Gum Underneath My Desk

bread makes you king or queen
you kill for it or die for it
or you have not plenty so you are
the dog
kicked (possibly politely), put outside, conditioned by Pavlov and Myss Yung
controls you, her staring me down until I find a fence to bark behind.

It became a fur thing, the reason I quit going. Fun when I was young, until I
just had enough, and did not hear the organ play it's one note song.
Were they all in Southeast Asia so we had more money to spend on popcorn?
Or so that I did not go to hell for not making the conservative bid.

I see the black shirts at the Grocery Store, testimony to the big boards.
Long flat shiny boards around them they sit, unencumbered but scared as hell
what they'll find in the the world news monetary paper.

I read labels on bottles. Deny or confirm. Bedee, Bedee, bedee, that's
all folks. Wasn't my idea. Is it ever? Don't smoke, don't drink, what do I do? Better think
again. The pharmacologist is happy with his or her green tea, and profit shares up again this quarter.

I am home on the range, comfortable with cheaper varieties of coated pans, Big Utensils
and pots full of cans and jars. Hell, I can cook most anything until the sheriff and the tariff
come around to jostle me.

I hurd about Jimmy Crow I hurd about Mark Twain I heard about John Birch I hurd I had
to be a whole lotta special things to be in the secret order. I like Whole Lotta Love. I still do.
A lot of ideas are like lead balloons.

The paper. The most important, all consuming portion of the day is the paper. Walk out to the
street, bend down, look down the tube. Why is the paper late? For $.27 a delivery I'll tell you
but more realistic is .05. Good ole paper. Prints all you expect, think, believe it should. After all there is an air base nearby. Turkeys flying.

do you wonder...we are the hollow men. they were gonna make him a major for this. And he
wasn't even in their funky army anymore. No I don't. Too young. I did not dodge bullets and
gin slings in Japan in the Third Great War. A heliocopter came by and they waved. It was too
bad I was born that late but Reagan could not stop my swill manner.

It was too bad I did not like the King. B.B. King, yes, the others no. I got pushed around, hassled,
haggled, and had my seat and my pencils and my lunch boxes stolen in in in the 4th grade. No mind...

Made it easier later, nickel bags, dime bags. They went up too. The inflationary economy did not
make distinction. Inflation is the distinguished item. Time goes by, it goes by and waves at you from big
podiums where happy campers become presidents that cannot afford to eat cheeseburgers. It isn't healthy.

The no. 1 thing to remember is that in 1963 everybody did it. The fact that nobody could find The President's
brain(posthumously) was like what they used to call "window dressing". Of course it was Oswald. Why
do ya think nobody named their kid Oswald after that. Sheets tearing in the wind. Facts made. It was
more important than debutant detente, and twice as interesting. One thing is for sure...somebody killed
him. They used guns and bullets. And he was fair.

Good Lord, how did I survive or grow up without knowing about Ass Assi Nation. It's very simple. It was present reality, and for some reason
more important than Gilligan's Island and the Road Runner Show( it was one of the longest running cartoons
, it was! so don't try to sue me. The moon was here before any of this)..And so it was that I was
conceived just before the 1960's lighted. Now, how many more stupid questions do I have to answer
before I inhale another high alcohol beer? None. I don't have to. I don't have to do anything. She says
"I don't care what you do. I can drop dead ten times and nobody would care." See? Do you see? The
true street royalty. Born lower middle class and now, after all these years, wouldn't you know it. Upper
middle class. Well..you know, you live by the sword, you die by the sword, or the paycheck, or the annual
income, and you wake up one day and find out that you have an eight percent better credit rating than
your neighbor. My card, sir.

I stand at the fence, wagging my god-awful tail and barking at anything that moves, but most especially
the dumb damn Collie-Setter-Labrador(island import) mix. In my next life I want to be a Boxer, splitting hairs
over how much the commissioner will get paid off to look the other way while BAMM.