There was this guy that was using an old story about himself when he was young. It was a sad story about how he couldn't control himself in going to the bathroom. It didn't matter if he had to urinate or release his bowels. One time an old "friend" came up to him in college and called him Potty Pants. He was extremely embarrassed because he was with a young lady on a date. He ended up telling her the story, adding to it instead of keeping it minimal.
She felt sorry for him, and that night he bedded her on what he felt was the sympathy she felt for his childhood trauma. It was a mothering instinct turned to him getting laid. His story embellishments grew and he added tears and dialogue for richness. It worked.
Eventually this story was debunked as nearly pure fabrication. There was once or twice he had wet himself. There was one incident when he soiled himself. As vengeful women and lustful lawyers will do, they took this Potty Pants to court.
They argued that it was natural for women to want to mother a child that is being called names. The defendant used this as a means to go to bed with women. They were mothering a child, he was going down on their proper and good nature. It went all the way to the Supreme Court.
The court ruled 5-4 in favor of the women who were tricked into bed on his premise of being bullied by the other children. Three of the five were women, one was a man who wished he had thought of it, and the fifth judge was a real life potty pants.
He had to pay restitution to the women, and serve community time by lecturing about lying and handing out condoms.
He never uttered the phrase potty pants again.
The president has a sweet tooth and when she heard of Chef Johnny Sweet and his world famous cupcake creations, she had to try one. When Johnny got the call, he and the crew of his shop were so excited and elated, he completely forgot that the Secret Service might do some sweeps in his shop. Bomb dogs, drug dogs, and electronic sweeps were the norm.
When they hit his shop with the electronic sweep, there were red beeps and red flags going off everywhere. Just about every single cupcake in the place had something on it. They found more devices in back and high tech gadgets that he used to track the devices with codes. The Secret Service, FBI and Homeland Security were not sweet on this at all.
They removed the device from the president's cupcake and she bit into her little slice of heaven. The Story goes from sour to semi-sweet.
Sweet will spend time in a cushy federal prison baking for the federal government. He was allowed to interview and find a chef to run his business while he is in. The president endorses his cupcakes and says he made a mistake in what he chose as icing toppings.
P.S.-the U.S. government are now part owners of his cupcake empire. They provided pre-screened chefs approved by the USA for him to interview. This service had a price. Did we mention that the U.S. liked the devices that Sweet and China came up with? They too are doing business, using the cupcake shop as a front.
In the back of the president's limo, she is talking to her dear friend Doren Van Dyke. She assures him it will be business as usual. An assuring phone call to Dr. Wang assures her that the E-R-* project will continue to have their cupcakes, freeze them for deep space and the pressures of deep diving, and eat them too.
Ben "white shoes" Mahoney was grabbing a paper and a couple of ladies magazines for his mistress, when the cross town gang came around the corner in the black sedan and opened up on him, killing the gangster, the newsstand owner and another guy about to buy a paper. There was a lot of blood on a lot of papers.
I know by sight, so many lonely old men, pushing or pulling baskets up and down the street here in paradise. Is it freedom, or brain damage, or bad luck, or mental illness, or the economy?
You pull the bottle or can for pennies, while we give ours to the schools or the tennis center. I do hope you have enough to eat tonight old man. Maybe some chips, a cheese slice, and York mint.
What treasures or absolute needs, ride with you in the carts? Did you go from Rolls Royce to Foodland shopping cart suddenly or by degrees?
I hope the lice and the fleas and the bed bugs give you a respite tonight, and let you sleep the whole night through. It is not like Alex and the boys from "A Clockwork Orange" we hope. Beating a drunk old man for fun.
Sometimes I don't like to see you in the park where we want to play. Sometimes I don't like the price of the stolen carts passed onto what we buy at the store. But believe me, I sure as hell don't like to see you suffer either. I wish you well, I hope this less than pennies donation helps. I know it can't hurt, and it's better than that diabetic leg you are dragging. Good luck old men!
Two guys in sweat stained t-shirts are in a bar and grill in Jersey. It's 4:50 a.m., and they just got off the 8-4 shift. Still blue collar in this day of computers and rasberries.
"Hey Mikey, I'll take a bagel and cream cheese and an apple turnover."
"I'll take a super scrambled with some bacon on the side too Mikey."
Mikey writes it down and starts workin' it. He does both the drinks and the cooking at this time in the morning. The guys already got beers and one of them has a bloody mary, the other a whiskey.
"Yous knows I give a fuck about votin' this time around."
"I hear ya."
"If it ain't the wiseguys in the cash register, it's power and greed of your elected officials grabbin' your cash."
"Don't give a fuck. I run the bar and make some BLTs. I'll vote for the guy who buys a brew and some wings."
"Large coffee with the breakfasts?"
"Hey, I mind my business and I hope others would do the same."
He slides salt, pepper and Tobasco down the bar for them.
From "T-Shirts and Video" and WORKS
Beyond the coils of your little friendship webs, where you feel comfortable enough to talk shit about those outside your friendship web, like they are so many flies and insects to catch and wrap up and stick with your barbs of how they don't have eight powerful legs like you. We are painting it black, and don't realize, that even your thoughts have the power to paint it black. But, your life is as important as theirs.
Listening to Strunz & Farah, sipping sangria with limes and a just brewed French coffee, freshly ground at the Sam's Club. This snip of life is brought to you by insomnia, the ghost of 3:15, and a stray gecko chirp. A million or so of these, and I can call it a life.
And damned if I can't hear Keith Jarret making that humming sound he does that the purists have lived to hate. I have loved the man since my father introduced me to an improv album of his many years ago in Scottsdale.
Animals know the cave, and when the colors light the sky at twilight, they gather like folks looking at the fourth of July at lakeshores.
The lights mesmerize their eyes, and suddenly all the creatures of the woods begin to dance and howl and growl and move to the music of the magic colors. They suddenly become receptive to the advances of any other animal, and those that would normally eat each other, begin to caress and make love in the most tender of ways.
But the cave dweller never sees this, as he must pay close, close attention to the magic colors that fly from his fingertips. These can be the most beautiful thing, or the devil's own doing if they were to get out of hand. Like that time back in the ruby days.
He got his first magic when he was a boy going through puberty, and like the mind of one that young, he began to point his hands and fingers at anything. He began to change plants into poison death dealers. He changed animals into carriers of evil seeds, that could wipe out whole species if not checked by the boy in his dreams.
The old ones could communicate with him while he slept at night. He was really not aware that we was listening, or doing the bidding that must be done when one uses the magic in the wrong way. They listen at night, they listen to the wisdom at night.
Now, he has grown wise and keeps his own counsel. But, they do return to praise him and wish him well. This man of magic color light fingertips. This man who gets the animals to love.
Take 'er easy Jake
I got a little whiskey in the coffee
Sit up a little pardner, I'll help you
I bought this blanket from that Mexican lady last year----
Kept it clean for just an ocassion
Hell, maybe a little blood's good for it
It's pretty pleasant here by this little stream
Just take 'er easy Jake
You want a smoke or a little tobacco?
Sure, I rolled one up for you
Yea, I got that letter for your daughter
Pony Express or that train station a while back
yea, that one was a great whorehouse----
Best damn moonshine I ever had
Take 'er easy Jake
You got a little blood on your smoke
I'll wipe your lip----
It's nice here in the shade
Just take 'er easy----
(whispers by his ear)
What? Yea, he's right over there
He's been looking at you all morning, best one you had, at least as good as lasher
I was just thinking, that you my only friend, and...Jake? Jake? God dammit. . .
I guess I better take out that smoke
Take 'er easy Jake
You my best friend, you son of a bitch.
From "Truth" and WORKS.
Baby's daughter, granddaughter, and great-granddaughter were sitting around her bed at the hospice in Honolulu.
To see these girl's faces staring at her, knowing where she had come from, was enough. She thought about Majester. Where would she have ended up without him? Her daughter was now 60, her grandchild in her 30s, while the baby was just starting school.
Baby was complete at 92 years old. Before she shut her eyes for the last time, she saw Majester in the corner, one hand raised with his wings spread and enveloping her three girls. She smiled and passed.
The girls cried, and Majester flew above the hospice. It was raining, and the world did not notice his tears mix with the rain. Was it a wind or his wail that faded into the mountains?
From "Baby Grows Up" and WORKS.
So sweet a word to those who do not give the other cheek to slap. The Vendage Retaliation Company was born out of the ashes of territorial wars in Italian mafia towns.
It harkens back to the days of the retribution fitting the crime. It was simply lending a helping hand or finger to gouge out the eye, for an eye.
But to restore honor, and self-esteem, was not something Vendage could do. For honor and self-esteem and false ideals such as these, are gratifying to man's ego. The ego is father of Hitler, mother of torture, the universe of war.
Vendage can take the eye, but can never satisfy the ego's hunger.
From "Wine" and WORKS.
Some spy/ocean exploration music is playing. We see a blue sky with some clouds. In the distance we make out a small plane. As it gets closer we see something hanging from the plane. It is a fish, with a small parachute.
Scales Jones presses the proper button and he is in free-flight over the body of water. A parachute opens and our spy fish sails smoothly down to the water. Just above the water he presses a button and he flops into the water.
Thus ends one of the the smoothest departures from the world of fish espionage Scales can remember. He's been in so many dangerous situations with nets, hooks, tarter sauce, lemons, chips and sushi chefs.
Scales was a slippery fish in school, and the underwater powers that be had noticed him. He was recruited right out of the local junior college where he was in a hook evasion program-a very mundane, but useful program for fish.
"Scales, you have what we're looking for."
They talked over caviar (way more common underwater) and espressos. Two secretive, but common looking fish in regular business suits were talking to Scales in the JC cafeteria.
"We all know about the whole global warming thing. We are recruiting young fish like yourself to join us in helping the FAAT."
"The Fish, Animals, Air and Trees organization. Unless you're one of us, I can't go into great detail."
"What's my incentive?"
A couple of cute fish from Scales' class swam by. They giggled and made bubbles with a slight swish of their tails.
"Like the lady fish do we kid?"
"Well kid, in this game you get to meet fish from all over the world."
The two shady fish characters ordered some sushi and sashimi, along with a couple of 7-ups. They talked of the need to take back the earth. Man had ruined the world for any and all animals and fish. FAAT would no longer watch man torture and kill mother earth.
The suit fish left the school of fish, while Scales went back to class. He sat in class drawing and thinking about his meeting. Scales had some decisions to make.
"Professor, is the paper due before the exam?"
"It depends on your subject. . ."
From "Coffee, Coke, Gas and Music"
Live your life, have a beer, enjoy your family. Let me think about this.
With so much coming at us in the news, internet, magazines, radio, etc., it is virtually impossible to live like an ostrich in this world. But, if there were a place where you could put down the world's problems for a while, it would be this beautiful island.
We don't automatically inherit the problems of the world. Yes, those with feelings towards his fellow man feel for the lack of feelings money changers and the thinkers for the masses exhibit.
But, I have always felt that with going to certain institutions, such as ivy league or Stanford or even the Honors program at Arizona State University, one must reach out and better mankind.
But, the white collar death dealers, nasty lawyers and twisted politicians, in their secret societies come from these very same places too. The good, the bad and the smugly.
You put your head in the sand, and you will find they have picked your pocket and you have gotten an ass full of wall street blues.
"Where's my wallet, why does my ass hurt, and why are you smoking?"
The dirty wing short stories will be updated periodically, so please come back and never, never, never become discouraged because something from outside of you is not the way you want it. It is the way it is, and if you accept it, then your happiness is built upon a foundation of solid rock. Welcome to the DIRTY WING SHORT STORIES PROJECT. I will begin immediately, and continue sporadically. . .remember the happy rock foundation.
Books and video were produced for the children going to and living in E-R-*. There is an overall program for 1-2-3, plus individual info for each.
The children's version would be seen by the kids prior to leaving land or earth. Then seen again upon arrival undersea, on the Moon or at Mars.
The prototype children's book for E-R-*, was the "Martian-American World".
"Hi kids, I'll be your tour guide around your new home on Mars."
"Around the world, we searched for new places to live. Some of your friends and relatives might be in the ocean as we speak. Some of our friends are living on the Moon. But we are going to be living on Mars."
"Your mothers and fathers are going to be working on this wonderful planet. Their jobs are very important. You will be going to school here. And, you will be called a Martian-American."
"Martian-Americans will be living, working and playing with others from around the world in what we call "Life Bubble #3". The Earth's ocean contains LB #1, and the Moon has LB #2."
"In addition to school, you have libraries, recreation centers, natural zoos, movie houses, parks and swimming pools, and lots of sports centers."
"You are very lucky kids to get to live and grow up on Mars."
From E-R-*. (The Mandarin for 1-2-3 sounds similar to E-R-sun)