit little rod. Fuck man, if Mom had heard what he called me she would have needed an entire case of soap for his mouth. He let me know that I was a stupid mother fucking piece of shit asshole with shit for brains. And that was jut the opening line. But what struck me about all that profanity was that he never struck me. He didn’t even wail on my arm in that one spot where his fist has bull’s-eye radar for. I was shocked because for him punching me was more a form of communication, a greeting almost. Hey Buddy(WHACK) Hows it hanging(WHACK AGAIN). Same exact spot! Hitting me was as natural as yawning.
So I was feeling hurt inside my head but I wasn’t hurting outside my head. The massive profanity laden lashing he gave didn’t leave a single fucking bruise. I got it then. The words only hurt if you let them. Of course they were intended to dehumanize, deflate, degrade, and emasculate me but only in my brothers mind, not mine. I was almost tempted to smile at him and say “ Repeat that mother fucker, and Fuck You very much”. I also knew intuitively that if I used words incorrectly his fists would then handle the rest of the conversation. But I learned a lot about words that day.
The truth is words are only hurtful if you allow them to hurt. Maybe it’s a turn the other cheek thing. The concept of a spoken (or screamed) bastion of lingual symbols may make you feel bruised around the ego but if you just think (not out loud) “fuck this and fuck you, I fucking rock and you’re the asshole“, it’s a tad easier on the ego. The Id too! Profanity can be abused though. Use it to right to expresses great emotion and it can carry tremendous strength. He hit my arm, then my face and I was fucking pissed. That underscores and endorses how mad I was. But He fucking hit my fucking arm, then the scumbag fucking hit my god damn face. I was so mother fucking pissed I shit a fucking stone is overkill, and instead of the emotion it’s the profanity that becomes the focus.
Blaming words is fucked up. How did fuck become bad anyway? It’s a beautiful act. I do it as often as possible and you should too. Do you think it would be nicer to fornicate? If I said fornicate yourself is that mean? Who the fuck died and left the censorship police in charge of words? Fecal matter is okay but shit is a sin. You can say he showed her his penis but call it a cock and there will be hell to pay. Sounds like someone is being hypocritical! I won’t mention titles but it seems young boy molesters do a lot of telling people what they can or can’ say. George Carlin became the shit after he came up with the list of seven words you can’t say. I laughed my tits off. Which really isn’t a bad thing to say cause like George said, “Tit’s don’t even belong on the list.”
There are however two words I choose not to use. It’s a personal choice and I don’t believe the words are at fault, but society, at least by where I am. Society in general has turned both of those worst into concepts. The “C” word and the “N” word. First cunt. It has come to be a concept of severe degradation to women. The use of it implies that concept and unfortunately has become synonous with hatred toward females, and I love females. Calling a woman a cunt is a profound insult in my area and I just opt not to say it. The second, nigger, has also become a concept. Yea I get it, they can call each other that and its okay, but if you’re a white boy its not. That’s kinda sad, but its born out of anger and outrage. The term if spoken by me carries a concept of profound hatred of one race, a race which my ancestors treated less than human. Somewhere in my heritage its likely that an ancestor lynched a man because of the color of his skin. I am ashamed of that and I wish I could change it but I can’t. What I can do is make a conscience decision to not use the word.
So that’s it mother fuckers and father fuckers, I am done letting my shit fly. I am not a religious person, but I recognize that many are offended by profanity. Honestly I find way too many Christians to be all god is good, and love each other and shit but are the first ones to throw stones at strangers. But I don’t want to get political and I respect their belief (hypocritical or not) and attempt to refrain from using it in front of them. On the other hand, if I slip, fuck em. Suck it up asshole! I make an even stronger effort around kids because its their parents responsibility to explain the bullshit of censorship. That’s what its all about, censorship. Say or write what ever you choose, but have the integrity to own up to it. Accept responsibility for you words and who is hearing them. “Freedom of speech bears with it the responsibility of their intent”………………………….PEACE
The Savior Is Born (sort of)
COSMO AND THE GARDEN EARTH. Part 3
Jesus Christ Superstar Do You Think You’re Who They Say You Are
News. North East West South. Good news, bad news, happy news, sad news. There’s tragic news, welcome news, not so welcome news, news, news, news, all kinds of news. Some news has little or no effect on your life and some comes hurling at you accompanied by a ton of bricks. News can make you laugh, or cry, chuckle, or sigh, it can have little effect or it can have a dramatic effect. But its gonna come. News is coming toward you and there ain’t nothing you can do to stop it. Mary Anne’s news came on a speeding train out of control heading straight down the track with no one at the wheel. Like it or not, good or bad, news is a coming and you best be ready because once it gets there all you can do is take it. What makes it good or bad is how it‘s taken. “I have some news for you. You have a son.” That’s news all right! It’s the kind of news that’s incredible for some, indifferent for others, and tragic for many. It’s the kind of news that will have you running down the street screaming halleluiah I’m a parent or slam you headfirst into parenthood. “You have a son” is life altering news. “You have a son.” Cosmo had repeated the words over to himself more than ten times and he was still not sure how to take the news.
However we must keep in mind that Cosmo has always been rather resourceful. So this news of baby Jesus would not be taken lightly at all. First things first let it be known that the moment it sunk in Cosmo knew his responsibility to both Mary Anne and baby Jesus. As much as he loved his bachelorhood the thought of a solid lifestyle held a degree of appeal to Cosmo. On the other hand Cosmo was quite the lover and never had a problem finding a partner. Yet many a night was spent lonely watching his garden and Mary Anne would certainly be of interesting company. And she is quite skilled herself. The news was on the scale and the scale was tipping. The bottom line was he had a baby on the way and a responsibility to both the baby and the non god he had fallen in love with. Wait! Fallen in love? Maybe not fallen, more like stumbled but after all, he HAD created the fertile crescent while thinking of her beautiful hair (If indeed that was the body part he was thinking about). Maybe this news can be used for a positive effect on the three of them and the garden as well. A plan was also in an egg and ready to be hatched. Cosmo knew what to o with the news.
Of course the news is also going to be heard at a board meeting in District 7. The board is like the gravitational center of news. Whether it is gossip, entertainment, breaking, news or even just hearsay, all news that’s fit to print or printed to fit will find its way to District 7 in a flash. The best thing for Cosmo to do is to have his plan of action fully worked out before they summon him. Some mixed marriages have worked, a god and a non god can live a happy life but many a failure has been scandalized across the universe. With this plan however Cosmo was taking fatherhood to an unprecedented level . He had already sold it on his non god lover who had found herself in a awkward position of being the mother of a gods child. Ironically it was from twisting herself into an awkward position one pleasure soaked night that lead to the situation in the first place. For her part it was difficult to argue with a god to begin with. Mary Anne trusted Cosmo implicitly and his plan made sense. Truth be told she did have some reservations at first but after thinking the story through a few times it began to make more sense. Her son would be a savior, a Christ. Her son would be the messiah of Garden Earth. She repeated it to herself, “My son, Jesus Christ, Superstar.”
It was much easier to get the Boards okay than Cosmo had anticipated. Who knows, it could be his unending charm, it could be they loved the plan, maybe they were just tired of seeing him, or maybe they just wanted the messy scandal over and done without haste. Cosmo laid out in detail how he was going to offer his son as a virginal birth to be the son of Cosmo and help get the youmans to understand that they have strayed from the law of life, and had become a threat to the cycle. He would have a big hullabaloo when the child was born, have him disappear mysteriously while he learns how to teach the word of Cosmo. He will then spread the word of Cosmo and teach all the youmans about the cycle of life. Cosmo schemed to find the right woman to impregnate and fake it as a virginal birth. It would go down in youmans history as an immaculate conception and the child would be the son of Cosmo and spread the word. Mary Anne would raise their son Jesus and train him for his mission at the same time. They would stay at an undisclosed location in District 7 where Cosmo could visit on weekends. When Jesus was ready and the time was right he would switch out the child on earth with Jesus and he could bring the youmans back to the path of righteousness. Then he could switch the body doubled back and everything would be right once again. A pretty brilliant plan if everything goes as planned. If!
The very first problem arose rather early into the plan. Cosmo chose a nice Jewish couple from Nazareth in the city of Galilee. Joseph and Mary. He visited Mary while Joseph was away and worked his sexual magic on her for hours filling her with gallons of egg hungry swimming godsperms. He had Mary believe it was a dream, a very sweet dream, and she would be none the wiser. Of course she became pregnant right away but the snag was in the child she bore. It was a female and Mary named her Rosemary. So he had to make a second attempt after allowing Rosemary to get a few earth years in age. The second attempt was successful after eliminating the Y chromosomes from his body fluid. During the night in that session he told Mary he was an angel from the god Cosmo and that she would be giving birth to the son of a god and he would be the savior of the world. But in her dream she heard it as the son God, not the on of A god. When she woke she was even more confused (and satisfied) than the first dream. When she conveyed the story to Joseph he was very suspicious at first. “Wait, you’re telling me Mary that God had sex with you and you are carrying his baby? An angel told you to name him Jesus? Was it a Latino angel? And this happened while I was out of town?” Mary was struggling with it as well because the dream seemed so real, but eventually she was able to convince Joseph as well as herself. She told everyone that God has told her to have this immaculately conceived baby and that he was going to save the world. It was met with a cloud of doubt and cynicism, and rumblings of gossip abounded. But it was as she would find out, not only her cross to bear.
They were advised by some wise men, three of them actually, that it would be best for everyone if the birth not take place in town. Considering it good advice they opted to go to a friends farmhouse in Bethlehem. They had the plan all set and knew God would be lighting the way with a bright star which as it turns out was really a comet by the name Halley. They found a little manger outside the friends farmhouse and decided that it would be perfect. The baby was born, Mary named him Jesus as she had been instructed, and things were going along as planned for a change. The three wise dudes had a baby shower and brought some cool presents and announced to the world that a baby had been born, and that he was the son of God, and he would be baptized by John, a famous revivalist that held people under water until they agreed to repent. He would then be hidden as he learned the word of God in the wilderness with nothing but a rod and a small staff.
Sins Not Tragedies
What’s In A Name?
When I am at the bakery creating my edible poetry in the form of cupcakes they call me “The Cupcake Dude.” The name is indicative of what I appear to be. I am 6-4 and look like an overbearing biker dude, who actually did frighten many in my younger days. Just by the nature of that look. But that’s just a look, it’s not what I am. I have always worn my hair long (when I had it), I have tattoos, and I am a pretty large dude. But I’m a pussycat, a teddy bear of a dude. I am actually a lifelong pacifist and I’m a lover not a fighter. Basically I am way more harmless than my appearance.
Buddy the Cake Boss was doing a charity for epilepsy and asked me and Jarets Stuffed Cupcakes to join with five other bakeries to help raise money. Of course being a tree hugger and self proclaimed lover not fighter I seldom pass up an opportunity to help out a charity. The color theme for epilepsy is purple, so we made purple people eater cupcakes for the event A vanilla grenadine cupcake topped with plum icing and blueberry custard filling. During the event two teenage girls were nearby our display and I heard, “Look.. There he is. He was just on TV last night.” Of course I assumed they were talking about The Cake Boss but when I looked Buddy wasn’t around. One of the young girls pointed to me and said, “Hey Cupcake Dude, can we take a picture with you?” Humble yet bursting with excitement I told them of course, and their Moms took several photo’s. I had just been on a segment of Unique Eats on the cooking channel and they recognized me by my trademark bandana. I was blown away. I gotta say it felt really good.
A week and a half later one of the moms came into my shop to talk about a party in which she wanted our cupcakes. She thanked me for being so nice to the girls and I let her now it was my pleasure, which was an understatement. The she said, “You know my daughter has put up the picture with them and you in her locker at school and they brag to all their friends that they hung out with the cupcake dude.” I was red with anger….Wait, no! Not anger, I was enbarssed as hell, which I assume is what caued the red. Part of me thought that it was a tad creepy being a high school and all, but that was washed away quickly by the part of me that felt as though I had attained rock tar status, if only for my fifteen minutes. More a pebble star than a rock star, but still, it felt great. A nickname was born and it has stuck.
But here in the world of word lovers I call myself The Existential Baker. It’s here where I put my creative juices to a keyboard instead of a bakers board and use words instead of flour eggs an milk to express myself. Here is where I share my dementia, my memories (if somewhat foggy) and random thoughts. Not knowing me, the name tells you a little about me. First that I am an existentialist. I’m not the “I was existential before it was cool” sort, but a lifelong existentialist. It doesn’t make me intelligent, I don’t hang out drinking happening beverages and talking world politics, and quote philosophers verbatim all day. Its just my philosophic belief. Second it indicates that I either enjoy baking or am a professional baker. So thats what you learn from just the name. The reason for this drawn out ramble is this. Names are important. Names are a coat rack to hang our personalities on. That’s why I take great pains to give my cupcakes a name they deserve.
There are times I spend as much effort naming them as I do cooking and eating them. Some names are pretty obvious like “Strawberry Alarm Clock”, or “A Clockwork Orange”. Some a bit more complicated like the Fandango. it’s a cupcake with a caramel mousse. I made the mousse and abbreviated the name “Cara-mousse”. My wife seeing that thought it said Scaramouch and stating sing the Queen song “Bohemian Rhapsody” and the line ends with will you do the Fandango. That’s the name right there. Then we have The Godfather part I and Godfather part II, both obviously very Italian oriented or more like Soprano-ish..So you see, pop culture and rock and roll play a vital role in the naming of our cupcakes.
This leads me to today’s edition, Sins Not Tragedies. I have always loved rock and it’s assisted me in bridging generation gaps because I refuse to tell kids that their music sucks. I may not like it, but its not supposed to resonate with me, it for them. But sometime a tune comes along that could have fit into any generation, and one such tune is by Panic At The Disco. This is one of the rare times my teen daughter and I agree on musical excellence. The song “I Write Sins Not Tragedies” is a great tune from way back in 2006. Its essentially about a best man and bride being caught having “benefits”. Haven’t they heard of keeping the god damn door shut??!! ..Anyway, before we became bakers we did full scale catering for weddings and parties. One such party was supposed to have a grooms cake of cheesecake. I never caught it on the function sheet, and the night before the wedding I needed to come up with a cheesecake on the spot. Using what I had around I through together a cheesecake made with Roc N Rye. I didn’t even have a recipe, it was straight from my head.
As luck would have it, the groom thought it was the best cheesecake ever. My wife said you better save that recipe. I gulped hard, an confessed there is no such recipe. She politely told me to write it down now if I ever want to see my scrotum again. I was appalled! The3 indignity, the nerve, the……I wrote it down. To this day its on a scrap of paper titled “The I think this is it cheesecake.” True story. So the cupcake….cheesecake batter and vanilla cake batter mixed, its stuffed with Rock N Rye custard, and topped with chocolate icing. Believe me when I tell you its delicious. I’d be willing to gamble my scrotum on it…….PEACE
Terrapin - The Journey 