They say in Washington, D.C.
That few are hated as much as he.
Of course, that all depends on whom you ask.
If you ask him, he contends
He's not there to make more friends.
Pushing his agenda is his task.

Yep, the man has found his niche--
The man known as Moscow Mitch.

His biggest friend in D.C. now
Is Donald Trump. Notice how
The two men are connected at the hip.
They will sacrifice--insane!--
Democracy for political gain
With their vile, disgusting partnership.

Yep, the man has found his niche--
The man known as Moscow Mitch.

He truly doesn't dignify
The Senate, where bills go to die.
He prefers to make up his own rules.
Obviously, Mitch's goal
Is only to maintain control
And stack the federal courts with far-right fools.

Yep, the man has found his niche--
The man known as Moscow Mitch.

We know that Russians interfered
In our elections, but what's weird
Is Mitch McConnell doesn't seem to care.
Since Russians helped Trump win before,
He could use their help once more.
Without their help he wouldn't have a prayer.

Yep, the man has found his niche--
The man known as Moscow Mitch.

Just look at his expressionless mug.
(People say he resembles a slug--
A slug with an empty, vapid frown.)
If people really knew what's good,
And if they cared at all they would
Find a candidate to bring him down.

Yep, the man who found his niche--
The man known as Moscow Mitch.

-by Bob B (7-27-19)

By: Cedric McClester

Leningrad Lindsey
And Moscow Mitch
One’s a chameleon
The other a-*****
It’s hard to figure out
Which one is which
They both have a tendency
To position switch

Leningrad Lindsey
And Moscow Mitch
Make a hell of a pair
You must admit
One’s been enchanted
The other has a glitch
But both ‘em tend to
Favor the rich

Leningrad Lindsey
And Moscow Mitch
Speak in unison
In perfect pitch
On behalf of the interests
They hope to enrich
With a snake oil like
Smooth sales pitch

Leningrad Lindsey
And Moscow Mitch
Are enough together
To give you barber’s itch
Call me what cha wanna
Even a snitch
But they’re both on a wagon
Without a hitch













Cedric McClester, copyright © 2019.  All rights resrved.

**** stitch mitch
had six stitches in his ****.
he tried to choke the carrot
but it tore his **** to shreds.
he tried to stitch it up
but the dog got to it,
and buried his **** in the yard
with all the other bones.

**** stitch mitch
kicked his dog to death
and then he drove to the hospital.

now he does talks at catholic high schools.
preaching the danger
of monkey spanking,
chain yanking,
meat beating.

The phone rang in Red Lodge.  The sun had already faded behind the mountain, and the street outside where the bike was parked was covered in darkness. Only the glow from the quarter moon allowed the bike to be visible from my vantage point inside the Pollard’s Lobby.  The hotel manager told me I had a call coming in and it was from Cooke City.  By the time I got to the phone at the front desk, they had hung up. All that the manager had heard from the caller was that I was needed in Cooke City just before the line had gone dead.  Because of the weather, my cell phone reception was spotty, and the hotel’s phone had no caller I.D.

Cooke City was 69 miles to the West, a little more than an hour’s drive under normal circumstances.  The problem is that you can never apply the word normal to crossing Beartooth Pass even under the best of conditions, and certainly not this early in the season.  I wondered about the call and the caller, and what was summoning me to the other side.  There was 11,000 feet of mountain in between the towns of Red Lodge and Cooke City, and with a low front moving in from the West, all signals from the mountain were to stay put.

Beartooth Pass is the highest and most formidable mountain crossing in the lower 48 States.  It is a series of high switchback turns that crisscross the Montana and Wyoming borders, rising to an elevation of 10,947 ft.  If distance can normally be measured in time, this is one of nature’s timeless events.  This road is its own lord and master. It allows you across only with permission and demands your total respect as you travel its jagged heights either East or West.  Snow and rockslides are just two of the deadly hazards here, with the road itself trumping both of these dangers when traveled at night.

The Beartooth Highway, as gorgeous as it is during most summer days, is particularly treacherous in the dark.  Many times, and without warning, it will be totally covered in fog. Even worse, during the late spring and early fall, there is ice, and often black ice when you rise above 7000 feet. Black ice is hard enough to see during the daytime, but impossible to see at night and especially so when the mountain is covered in fog. At night, this road has gremlins and monsters hiding in its corners and along its periphery, ready to swallow you up with the first mistake or indiscretion that a momentary lack of attention can cause.

The word impossible is part of this mountains DNA.

: Impossible- Like the dreams I had been recently having.

: Impossible- Like all of the things I still had not done.

: Impossible- As the excuses ran like an electric current
                         through all that I hated.

: Impossible- Only in the failure of that yet to be conquered.

: Impossible- For only as long as I kept repeating the word.

Now it was my time to make a call.  I dialed the cell number of my friend Mitch who worked for the U.S. Forest Service in Cooke City. Mitch told me what I already knew and feared. There was snow on both sides of the road from Red Lodge to Cooke City, and with the dropping temperatures probably ice, and possibly black ice, at elevations above 7500 feet.

Mitch lived in Red Lodge and had just traveled the road two hours earlier on his way home.  He said there had been sporadic icy conditions on the Red Lodge side of the mountain, causing his Jeep Wagoneer to lose traction and his tires to spin when applying his brakes in the sharpest turns.  The sharpest corners were the most dangerous parts of this road, both going up and even more so when coming down. Mitch warned me against going at night and said: “Be sure to call me back if you decide to leave.”

The Red Lodge side of the mountain would be where I would begin my trip if I decided to go, with no telling how bad the Cooke City descent would be on the Western side.  This is assuming I was even able to make it over the top, before then starting the long downward spiral into Cooke City Montana.

The phone rang again!  This time I was able to get to the front desk before the caller got away.  In just ten seconds I was left with the words ringing in my ears — “Everything is ready, and we implore you to come, please come to Cooke City, and please come tonight.”  

Now, it was my time to choose.  I had to decide between staying where it was safe and dry, or answering the call and making the journey through the dark to where fate was now crying out to me. I put the phone down and walked out the front doors of the Pollard Hotel and into the dim moonlight that was shining through the clouds and onto the street.  The ‘Venture’ sat in its soft glow, parked horizontally to the sidewalk, with its back tire pressed up against the curb and its front tire pointed due North.  The bike was not showing any bias either East or West and was not going to help with this decision.  If I decided to go, this choice would have to be all mine.

The original plan had been to stay in Red Lodge for two more days, awaiting friends who still had not arrived from a trip to Mount Rushmore. Then together we had planned a short stopover in Cody, which was not more than ninety-minutes away. From there we planned to take the ‘Chief Joseph Highway’ to Cooke City, which is both a beautiful and safe way around Beartooth Pass. Safety drifted out of my consciousness like a distant mistress, and I looked North and heard the mountain call out to me again.

As much as I wanted to see my friends, the voice that was calling from inside was getting harder and harder to ignore.  With the second phone call, my time in Red Lodge grew short in its importance, and I knew in the next two minutes I would have to choose.

I also knew that if I stood in the clouded moonlight for more than two more minutes I would never decide.  Never deciding is the hallmark of all cowardly thought, and I hoped on this night that I would not be caught in its web as victim once again.  

                                         My Decision Was To Go

In ten short minutes, I emptied my room at the Pollard, checked out, and had the bike loaded and ready at the curb.  I put my warmest and most reflective riding gear on, all the while knowing that there was probably no one to see me. No one on that lonely road, except for the deer, coyote, or elk, that would undoubtedly question my sanity as they watched me ride by in the cold dark silence.  I stopped at the gas station at the end of town and topped off the tank --- just in case.  Just in case was something I hoped I wouldn’t have to deal with, as the ride would at most take less than a half a tank of gas. It made me feel better though, so I topped off, paid the attendant, and rode slowly out towards U.S. Highway # 212.  

As I headed West toward the pass, I noticed one thing conspicuous in its absence. In fifteen minutes of travel, I had not passed one other vehicle of any kind going in either direction.  I was really alone tonight and not only in my thoughts.  It was going to be a solitary ride as I tried to cross the mountain. I would be alone with only my trusted bike as my companion which in all honesty — I knew in my heart before leaving the hotel.  

Alone, meant there would be no help if I got into trouble and no one to find me until probably morning at the earliest.  Surviving exposed on the mountain for at least twelve hours is a gamble I hoped I wouldn’t have to take.

I kept moving West. As I arrived at the base of the pass I stopped, put the kickstand down and looked up.  What was visible of the mountain in the clouded moonlight was only the bottom third of the Beartooth Highway. The top two thirds disappeared into a clouded mist, not giving up what it might contain or what future it may have hidden inside of itself for me.  With the kickstand back up and my high beam on, I slowly started my ascent up Beartooth Pass.

For the first six or seven miles the road surface was clear with snow lining both sides of the highway.  The mountain above, and the ones off to my right and to the North were almost impossible to see.  What I could make out though, was that they were totally snow covered making this part of southern Montana look more like December or January, instead of early June.  The road had only opened a month ago and it was still closing at least three out of every seven days.  I remembered to myself how in years past this road never really opened permanently until almost the 4th of July.

When the road was closed, it made the trip from Red Lodge to Cooke City a long one for those who had to go around the mountain.  Many people who worked in Cooke City actually lived in Red Lodge.  They would ‘brave’ the pass every night when it was open, but usually only during the summer months. They would do this in trucks with 4-wheel drive and S.U.V.’s but never on a motorcycle with only two wheels.  Trying to cross this pass on a motorcycle with high performance tires, in the fog, and at night, was a horse of an entirely different color.  

At about the seven-mile mark in my ascent I again stopped the bike and looked behind me. I was about to enter the cloud barrier.  The sight below from where I had just come was breathtakingly beautiful.  If this was to be the last thing I would ever see before   entering the cloud, it would be a fitting photograph on my passport into eternity.

I looked East again, and it was as if the lights from Red Lodge were calling me back, saying “Not tonight Kurt, this trip is to be made another time and for a better reason.” I paused, but could think of no better reason, as I heard the voice on the phone say inside my mind, “Please come,” so I retracted the kickstand and entered the approaching fog.

There was nothing inviting as I entered the cloud.  The dampness and the moisture were immediate and all enveloping, as the visibility dropped to less than fifty feet.  It was so thick I could actually see rain droplets as it passed over my headlight.  The road was still clear though and although it was hard to see, its surface was still good.  The animals that would normally concern me at this time of night were a distant memory to me now. The road stayed like this for what seemed to be another two or three miles, while it trapped me in its continuing time warp of what I still had to overcome.

It then turned sharply right, and I heard a loud ‘wail’ from inside the bike’s motor.  My heart immediately started racing as I thought to myself, ‘What a place to have the engine break down.’  It only took a few more seconds though to see that what I thought was engine failure was actually the tachometer revving off the scale on the dash.  The rear tire had lost traction, and in an involuntary and automated response I had given it more throttle to maintain my speed. I now had the engine turning at over 5000 r.p.m.’s in an attempt to get the rear tire to again make contact with the road.  Slowing my speed helped a little, but I was now down to 10 MPH, and it was barely fast enough to allow me to continue my ascent without the rear tire spinning again.

                                  I Could Still Turn Around And Go Back    

I was now at an elevation above 8,000 ft, and it was here that I had to make my last decision.  I could still turn around and go back.

While the road surface was only semi-good, I could turn around and head back in the direction from which I had just come.  I could go back safely, but to what and to whom? I knew my spirit and my heart would not go with me, both choosing to stay on this hill tonight regardless of the cost.  “If I turn around and go back, my fear is that in my lack of commitment, I will lose both of them forever. The mountain will have then claimed what my soul cannot afford to lose.”  I looked away from Red Lodge for the last time, and once again my eyes were pointed toward the mountain’s top.

It was three more miles to the summit based on my best estimation.

From there it would be all down hill.  The fear grew deeper inside of me that the descent would be even more treacherous as I crested the top and pushed on to the mountain town of Cooke City below.  Cooke City and Red Lodge were both in Montana, but the crest of this mountain was in Wyoming, and it looked down on both towns as if to say … ‘All passage comes only through me.’      

This time I did not stop and look over my shoulder. Instead, I said a short prayer to the gods that protect and watch over this place and asked for only one dispensation — and just one pass through the dark.  My back wheel continued to spin but then somehow it would always regain traction, and I continued to pray as I slowly approached the top.  

As I arrived at the summit, the road flattened out, but the cloud cover grew even more dense with visibility now falling to less than ten feet.  I now couldn’t see past my front fender, as the light from my headlamp bounced off the water particles with most of its illumination reflected back onto me and not on the road ahead.

In conditions like this it is very hard to maintain equilibrium and balance. Balance is the most essential component of any two-wheeled form of travel. Without at least two fixed reference points, it’s hard to stay straight upright and vertical.  I’ve only experienced this once before when going through a mountain tunnel whose lights had been turned off. When you can’t see the road beneath you, your inner sense of stability becomes compromised, and it’s easier than you might think to get off track and crash.

This situation has caused many motorcyclists to fall over while seemingly doing nothing wrong. It creates a strange combination of panic and vertigo and is not something you would ever want to experience or deal with on even a dry road at sea level.  On an icy road at this elevation however, it could spell the end of everything!

My cure for this has always been to put both feet down and literally drag them on top of the road surface below. This allows my legs to act as two tripods, warning me of when the bike is leaning either too far to the left or to the right.  It’s also dangerous. If either leg comes in contact with something on the road or gets hung up, it could cause the very thing it’s trying to avoid. I’ve actually run over my own foot with the rear wheel and it’s not something you want to do twice.

                     Often Causing What It’s Trying To Avoid

At the top of the pass, the road is flat for at least a mile and gently twists and turns from left to right.  It is a giant plateau,10,000 feet above sea level. The mountain then starts to descend westward as it delivers its melting snow and rain to the Western States. Through mighty rivers, it carries its drainage to the Pacific Ocean far beyond.  As I got to the end of its level plain, a passing thought entered my consciousness.  With the temperature here at the top having risen a little, and only just below freezing, my Kevlar foul-weather gear would probably allow me to survive the night.  On this mountaintop, there is a lot of open space to get off the road, if I could then only find a place to get out of the wind.  

I let that thought exit my mind as quickly as it entered. The bike was easily handling the flat icy areas, and I knew that the both of us wanted to push on.  I tried to use my cell phone at the top to call Mitch at home.  I was sure that by now he would be sitting by the fire and drinking something warm.  This is something I should have done before I made the final decision to leave.  I didn’t, because I was sure he would have tried to talk me out of it, or worse, have forbidden me to go. This was well within his right and purview as the Superintendent of all who passed over this mountain.

My phone didn’t work!  This was strange because it had worked from the top last spring when I called my family and also sent cell-phone pictures from the great mountain’s summit.  I actually placed three calls from the top that day, two to Pennsylvania and one to suburban Boston.

                                         But Not Tonight!

As I started my descent down the western *****, I knew it would be in first gear only.  In first gear the engine would act as a brake or limiter affecting my speed, hopefully without causing my back tire to lose traction and break loose. With almost zero visibility, and both feet down and dragging in the wet snow and ice, I struggled to stay in the middle of the road.  It had been over an hour since leaving Red Lodge, and I still had seen no other travelers going either East or West. I had seen no animals either, and tonight I was at least thankful for that.

The drop off to my right (North) was several thousand feet straight down to the valley below and usually visible even at night when not covered in such cloud and mist.  To my left was the mountain’s face interspersed with open areas which also dropped several thousands of feet to the southern valley below.  Everything was uncertain as I left the summit, and any clear scenery had disappeared in the clouds. What was certain though was my death if I got too close to the edge and was unable to recover and get back on the road.

There were guardrails along many of the turns and that helped, because it told me that the direction of the road was changing.  In the straight flat areas however it was open on both sides with nothing but a several thousand-foot fall into the oblivion below.

Twice I ran over onto the apron and felt my foot lose contact with the road surface meaning I was at the very edge and within two feet of my doom.  Twice, I was sure that my time on this earth had ended, and that I was headed for a different and hopefully better place. Twice, I counter steered the bike to the left and both feet regained contact with the road as the front tire weaved back and forth with only the back tire digging in and allowing me to stay straight up.

As I continued my descent, I noticed something strange and peculiar.  After a minute or two it felt like I was going faster than you could ever go in first gear.  It took only another instant to realize what was happening.  The traction to the rear tire was gone, and my bike and I were now sliding down the Western ***** of Beartooth pass.  The weight of the bike and myself, combined with the gravity of the mountain’s descent, was causing us to go faster than we could ever go by gearing alone.  Trying to go straight seemed like my only option as the bike felt like it had lost any ability to control where it was going.  This was the next to last thing I could have feared happening on this hill.

The thing I feared most was having to use either the front or rear brakes in a situation like this.  That would only ensure that the bike would go out of control totally, causing the rear wheel to come around broadside and result in the bike falling over on its opposite side. Not good!  Not good at all!

Thoughts of sliding off the side of the mountain and into the canyons below started running through my mind.  Either falling off the mountain or being trapped under the bike while waiting for the next semi-truck to run over me as it crossed the summit in the darkened fog was not something I welcomed. Like I said before, not good, not good at all!

My mind flashed back to when I was a kid and how fast it seemed we were going when sledding down the hill in front of the local hospital.  I also remembered my disappointment when one of the fathers told me that although it seemed fast, we were really only going about ten or fifteen miles an hour.  I wondered to myself how fast the bike was really going now, as it slid down this tallest of all Montana mountains? It seemed very, very fast.  I reminded myself over and over, to keep my feet down and my hand off the brakes.

If I was going to crash, I was going to try and do it in the middle of the road. Wherever that was now though, I couldn’t be sure.  It was finally the time to find out what I had really learned after riding a motorcycle for over forty years.  I hoped and prayed that what I had learned in those many years of riding would tonight be enough.

As we continued down, the road had many more sharp turns, swerving from right to left and then back right again.  Many times, I was right at the edge of my strength. My legs battled to keep the bike upright, as I fought it as it wanted to lean deeper into the turns.  I almost thought I had the knack of all this down, when I instantaneously came out of the cloud.  I couldn’t believe, and more accurately didn’t want to believe, what I was seeing less than a half mile ahead.

The road in front of me was totally covered in black ice.  Black ice look’s almost like cinders at night and can sometimes deceive you into thinking it holds traction when exactly the opposite is true. This trail of black ice led a half mile down the mountain to where it looked like it ended under a guardrail at the end.  What I thought was the end was actually a switchback turn of at least 120 degrees.

It turned sharply to the right before going completely out of my sight into the descending blackness up ahead.

My options now seemed pretty straightforward while bleak.  I could lay the bike down and hope the guard rail would stop us before cascading off the mountain, or I could try to ride it out with the chances of making it slim at best.  I tried digging my feet into the black ice as brakes, as a kid would do on a soapbox car, but it did no good.  The bike kept pummeling toward the guardrail, and I was sure I was now going faster than ever.  As my feet kept bouncing off the ice, it caused the bike to wobble in the middle of its slide. This was now the last thing I needed as I struggled not to fall.

As I got close to the guardrail, and where the road turned sharply to the right, I felt like I was going 100 miles an hour.  I was now out of the cloud and even in the diffused moonlight I could see clearly both sides of the road.  With some visibility I could now try and stay in the middle, as my bike and I headed towards the guardrail not more than 500 feet ahead.  The valley’s below to the North and South were still thousands of feet below me, and I knew when I tried to make the turn that there would be no guardrail to protect me from going off the opposite right, or Northern side.

                   Time Was Running Out, And A Choice Had To Be Made

The choices ran before my eyes one more time — to be trapped under a guardrail or to run off a mountain into a several thousand foot abyss.  But then all at once my soul screamed NO, and that I did have one more choice … I could decide to just make it. I would try by ‘force of will’ to make it around that blind turn.  I became reborn once again in the faith of my new decision not to go down, and I visually saw myself coming out the other side in my mind’s eye.

                                        I Will Make That Turn

I remembered during this moment of epiphany what a great motorcycle racer named **** Mann had said over forty years ago.  

**** said “When you find yourself in trouble, and in situations like this, the bike is normally smarter than you are.  Don’t try and muscle or overpower the motorcycle.  It’s basically a gyroscope and wants to stay upright.  Listen to what the bike is telling you and go with that. It’s your best chance of survival, and in more cases than not, you’ll come out OK.”  With ****’s words fresh and breathing inside of me, I entered the right-hand turn.

As I slowly leaned the bike over to the right, I could feel the rear tire break loose and start to come around.  As it did, I let the handlebars point the front tire in the same direction as the rear tire was coming.  We were now doing what flat track motorcycle racers do in a turn — a controlled slide! With the handlebars totally pressed against the left side of the tank, the bike was fully ‘locked up’ and sliding with no traction to the right.  The only control I had was the angle I would allow the bike to lean over,which was controlled by my upper body and my right leg sliding below me on the road.

Miraculously, the bike slid from the right side of the turn to the left.  It wasn’t until I was on the left apron that the back tire bit into the soft snow and regained enough traction to set me upright. I was not more than three feet from the now open edge leading to a certain drop thousands of feet below.  The traction in the soft snow ****** the bike back upright and had me now pointed in a straight line diagonally back across the road.  Fighting the tendency to grab the brakes, I sat upright again and counter steered to the left. Just before running off the right apron, I was able to get the bike turned and headed once again straight down the mountain.  It was at this time that I took my first deep breath.

In two hundred more yards the ice disappeared, and I could see the lights of Cooke City shining ten miles out in the distance. The road was partially dry when I saw the sign welcoming me to this most unique of all Montana towns.  To commemorate what had just happened, I was compelled to stop and look back just one more time.  I put the kickstand down and got off the bike.  For a long minute I looked back up at the mountain. It was still almost totally hidden in the cloud that I had just come through.  I wondered to myself if any other motorcyclists had done what I had just done tonight — and survived.  I knew the stories of the many that had run off the mountain and were now just statistics in the Forest Service’s logbook, but I still wondered about those others who may had made it and where their stories would rank with mine.

I looked up for the last time and said thank you, knowing that the mountain offered neither forgiveness nor blame, and what I had done tonight was of my own choosing. Luck and whatever riding ability I possessed were what had seen me through. But was it just that, or was it something else? Was it something beyond my power to choose, and something still beyond my power to understand?  If the answer is yes, I hope it stays that way.  Until on a night like tonight, some distant mountain high above some future valley, finally claims me as its own.

                     Was Crossing Tonight Beyond My Power To Choose?

After I parked the bike in front of the Super 8 in Cooke City, I walked into the lobby and the desk clerk greeted me. “Mr Behm,

it’s good to see you again, I’m glad we were able to reach you with that second phone call.  We received a cancellation just before nine, and the only room we had left became available for the night.”

I have heard the calling in many voices and in many forms.  Tonight, it told me that my place was to be in Cooke City and my time in Red Lodge had come to an end.  Some may need more or better reasons to cross their mountain in the dark, but for me, the only thing necessary was for it to call.

                                               …  Until It Calls Again





Gardiner Montana- May, 1996

He tells me he likes nachos while we sit in front of his living room TV,
lights dimmed. his dog has shed relentlessly on this couch.
I’m feeling dizzy, because I’m pretty sure that cheese was growing mold and I remind myself that
this is the 4th boy this summer (it’s only July), and he’s holding my hand.

it’s not so comfortable. in fact I realize I really don’t want to watch this movie about chemotherapy and space aliens (willing to bet he’s run the same one for every girl) at all. for a moment I forget where I am,

and I ask him if his name is Mitchell.
It’s Rafe, he says, ¼ laughing, ¼ wondering why he invited me over, half imagining what he could do to me.
what a ****** name, I think to myself, and I throw the scratchy blanket off me in his too air-conditioned apartment,
much more breathable.
I open the door. sorry Mitch, my mom told me to be home by... (squint at my watch in the darkness)
he stands up and knocks over my untouched Pepsi, probably spiked, saying it’s pretty early, are you sure? and the name’s –

(door shuts). bye, Mitch.

I *** outside
When no one's around
I *** outside
Right there on the ground
I *** outside
Near my favorite tree
I *** outside

That is where ***
Is meant to be.

Let's not waste so much water
On something like *****
We waste way too much water
Of this I am certan
Go out to your yard
Hang a privacy curtain
If we keep wasting water

Our world
Will keep hurtin'

-Mitch Paradeis

[Intro]
Ain't this what they've been waiting for? You ready?

[Verse 1]
I used to pray for times like this, to rhyme like this
So I had to grind like that to shine like this
In a matter of time I spent on some locked up ****
In the back of the paddy wagon, cuffs locked on wrists
See my dreams unfold, nightmares come true
It was time to marry the game and I said, "Yeah, I do"
If you want it you gotta see it with a clear-eyed view
Got a shorty, she try'na bless me like I said, "Achoo"
Like a ***** sneezed, ***** please before them triggers squeeze
I'm gettin' cream, never let them hoes get in between
Of what we started, lil' ***** but I'm lionhearted
They love me when I was stuck and hated when I departed
I go and get it regardless, draw it like I'm an artist
No crawling, went straight to walkin' with foreigns in my garage
Got foreign ******* menaging, ******', suckin', and swallowin'
Anything for a dollar, they tell me get 'em, I got 'em
I did it without an album
I did **** with Mariah
Lil' ***** I'm on fire
Icy as a hockey rink, Philly ***** I'm fly-er
When I bought the Rolls Royce they thought it was leased
Then I bought that new Ferrari, hater rest in peace
Hater rest in peace, rest in peace to the parking lot
Phantom so big, it can't even fit in the parking spot
You ain't talkin' bout my ****** then what you talkin' bout?
Gangstas move in silence, ***** and I don't talk a lot
I don't say a word, I don't say a word
Was on my grind and now I got what I deserve **** *****
Hold up wait a minute, y'all thought I was finished?
When I bought that Aston Martin y'all thought it was rented?
Flexin' on these ******, I'm like Popeye on his spinach
Double M, yeah that's my team, Rozay the captain, I'm the lieutenant
I’m the type to count a million cash then grind like I’m broke
That Lambo, my new *****, she'll ride like my Ghost
I'm ridin' around my city with my hand strapped on my toast
Cause these ****** want me dead and I gotta make it back home
Cause my momma need that bill money and my son need some milk
These ****** tryna take my life, they **** around get killed
You **** around, you **** around, you **** around, get smoked
Cause these Philly ****** I brought with me don't **** around, no joke
All I know is ******, when it comes to me
I got young ****** that's rollin' I got ****** throwin' b's
I done did the DOAs I done did the KODs
Every time I'm in that ***** I get to throwin' 30 G's
Now I'm hanging out that drop head, I'm riding down on Collins
They like, my ***** back home that young ***** be wildin'
We young ****** and we mobbin' like Batman and we're Robin
This 2-door Maybach, with my seat all reclinin'
I'm that real ***** what up, real ***** what up
If you ain't about that ****** game then ***** ***** shut up
If you diss me in yo' raps, I'll get your ***** *** stuck up
When you touchdown in my hood, no that tour life ain't good
Catch me down in MIA, at that Heat game on wood
With that Puma life on my feet, like that little engine I could
Boy I slide down on your block, bike on twelve o'clock
And they be throwing dueces on the same ***** they watch
And I'm the king of my city cause I'm still calling them shots
And these lames talking that ******* the same ****** that flopped
I'm the same ***** from Berks Street with them ***** braids that lock
The same ***** that came up and I had to wait for my spot
And these ****** hating on me, hoes waiting on me
Still on that hood ****, my Rolls Royce on E
They gon' remember me, I say remember me
So much money have ya friends turn into enemies
And when there’s beef I turn my enemies to memories
With them bricks they go from 40 ain't no 10 a key, hold up
Broke ***** turn rich, love the game like Mitch
And if I leave you think them pretty hoes gon' still **** my ****?
It was something 'bout that Rollie when it first touched my wrist
Had me feeling like that dope boy when he first touched that brick
I'm gone

Mitch McConnell could be the biggest ******* in American history.
Why don't you come oppress me, *****? I'm anti-fascism, you ******* *******! So, come on down and oppress me, big man. I dare you. Try to silence me, **** face!
I wish you would.
I personally DO NOT work retail. However *** breath , the people who do work retail and any non essential non-medical job deserve a holiday off with pay same as anyone else does just as president Lincoln declared in 1863
you unpatriotic ****** cattle ******* piece of uneducated ****.

If I posted what I actually wish for the ******* from Kentucky, I would hear a knock on my door and guys in blue suits with sun glasses.

He looks like a loaf of **** that is beginning to poke out of your *** prior to reaching a toilet.
That ***** can die in a well.

Yesterday’s weather was squallish, so Mich and Lisa were posted-up all day. They’ve been hanging together lately but tolerhate each other - I don’t get it.

Mitch, a Junior, is the snippiest man I’ve ever met - except for my brother, when he’s actively trying to be a ****. Everything Lisa does seems to rub him wrong, but he’s got a massive ***** in her direction.

Sometimes Lisa lets him intersperse his harsh music and we get “Neural Milk Hotel” or “Bikini ****” - screemo tracs that set me pinching fingers close together THIS close to unplugging the **** router. I don’t think he’s a comfortable fit.

So, the three of us were going to pick up dinner at “Charley’s Place” and bring it back for the room. We get about ten feet out in the rain and Lisa says, “Argh! My Phone,” holds up the “1-second” sign and turns back.

Mich, with the rain lashing down, is clearly irritated. He turns to me, looks me up and down and says, “Should we sleep together and see what it’s like?”

I decided that either his irritation with Lisa was emboldening him - or more likely, he was making a joke. “Wow, you’re really smooth with the seduction thing,” I say, hoping he takes the joke path.

“I’m being direct,” he says, bending his legs or something to look me more directly in the eyes. “I like you, I’m attracted to you.” I looked away. Then turn back.

“It’s wrong. The whole idea. Deeply wrong,” I say, deciding that he’s serious and starting to get mad, “Lisa’s my friend,” I say, wondering how I can tell her about this, “die for that.”

“We know each other - it wouldn’t be like sleeping with a stranger,” He says, trying a logic so odd I almost laugh.

“Collapse already,” I say, dryly, as the dorm door opens and Lisa emerges.

I put Lisa between us. “You know,” I say, sweeping my hair back from my forehead but keeping my palm pressed there like I’m taking my temperature, “I think I’ll call it a night.”

“Awww,” Lisa says, grimacing disappointedly. “Really?” Tilting her head in concentration as she searches me for reasons, symptoms, or a change in heart.

“Yeah,” I say, giving her a hug, “see ya later.” I turn and go in, as they walk off arguing.

I decided to work on an essay I’d been putting off, but my heart wasn’t in it - I couldn’t concentrate. Everything was irritating me - my clothes felt like wool - thinking I was going to have to tell Lisa about Mitch’s proposition.

Forty minutes later Lisa’s back home - with sandwiches for both of us. I’m sitting on my bed playing Animal Crossing when she scooches onto the foot of my bed and tells me she decided the Mitch thing wasn’t working anymore.

“Thank God,” I say, letting my head fall back on my pillows, “You couldn’t trust him.”

Political correctness has reached a brand new low
It has now reached good and evil
And has changed things down below

The devil is still the devil,
That much has not changed
But, the food is all organic
And the meat is all free range

I didn't know the changes 'till
I made a plea last week
To sell my soul for increased wealth
And other things I seek

I expected a commotion
When the devil came from hell
But, there was nothing quite so flashy
When someone...rang my bell

I answered thinking nothing much
I looked outside to check
I am wary of the Mormons
and Jehovahs on my deck

I looked outside and there I saw
A man dressed all in grey
A poll taker, election geek
Let's see what he may say

"Good day, kind sir, I come to you"
"You wanted to be rich"
I thought he isn't from no bank of mine
He said "Sir, just call me Mitch"

"Mitch", I said, "I don't know how"
"you'd know I want to sell my soul"
He told me that was why he's here
To get a deal done was his goal

I said, "why use the door bell"
"Why not the cloud of smoke"
He said "with budget cuts'
"Pyrotechnics made us   broke"

"The PC folks got wind of us"
"of our tricks and double speak"
"Now, you sign away your soul to us"
"but, you can get out within the week"

"We can't go by the same old name"
"Hell is not allowed"
"We're H...E...double hockey sticks"
"Try saying that aloud"

"It doesn't have the forcefulness"
"That the other word once had"
"we can call it heck, if we're in a pinch"
"You can see, it's got quite sad"

"The contracts are all readable"
"You don't have to sign in blood"
"With *** and STD's"
"It may as well be mud"

"A soul still has some meaning"
"But, as you yourself can see"
"The devil stays at home now"
"And sends his minions out...like me"

"I have a small brochure for you"
"You have choices, please pick six"
"It's more a club, a health resort"
"In H...E...double sticks"

"I can't get out, I'm stuck for good"
"I signed my deal before"
"The PC people got us good"
"And now...we use the door"

"Please look over the contract"
"Take your time, and read it close"
"You'll find it is a real good read"
"With language, non verbose"

"If you should have some questions"
"change your mind,  or want to tour"
"Just call me on my cell phone
"I'm at star66 extension 4"

"I'm sure you'll still come down  to us"
"It's not so bad, you'll see"
"Just call me when you're ready"
"You've got time, now we're PC"

to me? Real with a certified S.King filtered -ly mod,
by god,
as the oh myers say. On Writing sans Shining.
Needful fiction,
Liars prosper. Okeh. Thus,
the poor we have with us, always.

Truth t' tell.

Entshallah allathat, OMG samesame
good mastah willin' creeks don't rise

Do the work. Come Sunday, someday,
we, all us, say.

You ever finish your own work one day and jest

sit back lax - lacks a daisy, taken easy,
laxative action,
gut synapse
synch-up, cinch that saddle on my wildest
old Nightmare, beat my plow
back to a oil drum,

set some feats t'dancin' in some ol'lady minds.

old man's angels seen t'be jiggin' on
the head o' some pen
in the hand

worth two in the bush.

Who know what ever mean, okeh.

period. point made signal.
that was said and it's writ.

set it aside, let it dry

crumble to dust and be scattered to the five great gyres
to settle
as sands
ifiable quant, to mortal mind, weighable
any worth assigned as
sought or ought,
a grain,
a mote,
as seen with five gee augmented
lenses
prestandards beeing raised in the buzz
from Utah

as an erranded boy's sail bike lifts into if
from the saline shore.
Bike tires adhered to passive-ly

by molecular
memories of being
in truth, as if
once and ever,
salt of the earth, see in the distance,
Lot's wife

as tiny as can be

Na and CL, for ever,
deja wuwuish it were possible… dream… or die…

no don't. There is a reason. I for get it can not right now but these
keys can be

used right by the sober one in the batch.
God, I love this process. This is the work. Living.
You can do it as long as you can pay attention…

selah

then it, the algorithm, I'll go rhythm, pauses,
Spelchkovian spells masters seem sorry we ever agreed she'd
leave me leavened as dust
lying around
on white linen
in the streets of Laredo, as cold as the clay,

back in the day,
we sang that song in school. We sang
in movie theaters, along with a
bouncing ball and other people,

big bio jump here. My step-brother was murdered,
and it never seemed relative…

my father married a wombed man with one leg,
whose family sang along with Mitch,

and played Spit in the Ocean.

Such experiences ificate possibilities few knew
some survive.
There could be a contributory flow…

This ever lasting book of life.
See, a shore, sand bar
snag a thought rainbowing true to you

hang-ups from way back

Any boomer bubble popped too soon. Manifest at will.
P-pickup from scratch and
make a point
to infect the next pun unknoticing kid,

old -time slow hand-eye coordination special ed, Big Ern,
kicking chalk dust in far right field, noticing
patterns
in the leftmost vector straight home--

grand children, for the joy of knowing they happened,
caused,
to all outward appearance,
by my survival of several unbelievable

periences ex nihilo only
if "It don't mean nothing".

link link link something has broken, what do we con tribute tributary flow
too dammed salty, got to puddle around

waiting. waiting. waiting for one point
to be made
edged on all angles, to each mea culpa assured
quantifiability of reason,

inquizical sequence surpast
glistering

whetted and furbished for ever,

the keenness
the cut, precision decision

and how swiftly forms the scab,
a touch,

capillary seals, the grain, at HD,
one pixelish crystallin charge

change that,
by taking thought. It does nothing to your stature,

think allusive butterflies of lifenshit

it gets tiresome. A body wants some rest from ever
meaning ever and never was known
or heard
a dis cora zone age word, like

troglodyte or luddite Denisovan bracelet breaker,
ropemaker union with certain silky
threads
to which a little leaven always sticks
as would caterpillar spit.

Meandering, right, it's the play. My role.
I manifest the dance
as seen on the surface, from Jim's POV,

then my own POV,
then my own rivers of no return,
tribute

'ary a day goes by I don't re call that feeling,

flow is moving paster and paster the walls are
higher
shade deeper
colder'n'hell fersher, rapids.
Ah,

Kern River, I remember this.
Almond trees, Columbus clouds…
Hey, readerman, paperbackwriter wannabe,

we survived. What'sa-hell, right's right.

clap. there is a - an  STD joke there.
But those aren't funny

right,
standup guy says right's right, does a
Johnny Unitas stiff arm
and gets a case of
clap from the left, worse than meaningless

neo **** non clapping on the right.
Repent or perish.
****** if it don't feel good to say that.
It's true, once you know,

Gertrude Stein, I got it from her. Lesbian Jewish leaven
in passover brownies dipped in Mogen David,
she made me stand and say a rosary.

By any other name,

a rose is a rose and so on

Son of a Snitch

My daddy was an informer to the FBI,
got caught selling drugs to this undercover guy,
his only recourse was to tell what he knew,
but people found out and gave him the *****,
they even took it out on me, I'm Mitch,
and rubbed it in my face, call me son-of-a-snitch  

came home from work the other day,
looked for my ******* and my can of starch spray,
magazine was gone could not find it at all,
I said hey, who took my friggin book off the wall,
wife looked at me and with nary a hitch,
she said why you ask me you son-of-a-snitch

went to the super to get me some cheese,
beans and beer and bread if you please,
wanted a streak but the cost was to high,
asked man behind counter I say hey old guy,
why this price so high is this some glitch,
he say don't ask me you son-of-a-snitch

everywhere I go I get the same old crap,
a punch in the gut, a facefull of slap,
just because daddy bought his way out of debt,
this is the kind of treatment I always get,
I plead my case give it my best pitch,
quit that whining you son-of-a-snitch

Gomer LePoet...

Dear @NewtonFaulkner,

‪#‎nextLine‬
A fictional poem by Mitch Paradise || @niteLifePRO

(First draft/ February 26th/ somewhere between Minneapolis and Denver)

::

It rings, "The UK?
Could it possibly be?"
So I pick that **** up,
guess who's talking to me?!

Recognized ‪#‎WriteAway‬
I interrupt by third-word
"‪#‎NoFugginWay‬! Open Twitter: 'Hashtag'
‪#‎WontBelieveWhatWeHeard‬!"

No way this is real, man!
Hashtag: ‪#‎CanNotBeTrue‬!"
He says, "Hi, my name's NEWton,
'Hashtag'
I'm a big fan of you..."

I stop. Almost cry,
"‪#‎amIreallyThatHigh‬?"
Or is my personal Hero waiting
on my #nextLine?

He says, "you're quick wit' your wit, @Kid,
Surely you will go far!"

"Thanks, man. You're a writer;
so you know how we are....

How we talk to @ourSelves,
‪#‎alMOSTofTheTime‬!
Envisioning all of our @Idols,
hanging on that #nextLine...

So yeah, Maybe I have
ran this by a few times,
so if that ‪#‎dayEverCame‬,
I'd have that perfect ‪#‎FirstLine‬

And sure, Maybe I do,
mix it up 'at-mention' @Times,
A little ‪#‎staged‬ a little ‪#‎live‬
bunch of ‪#‎freestyles‬ and ‪#‎rhymes‬...

"Which is it now,
I do wonder?",
he so simply replies,
....
I say, "Honestly, @MrYodaFanGuy?
I'm asked that same question
'Hashtag'
‪#‎allOfTheTime‬....

But, you liked something of mine, Hell,
You could be reading ‪#‎toNite‬,
So Keep it surreal, @MrFaulkner,
We'll catch you
on the very #nextLine

Sincerely,
- @Mitch (ThatKidFromniteLife)
'Hashtag' #justa_Shout
from the top of ‪#‎Cloud9‬

UNDERDOG RAP

We are a population which is
Awaiting loaves and the fishes
And other unfulfilled wishes;
No chance to know what rich is,
While graduates are digging ditches
Immigrant PhDs are doing dishes.
Never quite knowing which is
Snake oil salesmen pitches.
Politicians too big for their britches.

Fools don’t know where the hitch is
Whatever the larcenous pitch is;
Reacting with kneejerk twitches
Due to governmental glitches.
And creeps like that guy Mitch is
Are rapacious sons of *******
Hunting for Democratic witches
In all the freedom fighting niches
With hearts as black as pitch is.

And the rich have a wish list
In which they scratch their itches
Regardless of what our ***** is
By wallowing in stolen riches
Punishing watchdogs snitches.
Politicians too big for their britches.
We are a population which is
Awaiting loaves and the fishes
And other unfulfilled wishes.
No chance to know what rich is.

Brent Kincaid

March 19, 2015

Falling deep down into a saddening abyss
Though I fall
And I’ve hit rock bottom
There’s someone to catch me
To make me happy
Andrew, Lindsay, mom, Dad, all those
Who have cared to love me
Who I depend on
Who gave me power,
Power to be who I am
To make you feel my love
I must share
Share my thoughts
Feelings
Today I share them with you
My words of wisdom
Of woe
My troubles. My faults. My life.

Dependent,
Although not independent
It is still important to be.
Family
There and strong
They have your back
Even if you’re wrong
Uncle.
Abusing family at a young age
Came to realize
How much  he had fazed out his family
The ones who cared
Coming back to life
Reality and love
Accepted back into open arms that were never closed
As if yesterday was forgotten
Because it was
Uncle.
I’ve called uncle.
Ready to give up
But those loving arms bring me back.
I was taught to give compassion
My family my own example
As Mitch does for his brother,
My family did for my uncle.
Laughter.
Sarcasm is strong
Runs through this family like blood through fat veins
In my house you must have’
Nerves of steal
To survive one meal
Not against the food
But the mood
Judgmental
One word against my father
Teasing, prodding,
To me much more than my brother.
I take it hard
I do admit
But who doesn’t want to be daddy’s little perfect gift
Of pride
Of belongingness
To feel as if I’m doing something right
To feel wrong gives me a fright
we do okay
we occasionally blame
blame it on the doctor
who hurt my mother
vacations
in smoky Cleveland
Where j-walking is an Olympic sport
Cleveland became my hell
It taught me to be strong
Because I had family
Beside me, even if sharing a bed out of the question.

A friend
Andrew once told me
When  I was lonely, tired, and sad
To” close your eyes, and sleep. Let your dreams wash away your fears, then take on tomorrow.”
I don’t think he realized
But maybe he did
This saved me
Thousands of words
Exchanged past lips of knowledge
Hours of conversations
And this one line finally gives me rest
I ask him
What would the final words be
He won’t say
He won’t say because I don’t need to know
I won’t ever have to find out
He’s there for me
More than anyone before
Gets me through a hard day
And makes the next one
It’s a kind of love that can’t be described
It’s changed me
Made me more intelligent
Lindsay
Ginger
Energetic
Sister separated at birth
Soothes me even when she’s countries away
Ireland is lucky
Ha-ha luck of the Irish
Impacted my lonely self
Cracked my shell and poured me into the world
Where i expressed myself
Through piano
And vocal harmonies
In practice rooms
Late to class
Reluctant to leave
I would never have shared my voice if it wasn’t for a friend like that
Years ago I would have tested an introvert
Friends and peers around me
Reaching inside me and pull the extrovert outta me
Now cold
I slink into remission
Wishing I could trust
But I have learned
From mistakes.

Happiness
A well rounded word
The meaning of happiness? The pursuit.
A smile is like a flower
Blooming with care
For a flower
Water and sun maybe all it needs
For me. I need family
Friends
A reason
Used to be known.
Known as the girl who always laughed
Not anymore
I’m on my own pursuit
Pursuit to find what stops my flower from blooming
Might be the feeling of abandonment
Biological
A man who never wanted me
My own father
Not the mad maestro we all know and love
The dark cloud
Who blocks my sunshine
Not the sun who cared for me when no one would
Happiness  Requires passion
Happiness is WORK
Work I need to start
Looking for that job
Applying my feelings to the cause
Morrie had it right
People crawl through their average live
Never noticing the trees
The beauty in the world
It’s a fast crawl.

Life has a philosophy
One learned from experience
Learned from love
Learned from family
Learned from peers
That gives you happiness
Wait re word that
Gives you the ability to be happy
Make life your own
Live it everyday
And have someone to fall to

The Raiders show raiders v st george at GIO Stadium

    with johnny brown and Sue Longways




johnny’   welcome dudes to GIO stadium to this match between the dragons and the raiders and this is going to be a

great match, the raiders are 11th and the dragons are at 14, and whoever wins, I can guarantee it will be a spectacle

and i have Pete from Hawker with us now with a poem for us, hoping to get the Raiders into top swing

Pete”    ok dudes let’s swing it

you see the bad and mean green machine, big and strong and fast and mean

you see you shouldn’t try and stop these men in green, cause we are 3 positions higher than the opposition

Johnny’  well, short but sweet, and have you been worried about form in some matches

Pete’   well, yes, but that makes no difference, the raiders are going to win dudes, i will sing it again

you see we are the bad and mean green machine, big and strong and fast and mean

you see you shouldn’t try and stop these men in green, cause we are 3 positions higher than the opposition

Johnny’   well thanks Pete and now here is Sue Longways with another fine poem from the crowd

Sue’   thanks Johnny and what a great atmosphere here at GIO Stadium today, a great twilight match, and everyone

is in fine voice to cheer the raiders to beat the dragons tonight, and here is John Barten from Queanbeyan and he hates

how the Raiders went to Canberra all those years ago, so he sings a dragons tune

John’   go the dragons go the dragons

go the mighty dragons team

you see it’s only early in the season

go the mighty dragons cause the raiders moved here

I know we shouldn’t hold a grudge, mate, but i am and there is nothing you can do oh no

go the mighty dragons and i will go for them till the Raiders go back to Seiffert Oval, dudes

Sue”   thanks John and now here is Harold from Lyneham

Harold’   i am the bad and mean raiders fan

we supply the best coming out of the can

you see i go to the footy with mates george and dan

you see we’ll hit ya hit ya hit ya the mighty green machine

Sue’  thanks Harold and now here is the Raiders team, bring on the team

Jordan Rapana and Sisa Waqa and Jarrod Croker and Jarrad kennedy and edrick lee and blake austin and Mitchell Cornish


and Shannon Boyd and Josh Hodgson and Dane Tilse and Josh Papali and Sia Solicia and Shaun Fensom

and the 4 interchange players  Josh McRone and Frank-Paul Nuuausala and Paul Vaughan and Luke Bateman

and now here is Ken from Symonston with his poem

Ken”   i have been coming out to the GIO stadium every time we play

you see it’s fun when we win, but when we lose, we certainly do ****** pay

and the main thing about it is, we beat the easy teams and beat the hard teams but never at the best time

come on Raiders, it’s surely the time to win, oh ****** yeah


sue”   thanks Ken and now here is Rob with his jingle

Rob”     Run Raiders run

as we charge onto the GIO stadium yeah

run raiders run you see we have the team, we’ll win oh yeah

yeah we will come a running, and score a hundred tries

yeah that will be so cool,

run raiders run, oh yeah the Raiders are the team to beat i hope

run raiders run

they are the team that will thrash the opposition yeah

you see we won one and lost one

run raiders run

yeah the mighty raiders, will be our son of a gun

Sue”    thanks Rob for that and now here is the dragons team


first is Peter Mata’utia and Etonia Nabuli and Dan Nielson and Dylan Farrell and Jason Nightingale

and gareth Widdop and Benji Marshall and Leeson Ah Mau and Mitch Rein and George Rose

and Tyson Frizell and Joel Thompson and Jack de Belin

and the interchange men are trent Merrin and Heath L”Estrange and Rory O’Brien and Mike Cooper and Jake Marketo

and here is Mike from Jerrabomberra with his jingle

oh yeah those dragons yeah, they win more than the raiders yeah

they supply all the tries, in fact more tries than the locals, why don’t they win the grand

well i think i know, it’s because we lose our playing ability after thrashing the raiders here and anywhere

so go the dragons, go the mighty dragons, the right team to win the match

sue’   ok thanks Mike and now here is Keith from Latham with his song

carn the carn the carn the mighty raiders team, please dudes don’t make us say **** mate

make our raiders team win, carn the raiders carn the raiders, watch our team win well

on our home ground see, go the mighty raiders for a great victory

ya see i live in Latham and in my lounge room i have raiders cushions and raiders tables and heaps

of videos too including the great grand final victories in ’89 and “91 and the great ‘94

they haven’t won a grand final since in the first grade oh no

but if they win a few games where they don’t drop the ball too much

they will play so ****** hard, GO THE RAIDERS, DUDES

Sue’   ok that is it for me, and now back to Johnny

Johnny”  thanks Sue for telling us the teams and letting us hear some great home truths, let’s hope the

Raiders can win tonight, and now here is ?Bob from Cook with a jingle

Bob’   go the raiders go the raiders, do ya reckon we have the stamminer to win today

go the raiders go the raiders, should we win, should we win

twinkle twinkle raiders pack, how i wonder whether you’ll win

up above the GIO park tonight, make sure we clean this game free of fights

twinkle twinkle raiders pack, go the raiders through and through

Johnny’ thanks Bob and now here is Ernie from Higgins with his rhyme

hey ****** ****** the dragons are ready, are they going to win

all have the raiders put all their dropping the ball crap in the flaming bin

Shaun Fensom laughed at this little rhyme, as hopefully the raiders grab the 2 points

Johnny’  thanks Ernie and first my tip, well to the ladder, i say Raiders, on current form, well raiders be 6, could be more

and who do you support Sue

Sue’    well to the ladder, the Raiders, but on current form, dragons by 2, but i could change

Johnny”   ok, we’ll be back at half time, ok, here on the Raiders show

GO THE CANBERRA RAIDERS

"a waffle is like a pancake...with a syrup trap"
the dog is forever in the push-up position

Fitz
Fritz
Fido
Sandy
Spencer
Chaplain
Bernard
Jesse
Snoopy
Charlie
Charles
Fred
Freddy
Bones
Remmy
Ren­a
Reno
Tony
Julian
Julie
Frisco
Meghan
Addison
Robby
Buddy
Rudy
F­riedrich
Fredrick
Bernie
Rudolph
Adolf
Ferdinand
Rose
Cassie
Cassidy
Lee
Balto
Little *****
Allen
Alvin
Jake
Demi
Randy
Alex
Richard
Alexis
Kenneth
Ken­ny
Chris
Jose
Josey
Rodger
Moe
Joe
Emilio
Walt
Emily
Emma
Maddie
­Anna
Jafar
Aladin
Jasmine
Genie
******
Amber
Gracie
Ramen
Gordy
G­ordon
Jordie
James
Bucky
Huff
Manny
Sam
Samantha
Mary
Marie
Tila
­Rita
Cathy
Tammy
Mickey
Cam
Amelia
Rene
Jeb
Dan
Bagel
Tommy
Donut­
Bubbles
Blossom
Buttercup
Mark
Cody
Andy
Cristo
Andrea
Whiskers
­Mike
Bill
Billy
George
Geo
Joy
Mitch
Trigger
Tigger
Stephen
Archi­medes
Anya
Duncan
Nitro
Crash
Bub
Crystal
Egor
Bernadette
Cammy
T­immy
Antonio
Natasha
Natalia
Ivan
Abbey
Abdul
Carly
Aaron
Omega
F­inn
Nina
Debby
Tomato
Tabby
Artie
Archie
Noah
Kyle
Alfie
Alfred
Conrad
Conner
******
G­unner
Fry
Fries
*******
Constance
Connie
Frank
Fran
Candice
D­andy
Lucy
Lou
Louis
Quincy
Doogle
Dubie
Dakota
Ace
Casey
Barry
Te­rry
Trenton
Gabe
Laurie
Cornelius
Kabob
Sky
Skylar
Rufus
Louie
Ba­rton
Kimmy
Angel
Capri
Basil
Cy
Ruby
Emerald
Eleanea
Elenor
Barth­olomew
Jazz
Dreamer
Thunder
Topaz
Amethyst
Salsa
Meril
Dodo
Toto
­Eric
Barbera
Hannah
Katie
Zoey
Ben
Pinto
Squanto
Columbus
Columbo
Porgy
Bess
Clark
Savannah
Ken­dra
Marco
Leise
Toby
Trevor
Tresten
Treven
Adrienne
Caleb
Carlyn
­Ricky
Gibby
Donny
Han
Solo
Hans
Gabby
Dirk
Spot
Sebastian
Dee
Sco­oby Doo
Shaggy
Polly
Reginald
Burger
Steak Sauce
Ethan
Bradberry
Lucky
Fergie
Cheese
Boxer
Napoleon
Snowball­
Gerald
Jeremy
Benji
Gemma
Pal
Mal
Preston
Jack
Jackson
Molly
Mac­kenzie
Alexie
Alicia
Dora
Olivia
Salvador
Beast
Beauty
Oliver
Dal­e
Rim
Marley
Diego
*****
Bobby
Ralston
Zeke
Rooney
Plato
Cole
Nep­tune
Sailor
Frida
Rico
Dali
Veronica
Victor
Copeland
Swift
Riley
­Tubs
Lassie
Yo-yo
Harvey
Lemonade
Coke
Pepsi
Tanya
Camille
Token
­Laser
Beam
Seamus
Dorthy
Ian
Moby

State Fair, Kentucky 2013

by Yoko Molotov and David Willams


It’s time for the State Fair,
today is the last day of summer.

love all the animals. pet all the animals.
cook all the animals. eat all the animals.

inflatable prizes on a stick, slowly deflating,
it’s the childhood's defeat-
they are lying lifeless in the backseat.

guess your
birthday,
weight or age
within 3 days,
20lbs, or 3 years.
junk on tables for looks at-
key rings, magnets and stickers.
Formal complaints.

white people.
Starving ducklings leap and fall
while snotty babies squeal at them.
Obama, I'm a friend of Mitch.
donate 3$ to the GOP.
I fed an estranged Grandpa
roasted pecans.

country people. concrete floors.
legs. legs long and legs glossed.
Thousands of people and two thousands of crocs.
pillars of ivory, blue and dimpled.
sunburn, wife beaters, and university shirts.
(THAT'S IT, I'M TELLING MEMAW, your shirts are beautiful)
beautiful lips
and toothless maws.

half-hearted, half-heated corn dogs and overpriced
beers, I can never finish an ice cream so
I usually leave the cone lying to be
sat in.
Dead bugs in a box and bug puke in my mouth.
A salad made from blue ribbon tobacco and light bulb tomatoes.
everything smells like popcorn, **** and tradition.

Joseph's Dreamcoat worn in some nobody's county.
you're my favorite gingerbread girl.
lover's quarrels are illegal, thanks.
everyone has the right to be miserable, thanks.

bovine pet request,
dumb static and docile eyes, do they ever change?
does any of it really change?
at some point all the cows petted will be digested and shat out.

congested aisles, shoving and trampling,
the mobilized morbidly obese in carts
WWJD?
a fat stone in a brainless trout stream.
the failing pan salesman hawking his wares,
no one in attendance, wearing a headset (a real go-getter)
and holding his pan like a flag.

the really poor families come to the fair
because it's cheap entertainment,
and it's cheap tradition.
and these struggling families
trudge proudly in faded Kmart attire-
an exhibition the pretentious call
"people watching".

separating oneself from the herd of undesirables,
a pasty man
with his head awkwardly on a pillow,
trying to convince an apathetic and bloated crowd
the perfection of his product,
his head a bit like road ****.
he's selling but the
crowd walks on-on-on.


Was there more guano under the bridge or beyond the gates?

There lived, beneath a hanging leaf
A Ladybird called Annie
Who hated being female
And daily, cursed her *****
Her voice was deep and baleful
Her shoulders, broad and strong
By right, she was a Boybird
Just her genitals were wrong

Her family rejected her
She alive alone, ashamed
Until she met a Dragonfly
‘Salvation’ she proclaimed
For every bug and critter
When feeling below par
Would visit Doctor Dragonfly
In his empty pickle jar

Just maybe he could help her
With snip, a tuck and stitch
She’d not be Annie any more
Tomorrow, she’d be Mitch
She lay down on the table
And a beetle knocked her out
The doctor took his knife in hand
And bustled all about

With suture made of thistledown
And sap of pine for glue
He reassigned her gender
But the best that he could do
Was not a lady, not a man
But somewhere in between
And, as he used some aphid parts
The ***** were small and green

Annie never changed her name
It didn’t seem quite right
Her family still shunned her
She slept alone at night
The only insect in the field
With *****, ***** and *****
Even hungry birds avoided
Ladyboybird Annie

There will never be another you
Eyes have been flooded with the eternal absence of your being
Your face is the only thing I want to be seeing
The voice of you have bounced off my walls
You have been there for comfort of my worst downfalls
You were there to make my screaming soul calm
Why do we only know what we have until it's gone?
What you have spoken told me how to feel
What you have spoken told me wounds will heal
You've shown me that we are alone Through you you've shown that by myself I'm whole
Because if I feel nothing for my enemies
Revenge should be what makes us happy when the demons have left us alone
The everlasting absence of you has left me numb
Why do we only know what we have until it's gone
You have made my sullen heart still beat in the sun
Why must we weep and morn because of your divine intervention
There is a God that hates me and you have shown me that's alright
Your words have gotten me through my seldom nights
Oh why do we beg for the summer when the days are short and cold
Our breath is all we see on those days of bitter frost
You are one of the last people we want lost
Why do we know what we have until it's gone?

Moscow Mitch and Lapdog Lindsey
Have given up on democracy
And fully embraced their thirst for power,
Governed by their hypocrisy.

Power over integrity
Seems to be their guiding drive.
They know that underhanded tactics
Help them keep control and thrive.

Lying for them is par for the course.
With the Trump admin that’s paramount.
How many lies has the president told?
For goodness’ sake, we’re losing count.

Having altered the rules to quash
Obama's prudent Supreme Court pick,
Moscow Mitch has once again
Changed the rules. It makes one sick!

Republicans in Congress now
Mainly sing the same foul song:
"To Hell with the Proper Thing to Do;
Make Up the Rules as You Go Along."

Some misguided voters think
McConnell and Graham are on the level.
Those who perceive their repulsive tactics
Say they've sold their souls to the devil.

For many people, the damage being done
Will last for who knows how many years,
As Trump's four years as president
Confirm some of their deepest fears.

-by Bob B (9-21-20)

I have been listening to Flatsound so much that I think Mitch Welling may have possessed my chest and taught me all of the wrong ways to say I love you.

Dear Mitch
You are the
Realest part of me
Even though you don't exist

Nobody accepts you, and
I am sorry
Sorry you won't find the
Happiness we deserve

I am holding on
Mostly for you to
See if you will
Thrive in a world I'm floundering in

I know parts of you
Mitch, you are happy
Living in a body that is scar free

You have a future
One beyond your
Twenties and Thirties
You have a zest for life
One that I am losing

This body
This life
It's yours to take
I need you

I hope one day
The world understands
Why you are so much
Better more
Deserving
Of this life than me

Symbolism set before my eyes was never captured well
Every mitch-match color-washed mistake was one that went unnoticed
Before me now, I have to choose,
Do I stick with the ultra misunderstanding,
Or do I learn to accept the way of the world?
Do I fight for what has been living inside,
Or let fate show things good and new?
These days,
I'm reteaching myself how to form memorable bonds
It beats sitting alone,
Reliving the old ones
Returning to past lives and past states,
When It's tearing out the senses,
And replacing them with tales,
Some of which aren't even my own,
Some of which never happened,
And will never occur

She pushed her groceries
Past the beans and black eyed peas
She picked a few cucombers up to weigh
I looked close at her hand
There was not a wedding band
When she winked I nearly fainted dead away

She walked toward the health food section
And I followed her perfection
She was one fine specimen of womanhood
We checked our lists together
As we talked about the weather
I had the feeling things were going good

       We were in the market for love
       Sometimes groceries just aint enough
       She's what I waited for so long
       Man can't live by bread alone
       We were in the market for love

Her levis had me cross-eyed
She almost had me tongue-tied
I tried to be as cool as I could be
I said, "Could we share some wine
At your place or mine"?
She said, "Honey, it's on aisle number three"

       We were in the market for love
       Sometimes groceries just ain't enough
       She's what I waited for so long
       A man can't live by bread alone
       We were in the market for love

Bridge
And now we shop together at the store
'Won't be long till we're shopping for one more...

       We were in the market for love
       Sometimes groceries jus ain't enough
       She's what I waited for so long
       A man can't live by bread alone
       We were in the market for love


A song by Louis Brown and Mitch Ballard

Nothing hurts more
Pretending to be a friend
To the one whom I adore.

Joking and laughing with her.
Without her even noticing
Each day I love her even greater.

I know telling her is a bit risky.
Something might change,
And for that I'm not ready.

I might get a rejection from you.
And I'd also lose someone
Maybe a one or two.

So I would let God decide
If you're for me and I'm for you.
If our world is meant to collide.

And dear if you're reading this,
I just want to let you know
I love you times infinities.

About twenty-nine thousand kids die everyday
And I wonder why I was blessed to grow up
Why did I get a chance to grow up,
In a roulette system of unfavorable odds
They let me have a life and tried to say
I should thank all my achievements to a god.
Don't take the little I earned
And say it wasn't mine to earn.

These days aren't all easy, the nights are a blur
I found the best friends in people who didn't know who they were
Growing up and forgetting to throw up their hands
Then defining themselves by jobs, they happened to land
****. Weren't we just kids, can you feel that?
Hold on a second, let me take you back.

Remember that time, back in Szumski's basement
We spent no time practicing, Mitch on drums, Clark on bass
I started singing, no stage, but it felt like a taste
Of what our lives would be like making it
Every wasted night, not a night felt wasted.
Not a night felt wasted. Remember?
Pretending we could skate and scooter
Even if as the summer's end kept coming sooner
We'd never admit we were doomed. To grow up.

We mostly split, seperate ways, that's how life plays
Speaking in tenses of old acquaintances, "I'm doing okay."
I wonder how often we really are okay when we speak that way.
A million thoughts a minute fly through my mind,
And if I'm being honest, sometimes, I just miss you guys.
In the past six years, I've felt like a failure, a champion,
A father, a loser, and all the others in between.
If growing up for you has been like it is for me
I'm sure you know exactly what I mean.

To dream the impossible dream
To fight the unbeatable foe
To bear the unbearable sorrow
To run where the brave dare not go

To right the unwritable wrong
To be better far than you are
To try when your arms are too weary
To reach the unreachable star

This is my quest, to follow that star
No matter how hopeless,
No matter how far
To fight for the right
Without question or pause
To be willing to march into hell
For a heavenly cause

And I know if I'll only be true
To this glorious quest
That my heart will be peaceful and calm
When I'm laid to my rest

And the world would be better for this
That one man scorned and covered with scars
Still strove with his last ounce of courage
To reach the unreachable star



Writer(s): Mitch Leigh, Joe Darion
Copyright: Helena Music Company, Andrew Scott Music

Would you rather the majestic pure white polar bear had a home in this world or that Paul Ryan took a slow, slow boat
to China & then turned around & came back, & then again,
& again?

... the humble Praying Mantis was able to bask in the sunshine
on a leaf of its choosing or that Trump was locked away for
70 years in a dank & dismal people's cell?

... all the bees, & all the dainty flying creatures could buzz here & there as was their want or that Mitch 'Gruesome' McConnell was marooned forever on a distant deserted isle?

... the startling life-form that is coral could take its own sweet time covering rocks & outcrops & undersea crags or that Mike Pence quite suddenly & terminally lost his ability to function in any way whatsoever?

... the soon-to-be starved nomadic people, the soon-to-be flooded
coastal peoples & the soon-to-be parched farmers of India were to be given direct financial & physical assistance by expropriated & toiling Masters of Industry & sundry media lackeys?

... that the delicate flowers, the tall & mighty trees, the vital green, green grass could just a go on going on, & anyone, anyone at all who ticked that box declaring Climate Change a hoax be pitilessly overseen constructing vital networks of deep, deep canals, oh for the remainder of their natural life?

... Would you rather one less Republican politician or one less soaring & majestic wind-tumbling vulture?

... Would you rather ...

black coffee
6 a.m.
old garages
tomato sandwiches
toy planes still in the plastic

Margaritaville on casette tape
Sunday's are car dealership days
tabasco sauce on every dish
two-bite pinchers when we were kids  
every boy's name is Mitch