Monkeyview

I un-said It

2009-04-07T21:46:00.003-05:00

Maybe and maybe and ten times no.
And never now and no future yes
And no future.

A pencil and eraser and things unsaid
or un-said after saying
Or left unsaid.

Right?

I'm ok with wrong but not permanent wrong.
A well full of misplaced hope
One glass at a time goes down and I don't diet
but I cut off the fat, gristle to the past
I lean towards the lean.

Wish there were more.

M. PotPie

Total Nonsense

2009-03-16T22:21:00.002-05:00

I have no angst.
I'm not tragic, much as I'd like to be.

If you break it down, way way down, I have it easy.
I have the internet, no?

I even have rollover minutes and baseball.

Seamus thinks I lie, but he eats butter on his bread.
He has pain, two divorces and magazine subscriptions that he never pays for.

I have to drink blended whiskey and pretend I don't like it, but my bills are few.

Together we make a pretty good pair.

We're an Oreo cookie out on the town, looking for filling.

Double stuff, that is.

M. PotPie

Dance for a Moment

2009-03-12T17:45:00.004-05:00

Glide toward me on the dance floor, half-lid your eyes, gyrate slow, a brown-skinned breeze
I catch a scent and a hint and a flow and a glimpse
And I'm hooked

No succubus you, you're from the earth, rose up, grown up, in season, ready
My fingers on your arms on your hips on your sides on your lips
And we move

M. PotPie

WordsandWordsand

2009-03-10T18:08:00.003-05:00

The cursor is blinking at me, demanding words. It's hungry.

Eat this, cursor.

One at a time they shuffle past and demand my attention
I can't look at them all at once
Three eyes aren't enough
Seven percent of my brain isn't enough

This will take some time
I'm busy
And lazy
And apathetic
And (insert random synonym)
And there's never an end

I like it when my hands aren't my own
When things flow free
And the words write themselves.

Not like now.

M. PotPie

Ain't I a Nice Guy?

2009-03-09T19:13:00.003-05:00

"Give it to me! Give it to me NOW!"

I didn't want to scream, but he left me no choice. I tried nice, even said please, pretty please with sugar, a cherry and everything. Tiny is an obstinate bastard. Actually I don't know what his name is, but I've been calling him Tiny for the last two hours. He's fat, it's funny, like calling a bald guy 'curly' or a short guy 'legs'. I love the classics.

"Tiny, if you don't give me what I want it's gonna go bad for you. Real bad. Didn't I buy you a cheeseburger? Didn't I make sure you had a vanilla shake to dip your fries in? Didn't I super-size it, just for you?" No response; just more blubbering, tears and snot. His fat jiggles up and down. Disgusting. Time to take out another tooth...a molar this time, way back there. I have to brace my foot on the chair and use two hands on the pliers, but eventually it comes out with a slushy, sucking sound I can hear over Tiny's screams. Stupid fatty.

I drop the tooth in the sterilized stainless steel bowl filled with alcohol. It joins the two others with a tinny plop and thunk, the blood forming intersting whorls and strings. Can you read the future in there, like a Gypsy reading tea leaves? I stare at it while Tiny makes sad, fat sounds, weeping, gasping, drooling. Blecch! I figure I'll try nice one more time and pull up a chair next to my guest.

"Tiny? Listen." He starts to say something. "No no, don't try to talk yet. Just listen pal. You know what I want. I know you know what I want, and I don't want your teeth. At least not any more of them. If you don't give it to me I'll start taking other bits. Bits you care about. Bits you need. Now, are you ready?"

He nods his head, chins and jowls bouncing like jell-o, blood and spit on his lips, dripping down through his beard and soaking into his cheap flannel shirt. His sniffles die down and his heavy breathing slows a bit. I lean in to listen.

"You...are a ...sick... fuck." He takes his time, breathing between his words, voice dentist-slurred from the missing teeth, angry fear in his piggy eyes. "Let me out of here! I'll fuckin' kill you!" He lurches forward, chair screeching on the floor, straining against the rough rope bonds. I move back and sigh.

"Ah...Tiny. I had such high hopes." I punch him near the heart and he sucks in a wet breath.

Time for the saw.

M. PotPie

Buddha 'N Me

2009-03-04T14:02:00.001-06:00

Buddha was profound and rotund.

I am merely pretend.

Buddha was wise and aged.

I am merely wasted.

I'm ok with this.

M. PotPie

LifeLongLove

2009-03-02T19:27:00.003-06:00

Life is fleeting and love is sweet. The reverse is also true.
I'd rather have life.

But I'm not in love.

M. PotPie

Red...Hair.

2009-03-01T21:27:00.006-06:00

Red hair isn't really red, it's orange. Blood is red, rage is red, passion is red, my eyes are red, scarlet tanagers are red.

Hair is not.

Orange head sounds stupid, so we say redhead. I love redheads. Redheads are rage and passion personified. Unpredictable, fiery, volatile and enslaved, victims of themselves and a siren call to others (me). My favorite song is a redhead's wail; I'm happy to crash on her rocks and drown with an idiot grin. I'll guzzle saltwater and pain if it makes a redhead happy. Flash me a freckled smile and shoulder and I'll lay waste to a nation.

I want to play connect the dots.

M. PotPie

Sometimes...

2009-02-27T20:44:00.003-06:00

Wait a second... I need a drink. Tonight it's Sapphire and tonic with a crescent of lime, slightly squeezed. Two, maybe three fingers of Sapphire in a rocks glass full of ice. Top with tonic and lime; stir.

Two, maybe three fingers of satiated desire.

I've also rolled a joint. I'm also also listening to Waylon Jennings on vinyl.

"Picking up hookers instead of my pen..." seems fitting as I haven't written much in the last few years. Minus the hookers part, truth be told. I've been a celibate son of a bitch (do those even go together?). After the break-up with Astarte I swore off women, relationships, love, trust...hell, anything resembling the female of the species. Sure, the break-up was my idea (I pretty much forced it to happen) and I wanted to be alone 24/7/365, but that doesn't mean I don't want (dig the mixed tense, grammar police).

The problem was (and is) that I'm not much of a dater. By 'not much' I mean not at all. Not once. In over two years.

In print that looks sad.

"Sometimes it's heaven, sometimes it's hell. Sometimes I don't even know."

M. PotPie

Again the Past Again

2009-01-21T23:39:00.001-06:00

Give it up. Come back. I don't care who says what or why. I'm at peace in your arms. Love is fragmented, like these sentences. Pain and distance can't change the vows, time and wounds can't sever the bond. I can feel you. I want to feel you.

Fuck it, I want you. Understand? I want you. In my life, I want you. In my arms, I want you. In my bed, I want you. Right now and forever.

Don't make me out to be some kind of saint. Yeah I'm good, yeah I'm forgiving... but I'm a man and I need.

You.

You're afraid you'll hurt me again? Shit. Double shit.

I'm free this weekend.

How Do You Find the Defendant?

2008-10-20T10:41:00.002-05:00

Jury Duty. My initial reaction was "Great. Shit. This is the last fucking thing I need." I was supposed to show up Monday morning at 8:15am, which was fine as I had the day off, but I had plans on being in Minneapolis for the Vikings/Lions game that Sunday. And drinking beer. A lot of beer. As a Lions fan it kind of comes with the territory; we drink to forget.

So things go as planned, and I start thinking to myself "Why not skip jury duty? I could say I had car trouble or something. Yeah!" After six beers this seemed like a good plan. After ten, an even better one. Unfortunately for me, however, I have this messed up gene that makes shirking responsibility nigh impossible. So after around four hours of sobering up, eating fried chicken and taking a nap, I drove back to Madison (about three and a half hours..not too bad). The ride back was uneventful and I was mostly sober.

So Monday morning rolls around, I'm feeling pretty good (read: not hungover) and I make my way downtown to the court building. I'm in a room with about 300 people and immediately begin the game "Do I want to be on the same jury as you?". You: no. You: eh. You: Well hello! Yes indeed! And so on. Yes, I've turned a social responsibility into a meat market. It passes the time, at any rate. Don't judge me (hah! a jury joke!).

We get to watch a video about jury-ing, how important it is, how we play a part in the justice system, blah blah blah. Then the clerk of the courts gets up and gives a speech regurgitating the same message from the video, except this time it's entertaining because it's given in an effeminate Mexican accent. Thank you, Carlos. We're then told by a woman roughly 111 times more masculine than Carlos that it's now our duty to sit in the room until our juror number is called. Could be in ten minutes, could be six hours. Please have patience. I begin playing the 'serve on the jury' game again but modify it to 'would I be the foreman of this jury if you were on it?'. See, I've determined that if I do indeed get on a jury that I will be foreman (side note: I told this part of the story to my friend Elizabeth who replied: "I thought jews didn't have foreman?" Maybe the line of the year for me.)

About twenty minutes in to my new game, my number is called: 125. About twenty of us are ushered in to a judge's court room to begin the selection process. We again get the speech about how important we are and how the justice system can't work without us, and all I can think is "will he bang the gavel?" and "how exactly do you get a job as court stenographer? Is that something you try to do or is it some sort of punishment?"

It turns out we'll be jury-ing (I know, it's not a word, but I like it) a drunk driving case from January of 2007. The defendant maintains his innocence and has taken this all the way to a jury trial.

Am I disappointed? Hell yes. But intrigued just the same. But the question becomes "Will I even be chosen to be on the jury?". In this trial there will be 7 jurors (six to decide the verdict and one alternate) and there are twenty of us in the room. They pull 12 names at random to be questioned by both attorneys and the judge. My name being one of them, we make our way to the jury stand...or whatever it's called.

We're asked a series of questions like "Have you ever had a drunk driving experience?" "Have you ever had a beer and then drove?" and then this one: "Do you know anyone that's been involved in a drunk driving accident?" To this one (and others) I answer "Yes." Here's the rest of the interaction with the prosecuting attorney:

"You anwered yes Mr. PotPie, was this person injured?"

"About as injured as you can get; he was hit and killed at a stop light."

"Was this person close to you?"

"Yeah, one of my best friends at the time."

"Thank you."

At this point I'm certain that I'll be dismissed by the defense attorney. But life is strange, and I end up being chosen to serve on the jury, the trial starting Tuesday.

(To be continued)

M. PotPie

Saturday Work Haiku

2008-10-18T10:04:00.002-05:00

Maybe you're stupid
No, I won't approve a loan
So you can buy drugs

You have no money?
And you want to buy a house?
Enjoy your wanting.

People often say
"You bankers are all the same."
Oh, wait. No they don't.

My dream? To not work.
Not now. Not tomorrow. Not.
Will you marry me?

My desk is empty
No pens, no paper, no one
Please, will you sit down?

I'd rather be free
Saturday here is useless
Sharp stick in the eye.

This is really fun
This five-seven-five routine
It helps pass the time.

M. PotPie

Jury Duty

2008-10-15T14:45:00.003-05:00

Actually got to serve on a jury yesterday. Nothing big, just drunk driving, but it was pretty sweet.

No internet connection at home (the signal I was pirating went all encoded on me...fuckers), so when that shit gets straightened out I'll have a good story.

M. PotPie

Woman Trouble

2008-10-09T18:41:00.003-05:00

First of all, I never knew her name. Yeah, yeah, that's bad, but in this case it was inevitable. It had been a while and I guess I rushed into things. I hadn't had her for more than a half hour before she lost her tongue. Wait, no, I lost her tongue. I meant to save it, but like I said it had been awhile and I was excited and got a bit careless. I still have no idea where it is. I looked under the couch, under the fridge, everywhere. I'm pretty sure the dog didn't get it. Anyway, the rest of her is safely stored away for later use.

Sheesh. Women. They lose their heads so easily.

M. PotPie

You

2007-10-17T11:32:00.000-05:00

I stare at
you
All day and
you don't feel it.

I want
you
All the time
don't you feel it?

I don't have
the Words to
make you feel it.

I want to
wear you like cologne

I want to
be with you alone

I want to

Talk to you

Lay with you

Walk with you

Wake with you

can't you feel it?

M. PotPie

I Love My Work!

2007-10-15T18:32:00.000-05:00

"I think I want to be miserable." I spoke to myself in the mirror, the hand streaks in the steam reflecting me back in pieces. A perfect metaphor in the morning. "I'm at my happiest when I'm miserable. It gives me something to work towards." And how I love my work!

Well, at least when I'm doing it. After the work is done it holds no interest; it's done, over. I wonder if other artists feel like that? Engrossed in their work, passionate, mind racing, time non-existent, it's the moment! Living in the moment the world stops, the outside doesn't exist, all that matters is the canvas and the art created upon it.

My most recent canvas, my latest 'piece', was in the tub. She was almost done bleeding and I was certainly done with her. It had taken me hours, maybe days, I'm not sure, and several exacto blades, but her back was now a perfect reproduction of a Celtic knot from a postcard I bought in Boston.

I'm pretty sure she was Irish (she did have red hair), so I hope it's authentic. And really, even if it's not (knot! ha!) it's still beautiful. Though it's a shame to throw away such a pretty picture I don't have enough freezer space to keep it. Ah well, I'll admire it until it fades. Or at least until it starts to smell.

And then, back to work! I saw the most beautiful bit of calligraphy this morning. I think it was Italian...

M. PotPie

On Friday, the Monkey ate Crow

2007-10-13T09:36:00.001-05:00

Perhaps it's time to return. Perhaps it's because I'm alone again. Perhaps I'm just a fool.

Perhaps.

This is worth sharing

2006-08-01T11:05:00.000-05:00

The following is an actual story told to me by a recent loan applicant:

Me: So why do you need two hundred and sixty two dollars?

Crazy Woman: Well the place told me my car needs a lot of work.

Me: I see. What kind of work?

Crazy Woman: Well...they said it needed everything. A complete oil change. Oil, filter..everything. And really I wouldn't be asking but things are really hard for me right now. I just had surgery for lung cancer*, so I'm sick, and my husband just up and left me for another woman and won't support me anymore and the judge says I can't sue him again for six months to try and get some money to make ends meet. On top of that I just had five consecutive people in my family die on me, one right after the other, from my mother to my sister. I know my credits' bad, but that's because my fiancee keeps going into the hospital and can't get himself straight, so he's not supporting me, and my husband won't either, and his wife won't even let him talk to me anymore. Oh, and when I was down in Milwaukee they stole my license plates, and my registration is up next month. But even that's not the worst of it. I have a daughter down in Texas, she's talking with the police and the detectives, she got raped in the hospital while she was in labor. But they made an arrest, so that's good, but I'm worried about her, and when you add all that stuff up and throw that on top of it things are tough.

Me: Wow.

Crazy Woman: So, can you help me out?

Me: No. No I can't.

* As we were talking I looked through her account history, and every week she spends roughly thirty dollars at "The Smoke Shop".

The moral of the story:

While I was in Madison, she talked to another loan officer and the loan department manager.

They gave her the money.

M. PotPie

2006-07-20T15:37:00.000-05:00

I've spoken with the Jesus and he gave me buttered toast.

2006-05-31T11:45:00.000-05:00

Once upon a time, a long time ago, I saw you smile at me.
I thought to myself “That’s quite a nice smile, she’d look nice horizontally”.

I picked you up and took you home and poured us both a drink.
You drank yours down and then passed out…I poured mine in the sink.

I kept you safe and tied up tight and loved you every day.
I guess you loved me too but you were gagged and couldn’t say.

It’s been a few weeks since I loved you last, it’s time that I moved on.
I thought we would be together forever but that special feeling is gone.

I’m sorry it has to end this way; I mean it, that’s not a lie
And I’m sorry that you, just like our love, have to wither and die.

Goodbye.

M. PotPie

Cleaning out my Bulk Mail folder....

2006-05-26T10:18:00.000-05:00

Sexy baby and bad erection?

You have got to see Maureen's bonuses.

shame of sex? we can change it.

Are you a lotto loser?

Trick Mother Nature!

Sexy Girl having a very strong orgasm.

This is most modern and safe way not to cover with shame.

But the best one:

Dear Sir, i am interested in it.

M. PotPie

Words That I Like

2006-05-25T09:13:00.000-05:00

1) Rhinoceros
2) Hippopotamus
3) Monosyllabic
4) Fuck
5) Shit
6) Lubricant

I'm sure there's more...I just can't think of them. Feel free to add your own.

M. PotPie

Yes, there is no post.

2006-05-24T12:00:00.000-05:00

Lost

2006-05-12T09:48:00.000-05:00

The thing I remember most is your hair: It was long, black and lustrous; it caught the night and kept it prisoner. I would stare at it for hours trying to learn it's secrets, marveling at it's depth and getting lost in the ebon waves flowing past your shoulders.

But as Chad & Jeremy sang "That was yesterday...and yesterday's gone."

And so are you. It didn't have to be this way.

M. PotPie

................

2006-05-10T16:19:00.000-05:00

OH GOD NO! NO NON NO NO NO NON NO NO NO NOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!

http://news.yahoo.com/fc/US/Bush_Family/

The Lonely Turtle

2006-05-10T09:13:00.000-05:00

The turtle stops and thinks 'How the hell did I get all the way out here? Hey guys! Guys? Hey, a little help here!"

Obligatory Saturday Post

2006-05-06T09:24:00.000-05:00

Saturday again
Again I find myself here
Work: A bleeding butt.

I often wonder
Why and what and really why?
Always it's because.

The water at work
Tastes quite a bit like urine
Not that I would know

Kurt Cobain once said:
"The worst crime is faking it."
Poseurs can suck it.

Ok, I'm done now.
No more haiku for today.
Now it's time for pron.

M. PotPie

2006-05-05T09:46:00.000-05:00

Drink the Kool-Aid, swallow the hook
Life is easy
When all your answers come from a book

A verse for that, a page for this
Don't you see?
Sometimes life is just hit or miss

Maybe I'm wrong, maybe you're right
But come on
Should different views be cause for a fight?

All I want is to live my life
I want peace
I don't need you causing me strife.

Keep your piety, keep your lord
Keep your sermons, keep your sword
I may not love but I sure don't hate
And I don't claim to know your fate
But there is one thing I know for sure
No one can possibly be that pure.

M. PotPie

Skin Deep?

2006-05-04T09:57:00.000-05:00

Enlighten me. Inform me. Tell me why it's wrong to feel this way, because I don't see it.

This is love, true love; maybe you just need to open your eyes, or close them and look inside yourself, just as I have. Of course I've looked inside you in a more literal sense.

Look, if I didn't love you I wouldn't have used the local anisthetic, I would have just opened you and let you scream. I can tune out the discord and just listen to the music in my mind.

Look at the beauty inside you! You're a palette of wondrous colors...scarlet, ivory, violet, saffron.... Who else could show this to you? Who else knew this was inside you? I've exposed you to the world, to god, to yourself! You should thank me.

Unfortunately beauty fades. But as you fade, take comfort in knowing that your inner beauty was brought out and realized. Count yourself lucky.

This I have given you.

M. PotPie

More Photos

2006-05-03T08:19:00.000-05:00

Hi. I'm an Arch.

A boat. A shadow. Together they're.... a boat and a shadow!

This is just plain disturbing.

Mmmm! Ball!

Magnificent? Yes. Yes I am.

You lookin' at me?

M. PotPie

A Monkey's Nature Walk

2006-04-27T14:47:00.001-05:00

Them's a lot of geeses.

AHHHHH!! A SNAKE!

I wish I could fly, too....

It's a turtle-jerk!

M. PotPie

An Ode To My Testes

2006-04-26T09:13:00.000-05:00

There is one left, there is one right,
They get massaged nearly every night.

Most often by me, sometimes by another,
But never my sister, brother or mother.

Unguents, creams, salves and lotions,
I've even treated them to a magic potion.

I'd happily put them on display,
But once they're out, out they stay.

I've named one Paul, the other Mary,
If I don't keep them shaved they get quite hairy.

I'm talking about my Testes, you see
We are best friends, my balls and me.

M. PotPie

The Tumor

2006-04-25T11:47:00.000-05:00

I have a tumor and I've named him Fred,
If he grows any bigger then I'll be dead,

But Fred will live on in a bottle at a museum,
And people will walk by and look up and see him,

They'll say "What the hell?" and "What is that?"
And Fred will say "I'm a tumor and you're fat!"

Children will cry and men will point
And hippies will laugh after smoking a joint

And I'll be dead and buried and gone
But Fred will live on and on and on.

More(bid) Poetry

2006-04-21T09:34:00.000-05:00

Symmetry

I once knew me a girl that looked just like you,
We went on a date and she lost her shoe.

Well ok, her whole foot, but the shoe was attached,
So I cut off the other to make sure she matched.

Short..but not so sweet.

2006-04-20T10:53:00.000-05:00

Come see me in prison, come see me in jail.
Come every Sunday, come without fail.

We'll talk about the weather, we'll talk about our kids
And if you're real nice I'll tell where their bodies are hid.

M. PotPie

Pillowtalk

2006-04-19T09:04:00.000-05:00

I can still smell your perfume...lilacs and citrus, soft and sharp together. I loved to lay beside you and smell your hair, nuzzle up to it and inhale, breathing in the life that sustained me. Where did it go wrong? Was it the poison?

I'm sorry about that. But you were going to leave me, I know it. I know it! Don't try to tell me otherwise; it was all over you like a cheater's musk. You smelled like a liar that day, cigarettes and bowling alley and whore.

Besides, I didn't give you enough to kill you, it only made you sick. And I took care of you, didn't I? I nursed you back to health, sat by your bed, held your hand, fed you, bathed you, treated you like a queen! But then you had your relapse. And you got worse. And had to go stay at the hospital and I couldn't take care of you anymore and after you went to intensive care I couldn't sit by your side and couldn't talk to you and...and...

They found the poison. But it was too late.

Someone's knocking at the door. It's probably that detective and his bag of questions. He'll ask and ask and scribble on his cheap notepad and I'll have to tell him about your affairs and how you broke them off to come back to me. He'll believe me. He has to.

But first I'll smell your pillow one more time.

M. PotPie

Fun With Weather

2006-04-17T09:40:00.000-05:00

Ok. So yesterday Stormy & I are driving back from St. Louis on Hwy. 55 going North. It was a beautiful day in St. Louis...82 and sunny. We had gone for a walk, were wearing shorts...awesome. We left around noon for the roughly five hour drive back to the Madison area, going up 55 all the way through Illinois (which, pardon me for saying, is the flattest, dullest drive in America..though I've never been to Kansas or Nebraska).

We had the windows down, the radio up, and our spirits were high...until we got around Normal, Il. The weather turns cold, the skies cloud over...and then turn green. Pea-fucking-soup green.

Now Stormy is from the East coast and has never seen the sky turn this color. I had told her before that if she ever sees the sky that color to "seek shelter immediately". So she asks "Is that the color green you were talking about?"

Oh shit. Yes. Yes it is. We turn the music off and try to find a station with a weather report. This is what we heard:

"...tornado warning until 3pm..and we're getting reports of a tornado touching down at the WalMart on Hwy 9. We can't confirm or deny this report...blah blah blah".

We didn't hear the rest. I looked up to see an exit for Hwy 9. I looked to the left and saw no WalMart....

But I did see a huge fucking tornado. Maybe 300 yards away. That's when the hail started..bigger than golf balls..it sounded like someone was banging on the car with a hammer. We got under an overpass but were directly in the path of the tornado. There were a couple of guys outside their cars..of course..and one of them comes running up screaming "The tornado's coming! The tornado's coming!" and everyone takes off as fast as they can drive. Zero visibility. Hail. Driving rain. 55 mph. Scary.

In retrospect we should've stayed where we were and gone up into the crook of the overpass. But we didn't. We managed to survive anyway.

M. PotPie

Happy Easter!

2006-04-14T11:49:00.000-05:00

I love Wisconsin.....

http://www.thesmokinggun.com/archive/montellhoward1.html?link=rssfeed

Later, Bitches. I'm off to St. Louis.

M. PotPie

2006-04-13T08:47:00.000-05:00

Last night I dreamt of a neck. It was long and pale, slender, translucent veins filled with moonlight. I caressed it...it was cold, but in a soothing way, like your toes dipped in a lake at sunset. I had an insane urge to bite it, to tear it open and taste the liquid moonlight, it would fill me with power and I could fly.

I kept my cool and settled for choking it, my thumbs leaving two rosy depressions like eyes in the skin. I thought it much improved for a moment, but the eyes began to stare at me, accusing me, and I had to poke them out.

It wasn't moonlight that filled those beautiful veins, it was a fine white powder, pixie dust or snow, I couldn't tell. I lapped it up like a dog and waited for the magic. It never came.

M. PotPie

A Poem for Chicken's Bunnies

2006-04-11T09:05:00.000-05:00

The bunny is funny, he's funny they say,
And they tap their nose which says they knows
That they are wise and long in the day.

That bunny's not funny, not funny at all
You said just look at his eyes, his beady black eyes
Those aren't Summer eyes, they're the eyes of late Fall.

But all of them laughed, yes they laughed 'till they split
And they all went to their beds and layed down their heads
And when the bunny was done on their graves did you spit.

Happy Easter!

M. PotPie

Today, I Hurt

2006-04-10T09:32:00.000-05:00

I've discovered something rather distressing over this past weekend:

I am no longer young.

I'm not old, mind you, but I'm certainly no longer a youth. I'm in pain, you see, from physical exertion. Softball, to be precise. In anticipation of my excursion into the world of movement outside my normal realm (sex and hiking, mostly) I devoted two full hours to stretching and hydration.

This was not enough.

So today, after running, throwing, hitting and diving around for two hours yesterday, I'm stiff and sore. And I'll tell you a secret: I like it.

What's more distressing to me is that I'm sore from playing softball. It's not even baseball. Maybe I'm a bit of a purist, or, I dare say, a snob, but softball is to baseball as putt-putt is to real golf. So to be in pain after playing softball...meh. (by the way, I've learned a lot of new terms and words reading your blogs, and 'meh' has turned out to be one of my favorites).

And yet...I would still choose softball over work. Or over most other things for that matter.

Ok, I have no point. Right now I'm just posting to post...or to avoid work. It's kind of like eating simply because food is in front of you and that's what you're supposed to do with it.

Meh.

M. PotPie

You're Not The Boss Of Me!

2006-04-08T09:28:00.000-05:00

Or maybe you are. I've been bullied into posting by a certain Gallus Domesticus.

So here it is:

Post. Eat it.

Welcome to the Marsh

2006-04-07T10:00:00.000-05:00

This is the view from my back yard. So are the others. It's nice here.

M. PotPie

Short & Sweet

2006-04-06T11:34:00.000-05:00

I will murder you. I will rip and tear your flesh and feed bloody gobbets to the crows.

Or maybe I'll just make you a grilled cheese sandwich.

M. PotPie

(Contented Sigh)

2006-04-04T14:28:00.000-05:00

Friday: I really don't remember. There were many gin & tonics. I think I made stir-fry.

Saturday: Slept in. Debating whether or not to go camping, we spent most of the morning nekkid. Finally decided to go camping even though it was cloudy, windy and about 45 degrees. Set up camp, made a fire, made dinner (beef stew...yumm..over an open fire when it's frigid out there's not much better food-wise), drank beer, told ghost stories. Oh, and Stormy made the best s'more like thing ever: Two Girlscout shortbread cookies, heated...one Thin Mint, heated...one marshmallow, toasted. One delicious treat. I'm pretty sure I was moaning while eating it. Then a little grass and bed time. It was cold. Very, very cold. I slept well, Stormy did not. We need to get her a new sleeping bag.

Sunday: Woke up early...and it was colder than the night before. It took a while to get the fire going as the wood was a bit wet...but after a bit of coaxing we had fresh coffee, bacon, eggs and fried taters. Mmm mmm good! Packed up camp, went for a hike around the lake and managed to leave before the pouring rain started. Got back to my place, took a long, long, long hot shower together, changed into PJ's and spent the night kicking back.

Monday: Got up early again, decided against tailgating as the temperature was about 40 with steady 25mph winds. I lit the grill outside (which was a pain to get going with all the wind), grilled up the beer brats I had made the night before and opened the first beer at 9:30am. Then it was off to Miller Park to see the Brewers beat up on the Pirates on opening day. Beer and peanuts at the ballpark.

Well, that's it in a nutshell. The photography bit didn't get done.. I snapped a few shots but it was really gray and drab out. Not a good day for it. Cest la vie.

M. PotPie

Three Day Weekend, Bitches!

2006-03-31T10:07:00.000-06:00

Yes. Three glorious days without work! Two spent camping, one spent at opening day at Miller Park. All three filled with food, booze, fun and sex. Maybe not in that order.

So while the normal world is at work on Monday, Stormy & I will be eating beer brats, drinking beer and watching the Brewers beat up on the Pirates.

CAN I GET A HELL YEAH?!

Hell yeah.

Saturday will be spent hiking in the woods, working on my nature photography skillzz, cooking over an open fire and balling in the great outdoors.

Sunday...more of the same...unless it rains, like it's supposed to. In that case we'll be on the couch, naked, watching movies and..um...doing other things. Like each other.

Hell yeah.

I love me some weekend.

M. PotPie

Strange Goings-On

2006-03-30T08:29:00.000-06:00

Not long ago I posted about seeing a ghost (well, a ghost hand, anyway) in my apartment. I have since been trying to repeat this phenomenon with no success. But last night I discovered something else I can't explain, so if there are any experts in this partcicular field out there, maybe you can help me.

So here it is:

Last night I'm laying in bed listening to the radio (the same one the ghost turned off), waiting for the ghost hand to appear. The ghost is still absent, so I decide to channel-surf the old-fashioned way on the AM dial to find something interesting to listen to.

That's when I stumble upon a hockey game. Now, I don't like hockey. I have no interest in it. But something made me stop and listen to this game. It was the Dallas Stars vs. the Anaheim Ducks. I figured it for a national broadcast...but it didn't sound national. It sounded local. And it was. I was picking up an AM station from Dallas, Texas.

I live in Waupun, Wisconsin, which according to Mapquest is 1058.44 miles away. I highly doubt that their transmitter is that strong.

I decide to keep surfing. Who knows, maybe I can pick up other stations from other states?

Here's the list of cities I found stations from (and I'd like to point out that I could hear them clearly, with almost no static):

Dallas. Nashville. New Orleans. Indianapolis. Chicago. St. Louis. Somewhere in Iowa. Atlanta.
Cleveland.

By the way, the radio I'm using is a simple Sony DreamMachine clock radio. I paid less than $20 bucks for it at Target. As far as I remember, the manual that came with it never mentioned a Ghost in the (Dream)Machine....

M. PotPie

The Real On-Star

2006-03-27T09:44:00.000-06:00

The following is an actual conversation between On-Star and a subscriber:

On-Star: Hello, this is On-Star, is this an emergency?

Subscriber: I don't know Helen, I pushed the button, now what?

On-Star: Hello? Sir?

Subscriber: Who's there?!

On-Star: This is On-Star sir, are you in need of assistance?

Subscriber: Who? A monster? What the hell is happening?

On-Star: Sir, you have pushed the button to contact ON-STAR, do you need help?

Subscriber: Help? Yes, we need help, can you help us?

On-Star: I'm here to help you in any way I can. What is the nature of your trouble?

Subscriber: My wife has to go!

On-Star: Go? Go where?

Subscriber: To the bathroom, where do you think?!

On-Star: Sir, is this an emergency, do you need my assistance, or an ambulance?

Subscriber: I don't know...is this an emergency Helen? She says no, she might be able to hold it but would like to go before we get to dinner. We're going to our son's house to meet his new girlfriend and my wife doesn't want to wet herself, but we don't want to be any trouble.

On-Star: (silence)

Subscriber: So can you help us?

On-Star: Sir, I don't understand what you want. Do you need directions to a bathroom?

Subscriber: Directions? What do you think, she's never used a toilet before?! She's a sixty-six year old woman, I think by now she knows how to move her bowels! Don't you dear?

On-Star: Sir...I'm going to have to terminate this phone call if I can't help you in some way.

Subscriber: So help me already!

On-Star: I would like nothing more than to help you. But you have to explain to me how I can do that.

Subscriber: You can help me by not being such a wisenheimer and answer my question!

On-Star: What is your question sir?

Subscriber: Never mind! We're here. I hope this new girl can cook. The last one was some sort of mutant in the kitchen, I can tell you! Couldn't toast a bagel, that one!

On-Star: Thank you for calling On-Star sir, we're always here to help.

M. PotPie

Enough of This Existential Bullshit

2006-03-24T08:51:00.000-06:00

I wrote the title of this post prior to being called into my bosses office to hear some sad news. Ted's wife has cancer and probably has two months to live. (Ted is a loan officer here, along with me). Needless to say, Ted won't be here for the forseeable future. Were I him there's no way I would leave my wife's side.

There is another loan officer, Toni, who is absent as well for undisclosed reasons.

This leaves yours truly as the only loan officer. So I get every application, every phone call and every member that walks through the door. It's been like this since Tuesday.

So things have been busy.

Certainly I'm not happy about the current situation, but it's nothing I can't handle effectively with some help from my co-workers outside the loan department.

But that's not what this post is about. It's about my reaction to the news that Ted's wife is dying.

I thought "Oh, great. I'm screwed now."

I'm screwed? Really?

Horrible. I'm ashamed of myself. I could not possibly have had a more selfish reaction.
The man's wife is dying and I'm only concerned about how it will effect me.

I have to go now.

m. potpie

2006-03-22T11:01:00.000-06:00

I have a question that troubles me. Well, it's troubled me for a long time, but I don't think I've ever really put it into print. It's a common question I'm sure, not one which makes me unique, but it's an important one nonetheless (which may be the epitome of irony). Or maybe it's not.

Is ANYTHING really important? Does anything really matter in the grand scheme of things?

Yes, this is a very broad question. But my personal non-belief in any sort of afterlife (which is also odd, considering my ghost experience, a topic which we'll revisit at some point) makes actual living...well...pointless.

I long ago decided that if life itself is essentially pointless than the only thing worth living for is happiness. I decided to devote my life to doing things that bring me joy and pleasure. In essence, I decided to become the ultimate hedonist.

It's not going very well. Well, on some fronts it is. I eat what I want (and thankfully have a good metabolism) I drink what I want, I say what I want, I see who I want and I generally ignore most social mores. I don't give a good-god-damn about anyone's opinion of me (but I do want you to like me) and hope you don't care about my opinions of you.

And yet....I think in some respects I'm miserable. I blame it on my job, on the fact that I have to work at all, and this is entirely my fault. Let's face it, without work I have no money and without money I have nowhere to live, nothing to eat, etc... etc... etc... ad nauseum.

But because I get no joy from working, and I spend more time here than anywhere else, my quality of life is in the shitter.

(Please understand I'm taking full responsibility for this. My hope is that if I read this over enough I'll actually do something about it.)

My question to you is this:

Have any of you gone through this and successfully changed your life? And are you still happy?

(I'm starting that book tonight, Chicken. I'll let you know how it goes.)

I tell myself this will take some time, and to take baby-steps, but I'm impatient.

M. PotPie

Failed Story Ideas

2006-03-20T09:14:00.000-06:00

Almost all of the stories I write start out as a single sentence that pops into my mind from the ether. I can be doing anything (working, hiking, playing video games, having sex) when this happens. I stop what I'm doing (or slow down, if it's sex) and my eyes lose focus. Then the sentence comes. It speaks in it's own voice. I try to write them down. So today I give you a list of sentences that never became a story.

"Carla was a whore. She was also an alien."

"As my blood circled the drain, I marveled at the symmetry of the whorls, and wondered if it would be the same below the equator."

"The coffee was spiked..but I knew that before I drank it."

"She felt soft and loose, like warm jelly, and I shuddered as I thrust into her."

"Just by looking at him you could tell something was wrong, that something was left out when he was created."

"Do you think I like hurting you? Do you think it gives me pleasure? Well, maybe in a dark way it does, but you still need education. I do this for you, not to you."

"If you defy me, I will defile you."

"In that way I had always admired my mother. Like a succubus steals life from the living, my mother had stolen my father from god."

"His eyebrows seemed independent of his forehead, like a living thing unto themselves, two caterpillars that met over his eyes and mated over his nose."

So there you have them. Enjoy.

M. PotPie

Hamlet & Me

2006-03-16T08:20:00.000-06:00

"To be or not to be, --that is the question:--Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to sufferThe slings and arrows of outrageous fortune; Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, And by opposing end them?"

While Hamlet was speaking of suicide here, I am not. But I am speaking of a different kind of death; the death of a relationship.

I have a girlfriend (stupid word, but there it is). I love this woman. She's one of the few people I've met in my life that can keep up with me in every capacity (and passes me in plenty). I would have children with this woman. But there's a problem.

She reads my blog. She reads the comments I leave on yours. She believes my comments to be overtly sexual in nature, overly flirtatious and says "we both know where this will lead." She wants to know why I leave "comments like that" and wonders if I do it "to feed my male ego". Last night it was made very clear that she does not trust me and does not believe I have any honor. My comments hurt her and she is very angry that I refuse to stop and am not willing to make any concessions.

I feel I've done nothing wrong, have done nothing to hurt her, and therefore don't need to make any concessions or adjust my behavior.

And now I'm at a loss. I'm in danger of losing her..and may have already done so. But I can't live without trust. I am nothing if I am not trustworthy and honorable. I have never cheated. Ever. I was with the same woman for eleven years, most of them in a fairly sexless marriage, and I never strayed, even though my needs weren't being met in the bedroom. I had plenty of opportunities, and even the desire, but I had made my commitment and I honored it.

I will admit that I am flirtatious by nature. I like women. I prefer their company to men. But I am not lecherous, not a predator and have never pushed the issue when the answer is no. I've slept with less than a dozen women in my life. I'm picky like that.

I am tired of defending myself. Stormy, if you read this you have a choice to make. I didn't sleep last night at all. I cried for a good deal of it. I went over and over the things that were said, tried to listen to them as an outsider, tried to distance myself from the hurt, pain and mistrust I felt. Maybe my ego is too big, maybe my brain doesn't work, but I can't see that I've done any wrong. These folks I blog with and converse with on-line are no more than friends. I enjoy reading their blogs and leaving comments. Some of the comments are flirtatious, but that's as far as it goes. I hope you can understand that.

I leave you with one more quote from Hamlet:

"There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so".

We have nothing without trust.

M. PotPie

Do you believe in ghosts?

2006-03-14T09:58:00.000-06:00

I do. I saw one in my apartment Sunday night.

Please allow me to preface this story by saying I wasn't drinking or smoking anything. I hadn't eaten any food that had gone bad, hadn't licked any toads or eaten any peyote buttons. I was on the straight and narrow.

Not that this is a good thing, but it is what it is.

At roughly 10pm central time I decided that sleeping was a better option than staying awake. Oscar was already sleeping, there was nothing worth watching on tv and I didn't feel like playing video games, so to bed I went.

If you're worried about my dental hygiene, don't. I brushed. I pooped, too, if you must know.

So there I am in bed, listening to the radio. All of the lights are off, Oscar is snoring, I'm laying on my back hoping the storms outside don't develop into a tornado; that's when I feel the tickle. A mental tickle, telling me something isn't right. I turn my head to the left and see it, floating in the doorway: A hand. Just a hand...a spectral, misty white hand, and it's moving towards me.

I was not scared. Not even a little. I was merely curious and watched as the hand approached, moving slowly closer. It reached my clock-radio, which was still on, the announcer talking about the tornado warnings, violent storms and wind alert.

The hand reached the radio, touched it, and it turned off. Then the hand was gone.

I lay there for a while, digesting what had just happened, wondering if I had fallen asleep quickly and had just dreamed the whole thing. But I was awake, there was no doubt about it. I'm not sure what it was, or who, but there are two things I am sure of:

1) The ghost (or whatever it was) really hated the radio station I was listening to.
2) Oscar cannot protect me from the undead. He didn't even wake up.

I'm more worried about the second part. I can always change the station, but I'll need help against a vampire.

M. PotPie

Spam!

2006-03-13T12:37:00.000-06:00

I have a game I play with myself. No, not that one, so get your mind out of the gutter. My game goes like this:

Wait a month before emptying out the spam folder from my e-mail account and laugh at the best subject lines. Today I'll share the top five with you, in no particular order:

1) How many times girls dumped you because of your small dick?
2) You are a business man and have no time for a long sexual stimulation.
3) Once you turned 21 you have to put up with.
4) Hey baby, might want to check this out.
5) Ming Jewls, Brag About Your Louis Vuitton bag!

All these e-mails beg the question: Do people actually open these? The fact that there are so fucking many of them would seem to imply yes. People do. But who?

Haiku Saturday

2006-03-11T08:58:00.000-06:00

A turd in the bowl
A steaming pile of feces
Saturday at work

Oh boy! Next Friday
St. Patricks Day comes again!
Peeing green is cool!

I sit at my desk
Wishing I could be elsewhere
Maybe not prison

My hand is sticky.
Do you think you can guess why?
You're probably right.

Were I President
I would attack Canada
And steal their health care.

Were I President
I would make sure everyone
Had a pet monkey.

Were I President
I would make it illegal
Not to smoke ganja

Were I President
I would legalize all drugs
And ban religion.

I Hate My Job

2006-03-09T09:42:00.000-06:00

I need a new job. A new career, let's say. I'm tired of the loan officer bit, tired of the financial institution bit..but also tired of making changes. I haven't even been here for two years (although I've been in this industry for about five) and I'm ready to move on.

But what the hell would I do? I have no college degree, no specialized skills...and I'm going to be thirty-seven this year. While thirty-seven is nowhere near old (and truthfully I still feel like I'm twelve most of the time), is it a bit too late to start from scratch? The dreamer in me says no, while the pragmatist says yes. The responsiblility gene says "stay the course, build up your 401k, plan for the future". The Wild Hare gene says "Fuck that other gene! Follow your heart and your balls!"

I long for a fresh start in a new place. This job provides no challenge, allows for no real creativity and is slowly killing me. This is evidenced by my surfing the net all day while ignoring loan applications.

So what would I do? Well, I'd prefer something active and creative, something that lets me get outside and use my imagination.

The perfect job for me? Photojournalism. Nature photography. Very National Geographic.

I guess the question now is...how do I make this happen?

2006-03-07T11:34:00.000-06:00

Have I ever mentioned that I love baseball? Well I do. If I had to choose one activity for the rest of my life, it would be baseball. Not sex, not drinking, not smoking weed, not watching movies... I would play baseball. Or watch it (live..baseball on tv kind of sucks). Or listen to it.

I'm such a geek that I even keep score at home while I watch it. I can't recite stats & records and all that shit, but I love the game.

Even after the strikes, the drugs, ridiculous salaries, after all that nonsense, I still love the damn game.

So now you know where I stand. That being said....

I could care less about this Baseball Classic thing. Really, who cares? I just can't get excited about it. I didn't care about Olympic baseball and I don't care about this.

Is it that I have no pride in the country? I think that's part of it. Perhaps it's also a result of this country being so powerful for so long now that we simply assume we're the best at everything...and hell, we invented the game after all. Do I care if we beat Mexico or South Africa? Not at all. Will I care if they beat us? Maybe a little, but not that much.

So bring on April 2nd. Opening day. Then we can talk baseball for real.

Monkeys and Bronchitis

2006-03-06T09:26:00.000-06:00

They do not mix. No sir. I had never had bronchitis before, or strep. I had the pukey-flu once before, when I was eleven. I've had colds, sure, and some bad ones, but this was something completely different.

I did not like it. Sure, I got a week off work, but I had a fever ranging anywhere between 100 to 103, the worst sore throat of my life, a nasty cough that brought up interesting colored bits of phlegm (or sputum, if you prefer) and body aches. Oh, the aches. Awful.

But the worst part?

I couldn't drink. Shit! Apparently fevers, alcohol and antibiotics don't mix. Who knew? Oh, and my throat was too sore to smoke any grass. Just awful.

South Dakota Sucks Balls

2006-02-24T15:38:00.000-06:00

S.D. House Approves Abortion Ban Bill

http://news.yahoo.com/fc/us/abortion_rights_debate

Next up for South Dakota?

1. Passing "The Earth Is Flat" bill.
2. Revoking women's right to vote.
3. Becomes world's largest importer of metal coat-hangers.

Congratulations South Dakota! You have proven yourself to be the most backwards, timid, primitive, close-minded state in the union! You officially suck!

Please secede immediately! We no longer want you as part of the United States.

In other news...FUCK YOU SOUTH DAKOTA!

M. PotPie

Chubby Squirrel

2006-02-24T09:43:00.000-06:00

Once upon a time, deep in an olde Irish forest, lived Chubby Squirrel. Chubby came from a long line of famous squirrels (though in truth the most famous of his relatives would come long after Chubby: Fat Squirrel, who was immortalized on the label of a fine beer from New Glarus) and was worried that he wasn't going to live up to the other's expectations.

For you see, Chubby was average. And he was a chronic masturbator.

Now as you might know (and if you don't, I'm telling you now) averageness can be overcome. Some of the most exceptional people (and squirrels) in history started out average, but overcame their averageness to achieve greatness. The Black Squirrel of York comes to mind, as does Cheeky the Lame. Oh, and Tails McSquirrel, who not only had to overcome averageness but Scottishness as well.

Chronic masturbation on the other hand...well, that's a bit harder (no pun intended) to deal with.

But one magical day, Chubby was given the opportunity to show his worth, to show that he could achieve greatness, if only for a moment.

On the magical day, the sun rose green. That's right, green. That's how you know it's magical. Anyway, the sun rose green and warm, turning the forest..well...greener than usual, let's say. Chubby emerged from his nest and yawned, absently scratching at his testicles as he was wont to do after waking. This aroused him, of course, and he felt his first erection of the day begin to grow. He was about to turn around and go back into his nest (for all the masturbating he did Chubby was not an exhibitionist) when he saw a sight on the ground that paralyzed him with fear:

A baby squirrel had fallen from it's nest and it lay on the ground, crying. Looking up Chubby saw a hawk sitting on it's perch, looking down at the baby squirrel, licking it's beak. Chubby had a choice to make: Masturbate, or save the baby?

For Chubby this was a difficult choice. The compulsion to tweak his tail (that's what squirrels call masturbation, go ask one if you don't believe me) was strong, very strong, and he debated with himself whether he had time to do both. No, he thought, I guess not. With his erection growing by the second, Chubby leapt from his tree just as the hawk dove from it's perch. What happened next has been retold throughout the ages as one of the bravest acts in Squirreldom.

Chubby reached the baby squirrel just before the hawk and covered the baby with his body. From the trees it appeared that the hawk pulled up short, squawked twice and then flew away as fast as he could, looking over his shoulder in fear.

What really happened? Well, this is the story the hawk told over a bottle of whiskey (after that day the hawk drank himself to death):

"So there I was, sitting on my perch when I sees this little squirrel, the perfect breakfast, you know? So I dives at him, but just before I get there this other freakin' squirrel dives on top of the baby. I thought he was trying to save him, right? And I'm thinkin' great, I get two meals out of this, I can take the day off, right? But that freakin' squirrel wasn't trying to save the little one. Hell, I don't even think he knew I was there. As I dove in closer, getting ready to grab both them squirrels, I see the big one has a huge frickin' boner and he's grabbing the little one from behind! I freaked out! I didn't know what to do, so I flew away and came to the bar. That is one sick fucking squirrel, man. I wouldn't eat any squirrels if I were you. That's a disgusting species right there."

So you see, averageness can be overcome. Don't be afraid to be who you are.

The End.

M. PotPie

Sorry, Women

2006-02-23T11:47:00.000-06:00

South Dakota Senate passes abortion ban bill

http://www.cnn.com/2006/POLITICS/02/22/dakota.abortion.ap/index.html

Just as we feared. Now with Alito and Roberts on the bench....our choices and freedoms will be taken away.

And by the way, if you happen to be pro-life and happen to be reading this, please hesitate before lambasting me and praying for me to rot in hell. I don't like abortion; I'm not a proponent of it. But it's not up to me to tell anyone what to do with their bodies and not my place to judge them. It's not yours, either.

So please, put your bibles away, shut the fuck up and go cure cancer or hunger or something.

Oh, and just remember, the overturning of Roe v. Wade is the first step in a return to theocracy and the elimination of most of our personal freedoms.

M. PotPie

Ah!

2006-02-22T13:12:00.000-06:00

Today, I feel good. I feel good today. Any way you say it, it sounds nice. I decided to sleep in today and run errands after that. I didn't get to work until 10:30 and no one seemed to care. When my alarm went off this morning instead of hitting snooze (as I normally would, sometimes as many as eight times) I shut it off. Oscar looked at me, wagged his tail once (thumped, I should say) and put his head back down. I scratched behind his ears and closed my eyes again.

It's amazing what a little rest during the week can do for you. But was it the rest...or was it the fact that I was missing work to get it?

If it is the fact that I'm missing work...does that mean I truly hate my job and I'm only happy when I'm not there?

And if that's true..well, I guess that does not make me unique, but instead lumps me together with most of humanity. Either way I feel good. It almost feels like Spring.

M. PotPie

Irony?

2006-02-21T09:50:00.000-06:00

This is an excerpt from a news story I read on Yahoo about Iraq vehemently rejecting the U.S. and Britain's warning about having a sectarian government:

"His comments were echoed less bluntly on Tuesday by Straw, who said after a meeting with President Jalal Talabani that Iraq's parliamentary elections in December showed that no single group can dominate Iraq's new political landscape.
"This is a crucial moment today for the people of Iraq. We had the elections on December 15th. We've now had the final accredited results. What they show is that no party, no ethnic or religious grouping can dominate government in Iraq," Straw said.
"This therefore gives further impetus to what Iraqis tell us they want, which is a government of national unity bringing together all the different elements of Iraqi society."
While Arab Sunni participation in the polls raised hopes that peaceful politics could defuse the Sunni insurgency, voting patterns suggested ballots were cast based on sect, not political and economic programs offered by candidates."

Isn't that what we want here?

Doesn't this describe, perhaps exactly, what we don't have?

Why should our government want this so bad for Iraq, but when it comes time to vote in the house and senate...they vote along party (sectarian) lines?

Perhaps irony was the wrong word for the title of this post. Perhaps it should be titled:

Hypocrisy.

M. PotPie

Snow Day

2006-02-17T10:24:00.000-06:00

So.....I have a question for the smart people, the logical people:

Is the following reasoning sound at all?

Ok, so, we're getting a blizzard tomorrow. The weather people say there's a 100% chance that we'll get 5-9 inches of snow, sleet and freezing rain. Mr. PotPie, you live 35 miles away, so why don't you drive in tomorrow and we'll see what happens with the weather. If it gets really bad we'll send you home early. In the blizzard.

WTF?!

So I drove in yesterday, and about 40 minutes after arriving the blizzard hits. Just like the weather people said. Within one hour there's already four inches of snow, along with thunder and lightning. Yes, thunder and lightning. In a blizzard. It was freaky, to say the least, but cool as hell. So after waiting another two hours, they send me home.

During the worst part of the blizzard. Thirty to forty mile an hour wind, snow, sleet, thunder and lightning. I could see maybe, maybe ten feet in front of me. It took me over two hours to get home. Thankfully I have a truck and four wheel drive. There is no way in hell I would have made it home in a car. The snow was too high on the road from the wind making it drift.

Fuckers! I can't believe they made me come in and then sent me out in what could very well be the worst weather I've ever seen. I hate them. So how do I show them I hate them?

I made matzo ball soup and brought it in for everyone. Hah! That'll show 'em!

M. PotPie

Oscar

2006-02-16T08:55:00.000-06:00

Okay, here he is.

Humpday

2006-02-15T11:31:00.000-06:00

I'm taking a break from the political, observational and downright weird today. Instead of that crap, I give you Oscar.

You may worship him.

Vital stats:

Born August 12, 1995 (same day as me)
Rhodesian Ridgeback/Irish Wolfhound mix.
Currently 85 pounds
Totally awesome.

M. PotPie

And So It Begins

2006-02-14T11:08:00.000-06:00

First, read this:

http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20060214/ap_on_go_su_co/scalia_constitution

And then think about it.

By dismissing the so-called "Living Constitution" (and dismissing evolution in the process...a thinly veiled evangelical leaning) Justice Scalia has fired the first salvo at freedoms we currently enjoy and justly so: The right of women to choose and the right to be true to ourselves and love whomever we choose.

These are people who see abortion as birth control and murder, with no thought of the mother-to-be or her health. Who see homosexuality as a choice or lifestyle, not a natural state at all. Most of these people also believe the world was created in six twenty-four hour days.

He claims that "there can be no room for personal, political or religious beliefs" in his judicial philosophy. That's total horseshit. It's impossible to be completely impartial, to be completely neutral. A nice ideal, yes, but not at all a reality.

We are stuck with these justices until they die or retire. We have no say in what they do or how they rule. In this matter we have no vote, no voice...and no hope. Am I wrong to despair? Perhaps. I certainly hope so. But looking at the current makeup of the highest court in the land, looking at the current adminstration and knowing that the president believes that god speaks directly to him and that he's doing god's work...well, that frightens me. Knowing that this Federalist Society is now in control of the supreme court and has the ability to change laws already on the books (i.e. Term Limits)....that frightens me as well.

This is supposed to be a day for love, romance and happiness.

Instead we've been given intolerance, fear and absolutism.

M. PotPie

Update

2006-02-14T08:17:00.000-06:00

I would like to inform you that the pineapple was indeed still there last night. At approximately 5:50pm Central time I moved the possibly magic pineapple from the side of the road to the bed of my truck, where it now resides. It appears to be undamaged. I'm not sure how to proceed at this point.

In response to Chicken's demand that I take a photo and post it...well, not all of us have a fancy, schmancy new digital camera. However, the credit union is in possession of a camera...and perhaps I could borrow that. Although I'd have to have our marketing guru e-mail the picture as I don't have the necessary software on my pc and I do not have the authority to install it.

Life's a bitch.

So...do I set up an altar or what?

M. PotPie

Huh?

2006-02-13T10:54:00.000-06:00

It's winter here in Wisconsin. That means it's cold, snowy, windy...altogether fairly unpleasant most of the time. Which makes the item I saw on the side of the road today all that more remarkable and confusing. I have to say that it would be odd and confusing anyway, the item being what it is, but the fact that it was twelve degrees outside this morning makes it, to me at least, a bit remarkable.

This morning, on the shoulder of Highway 49, laying in the gravel and ice....

was a pineapple.

At roughly sixty miles an hour it looked whole and undamaged, though undoubtedly frozen. How on Earth did a pineapple get there? Most likely someone threw it out their window, seeing as no one walks down the highway (well, no one in their right mind, anyway), but why would they do that? Why throw a pineapple out the window? I can't wrap my mind around it.

Because I cannot come up with a logical explanation for this phenomenon (and that's really what it is) I've decided that this is what happened:

In the year 1677, a young man named Kika was walking along the shore near his village on Moloka'i. It was a gorgeous Hawaiian afternoon, but a bit hot. Kika thought a fresh pineapple would be delicious, so he wandered inland to the grove of pineapple trees that his tribe tended. He found a tree with suitably ripe fruit, climbed up the trunk and cut down a fragrant, juicy pineapple. After descending with the pineapple, Kika took a closer look at it, and decided it was the nicest, juciest pineapple ever. It was, in fact, the perfect pineapple. Kika said a thank-you to Kane, the god of forests and trees, and cut into the pineapple.

What Kika didn't know was that Kane had chosen that moment to inhabit that particular pineapple. Who knows why, and how should we? Can anyone claim to know the mind of Hawaiian gods? At any rate Kane was not happy that Kika cut into his flesh, and in a moment of panic and rage he teleported both the pineapple and Kika to present day Waupun, Wisconsin.

Needless to say, Kika freaked out and ran. As he was dressed in a simple grass skirt, he died rather quickly of exposure to the cold and wind and was eaten by coyotes. Kane said a prayer for the pineapple and teleported back to Hawaii. The pineapple stayed fresh on the side of highway 49 for some time.

Was it ever picked up? Who knows.

But you can bet your ass I'll be looking for it on my way home tonight.

M. PotPie

Oh! No, I don't remember....

2006-02-10T08:49:00.000-06:00

I had the best idea for a post yesterday while sitting on the toilet and dropping a deuce. But I've since forgotten it. It was one of those "Oh! That's perfect!" ideas, too. And now it's gone, flushed away like so much once-proud food that your body has masticated, swallowed, sucked the nutrients out of and converted to fecal matter.

I spent a good portion of my thirty-five minute drive to work racking my brain, trying desperately to remember the idea so that I could share it with you...and I have failed. I humbly beg your forgiveness and ask you instead to slog through this second-rate posting.

Oh! To remember!

To recall! To share the joy!

Instead...it is lost.

Would it be too much?

Impossible? Maybe so.

It could be the Green....

M. PotPie

Anonymous Candy

2006-02-09T08:19:00.000-06:00

When I got to work this morning I found a bag of Valentine's Day candy on my desk. There was no note, no name, nothing to indicate who it came from. It contains the following:

1: 5 Hershey's Kisses
2: 2 Reese's Peanut Butter Cups
3: 1 KitKat "Conversations" (LOOK FOR A SPECIAL MESSAGE INSIDE!)
4: A bag of several candy hearts with fairly unintelligible messages. ( E Mar, All Stap, You, Cut Me, You & M)

I'm keeping the one that says Cut Me. I'm tempted to open the Kit Kat to see what the special message could possibly be (perhaps Eat Me?), but it's far too early for Kit Kat eating.

But this strange bag of candy does bring up an interesting question..actually two.

1: Who the hell is this from?
2: Should I eat it? (And does eating it imply something beyond satisfying my sweet tooth?)

Ok, that was three questions, bite me.

I just ate some of the candy. I may be doomed.

M. PotPie

An Evangelical Fairy Tale

2006-02-02T15:23:00.000-06:00

Once upon a time, in a land not very far from here, unless you consider six miles to be very far, lived a clan of Jesus. They built a very fine house and invited everyone they met to come see it.

"Come and see our house!" They would say. "Isn't it lovely? We built it with love, you know. Love and donations."

The Elder of the clan was named Barney and he was the best prayer they had. He had more prayer points than anyone else in any clan in any land. Barney was certainly more holy than you or I and people became very jealous of him. A man at a bar once said:

"That Barney has prayers coming out of his ass. I hate that fuckin' guy."

He was a vulgar man and not central to this story so we shall move on without him.

One day a group of thugs and gays came by the clan's very fine house shouting slogans and, can you believe it? asking for equality! Some of the younger members of the Jesus clan ran to the basement to get Barney and tell him what was going on outside. Barney told them not to worry, that he would take care of it, that he had the perfect prayer for the interlopers. So he finished the lesson he was teaching the new recruits, pulled up his pants and went outside, armed with the perfect prayer:

The Prayer of Intolerance.

The thugs and gays were making an awful racket (some of them had bullhorns) and they were shrieking for equality. Barney calmly folded his hands and called upon Jesus to not tolerate this riff-raff and send them packing.

Jesus descended from Heaven on a fluffy white cloud. Soft music was playing (the muzak version of Freebird). He was draped in a rebel flag and had a magical mullet topped by a halo. Jesus smote the thugs and gays and sent them to hell.

This, Barney thought, is the true power of prayer. Jesus waved to Barney as he ascended back to heaven. Barney smiled. The Jesus clan smiled. All was well.

The End.

2006-02-01T11:01:00.000-06:00

I feel something odd in the air, a different sort of vibration...an "unsettling". Revolution is at hand. Our country stands on the brink of collapse, of a return to theocracy, a modern day Crusade.

Our only weapon is the vote, and even that right is under attack, has been rendered almost meaningless. So what do we do when all means of protest and dissent are outlawed? What do we do when the Federalist movement takes over the Supreme Court, when all things are viewed through the filter of the original constitution, minus any amendments, minus the Bill of Rights?

No more presidential term limits? Oh yes, they could do it. Mr. Alito may have been the last piece of the puzzle.

I fear the future that is at hand.

Perhaps it's time to organize...or maybe it's already too late.

Bah

2006-01-24T12:38:00.000-06:00

I tire of the blog. I begin to even hate the word, equating it with fecal evacuation.

"I have to go take a blog."

I fear I must take a sabbatical from the blogging, lest this be the end.

The good news is that with my tax return I shall buy a computer for my home and do most of my writing there instead of here, at work. I feel that my blogging will improve if I can do it mostly naked and stoned. Or perhaps that is a recipe for disaster.

I'll continue to write, and if you wish you may find some of my entries, along with some other fine writers better than myself, here: superbadass.net

For now, I bid you a fond adieu. But I shall return.

M. PotPie

A Fashionable Death (Part Three)

2006-01-18T08:43:00.000-06:00

(Yes, yes I know. It's about damn time. I'd offer excuses, but they would be lies.)

As we approached the bus station in Detroit I dialed up Janet on my cell phone. She was supposed to be waiting for me but I wanted to be sure she was there. The last thing I wanted was to be alone at the downtown bus station surrounded by degenerates.

"You may speak." Janet's voice in my ear made me smile. She had always posessed this weird, superior quality, as if she were royalty, and had never said or done anything to make me think otherwise. It rubbed a lot of people the wrong way, but I loved it.

"Janet! Don here. The bus is about to arrive, I just wanted to make sure you were there to get me. I do not want to be hanging around this dump very long."

"Donald. My dear Donald, I am already here, have been for an hour. L'attente ici pour vous avec la prevision hors d'haleine."

With that she hung up. What more was there to say? The bus pulled into the station and everyone stood up, seemingly at the same time, and began shuffling around preparing to get off. I only had a backpack with me and was ready to go so I started maneuvering towards the front of the bus. I managed to make it almost all the way to the front by the time the bus stopped and the driver opened the doors.

When the doors did open, Detroit hit me in the face like Tommy Hearns in his prime. Diesel fumes, asphalt, body odor and the noise assaulted my senses and sent me reeling for a moment. I came back to myself just as I was being shoved from behind and cursed at. Ah, Detroit! It's a lot like New Orleans in some respects, the music and the people, but where Detroit smells like diesel fumes, New Orleans smells like a deep dark roux. I made my way through the bus station and out to the parking lot.

I spied Janet sitting on the hood of her car smoking a cigarette, looking regal. I had known her since grade school and she was my best friend in the world. In high school everyone thought she was a dyke because she cut her hair short, wore combat boots and didn't date any boys they knew of. I happened to know that she preferred older men and short, profitable affairs. She didn't think of herself as a prostitute so much as a provider of services. On more than a few occasions she had been dropped off at home in a limousine which prompted her parents to call me to find out what was going on. She still hasn't told me who she was seeing, claiming that if their identities became public it would 'compromise' them. I believe her.

As I got closer she tossed her cigarette down and ground it under what appeared to be a very expensive pair of heels, Ferregamos by the look. She was definitely wearing Chanel and I wondered if she was 'back in business', so to speak. The car she had been sitting on didn't say so, it looked like an old Honda, but if the shoes and clothes were authentic...well, what did I care? I was just happy to see her.

"Donald, darling, it's been too long. You're wasting yourself down in that abysmal swamp of a state. And putting on weight, by the looks of it. What are you eating down there?"

"Shut up Janet, the food is great and you know it. You look fantastic! But where's Mark? I was hoping he'd be with you."

She backed up and looked at me.

"Donald, didn't you hear?"

"Hear what?" I didn't like the question or the tone in her voice.

"Oh shit, Don. You don't know. Shit."

"Know what? What's wrong with Mark?" I was getting a bit panicked. Janet opened her purse and pulled out her cigarettes, offering me one. I accepted. After lighting them she spoke again.

"Don, Mark's in jail."

"What? What for? Why?"

"Hold on, it gets worse. He's been charged with murder."

"Murder?! Oh my god!" I was in total shock. I couldn't imagine Mark ever killing anyone.

"That's not all, Don. He's been accused of killing Robert."

I dropped my cigarette and may have fainted. I came to in the passenger seat of Janet's Honda, staring out the window. She may have been speaking, I don't know, it was all a blur. One of my best friends accused of killing my first boyfriend...it was too much to believe. I felt something pressed into my hand and looking down I saw it was a metal flask. A drink was exactly what I needed to clear my head. But what were we going to do?

(To be continued)

M. PotPie

Well.

2006-01-17T08:48:00.000-06:00

So it's been a week since I last posted. My bad. Maybe I should finally just get a damn pc at home. But I'll continue the new story today. Promise.

A Fashionable Death (Part Two)

2006-01-10T08:59:00.000-06:00

(Stupid title, I know. Suggestions are welcome)

The bus ride from New Orleans to Detroit took forever. I'm not really sure how long it actually was, or even what states we went through, and I guess I don't care. The only thing I was interested in was getting off the damned thing and away from my fellow passengers. During the trip I made a hundred silent vows to save more money so I could fly and avoid riding on this travelling cesspool.

I arrived somewhat later than the forty-five minutes prior to departure the bus line had suggested, so when I boarded there were very few seats left, all of them in the rear. I had really wanted to have a seat to myself but that was out of the question now. Looking over the possible seats I decided to take one next to a bookish looking woman that I assumed was somewhere in her late forties. She was already reading so I figured she'd at the very least be quiet. The seat had the bonus of being very near the bathroom as well. At least I thought it would be a bonus.

I don't know if it was something in the air, bus fumes or whether people that habitually ride buses have digestion problems, but I swear the little stall of a bathroom was never empty. Not once, for the entire eleven hundred mile trip. And every damn person that went in there smelled worse than the one before, a hellish parade of human waste, both figuratively and literally.

But that wasn't the worst part. No, the worst part was that the kind folks waiting in line for their turn wanted to talk. To me. I had the aisle seat and must have looked very approachable that day because nothing I did, from reading the newspaper I brought along to pretending to sleep, could stop them from trying to chat with me. Even when I put the newspaper in front of my face they wanted to talk. One woman in particular decided to read the other side of the page I was looking at and wanted to discuss the story.

"Oh my. Oh dear. Oh! Can you believe it?"

I folded the page down and glared at her, giving her my meanest look. It didn't phase her at all.

"Can you imagine going through all that, just for an animal? Some people, eh?"

I had no idea what she was talking about so I glanced at the story. Apparently a couple in Shreveport had a newborn that was horribly allergic to cats. They loved their cat so much that they built an addition on to the house just so they could keep it. Weirdos.

"I can't believe that they really wanted a cat that bad. Well, it just goes to show you eh? Now I'm a dog lover myself. How about you?"

I had no interest in continuing this conversation and was silently praying for the bathroom door to open so she could go in. Even the stench that was sure to come out was better than this. I decided to take drastic measures.

"Me? I hate animals. All of them. The only things they're good for are eating and wearing."

That did the trick. She tut-tutted to herself and left me alone after that. I could not wait to get to Detroit.

I managed to take a bit of a nap and woke up when we made a pit stop. I had no idea where we were so I tried to track down the bus driver and ask her, but I couldn't find her. We were outside a little cafe called the Tick Tock, which promised fine dining and family specials. There was also a huge red sign on the roof that said "EAT". I decided not to obey this particular command. I walked back to the bus thinking I would try to continue my nap. As I got on I passed an older gentelman in a fishing hat.

"Excuse me sir, do you know where we are?"

"Yep." He answered without looking at me.

Well. Serves me right for asking a direct question. I tried a different tactic.

"Ok..well can you tell me how far we are from Detroit?"

"Yep." Still not a glance my way.

"Well, will you please tell me?"

"Yep. It's only a fur piece away, a coupla errs or so."

"Well...thank you."

"Yep. Don't mention it."

I walked back to my seat rolling my eyes and wishing the trip was over. Later of course I wished I had never made it in the first place.

(To be continued)

M. PotPie

The Flu is Gone

2006-01-10T08:19:00.000-06:00

First off, thank you for all of your healthful wishes. And if you didn't want me to get better well...screw you. Thankfully it was not the bird flu thing. Nor SARS. It was awful, though. But thanks to good old-fashioned, home made chicken soup (with matzo balls, of course) I'm back and ready to resume, as Indy put it, Regularly Scheduled Programming. Part two of the new story is coming today.

M. PotPie

Sick Day

2006-01-06T08:52:00.000-06:00

Yo. This monkey is nasty sick & going home. So there will be no story today, children. I shall return on Monday.

M. PotPie

Untitled so far

2006-01-05T12:55:00.000-06:00

Okay, here's the first installment. It may be quite a bit longer than I thought.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Now don’t forget people, you may be on break but a designer never stops working, creating, thinking. Use your families and their respective dysfunctions as inspiration. What works for the holidays? What doesn’t? What’s new, or old, what’s just plain plebeian? I expect you to have a winter line in mind when you get back and to at least have drawings. Now scoot!”

Mr. Enderle’s lisp had barely faded, a tea kettle just taken off the stove, and I was already thinking of going home. Well, that and the fact that I had better come up with a new idea soon. I had been teamed up with Julia, we had planned on finishing design school as a team, but lately I had been doing all the work. I knew I shouldn’t have complained about it, that she would do something rude if I did, but I couldn’t help myself. We had…well, I had really come up with some great ideas and a killer theme, and the bitch turned it in as her own behind my back. Now I was stuck at square one. I had complained about it to my mother just yesterday.

“Mom, my winter theme has been stolen, and all I can say is fuck! Fuck fuck fuck!”

“Donald, honey, relax. I’m sure you’ll come up with a new one. What did you say to Mr. Enderle?”

“Ugh. Mother, Mr. Enderle is too much of a submissive bottom to do anything. I’m better off on my own.”

“Really, Donald, do you have to speak like that? It’s just so…gay. Not that I don’t love you honey, but your kind isn’t exactly front page material right now, right? Oh, I can’t wait to see you, it’s been too long!”

My kind. Like it’s a choice I’ve made, to love boys. If she was clueless, my father was even worse. Did I mention that I was looking forward to going home? Well, not for those two. My brother Brian, yes, and some friends from high school, but not them. I figured I’d do the holiday thing as quietly as possible, promised myself I wouldn’t make a fuss and spend most of the time with Brian and my friends. Specifically Janet and Mark. Of course, the possibility of ‘accidentally’ running into Robert was in the back of my mind as well.

Robert was my first boyfriend, my first kiss and my first penis that wasn’t my own. I was sixteen at the time, he was 30 and very unhappily married. A classic case of living in denial of his true nature. He had a wife and two kids and was terrified that they would one day find out about his secret life with me. We had broken things off when I decided to go to design school, but still exchanged letters once in a while. I had written that I was coming home, but he said with all the family around it would be hard to get away. We’ll just see about that.

I had decided on taking the bus home instead of flying. Not because I like the bus, mind you, but because it was far more economical. I was working part time as a waiter, which paid the rent, and I could eat for free at the restaurant, but after money for booze and the occasional drug binge I was broke. I had made everybody’s gifts this year, designed them myself, so I was able to save a lot there. I had considered car-pooling, but no one in my class was from Michigan. So, the bus it was.

The bus station in New Orleans was possibly the dirtiest place I had ever been, and that includes several disreputable spots in the French Quarter. New Orleans is a dreamworld if you love debauchery, which I do, but with that comes a price: filth. And it’s not just the streets and buildings. It’s the people. If you want to know where the demons from the lowest circle of hell hang out, it’s in the bus station in downtown New Orleans. And their leader, conveniently enough, decided to sit down next to me while I was waiting, even though there were empty seats everywhere.

He was filthy. Absolutely filthy, and he smelled like a combination of ashtray, ass, cheap wine and, strangely enough, lemon Pledge. He had probably been huffing it. But the worst part was his eyes. Crazy. One hundred percent certifiable. And, as luck would have it, he decided to speak to me.

“Hey you. You. You. Hey you.”

I tried ignoring him. When it looked like he was about to touch me I decided to answer.

“What? What what what what what?

He smiled, showing blackened stumps of teeth and a white coated tongue.

“In Bizarro world, people are rooted to the ground and the TREES walk about!” He cackled, sending his fetid and disgusting breath my way. I gagged, got up and walked away. He didn’t follow, thank god. I couldn’t wait for the bus to arrive.

M. PotPie

Alrighty Then

2006-01-04T13:39:00.000-06:00

Ok, here's the deal: Between now and tomorrow I'll be writing a new story using every sentence you lovely folks have so graciously provided. (Chicken I have another idea for ours...gratuitous sex indeed!).

I'm at work until 5pm Central time, so if I get any more between now (1:45pm) and then I'll use those as well.

Y'all be cool and shit.

M. PotPie

New Fear For A New Year

2006-01-03T09:52:00.000-06:00

I have started this year the same way I ended the last one: Uninspired. I'm finding it more and more difficult to do this on a daily basis without resorting to gimmicks. Have I run out of ideas? Do I just not care anymore? Has the energy-sapping & deadly ennui become permanent?

I simply don't know. Only time will tell, and that of course is the worst thing that can take place. Time moves slowly when uninspired, dragging on and clanking like old tin cans still attached to a new couple's car long after the newness is gone and complacency has set in.

I want this blog to be a creative outlet, not a diary or confessional. So I have a favor to ask:

Please supply me with one sentence. It can be dialogue, descriptive or completely non-sensical. It can be anything at all. I'll choose one or two (or more if necessary) and write new stories based on them and including them.

Thank you in advance. I figure with a bunch of freaky people like yourselves around this should be a good time.

M. PotPie

Randomness

2005-12-30T08:22:00.000-06:00

Hello. I have been awake since 2am. I am barely functioning, and the bits of my brain that are working are not the ones normally used throughout the day. I'm rather concerned about what will happen at work and I'm considering just going home.

For the moment, I give you:

Bits & Pieces.

After reading Chicken's latest entry I began thinking about clowns:

The clown is smiling, always smiling, but the smile doesn't reach it's eyes. All clowns are "it's". How can you tell sex under baggy clothes and so much make-up? Maybe that's why I hate them so much. What if I went to a circus and found myself in the front row of the center ring, enjoying popcorn or a candy apple and a clown winked at me? I would be aroused but not know if the clown were male or female. I would follow the clown to it's trailer, missing the elephants and women who stand on horses, hoping to quench my libido in the wet innards of the clown. What if it took it's clown suit off and revealed a penis? I would be forced to kill the clown to preserve my manhood.

Would you like to buy a necklace of clown ears?

Let's see, what else do I have......?

I smell cat urine. I do not own a cat. There is no cat in the building I live in. There is no cat at work. I think I'm losing my mind.

Pray for me. I am lost.

M. PotPie

Channukah Chaiku

2005-12-28T16:12:00.000-06:00

Now it's Channukah
Christmas is over, gentiles!
Time to play with fire.

Christmas gifts suck bad?
Hurry to the return line!
We get it wholesale.

I think it's quite sad,
All the Christmas trees now dead
In the name of Christ.

Hey! Where's my dreidel?
A spinning top and a game..
I won all your gelt.

Channukah prayer:
Baruch atah adonai
Forgotten meaning

Quick! Light the candles!
What day is this? How many?
I don't know. Let's eat.

Boring Channukah
No Santa, no tree, no fun.
Hey, it could be worse.

Blah Effin' Blah

2005-12-28T11:47:00.000-06:00

I really don't feel like posting anything today...but the alternative to that is working. And I guess I feel less like working than I do posting. So what subject could I possibly write about that would keep my attention long enough to complete a decent entry even though I have no urge do do so?

My penis! Of course!

I won't lie and tell you I have eight inches of throbbing man-meat in my trousers, nor will I tell you that it's stamina is comparable to marathon runners. I can say that it's roughly six and three quarters inches long (not that I've measured.....) and that while it's girth is not freakish it is more than adequate.

He bends slightly to the left, as if something has caught his attention. He's outgoing, gregarious and always ready for a party. He prefers boxer/briefs to either boxers or briefs, though if he had his choice there would be no covering at all.

He dislikes the cold and would prefer to spend time in a warm, wet vagina. Or mouth. He is also very fond of handshakes.

Let's see...what else can I tell you?

He does have one bad habit... When he gets overly excited he tends to spit. A lot.

There. I think that's sufficient for the day.

M. PotPie

It's A Question of Etiquette.

2005-12-27T08:46:00.000-06:00

First of all, thank god christmas is over. No more christmas music for this bitter Jew. (Well, truth be told, I'm not that bitter but I like to pretend to be. On top of that I do enjoy James Brown's christmas album. Santa Claus..go straight to the ghetto)

Secondly, if you do celebrate the holiday and were with family over the weekend, or loved ones of any sort, I hope all went well and your weekend was as dysfunction-less as possible.

And now, back to me.

For those of you who come here on a regular basis (for which I thank you) and are familiar with my adventures with Astarte, I should inform you that she now lives in Madison, which is only an hour south of me. I suppose you could say we are an 'item' or 'non-boyfriend/non-girlfriend', to steal from Chicken. For those of you who don't know of whom I speak, I refer you here:

http://lostintheblender.blogspot.com/2005/11/story-part-one.html

Anyhoo, I do actually have a story to tell, so let's get to it, shall we?

We shall.

Saturday Astarte and I decided to pay my parents (Well, my mother and her man. They've been together for 19 years and aren't married, so I don't know what to call them.) a visit, maybe have dinner, so on and so on. It was a nice day for Wisconsin in the winter..around 40 degrees, little peeks of sun here and there, no real wind. The drive from Astarte's apartment to my parent's home takes roughly 20 minutes. Plenty of time to get in trouble.

I'm driving rather leisurely, enjoying the scenery and hardly cursing the other drivers at all. Ray Charles is on the cd player singing "I've got a woman...wayy over town...that's good to me...oh yeah." I'm smiling, singing with Ray and thinking 'yeah, oh yeah. I have one too, Ray.'.

That's when it starts.

The hand on my knee. Up my thigh. Between my legs. Caressing, kneading, grabbing. Before I know it my pants are undone and Mr. Smith (as he has been christened) is free and very much enjoying the attention he's receiving. I'm ok while it's just the hand, I can still drive and pay attention to the road.

But the mouth...oh, the mouth. A blowjob while driving is a real and dangerous pleasure...especially on a bumpy rural road. But I'm a trooper. I manage just fine. Until....

She stops, reaches under her chest and picks up my cell phone from the console between the seats, buzzing it's angry buzz.

"Here." she says, handing me the phone.

Oh. Oh, damn. The ex-wife.

Now here's the etiquette question: Do you answer it?

(I'll tell you what I did later)

M. PotPie

Phone Call

2005-12-23T08:33:00.000-06:00

Don't do it, don't do it...stupid stupid stupid idea....I'm saying these things to myself, in my head, but my mouth won't listen, determined to continue on it's pathetic journey. The words come out sounding hollow and needy in my ears.

"I think you should come over."I close my eyes and see her bow her head, her shoulders sag (those strong, freckled shoulders) and I can hear the inaudible sigh.

"I....don't think so. No, no."

"Why not? You're doing nothing, I'm doing nothing, we can do nothing together."

"We did nothing for ten years. I'd rather do something now, with someone."

It hurts. But I don't care anymore. I've lived with the pain so long I'm used to it, like a rotten tooth it throbs and aches every day, but it won't stop me from eating.

"Come on, we'll just hang out, I won't bite."

Oh my god, I'm pathetic. Why can't I just shut up? Now she'll say something purposefully mean to show me she means business.

"Look, don't even try to tell me you just want to be friends. Do you think I'm an idiot? I'll come over, you'll keep my glass full of booze...we'll eat, sit down, watch a movie..you'll start to rub my shoulders and I'll get uncomfortable waiting for the inevitable breath on my neck, behind my ears. I'm done with that. I'm done with you. You need to accept that and move on. I'm not in love with you now, and the more time we spend apart I question whether I ever was."

What did I tell you? Always a good shot, that girl. But do I stop? Hell no!

"Fair enough, fair enough. I understand how you feel." Uh oh, the salesman is coming out. "But tell me something: Is it me you're afraid of...or yourself? Afraid you'll give in, have a good time and regret it tomorrow? Or maybe you won't regret it but will pretend you do because you can't ever admit when you're wrong?"

We had never fought in all the time we were married, but now I had some perverse desire to pick a fight and hear her yell at me. Hell, at least it would be an emotional reaction.

"Look, I'm not coming over, ok? Shit, you make me hate the fact that I even called you. I feel some stupid obligation, some duty to you, to make sure you're ok. But that's it. That. Is. It. I'm not coming back, I'm not changing my mind. Goodbye."

There's a pause before she hangs up..of course I'm waiting for "I'm sorry" but it never comes. Just a click and a dial tone.

There's always tomorrow.

M. PotPie

Double Post Thursday

2005-12-22T10:51:00.000-06:00

So my co-workers have come up with a new game for the holiday season:

Let's Tease The Jew!

The first part of the game is for everyone here to come up and wish me a merry christmas. Then they say "Oh...I'm sorry..happy holiday..or channukah...JEW!" and run off laughing.

Ok, I made that last part up, but it would be funnier if they did.

Truthfully my Jewishness (Jewocity? Jewtasticness?) makes them uncomfortable and I'm very tempted to use this to my advantage. But how? Suggestions are welcome.

M. PotPie

An Ode To My Shorts

2005-12-22T10:12:00.000-06:00

Eat my shorts! Eat them! Chew the cotton, it hasn't been washed! Can you taste my holiness? My shorts contain wonders, even when I'm not wearing them. They are a being unto themselves, glorious in khaki, zippered, buttoned and self-aware.

Eat them now! You salivate and deny yourself, why? My shorts desire to be eaten, masticated into pulp, digested, shat out and be made into shorts again.

Or perhaps my shorts should devour you?

M. PotPie

Violence for Wednesday

2005-12-21T08:31:00.000-06:00

Today's post was inspired by a visit here: http://superbadass.net/blog/

After reading the lovely & talented Terra T's (do yourself a favor and check her out....the writing, pervert) entry today the following spilled out of my fractured skull:

"So there I am, minding my own business, and this guy comes up and asks if he should know me. I'm like 'What? What the fuck is that supposed to mean, should you know me?'. And he says 'You have a famous face, like I've seen it before but can't remember who you are.' Can you believe that shit?"

She drones on and for what was probably only a few minutes but what seemed an eternity. She's an attractive girl, which is why I asked her out for a drink, but the more she talks the uglier she becomes. I don't mind if a girl swears, but in her horrible Brooklyn accent it makes her sound stupid, uneducated. I expect her to clear her throat and spit on the floor.

"So can you believe that shit or what?"

I mumble something along the lines of 'No, how dare he?' and she continues on about the nerve of the guy, blah blah blah. That's when I hit her with the beer bottle. Her nose explodes in a shower of blood and she falls to the floor, a stunned look on her face, her stupid cow eyes wide with surprise...and fear? Yes, fear. Now she's beautiful, now I want her, I reach for her, my smile telling her it will be ok and that I can love her now if she'll let me. She opens her mouth...to tell me she loves me too?

No, to scream. Her fingers reach for her shattered face and come away bloody, she stares at them, her blood-covered talons, and shrieks again, the cry of a harpy. Her ugly voice vomits a stream of obscenities and my smile fades as I move towards her, my only thought to make her be quiet. I lift my foot to squash her like an ugly bug, I want to feel her guts pop out of her hard shell, I long for the cracking sound that will bring the silence and bring back the love....

M. PotPie

Hateful X-Mas Haiku

2005-12-20T10:12:00.000-06:00

Feel free to join in!

Jesus' Birthday
Is December Twenty Fifth
Why Don't We Get Cake?

I hate the x-mas
Call me Ebeneezer Scrooge
Bah, Humbug bitches!

Three wise men my ass
Just three guys lost in the sand
More than likely stoned

Christmas music hurts
It's a Waissault on my ears
Lord, please make it stop

This year for Christmas
What I really, really want
Is for you to die.

I slipped on the ice
Outside the department store
Now I'll sue Santa

M. PotPie

Guinness & New Tires

2005-12-19T11:15:00.000-06:00

So here I am, minding my own business, trying to tie on a good drunk and tie down the barmaid. She isn't cooperating. The bar is packed with amateurs and easy drunks, the dregs and dullards, people who need an excuse to have a good time. Leave it to the professionals, I say. My Guinness is at the perfect temperature, my mind is slowing and expanding and I'm ready for adventure. Or jail. We'll see which happens first.

Usually I drink alone at home, which some sad people will tell you is wrong, but I find myself to be very good company. And really, masturbating in public is still frowned on. I'm at the bar because I'm celebrating the liberation of a great deal of money from my wallet. Be free, tens and twenties! Fly, green eagle, soar into the void and swell the pockets of corporations and parasites!

I had to buy new tires, you see. All four plus an alignment. The grand total? $700. Yep. That's seven hundred of my hard-earned dollars. I needed new tires because I had neglected to rotate the ones I had, so they rebelled and broke their steel-belted bonds, bent on destruction, mine or theirs they didn't care. Ungrateful rubber bastards. Did I mention that I'm drinking Guinness? I often wonder where civilization would be without it? Certainly Ireland would be worse off...and so would I. Guinness fuels mad dreams and long drunks. It cures lovesickness, lifesickness and sickness sickness, a brown elixir both magical and delicious.

When I drink Guinness I become the Brown Rambler! Story lines and continuity be damned! I would wear a cape, but I am not that fanciful.

M. PotPie

Put On Your Thinking Caps

2005-12-16T08:23:00.000-06:00

After learning today that our kinda-sorta-voted-in president allowed the NSA to spy on people in the U.S. (http://www.yahoo.com/s/265231), I started thinking of political movements and governments that used to do the same thing. Certainly it starts with the best of intentions, but soon after a police state evolves and crimes are committed by that same government in the name of security.

How much of our freedom have we given up? Perhaps a better question is "How much of our freedom has been taken from us?" Are the elected folks in Washington and in our home states really representing us? Or are they instead acting in their own best interests and securing legacies for their brood?

I find myself scared of the path we've been led down and wondering about the evolution of democracy in our country. If in fact the people we choose to represent us don't have our best interests at heart, where does that leave us? We've become like a colony of worker bees, our only reason for existence is to grow the hive and protect the queen, occasionally exporting another queen and starting a new hive. We've been turned into nothing but consumers, seemingly having no say at all in this administrations policies no matter which way we vote.

If you have the time, follow these links: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Corporatocracy

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Corporatism

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Clerical_fascism

M. PotPie

'Tis The Season For Giving

2005-12-15T08:55:00.000-06:00

I've finally figured out what I want for Christmas. Nevermind that I'm Jewish and don't celebrate the silly holiday. People keep asking me what I want or hope to get so I've been forced to come up with an answer. My goal was to come up with something so ridiculous that after hearing it people would stop, stare at me, shake their heads and walk away. Oh, and then maybe stop asking me, this year and every year after.

This idea came to me as I was walking up the stairs from the accounting department here at work. I was staring at the carpet on the stairs, thinking how old and drab it looked, when it hit me:

This year, for Christmas, I want four women. Two to walk in front of me sprinkling rose petals, and two to walk behind to clean them up so they may be re-used. I am nothing if I am not neat and enviromentally responsible. I would prefer an ethnic variety, perhaps Asian or African, but would realistically settle for any woman willing to do it. They will dress in gossamer gowns and wear fairy wings, and would be required to flit. They will not speak. If spoken to they will smile shyly, cover their mouths and turn away in a cloud of rose petals.

I can't wait for someone to ask me what I want for Christmas today.

M. PotPie

God & Me

2005-12-14T10:51:00.000-06:00

So I had a nice, long conversation with the almighty last night over a few Guinness and a pack of Camel Lights out on my deck. Sure, it was about fifteen degrees and snowing, but that deity puts off a lot of heat so it was ok. I didn't even need a hat. I thought I'd share the conversation with you.

Me: "Sooo. God. That's gotta be tough."

Him: "That's putting it lightly. You'd be amazed at how many selfish, self-serving, greedly little bastards are running around. If I hear one more fucking prayer to win a lottery I'll shit."

Me: "I hear you. Well, not that people pray to me, but they bitch at me all day about wanting money. I'm a loan officer, so it's kind of the same thing. People walking in with all these sob stories about needing money or their kids will have no christmas, blah blah blah. Say, I've always wondered, what does your son think about this holiday?"

Him: "Who, Jesus? We don't talk much anymore. Ever since his mother and I separated...well, things got weird. He started calling Joseph 'dad', and they were hanging out all the time. I figured I'd just back off and let him come to Me when he was ready. But you know kids, they only call when they're in trouble."

Me: "Actually I have no kids, so I don't know, but I can empathize. Need another beer?"

Him: "Yeah, thanks. Can I bum another smoke from you?"

Me: "Help yourself."

Him: "These things are gonna kill me one day, but I just can't quit."

Me: "Say what? Kill you? Seriously? But...you're, like, almighty!"

Him: "Yeah, but do you have any idea how much crap is in these? Hell, there's stuff in there that I sure as hell never created!"

Me: "Wow. But that does raise an interesting question. So which is it, creation or evolution?"

Him: "Ah, yes, the eternal, unanswerable question."

Me: "I thought that was "Why are we here?"

Him: "Oh..right. Anyway, it's both. Or neither. Whatever you want to believe. To be perfectly frank, I don't recall. I'm not sure if I created the Earth or was born when the Earth came together."

Me: "I see. So what about the why we're here bit?"

Him: "Hell, I don't know why I'm here! What makes you think I know why you're here?"

Me: "I thought you knew everything?"

Him: "Man, I smoked that part of my brain away long ago. So let me ask you this: What's it like being human?"

Me: "Well, sometimes it's cool, but most of the time it's...well..nothing. You just live, day to day, and hope nothing horrible happens. I'm not saying I cower in fear all day being paranoid and shit, but life is crazy sometimes. You're born, you live, you die."

Him: "Yeah, sometimes I wonder about the whole 'free will' bit. But to be honest I can't keep track of everyone anyway. You people are like rabbits the way you multiply."

There was some more conversation, but mostly it was just two guys (well, he looked like a guy) hanging out, drinking beer and bullshitting. Oh, one thing, turns out He hates NASCAR but loves golf. I guess that explains His shirt. I think He's coming by on Sunday to watch football at my place; He says watching football helps drown out the sound of all the people in church. So if you have any questions for Him, let me know and I'll ask Him.

M. PotPie

Voila! Nothing Underneath

2005-12-13T09:34:00.000-06:00

Today I have gone commando. Beneath my finely tailored pants you'll find no underwear, neither boxers nor briefs, just my manhood free and clear of cotton encumbrance. My shaven huevos rub alternately against the light wool of my pants and my thighs, creating a delightful contrast of sensation, a bit scratchy then smooth, cool then warm. I love it.

I find myself making excuses to walk around, increasing the sensation to a dangeruous point where my arousal would become obvious. I also wonder who else may be undergarment-less today and sharing the freedom I feel. I would ask, but surely that would be in the realm of sexual harassment.

So I keep my secret and wonder about others, smug and secure in the hidden knowledge.

M. PotPie

Mundaneday

2005-12-12T11:23:00.000-06:00

It's Monday and there's a turd in my coffee. Well, there may as well be, that's about how I feel coming to work today. And though my first instinct is to completely mail it in today and re-post a previous entry, my fear of Lieutenant A.P. of BlogForce nixes that idea. So, instead, I give you this, the lyrics to a song from a great band (and my current favorite) Flogging Molly. It's from their album (am I old for saying album instead of cd?) Swagger, entitled...

"The Worst Day Since Yesterday"

Well I know, I miss more than hit.

With a face that was launched to sink.

And I seldom feel the bright relief.