When you’re laughing its hard to be sad

So issue some humor and life’s not so bad

Whether it a gaffe or a joke off the graph

A quick one liner or a whole paragraph

It you want to be happy, then make them laugh


Laughing is like knocking boots
‘Cept you don’t  get naked
Make Them Laugh
Even if they fake it

Tell a silly joke a playful pun
Or some well placed sarcasm
Cuz when you make someone laugh
You give their brain an orgasm

So make them chuckle
Make them moan and groan
Give them a mental climax
Or they’ll be holding their own

They may grab their sides
With tearful elation
Sometimes the best you can give
Is some humor gratification
Just make them laugh
It’s free

ONE SHOT….8 Mile (an hour)

one shot

Look, if you had one shot, one opportunity for a life reboot to seize everything you ever wanted, one moment. Would you capture it, or just let it slip. Yo

His hands are wrinkled, knees arthritic, palms sweaty and paralytic
Moms spaghetti he’ll discard again
There’s vomit on his cardigan, oops he slipped out a fart again, hope it doesn’t spot again
He’s quiet and nervous cause it was during church service
So he pretends it was gods purpose
But he dropped a bomb and he keeps forgettin
He keeps on sweating and just can’t remember
So he wrote it down and the nursing crowd gets so loud
He opens his mouth but nothing comes out
He’s choking, I’m not joking’ better get Heimlich I think he’s croaking
He’s bout to lose himself, the moment got to own it

Okay, no more M&M Bee Rabbit parodying, down to serious business

What if you could go back and change one thing from your past? Would you? And which moment? Of course you could go back to that time you took your first drink, or first joint, or not meet the person who introduced you to drugs but chances are it would only re-occur again at some other point. You could not meet and marry that one person who you regret but it may mean not having had some beautiful children, or maybe you would have been drawn to someone who did you even worse. So when a good friend asked me what I would change if I could go back and change only one thing from my past to make my present life better I had no answer. I told him “I don’t take much stock in that Wonderful Life George Bailey could have made a huge difference bullshit” Then it struck me because one of the words I used in my answer caused me to have a change of heart. The word stock. Like stock in Apple? No, I would’ve made a lot money but that’s not a paradigm shift. Stock up on Karma? Good thought, but no. It was Woodstock. How much would my life have changed if my older brother took me to Woodstock??

If I had an opportunity to go back into my timeline to make one adjustment I would choose to go back to Long Island when I was 14 and my brother was 17 smack him upside the head to tell him take his little brother to that little rock concert in upstate New York. It was almost his duty. Besides, as my big brother he was aware that my birthday was in July and Woodstock would have been the birthday present of the century. Granted at the time it only seemed as though it would be just another outdoor rock concert not the society altering rock statement of all time, but even so he should have taken me. Not that I hold it against that teenage piece of dogshit on my shoe excuse of a brother for not realizing how important it was but it kinda is on a big brothers job description. Like #1 rule, teach your little brother about coolness.

I admit that at the time I was grounded for some lame excuse my parents invented, or maybe I screwed up but that’s not what’s important. This rock concert loomed far more profound than mere parental acquiescence and would have been worth a groundation for the rest of the summer as far as I‘m concerned. At 14 years old I was ready for a Woodstock transformation. I had already made the leap from pop music to rock over a year ago when a friend in my eighth grade shop class lent me this album of his brothers by Iron Butterfly. Adios Monkees and Cowsills, hola psychedelic rock. As if the bands name itself wasn’t cool enough it had one long psychedelic song with swirling organ riffs, a killer drum solo, and some hard as hell guitar playing. Inna Gadda Da Vida! Not just music I was also building up a tolerance to cheap beer (Piels, Shlitz, PBR etc.), I knew how to remove the stems and seeds from reefer (using the album cover of Iron Butterfly) and how to portion off chunks of hash for optimal smoking pleasure. I wasn’t the best joint roller yet but practice will make perfect. I had tried uppers and downers and was primed and ready for some hallucinogens. What better place to have had my first trip than at Woodstock?

Imagine….. I’m looking around at all the weirdo’s and hippies, love children, flower children, and all the colors. So many colors and perspectives. Bending tangerine tree’s and marmalade endless skies. My brains would leave my head for a while and swirl around observing while my smile muscles stretched themselves to their limits and I would laugh for the entire weekend just taking it all in. The music would have infiltrated me ears to fill up my soul. Sometimes the music would make me dance like no one was watching and other times send me into groovy grooving trance. I would have been lifted to a higher plane, a new dimension of sight and sound absorbing all the cosmic energy the hippie counter culture had to offer. Enlightened, I would have found my Zen at age fourteen while enjoying three days of drugs, sex, and rock and roll. (Since it’s me doing the imagining it was a lot of sex. Really really good sex). I would have had a weekend of constant epiphanies, one after the other that would have left me totally altered, a new person. Basically being at Woodstock would have changed my life dramatically

Not that I was totally without rock and roll experiences I had already been to three concerts before Woodstock came around. Three Dog Night (with Stevie Wonder, Bloodrock, and Seals and Crofts), The James Gang, and Grand Funk Railroad, so it was the perfect opportunity for me to learn about outdoor rock concerts, tripping and what the hippies were all about. A bunch of my friends and I talked about going but it was mostly bravado and wishful thinking. At fourteen resources are limited. But at Seventeen my brother was the perfect age for Woodstock. Unfortunately he and his friends were far more interested in scoring with the ladies than scoring concert tickets for themselves and their little brothers. WTF? I mean they let me play football and baseball with them, they let me hang out after the games with them, hang out at the beach, I did all kinds of shit with the older kids. So why the hell did they not all get together and say “yo Jameson, why don’t we get some tickets for this Woodstock thing and take little JT?” But Nooooooooo! They wanted to get laid instead. (which probably didn’t happen that weekend anyway)

So that’s what I would change if I could go back. That would be my one shot. To force my brother to take me to Woodstock. If that had happened I would have had my first real religious out of body experience and would have converted to Hippieism much earlier than I did. Maybe even become a high (very high at times) priest, or Exalted Guru or something. I coulda been a contender. I would more than likely become focused my studies in some form of music or something or maybe seek the path of a journalist to write about important political happenings in the counter culture. Perhaps I would have been a revolutionary or at least a high (yes, very high at times) functioning member of the Peace Corps. Going to Woodstock is the one thing I can think of that would have truly changed my life. If I had that one shot, one moment to seize everything I wanted it wouldn’t have slipped away, it would have been my life changing moment. Being at Woodstock would have reshaped my entire life. Oh well, at least I have a plethora of Grateful Dead concerts on my cosmic resume…. What would you do?

Joint Therapy for Manic Monday

joint therapy

Every Monday it starts out the same way
Complaining about everything just to complain
Worthless words ponding with hammer force
Another set of vocal nails piercing my brain

Why not just shut up, stop the barrage
Everybody has got their own issues
They continue filling me full of their woes
Chill out with a damn handful of tissues

But the bitching keeps pounding into my ears
Until my brain feels like its gonna burst
Full of opinions and my coworkers gripes
Bitchin’ and moanin’ is the absolute worst

Gotta go or I’ll blow today
Gotta fly or I’ll die today
Gimme crap and I’ll snap
Shut your trap or I’ll slap today
No more flap no more yap
Your gonna get a wrap
Cant take no more of this crap today
I gotta get away
Everybody just shut
Its time to cut
And escape this damn rut

Slipping away to commune with mother nature
Dried out, seedless, and rolled in a nice fat stick
Strike a match and inhale the sweet ass relief
Oh yea much better man that does the trick

As the fumes rise up I feel the happy go in
Gently tugging at my mouth and I smile
Music rocks to push out the people poison
Now I can finally relax and chill for a while

Their problems and gripes go out with the tide
Bullshit fades away sinking down the drain
Joint therapy makes me feel so damn good
One more doob to cancel the rest of the pain

One toke of the smoke
Bullshit starts to choke
A little marry jawanna
In my bathroom Nirvana
Herb bud of chronic
Ear bud of sonic
Add rock to the mix
Now I got my fix
Makes the deal so real
Stone mass appeal
I smile away merrily
Relief is joint therapy
Now me and my smirk
Can get back to work
Until tomorrow

Rear View Paranoid


I thought my life was flashing before my eyes as paranoia began creating a vortex for its ascent from my stomach up into my head. Fear shot electronic impulses through my entire body as the flashing continued. Get hold of yourself dude, everythings cool!! Its an actual flashing not my life flashing. A quick peek in the rear view mirror reveals there is a cop car advertising its intentions behind me in my car. The cop car drove past me in pursuit of another driver. My adrenal glands began chuckling as the paranoia flew out the window into the cosmos. Those flashing lights weren’t for me at all. The welcome relief washed over me but the tension remained. WTF? At this point of my life I am an upstanding law abiding citizen. Well aside from whatever I may do in the privacy of my own home but that’s my business. My car is legal, I drive and obey the traffic laws, (like never speed when a cop is near by, etc.) so I have no reason to fear even if I do get pulled over. I no longer keep any stashes under my seat or papers in the console. Hell man, I even had my seatbelt on. So why this rush of paranoia every time a cop is behind me when I drive? Primal evolutionary instinct? Not exactly but it can be traced back to my teen years.
Like most of the derelict suburban youths of my era my first contact with police outside of school visits, or watching Dick Tracy and Courageous cat and Minute Mouse, was our own teenage version of cat and mouse with the cops. We wanted to get drunk drinking cheap beer or wine and they wanted to catch us and sadistically pour it out while sarcastically letting us know we should head home to Mommy and Daddy. In truth it was an okay relationship for both parties, they could tell the adults in town that the streets were free of drunken degenerate teen hoodlums and we only had to cry over spilled beer, not get in big trouble with Mom and Dad. But it all changed when the evil Satan Smoke, Beelzebub bud, the Devils Weed crept its vile horned joint rolled self into our teen culture. The sinister antichrist herbal delight swept into our teen lungs, relieving our teen angst, making us teen laugh, giving us teen munchies, and made us feel all around teen fucking awesome.
Unfortunately the post teen portion of suburbia was not as enchanted with wacky weed as we were, they were certain it would turn each and every one of us into drug addicted serial killers who threaten to tear and shred the very fabric of their three martini society to shreds. Our relationship with the police altered drastically at this point. The police needed to massage the concerns of the scotch swilling adults assuring them no marijuana could find its way into their neighborhoods but we wanted to massage our minds with that very same illegal weed of wit and wisdom. Now our job as teens was to smoke pot and get high free of handcuffs and the cops hoped to arrest us and lock us up so the rest of society could rest easy knowing the refer mad hooligans were locked up alongside murderers, rapers, and armed robbers. Where we belonged. (is there a special font for sarcasm?) Then and only then could society relax and take a deep breath. Not a breath test, because I’m pretty certain most of our parents would register above the limit for alcohol. Anyway, the dichotomy changed, we found better hiding spots and continued our evil ways and cops continued in fruitless pursuit of passionate pot puffing juvenile perps.
Once we began driving however, the cops had the advantage. With badge comes privilege and the police were willing and able to take liberties in their attempts to remove our liberties. Now they could exact their revenge for our ability to avoid capture by flashing those strobe like red lights to pull us over on a minor violation accomplishing two things. First they knew that it sent a surge of paranoia through our circulatory systems causing discomfort, perhaps even incontinence. That’s the primal response I was speaking of earlier. Secondly, a pull over and the badge equipped them with everything they needed to search our cars to find out where we kept our hash pipes or hidden stashes, because they knew we were still prolifically puffing the perverse pot of decadence. With any luck they would then have the opportunity to use the Miranda right speech they had committed to memory for real. The bust of the neighborhood, a few more hardened (well stoned anyway) criminals locked away making society safe to continue forcing its backward values on their youths.
So now, even when I’ve reached the age where high school students read about our antics of demonstrating while high on the woeful weed in their history classes I still stiffen in paranoia when a cops lights flash in my mirror. That’s living proof of evolution right there, my brain has adapted to the fear of danger caused by flashing red lights just as our ancestors developed the fight or flight response from being chased by ferocious human devouring animals. My children probably have this red light fear gene embedded in their DNA already. Or maybe its just a stoner reaction. If that’s the case I wonder is if this paranoid phenomenon will ever cease. Will I ever be able to drive normally when a cop is behind me? Am I destined to peering behind my wheelchair in the old folks home if a light flickers while rolling to early bird dinner?
I get that the institution of policing is important, ever since I reached the point I understood I really never was invincible I understood that believing in anarchy is a part of teen angst coming of age, but like I said, I obey laws. For the most part anyway, and the few laws I may bend are hardly worth punishing because I obviously will never learn and will never consider my minor indiscretions to be evil or wrong. But seriously guys, there must be a way to break this cycle of fear every time I see a cop.

What’s The Frequency Ken? (Modern Meh-taphysical Crisis)


What’s on TV Tonight?

It’s not that I have a death wish or anything but life these days seems kind of, oh I don’t know, kind of meh! Same shit different day kind of thing. The morning alarm crackles its disturbingly bleak shriek inciting the morning battle with a snooze alarm which ultimately ends in me dragging myself into the shower. Same get clean routine each morning as a few locks of hair that for years had previously set up house on my scalp scamper out of their follicles onto the tile floor. Spinning down the drain in a hopeless vortex they join the other hairs that left before them forming a clog to be reckoned with at a later date. Thinning hair, expanding waist, sagging flesh all taunt me reminding me I’m not getting any younger. The moment I dry off I’m forced to acknowledge the fact that I have become a slave to caffeine. Percolate me please. Meh!

Off to work like all the other drones in metal boxes jockeying for position in rush hour traffic, which oddly never seems to rush. The poorest drivers of some of the other metal boxes become magnetized on the highway attracting to mine every shitty driver on the road in need of remediable road travel instruction. The amount of time spent yelling “asshole” at them is supplemented with countless acts of sticking out my middle finger in the hope it will snap them into driving with focus and sharpened decision making skills. Anger and frustration build up as the daily commute scrapes away every iota of false hope my morning shower temporarlly imparted. Meh!

Undaunted I arrive at my job, take a deep breath, and begin speaking in a robotic tone asking people how they‘re doing in the hopes they will return with an equally robotic” fine, you?” Time to grab another coffee, one of the few perks, pun intended, of this office job. The guys are milling around the coffee maker, “Hey, how about them Yankees last night?” “Oh yea what a game, I stayed up until the bottom of the seventh inning, what happened?” “Holy shit man they pulled it out in the top of the ninth and won 12 to 10. Didn’t end until after one thirty, I hate the west coast games” I sneak away before anyone realizes I have no interest in baseball and nothing to add to any mundane chatter. So off I go heading for my cubicle which has the arcane ability to destroy any creativity that may be near it. As I prepare myself to begin a plethora of mindless redundant acts I notice everyone is dressed pretty much the same wearing our corporate attire like a military uniform. What the fuck, were we all dressed by the copy machine? Whatever, wearing a clean suit and tie with polished shoes will go a long way in sending my highly prized quality of uniquness swirling down the doldrums of corporate team concept. Meh!

Lunch is the highlight, the one moment of the day we can make our own choices not worrying that a memo will be sent around exposing our ineffectiveness. Low self esteem creeps in on the back of hopelessness so I began to get concerned about the extra fifty pounds that have found their way onto my body in the shape of flab. Hmmm, the years have not been very kind to my body and I don’t get nearly enough exercise. Actually I don’t get any. So much for making a choice based on what I enjoy. Now that I’ve reminded myself about my weight today will be another healthy quinoa wheatberry chicken and raisin salad with raspberry viniagrette. Meh!

The last fifty minutes of the day have ticked by in ultra slow motion seemingly laughing at every tick but it’s finally relents so its time to punch out and get back in the metal box. Now to find my way back to where I started, back on the roadway and a host of new drivers to extend my finger to only this time its with my eyes half closed from a day of mindless senseless productivity. If this is the road to Hell I can tell you this it is NOT paved with good intentions, but with paved with anger and frustration that moves tediously slow. It leaves me unsatisfactorily full of desperation. Meh!

At last I’m home again, back to my comfort zone. I get to remove this movement restrictive uniform of business and put on some sweats and a tee, have some dinner and find my spot on the couch hoping the non events of the day will just melt away and be forgotten. Maybe a glass of red tonight? No, straight to the vodka it was a stressful day even by Mundane Monday standards. Meh!

Life on this revolving ant farm has just become meh! ta-physical and I need to challenge my mind before I go insane. When I begin to utilize my temporal lobe and hippocampus the syntax of eclectic impulses in my brain profoundly ponder the mentally challenging attributes of metaphysics. This is cool, contemplating abstract concepts will bring my existence back to some semblance of active sanity validating the fact that I am indeed still alive. Juggling deep queries such as what is the fundamental essence of my being, how does the intersection of time and space alter existence as it relates to cause and effect, why is there something as opposed to nothing or for that matter can nothing exist? If it exists then it must be something which conflicts with its basic premise. And….know what? I’m tired and burnt out and all this thinking will keep me awake making tomorrow that much more of a difficult routine to follow. Maybe the prudent thing to do is pound down the remainder of this vodka and pour another one. I’m far too tired to deal with all this philosophical bullshit right now, it’s been a stressful day. Its mere hours away from that moment when that alarm screeches out its hideous beep disrupting the only real peace I get. Bring on more vodka, fire up a doob, and hopefully for the next few hours life might not be so….Meh!
What’s on TV tonight?