Pastor Nate Yarborough knew since early on that he wanted to be a clergyman. He grew up in a Christian home and believed in God as long as he could remember. He dreamed of being a minister someday and becoming the pastor of  his own church. At only thirty-one-years-old, his dream came true. He was young, yet head pastor at Hope Christian Church and had a medium sized congregation that was thriving. To add to his dream-come-true, he had a beautiful wife, Veronica, and darling three-and-a half-year-old daughter, Michaela.

Jesus was the center of his life, but Veronica was the one who kept him grounded. Michaela was just the light of his world, a special blessing in his life. She was a happy baby who was just a typical daddy’s girl. When her father came home from his job she would squeal with delight and go running to him, at first as a wobbly toddler and then to a quick, little girl who would sprint to the door.  

“Daddy’s home!” she would announce in a big voice.

Nate would swoop up Michaela up in his arms as he planted gentle kisses upon her little cheek. “Michaela, my sunshine girl!” he would shout. “There’s my little beauty!” He definitely wanted more children, but he was thankful and felt so blessed to have her be his very first.      

“That is how we should with our heavenly father”, Veronica told Nate, in admiration of those two in action, “and not run from him in fear.”

Yet one day Michaela was having seizures and became quite ill. She transformed from a bubbly child to one who fussed and cried and didn’t want to play very much.  Her worried parents took her to the doctor, and she was put through a battery of tests. The church was praying for little Michaela, but the diagnosis was grim and shocking. She had a brain tumor. Her parent’s worst fears had been confirmed. Her tumor was malignant and it was inoperable.

Veronica would open up the outpouring of cards and letters of well wishes from parishioners. So many people were praying for the family. Veronica had hope even as her husband was growing distant as his little girl became sicker and sicker. In spite of treatment, in spite of prayers, little Michaela succumbed to her sickness. Her bright, little spirit was forever gone from their home.

“We will have more children”, Veronica assured her husband through her tears. “We will get through this—together. With God’s help, we’ll get through this!”  

Nate didn’t respond. Veronica felt him stiffen in his lackluster embrace. She stiffened, too, for she knew that wasn't of Nate's character, and she could tell by his face that he wasn’t buying any of it.  

His sermons now became shorter, far less engaging. They weren’t full of encouraging stories or inspirational words of faith, of challenging the defeated to never give up, and imploring everyone to always turn to the Lord—in bad times as well as the good.  

People in the church rallied behind Pastor Nate and his wife. They offered meals during the time that Michaela was laid out in the funeral home and finally laid to rest. They offered more prayers, encouraging words, and hugs for the couple to make it through this rough storm in their lives. A pastor friend of Nate conducted the funeral but Nate hardly heard a word. Veronica grew worried.

There were many in the congregation who grew concerned, too. They still were supportive, but now the elders and deacons had no choice but to gather at a meeting and figure out what to do. Nate’s leadership role was falling apart. His life, no doubt,  was falling apart.

“Why does God punish some on this earth who are innocent?” he asked one time at the pulpit.  “There are no answers when your heart is torn out from you, when you serve God with all you have, and He does this to you. Why? Perhaps, there is no such being as God. Perhaps, it is wishful thinking and we have all been duped…I’ve thought about it and I’ve searched the Scriptures, yet I get nothing there . I think the atheists aren’t so out of bounds, after all.”

Sitting a few rows back, Veronica looked nervously around. She heard some of the gasps in the crowd, heard many whispers, and saw the shocked faces. She laid her head in her hands and was too scared out of her mind to even pray.

“We are sorry, Veronica”, one of the elders told her one day. “We tried to reason with your husband. We care about you both, but this cannot go on. We asked Pastor Nate to get seek out some help—to step down temporarily—but he didn’t even flinch. He says he’s never coming back. He just doesn’t believe anymore. And he just doesn’t care. ”

Veronica tried to get Nate to go to counseling with her. She needed it, too, and he wasn’t helping her any. This church was his dream, and sure his daughter had tragically died, but he needed to hold it together—for their sake. To crumble on her was too much on top of losing her daughter. He just couldn’t do this!

She could handle her grief far better if they could remain a team. But he didn’t want to talk, wouldn’t listen to anyone, and now how were they going to make ends meet without his role as pastor? Nate fell into a severe depression, and Veronica felt helpless to do anything about it.

After a few months of trying to get through to him, her faith grew dim. How could this happen to them? To save herself from going down with him, she decided she had to walk away. She didn’t want to, but she had made up her mind to move back in with her parents.

“It’s for the best, for now”, she told him. “It doesn’t have to be permanent.”

Nate sat there, staring at the blank TV. “Do what you want”, he replied.

One of the parishioners, Craig DeArmond, decided to pay him a visit. His mother, Marge, always admired Nate’s sermons. She was a big supporter of his, and wept when she heard of the news of his daughter's death. It was evident to her that his faith took a huge dip—actually a crash landing—and his world that revolved around his belief lay in shambles.

Craig was saddened by how quiet the place was, how unkempt and uninviting it appeared. He’s been to the house before, a once pleasant place to be.  Now, it was bleak and joyless. “Will you talk to my mother?” Craig asked him. “She’s sad since my dad passed away a week after last Christmas, you know. Forty-eight years of marriage has been much of her life . My mom could use some counseling.”

Nate looked at him without much emotion. “Let her talk to the current pastor. She doesn’t need me.”

Craig said, “But she looks up to you, and it might do you some good, too.”

Nate scoffed at that. “Look, I’m not in the faith business anymore. There’s no way I can be of comfort.” He dismissed Craig with his hand and said, “She goes to me or she goes to a fortune teller—tell her she’ll get about the same results, either way.”

Craig stood up over Nate, hoping Nate would look up at him. He wouldn’t, so Craig was about to walk away but turned around and replied, “God forgive me, for I want to make this clear. Listen to me, Nathan Yale! You are one selfish *******!”

Nate suddenly shot a look at him. “A what?” he demanded.

“You heard me”, Craig said, his arms crossed. “I know you are a man of God—or at least you used to be.  He grew more bold, was on a roll and said, “Look, you are pushing everyone away! People who love and care about you have lost you! Your wife, for crying out loud, is a wreck! I know you’re in pain, but—”

“What do you know of my pain?” Nate shot back. His eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep. Perhaps, he had been crying or even drinking.

“I don’t know!” Craig shouted. “But what do you know of faith?”

Nathan didn’t know what to say, for he was never prepared for this. Craig continued, “My mother lost both of her parents by the age of thirteen. She grew up in an alcoholic home, so she watched her parents slowly drink away their lives. She had no choice but to live with her aunt while her other siblings were spread out to stay with other relatives.”

Craig had Nathan’s full attention now. He took advantage of this and pulled up a chair and sat right in front of him, saying, “Her aunt’s husband—her so-called uncle—wouldn’t stop pawing at her and trying to put his hand up her blouse. She had no lock on her bedroom door and so this guy would sneak in--and guess what? He ***** her! At first, it was shocking! The second time, it was Hell. The third time it was worse! The forth time….should I go on?”

“Oh, God, why?” Nate said, tears in his eyes at the thought.

“Yes, he ***** her”, Craig repeated, “until one day she was pregnant and her aunt was demanding how she ended up this way , calling her a **** and shaming her. Mom finally blurted out that it was her uncle who got forced himself on her, and the aunt didn’t believe her.”

Nate was fully engaged. “What happened to your poor mother?” he asked, trying to keep his mouth from quivering.

“She was kicked out on the streets... nothing but the clothes on her back. With nowhere to go, she went to a friend’s house. The stress was so bad on her that she miscarried the baby, laying on the floor in agony. So the authorities placed her in a home for girls and never did she have to live in that house again…but the scars are still there--ugly, deep scars!”

So Craig left Nate’s house, but Nate had joined him in the car. Craig told his mother what he had revealed to Nate—without her permission—but he felt he had to do it. She agreed it was the right thing to do.

Nate gave Marge a huge hug during his visit. She was such a motherly figure, and he admired her for what she went through. “How on earth did you survive?” he asked her.

“Like you”, she confessed. “I was so angry with God. I hated Him, just hated Him. But when I was living in the home for girls, I met a girl who had huge faith. It was sickening to me, at first. I thought to myself, ‘How can you have such faith when you’ve ended up in here?’ And she didn’t know what happened to me, for I was too scared to tell anyone back then.”

“But you have great faith now”, Nate stated. “Better than even I ever had, I’m ashamed to say. I’ve seen your faith in action! ”

Marge put her hand to his cheek. “I fought for every bit of it”, she said. “I didn’t want to believe in God, but their was a nagging presence that wouldn't go away!”

Nate smiled. “I love the way you put it, Marge”, he said.

“Well, I had that friend who talked about Jesus, and then I went to rent out a room of a woman who took in boarders. She had a strong faith, and she took me to church. I’ve never been to church in my life, and I just wanted to get her off my back for asking! But my heart slowly softened, for I never thought that I’d ever believe in God…and didn’t want to…ever!”

“Neither did I…after loosing Michaela”, Nate said. “I loved her so much." He began to cry and put his face in his hands.

Marge put her arm around him and said, “But I found out that I really needed God. I needed to forgive a lot of people—my mother and father, my aunt and uncle—especially myself because I felt so hateful all the time.”

Nate sobbed, “I feel hateful, too—and guilty. I don’t know if I’ll ever have faith again. It scares me to feel that way.”

Marge held him in her arms like he was her little child. “Oh, but you haven’t really lost it, Pastor. You see, I didn’t want to believe in God, either, because I felt He was against me. If God existed…well, than how come my parents were alcoholics? How come my uncle ***** me? How come I got pregnant and the baby died? Ended up by myself? How come…how come? I think we all can ask our share of questions in this world.”

“They are valid questions”, he admitted, tears still streaming down his face. “Frankly, many problems pale in comparison.”

Marge couldn't have disagreed more. "No, Nate..,pain is pain. Yours is just as valid as anyone else's.  It just is just when it is an excuse to be bitter that is dangerous.  And I used that as a reason for being bitter!” she said. “But the bitterness was killing me. Slowly, I was dying.”

"But you made it through. You're quite alive, Marge, quite alive... and quite amazing."

They lingered in conversation, for they both needed this to take place. After it was over, Nate went home, feeling like a dam of walled up emotions had been finally released. It was certainly a start. He called Veronica up and he managed to say, “Veronica…please forgive me. Let’s start again…our lives together…” before his voice broke and the tears poured out again.

“Of course”, she responded, her voice trembling. “I already have forgiven you because I’ve been waiting and praying for this moment to come.”

His navy blue sports coat with brass buttons appeared to have been folded, again and again, as if to create ornate origami then unfolded to wear every Tuesday and Friday at his job at the Xerox call center in Colorado Springs. He kept his small, stubby fingers in his pockets, uncapping and recapping pens or fiddling with keys. As he passed by co-workers, adjusting his body to make adequate room in the narrow path between spines of cubicles, he would nod and say an almost audible hello. This was difficult for him, but he was trying something he'd read in a self-help book called Going Up.

And go up he had, ever so marginally. But up still. Despite his translucent blonde mustache, which was quite thick but only visible at a certain angle, under a discriminating light, despite his wrinkled clothes, despite the tight, Brillo pad, curly mess of hair atop his head, he'd stepped up from customer service representative to quality specialist, much to the yawning disbelief of his former spinemates.

Craig didn't have a girlfriend, but he had an ex, and, though he tried to never bring her up when talking with a woman in the break room, usually Kaley or Jewelz (spelled that way on her name badge), he did, nearly every time. He didn't know if this was an attempt to relate a yes, I've seen a woman naked in real life--so or evidence that he had, at least at one point, value.

He and twelve other quality specialists shared an office on the east side of the center. In each call he screened he made sure the customer service representative demonstrated the Three Cs: Courtesy, Commit, and Close. He no longer had to hand deliver critiques to reps because H.R. deemed it a liability risk with all the death threats he received. Instead, he sent out emails with no mention of his name. They read something like this:

Dear Customer Service Representative 216442,

Upon review of call number 100043212, which took place on 03/12/12, the Quality department noticed that while you did a super job of being courteous (great use of customer's name!) and closing (we love that you didn't just say, "Thank you for being a Xerox customer, etc., etc.," but instead said, "At Xerox it's our absolute pleasure to serve you." How true! We love that in quality), we noticed you over committed in your commitment statement. During the call, you tell the customer, "I'll have that problem fixed for you in no time." While that is ideal, there are situations in which you will not be able to solve the customer's problem. So instead of saying with certainty that you will have a solution, say, "Let me review your account and see what OPTIONS we have for you today." This tells the customer that you are concerned, yet you do not promise that which you cannot deliver.

Quality Control Team
CS Springs

Craig quit smoking two or three times a week, a hundred or 150 times a year. At 26, he woke up to wake up; he worked to work, to say yes, I have a job, to say yes, it's unbelievable how much of my money Uncle Sam gets, to say, I'm saving for a car or a new place or a full-size bed; he went to the bar after work on Thursdays and Saturdays to go to the bar on Thursdays and Saturdays; he'd say hello to say hello. Today was tomorrow is yesterday.

At the foot of Ute Valley park he lived in a home not all that different from where your mother sleeps, a white split-level with charcoal shutters and a two-car garage--though Craig slept where your mother would not: in the unfinished basement, for the home was not his but his brother's. His brother had a nice wife and a nice three-year-old boy, and they ate pizza on Wednesdays, went to the park, weather permitting, every day after supper for a nice time.

Craig observed this more than participated. He'd listen to blocks fall, his brother stepping on action figures, his brother's wife cooking--all from underneath them. As the floorboards creaked he committed each cohabitant's gait to memory. He vultured deli meat and low-fat slices of cheese out of the fridge when no one was in the kitchen.  

At night he'd drink a bottle of his ex-girlfriend's favorite wine, just to watch it go empty. He'd fall asleep on top of the covers and dream, not without some anguish, **** dreams of her.

Hi, it's me again.
Craig.
I ask for you, the reader, to hang-out.
As you and your friends read with enjoyment at my miserable life that I have created.
You have read my ad a dozen times,
"Hey! My name is Craig and I just moved to this town and am looking for friends to hang out with.  I am interested in sports, talking about anything and going out at night.  I'm a relaxed guy who is into meeting new people."

The truth is:

I was never very good at sports.
I got one hit in my little league career that my Dad would forcefully take me to each game.
I never understood why reading was, "the stupid choice" as he would say whilst dragging me by the collar of my baseball jersey.
Instead of playing a sport where a young boy with not nearly respectable motor-skills
would proceed to hurl a ball as fast as he could at me.
But, when I got my one hit I stood there in shock and immediately
got thrown out before I even made it half way to first base.
That was stupid.

I do not really talk all that much.
In college they nick-named me, "****** Craig".
As you can tell, I did not go to Creative College University.
I liked studying and would spend most of my nights in the library fixated on chemical engineering.
I always thought if I studied hard enough I would be able to create my own friends through different variable compound genetics.
It did not work out.
And that is the story of how I mutated my gerbil...

I have no friends to go with at night, except Butterball.
She's my eight year-old tabby cat.
I tell her all the gossip in the world when we watch "The Soup" together.
Her personality is rather complacent.  
She does not understand the irony in Kanye West naming his child North.
I know she is just being stubborn.

I often Google search Images for Kate Upton.
She does not know it yet, but we are perfect for one another.
I can tell.
There is this feeling I get when I bring one of her pictures into photoshop
and count all the pixels that make up the perfect woman.
There are seventy-four pixels within the iris of her eye where her soul lies.
Each one unfolds into the life we will soon have one-day...

I order the same pastrami on rye sandwich
from the same deli
at the same time
every Tuesday and Friday of each week in hopes
that they will get excited when I walk in.
I leave them a dollar tip
each time
even though I am picking it up myself.
They still treat me like an average customer.
A simple nobody.

I have the face people want to punch.
I often will get into fights by simply just standing there.
It does not add up or make coherent sense.
It seems as though people revert back to primal instincts when they drink alcohol.
Suddenly this area in line at McDonald's is this guys main priority.
I politely back away and him and his five high-school buddies cut in front of me.

To the entire world:
I am ordinary.
There is nothing worse in this life than being ordinary.
But, to some person at some special point:
I will be extra-ordinary.
And I will have the appreciation for that person that no other one person can ever understand.
Because, that person who finds me will have saved a life.
My life will restart anew with that love.
Thank you.

Sincerely,
Craig-
*********
Location: Everywhere your eyes will judge.
it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests

THE ALLAN FAMILY STORY




YA SEE ME AND MY BROTHER WERE TEASING ONE ANOTHER AND OUR FIRST

FAMILY PET LADY GOES MISSING, AND SCHOOL KIDS SAID IT WAS WEE, BUT

IT COULD’VE BEEN PINEAPPLE JUICE, AND I STARTED UP A BOWLING LEAGUE

CAUSE I WAS GETTING SICK OF MY BROTHER BEING THE ONLY SPORTSMAN

IN THE FAMILY, SO I JOINED THE BOWLING AT THE BELCONNEN BOWL, MET

TWO NICE FRIENDS TRISTAN AND JASON LEE, I ENJOYED PLAYING WITH THEM

UNTILL A MATE GOT ME INTO HIS LEAGUE, WHERE, MY PROBLEM WITH MY BOWLING

STYLE AS A KID, I TURNED MY HAND, BUT I HAD FUN BOWLING, IT WAS GREAT

AND EVERY THURSDAY NIGHT WAS THIS BIG NIGHT, I MET CRAIG AND JODIE

WHO I DEVELOPED A CRUSH ON, BUT CRAIG SAID, SHUT UP FATTY, JODIE’S MINE

AND CRAIG AND JODIE WERE TEAMED UP WITH ME AND LYLE, YA SEE LYLE HAD POWER

AND GOT MORE STRIKES THAN ME, AND JODIE WAS A COOL, PRETTY SWEET GIRL

BUT CRAIG WANTED HER, BUT YA CAN’T BLAME A GUY FOR TRYING, AND THEN

CRAIG HAD A MATE NAMED BILL, WHO INTRODUCED TO ME AND LYLE, AND HIS KIDS

WERE SIMILAR TO BRAD, RANDY, AND MARK ON HOME IMPROVEMENT, AND I REMEMBER

WHEN I GOT A STRIKE, I CHEERED AND WHEN I MISSED I WENT OH DRATTA, AND

BILL’S KIDS, WERE PLAYING AROUND, WHILE BACK AT HOME, MY DAD, MUM AND BROTHER

WERE WATCHING THEIR TV PROGRAMS, AND AFTER I FINISHED, I PLAYED WITH

EVERY KID AT THE BOWLING ALLEY, SAYING I WILL CHASE YOU, AND THE KIDS SAID

RUN RUN AS FAST AS YA CAN, YOU CAN’T CATCH ME I AM THE GINGERBREAD MAN

AND I GRABBED ONE KID AND TOUCHED HIM INAPPRIOTELY ON THE MOUTH, AND

HE RAN TO BILL, AND BILL AND CRAIG TORE STRIPS OFF ME, I WAS SAYING

I AM A KID, JUST LIKE THEM, CRAIG SAID, SHUT UP FATTY, AND GO HOME

AND THEN I DID YMCA BASKETBALL, WITH MY BROTHER, AND HIS FRIEND

MY TEAMS WERE THE BLUE BLAZERS AND THE WANDERERS, AND EACH

TEAM WON A LOT, AND I SCARED A FEW KIDS, BUT I WAS NEVER THROWN OUT

OF THERE, I SHOWN UP THERE DRUNL ONE DAY, THE GAME WAS COOL

BUT ALL THE TOM FOOLERY, THAT WENT ON BEHIND THE SCENES

WAS WEIRD, I REMEMBER FRANK’S MATE ROBERT, HATED HOW I GRABBED HIM BY THE MOUTH

AND I WENT TO LYLE’S FLAT TO SLEEP, AFTERWARDS, TO WATCH TV

BUT I AM NOT THE KIND OF PERSON FOR SLEEPOVERS

I PREFER TO STAY AT MY HOME,

I WENT TO A LOT OF YOUNG DUDES HOMES

YA KNOW, JUST TO MUCK WITH THEM , YA KNOW GET ****** AND FUCKEN ****

MY FAMILY HAD A NEW NEIGHBOUR, THE CRABBY BUS DRIVER AND IN CAME DAVE SCHULTZ AND HIS WIFE

AND THREE KIDS, COREY, BRENDAN AND CANDICE, AND I SWUNG THEM AROUND

IN THE FRONT YARD, AND AS BRENDAN AND CANDICE CAME OVER ALL THE TIME

MUM AND DAD SAID, I DON’T WANT THESE KIDS COMING OVER ALL THE TIME

BUT THEY WERE TYPICAL PARENTS, AND ME AND PATRICK, WENT TO SEE JIMMY BARNES IN CONCERT

AND EACH NEW YEARS EVE, PAT WOULD HOST THIS GREAT NEW YEARS EVE BASH WITH US AND HIS FAMILY

SO I WAS A GREAT PERSON, BUT THERE ARE MORE GREAT STORIES FROM THE ALLAN FAMILY ARCHIVES

From my "Bestifreadaloud" series about a girl that got away that Spring because I waited too long.

Part 1 The Past
A case made now faded of a simple place, a time, a space,
a perfect moment let pass in haste.
Clasped in clashes,
brash in passion,
rose from ashes,
desire fires every second's essence as it passes,
a ton amasses.
Fast bloom,
Blast!! Boom!!
The past relapses.
Notably lesser song notes float hopeful, emotional ends and remember whens.
Sent us spinning, then spin adrift again.
Sprung in spring, we fell,
Some are reasons to recall.
Summer's season breaks, we fall.
Flocks fly down and fallen callings fade to Winter's south.
How fate related still debated.
Re-Sprung the next Spring' rise, chance misses fate this date.
I weighed and debated and waited too late

PART 2
Still all these years alone, the "one", the "purpose" unsought.
Capturing thoughts,
The ones I caught and tossed,
Things I was taught and lost.
Proof framed and embossed for a cost.
Coping through the unabashed hopes to one day cash in on all this stashed trash I clash with.
"Smash it?" ...the thought crossed.  

Unimpressed by my evidence of self-less requests,
pursuit of self-evident truth proves a most ruthless abuse.
Even less are my skewed protests for “selfish quests" at the behest of the very strangers I sought to impress.
I digress.

The years compound, bossed around, kicked down but soundly employed,
I turn cold, blaming Freud for defining my non-violent, intolerance threshold on page 23 of some textbook I should have resold.
I go silent. Grow old.
"While your whining and shunning your shinning,
They're sinning and winning." Bad timing.

Girls come, go and follow this shallow, hollow fellow on the run.
While preyed upon...I paid a ton. I play.
The sum never more than the cost of rented fun.
Without insight but consent forthright,
my 30 years of intent were spent in a fortnight.
Still bent on shedding every pound of one first-moment's ton I lost not won.
Can't buy happy for less than the cost of your one-ness.
While prayed upon...paid a Son, they say.

part 3

Ohh the wait....
Ohh the weight...
My set-adrift-soul's mending depends solely on tossing
lost cause cost-spending into thrift.
Well it's a beginning.
All the amassed notes, quotes, boat-floaters,
and sailboat hopes spun in one 1-ton loss moment sprung that one Spring.

Now and again, it creeps in,
like slowly growing stinging nettles around a squelched,
once steaming scorched dream kettle.
Still stays packed away in my heart's darkest parts.
Blurred by time and place,
this burning, misplaced furnace space lays in wait.

Such compiled cold-case denial files from other life trials, lay piled in haste on my proverbial, "less pressing" messy desk of "not ready to face."
Too scared or daring to date, try to relate or contemplate
how to best equate this great weight.
Wait?... Wait.
Elation brewing from pursuing future fruition or ensuing
pure ruin gates these fates from moving, year-to-date.
For the sake of trying or dying forsaken,
another day awake is another day gained or taken.

I found her again,
the town's she's in
but she is taken and then
She learns of my wait, it's weight, my fate, she's shaken,
another ton amasses again. I pretend.
Lay down.
Drown the score of sounds surrounding.
Furthermore, slow the pulse-pounding abounding your core.
Fill your breath.
What is less is gone, tomorrow more.  

by R. Craig David-Copyright 2012

party zone with johnny brown




johnny’   hi dudes and welcome to party zone and we are having a ball especially seeing the dockers

beat the tigers over in perth for nab cup and here is fred todo is dockers chant


fred’   oooh yeah oooh yeah freo way to go

we kicked the tigers arses tonight, freo way to go

carn the fremantle dockers

you see it was a nice day in perth

where two great teams, one won easily and that was the dockers

i only wish that i was there rather than hanging around in the city

you see fremantle missed out on the grand final in 2015

but we will make the nab cup ours my friend, ready to p p party

free way to go, kick the tigers back to melbourne ya know

free way to go, we are the fremantle dockers

go the dockers

johnny’ thanks fred and now here is noelene with it’s my party

noelene’  it’s my party and i will enjoy life if i want to, enjoy life if i want to

enjoy life if i want, it’s my party and i will enjoy life if i want to

you would enjoy life too if you were here too

nobody knows where peter has gone we entered the club the same time

he can’t be gone because i would’ve noticed that, so where the **** has he gone

you see the party is over and we are talking and talking

but i can’t enjoy myself without peter around

i try and enjoy life, but it’s hard for me too, cause peter could be dead

it’s my party and i will enjoy myself if i want to enjoy life if i want to

it’s my party and i can enjoy life if i want to every single day

you see i bought a can of bourbon and looked all over for peter

but he was nowhere around, and i let out a frown and i looked like an old digger

it’s my party and i can enjoy life if i want if i want if i really want to

it’s my party and i can enjoy life if i want to all night long

johnny’  thanks noelene and now here is thomas with 3 jokes


thomas’  ok the first joke is

how many blondes does it take to ***** in a light bulb?

need to know ASAP


At the real life top gun program     the one the film was based on

there is a $5 fine for any staffer who references or quotes the movie


a canadian psychologist is selling a video that teaches you how

to test your dogs IQ.  here how it works

if you spend $12.99 for the video, your dog is smarter than you


johnny’   ha ha ha, thank you thomas and now here is pamela with her entertainment piece

i party you party every single day

you party me party right till the end of the day

you see your puppy is getting fat from eating too much puppy pal

and we need to start an exercise program

where the puppy has to get fit

my cat goes meow meow meow

my cat goes meow, when he wants something to eat

my cow goes mooooo moooooo moooooo

my cow goes moooooo when she has some dairy for us

my sheep goes ba ba ba  my sheep goes ba ba ba

my sheep goes ba ba ba, when he ****** needs to be sheered


johnny’  thanks pamela, and now here is olly with his song

olly’   if you a happy and you know it, have a party

are you a bit of a smarty.

if you are happy and you love life like you wife does

if your happy and you know it have a party

do you get happy when you drink a glass of beer

or do you get happy when you have a pina colada

are you happy and you know it, and you want someone to dance with

if you are happy and you know it, have a party

johnny’  now here is another joke this time from craig

craig’   why do dogs always race to the door when the doorbell rings”

it’s hardly ever for them

johnny’  yeah i hate the knock on the door when i am in the middle of my favourite show, it’s bad

and now here is paul with his jingle

have you got the right to party

have you the right to be a smarty

no matter what i wanna see yoooou

i want to pull my ******, and think of dragging a woman home with me

and we can have a lot of made up ***

we can definitely take it

and we will break it

we will surely take it, oh yeah

do i have the right to be here

do i deserve to party

i think so, because i work very hard

i want to drink a coffee to **** the hangover

because partying is my middle name, ooooh yeah


johnny’   ok that is all and  there ain’t no more, but here is craig with a joke way to go, craig

craig’   my 5 year old son is crazy about cars, so i took him to his first car show. he loved seeing

all the different models and brands and gushed over the big engines, the colours and even the wheels

but the car was mostly ……  see you if you could guess it

johnny’   ok thanks, and we will see you next time on party zone with johnny brown

gooooooodbye dudes

The salt is taken with the sugar, taken full in stride
No word or sound could ever take your mother's brother's pride
The trick is in the shimmy that gets you through the door
Getting naked under clothes, clean the bathroom floor
Slip the key and turn the lock
Tell him you just forgot
You weren't supposed to visit the craig of his mind

The ink of your skin smells like sin
Of tangled legs and sheepish grins
Your heavy eyes tell me lies
Your neck leans, your shoulders cry
You've slept and fought and thought a lot
You weren't supposed to stay in the craig of his mind

You're new and used but news to me
A stag before you're now set free
Damp and twisted, your fur is mussed
Stamped and bothered, too much fuss.
You now wait in the dark crook of your sleeve
But by and by I have taken my leave

Meant to go so mean, my stomps weren't kind
I wasn't meant to leave the craig of your mind

You were so hot I spun twice to see, call me a fan
Your regal youth made my blood boil, call you peter pan

You were like a boomerang I wanted to throw away but you kept coming back to me,
And maybe I've always been scared of hurdles and you were my biggest one, 'cause I just can't get over you, you see

I thought you were like a paradox:
Cool as ice and hot as molten rock

You were like a magician with words, drove me so crazy I was pulling out my hare,
You steal my heart like a pirate captain when I sea you standing there,

But you didn’t have any morals, I deserve to call you *****ible
Yet you still think you're cute. you know? leaving my house the way you came would be adooreble

I discovered your texts to her on my birthday, the cake was ruined with my tiers
You caught my Eye with your animal magnetism, but you’ve been a cheetah for years

What? you think this is a game? No, you don't have a clue!
You had a monopoly on my life and now your name is taboo

You said you needed some time and space to yourself you were the only one in the galaxy I Wanted,
I guess life never turns out how you planet and since you left I've been feeling haunted,

Why did I believe you were a great catch? Just because you master *****?
You made me think we could smash; every second felt like a brawl

Loving you was no gouda, though I swiss you now that you’re gone, it isn’t easy,
I said goodbye, It’s not you it’s brie, sorry that was cheesy.

You gave my life flavor but you were just a masked spyce that made my life sour like limes
I know I need to chili but you have really bad taste and we’re out of thyme

I need a holiday from your lies, my patience is running short
I’m better off with you gone, and leaving you is my last resort

I guess we didn't have that spark no need to be astunished,
all I know now is: IT IS TIME YOU WERE PUNISHED.

Wrote this while my best friend since childhood and I drove 1300 miles to South Florida on a whim for Spring Break. It's epic, so get comfortable.

"Approachable but you wouldn't know it.  Proclamations of the Romantically Challenged"

Day one.

We meet, old friends...watch old friends...become old friends again.
We find our lost grins, ones only shared with our closer than kin.
Thin shagrins of lasting cynicism and sinister pasts are masks to the blasts we got away with and lived to tell the tale.
Alas, we are sons and friends first, not last.
We cling to our good old glory stories past,
But at last the time is new, our trip begins.
Wheels burn, stomachs churn.
Our aspired souls yearn,
to fire the liars and unconcerned.
We head for the East coast.
With temperatures rising,
approaching unseen horizons,
rejecting the superficially tantalizing,
we begin to feel our tattered souls wisen.
Talking a new talk, calculating the steps to walk a new walk.
Testifying our pains, devilishly dodging heavenly rains, the bitter pains.
Watching yourself in a friend, a cynical kidder gone bitter. Your mirror becomes your babysitter.
We search our hearts and back again down I-10.
We find strength and talk about things friends for life can only talk about on a walk about.
We lift some Spirits to lift our spirits.
Night falls,
we arrive alive… our walk about calls 1,365miles in 18 hours.

Day two begins.

Meet and greet with the beach.
Get a handle on some handy sandals,
some nicotine candy and butane candles.
A fifth of Daniels.
Jack and Jose will duel this day.
"You know it's know your fault, pass the lime and salt," ends most answers before noon.
Let's take some dares with the local fare, shadowing the glare of our wear and tear.
The sun fries,
windy sands fly,
waves pacify,
dropped bikini tops glimpsed from the corner of our eye, testify.
The Sun sets.

Shuffing off the nightlife status-quo of Clematis Row, we turn our walkabout into a Palm Beach Safari...Club.
Whoa! Rows and rows of walking, talking shows barely clothed from head to tanned toes.Making funnies about hunting honies preying on $$$.
The unattainable passes. We tap our glasses.
"Point in case, what a waste, such tragedies as these, a lot of money and a little cheese meets a little ****** in high cut sleeves, low-cut cleaves & cuts way above the knees.
Our cuts are deep. Bartender, two Yagers please."

Low and behold…on those stools sit no fools.
Breaking all rules.
with Coronas as fuel,
we inflate our jewels.
As we coach our approach, mentioning "I-10 and back again" prompts grins,
hides our cynicism and sins,
then, moving in to win friends.
Names and places put to faces, careful glancing, winks and dancing.
Alright, the trips to the bathroom are getting old.
Warm smiles once cold, honest questions and truths told…no souls sold…we fold? Hmmmm.
We leave and arrive alive.
Caffine and nicotine stay the scene until the wee hours overpower us.

Day three unfolds

The sun rises and the ocean calls.
Old molds broken
No lies spoken.
No need to peddle your life away settling on the day-to-day following peers falsely content and full of contempt.
Eyes turn bright,
the Sun pours over night,
dolphin, lime and salt,
golfing talk,
day approaches night.
Less tense and more pensive,
more apprehensive and less expensive,
even so we head out to even the evening,
to end our grieving and start achieving....something.
Latitude changes have rearranged our attitude gauges.
So we choose West Palm's Clematis Row to show us how a little rude,
lude and tattooed could clue us in on the anew.
Fools with jewels.
Girls with rules.
Uncool tools abound.
We walk this street of sleekish freaks,
the falsely meek,
lions that squeak.
"Club Respectables" is dubbed rejectables as the objectionable scene is seen as a scheme by vampires with recessive genes.
Next is Spanky's…Best described as "A frat boy fishing pole contest to tackle box in bait shack." One bucket of beer away from "I got your back Jack in case of attack."
We move along.
Colombia Supreme brewed proceeding it's fine grind and American Online becomes the sign of the times swaying us to stay and play at an Internet Cafe.

"I could live here," proclaims a cynical kidder once bitter now soothed by the sea spray and salty air.

Enlightenment heightened by a magic man,
near night's end, inspires an O'Shea's Black and Tan.
The crowd mocks and baulks the sidewalk scene from the patio Pub Dubbed Irish.
We greet the ground,
not the masses' frown,
seat our ***** down,
toast our glasses of black and brown,
our bitters with bite wash down the bitter frowns we normally wear out in our hometown.
"That's a sharp Harp's and sinister Guinness; can I get a witness?"

We head back down our beaten path, writing our epitaphs and usual eulogies...But you know that the "place" or your "space" will change your face, one makes the case."If you sound bitter and you look bitter, chances are you are bitter."
I begin to smile during our final mile of token jokes,
Corona smokes,
shiny Harley spokes.
We leave and arrive alive at the realization,
we have things to strive for in our lives.  
We smoke and joke and poke fun at the run down broken blokes we were before our fun in the sun had begun.
  
Day four begins.
  
We embark for the Ozarks. Our souls at ease.
Save the scene...the last palm tree's waving leaves,  
we wave our palms and leave.
1300 miles more,  
Pushing the morning hour of four,  
empty coffee cups galore,  
moonings a score,  
pedal to the floor,  
memories and more,  
we knew we would be back for more.  
Suddenly learning how insane our inane claims of waning fame should hold no shame,
we reframe our game.
Upon our return…
the strength to strive, take back our broken banks and breaking backs.
Less taxing, more relaxing..."it could happen"... eliquinent waxing.
As we search our hearts and back again, down I-10,we find the strength in things you can only talk about on a walk about,
but that's what it was all about.
By R.Craig David-copyrighted 1995

Bump,thump,bump,thump.... the bass cases shake and quake  
Secreting heat, my skin blushes, that rush of a new secret crush.
She passes and her scent renders all around helpless.
The DJ's plush talons tow and myre you soul's wires.  
Seeping through, the beak crushing your conscience,  
falling, sleep down, the sound grounds you.  
Sowing the seeds of desire on the stone below.  
Called by the thumping, bumping beat,  
You jump from your seat into a market of meat, a sea of shifting feet.  
10,000 lights spin like sugar bright.  
Blood fuels your feet,  
feats of flight,  
blurs of sight.  
Spinning like cotton candy with all your might.  
Body overheating, heart overbeating, grains of lust over seeding.  
Your scars begin to heal as glassy eyes not blue appeal to your "at first sight" senses.  
Senses slow there motion to primal, tingling too much,  
not too much to touch, no sting as such.  
Such a blissful kiss t'would be from she before thee.  
Snip the wire.  
Feed the desire.  
The need grows to fan passion fire.  
The potent scent of dripping skin steams up like the devotional incline of nine combined love potions.  
Love, as real love, survives as only a notion in this moving motion of lust's contrived plot...  
But to feel alive, even for a moment,  
love's emotion fails... drawing bust to the ever opulent opponent of lust;  
a proponent to disguise the potent demise of the heart's conscious component.  
Gas and smoke blows.  
Beats high and low.  
The dancing mass of suppressed woes ebbs and flows,  
capturing the seconds, snatching your essence, rapturing your ethics.  
Feeding the peak you seek, heart weak, roaring soul silenced to squeak.  
Waning away your stay with the sweating sea of swing and sway leaves you adrift.  
The waves of the DJ begin to hammer you into enamerment  
Did this quaking wake the sober state of your forsakenness?  
That complaicent stained vacant place aching to be filled.  
A painful, dizzying blood rush floods your mind and muck the feeling first struck secret love crush  
Were the judgment-blurring thoughts occurring so alluring? They fought off pure thoughts sought before she heart-stopped me.  
In light of a moment caught, wrought with knots of naughty thoughts.  
Light and sound and the thumping, bumping ground drown your bounds. 
No more, no more. 
"Now I remember" internally sounds, profound rebounds. 
Lore from before when the last passing blue-eyed leggy lass tore the door off your soul's core.  
No more, no more.  
The crush becomes dust. You become stone.  
Cut to the bone. No seed will be sewn.
You face the floor and breathe. alone.
  
 "Cameo Theater South Beach"   
R. Craig David-Copyright 1995

Whining dog...we just went outside.
Wading through internet DATs and cogs and bandwidth hogs, outside still raining cats and dogs.
double-click trawling pics and blogs searching for remedies and laws that inhibit logs to saw.
Wide-eyed, face down I sprawl still awake, redefining  my character flaws,
fearing my falling into the trappings of urban sprawl or
investing your mind then hitting the wall.
Lose or draw,
a new artistic affair or creative outlet dares you daily to fall.
"Late" is now "Early"
Dawn's illuminating looming, night to be soon consumed.
Insomnia vacuums,
drama typhoons,
crooning tunes....
It'll be June soon.
Feeling marooned waiting for the opportune...well, I'm still waiting,
Whining dog...we just went outside...Fine!
Rain drains backlogged in the AM black...****** dog. Decide! He takes his time.
Three nights of showers,
cowering under this street corner lighted power tower,
unrequited efforts to stay dry.
Moon still high, clouded bright behind the wetness...
Wait, what if I see "her"?
Should I dare bare my soul, take control, or say simply "Hello?" just to know?
Do I want to know "yes" or "no"?
Grandmother always said "The truth is the most powerful force you'll ever face, trace, disgrace or embrace"
I remember my last pursuance of the truth.
You remember college...
The ubiquitous responsibility of apologies for the skewed knowledge sleuth colleges preclude.
A four, no five year matterless smattering reviewing the hows, whys and whos who of Impressionist imbued hues;
the politics of subdued Katmandu coups,
Homer's muses; many a Siren sank the boats I crewed;
news crews that flew the bird flu news coop and recouped,
skewed suing over Golden Arch morning brew,
tragedies, sonnets, and nothing adieus,
spewed formulas and equations notecard ques,
standing in long line registration cues every time we change Major views,
all fueled by a boozing, smokey ballyhoo of Tullamore Dew, hopped brews, tattoos, crude food, music muses and quoted virtues.
What’s even true and what would you do if you knew, ****** logic class…
And alas, you're through! “Here’s your paper, now choose.”
The ****** inequity of iniquity dams me so I can't break free.
Such an abrupt disruption could erupt great corruption,
the self-destruction is tempting, but doesn't pay rent.
Not today, but maybe soon.
June's coming...dryer and higher noon.

R.Craig David- copyright 2008
Redux Edition April 1st, 2013
Inspired by rain, blame shame, the game and a cute girl just 3 doors down that still remains a stranger in my old college town.