Spot On

I went to my favorite spot and had a spot of tea, whatever that is.  A Dalmatian named Spot was walking down the street, when it spotted a cat and started chasing after it.  They both ran under my table and knocked over my tea and the strawberry scone that I was eating.  The waiter saw that the strawberry created a spot on my shirt and he said that he would get some club soda to take care of that, but I rubbed and rubbed, going all Lady Macbeth on it saying “Out damn spot” to no avail.  I think that I should look for a new spot to take my tea.

Written for Linda G. Hill’s Stream of Consciousness Saturday where the prompt is spot.

Can’t Get Enough

More of everything.  When a person is satisfied, then they don’t require any more.  How does a person determine when they have enough money?  Some people are classified as being rich, but the old saying says that the rich get richer while the poor get poorer.  There is a big economic divide in the USA now and I don’t have any statistics for you because this is a stream of consciousness post, but I think it is like less than one percent of the people own ninety five percent of everything.  These rich people are never satisfied and they are driven by greed to acquire more and more of everything.

Drug addicts want more drugs.  Nobody is ever satisfied by snorting one line of cocaine, so they do more.  In fact, cocaine is often called more, because users are never satisfied from it and they want more.  The effects of snorting coke will hit you hard and fast, and because it is a stimulant drug you may feel more alert and energetic, or even euphoric, but the rush only lasts for about 15 to 30 minutes and then it is time to snort more, so you can avoid the crash that is sure to follow.

We live in a capitalistic society with consumerism driving people’s wants, needs and desires.  People have 80-inch TV sets with hundreds of channels, which is way more than they need.  My nephew pays $250 a month for his cable TV package and he is hardly ever home to watch it.  He has a two-year-old son who has the Disney package, Nickelodeon, Cartoon Network and several others all for his son to be entertained.  It is all too much which reminds me of a Beatles song and Mick Jager just can’t get no satisfaction.

Written for Linda G. Hill’s Stream of Consciousness Saturday where the prompt is to start your post with the word more.


I learned how to play chess when I was 8 years old and I would go to the park just up the street and play every day.  I learned a technique how to put the other player in checkmate after six moves and I won a lot of games with that move, until I came up against the Czech kid that just moved into the neighborhood.  He could hardly speak any English, but he was a whiz at playing chess and his name was almost unpronounceable being Pavel Andreievich Chekov.  My friends and I taught him all the bad words because we got a kick out of hearing him swear, that was so funny.  He always wore a checkered shirt and he would say things in class that other students would get suspended for, but the teachers always let him off, because he did not know any better,

As he learned more English, he talked about his home country of Czechoslovakia, which I put on my bucket list of places that I would like to visit some day.  I still have not been able to check that one off and with the pandemic going on, I probably never will.  I have to go to the dentist next week for a check up and I will get my teeth cleaned.  I have dental insurance and I will use my debit card to pay my deductible instead of bringing a check with me.  The thunder scarred my cat last night and I could not find her till I checked under my bed, and there she was.  I am registered to vote by mail for the next election and we all must do our part to make sure that tyrant is put in check.

Written for Linda G. Hill’s Stream of Consciousness Saturday where the prompt is to use any of these words check/cheque/Czech and then we are supposed to go back to Linda’s post to check to make sure that she got it.

Link Wray Rumble Banned

Link Wray’s song ‘Rumble’ was thought to be so dangerous that it was banned from being played on the radio.  The odd thing is that this song is an instrumental and although there are no lyrics, the title of the track was what struck fear into the hearts of parents across America in the 1950s, because they thought this would lead to increased juvenile delinquency and gang violence.  Link Wray has been called the “missing link”, because of the new type of music that he was able to make with his guitar.  This song is part of the birth of rock ‘n’ roll and it was thought to be too raw for radio.

Written for Linda G. Hill’s Stream of Consciousness Saturday where the prompt is to use the word “link”.

My Wallpaper

I used this same picture for a JusJoJan prompt this year, when the topic was a picture.  I titled it Desperados  and I mentioned that I don’t take a lot of pictures.  My first thought was the Ringo Starr song ‘Photograph’, but I knew that I could come up with something better.  I thought of the Elvis song ‘Jail House Rock’, because this picture was taken inside of the police station while we were waiting for Danny to be processed for possession of marijuana.  I thought of the Grateful Dead song ‘Truckin’’, because in that song they sing about getting busted.  I thought about the Sam Cooke song ‘Chain Gang’, or the Pretenders song ‘Back on the Chain Gang’ but neither one seemed right.  I thought about the Clash song ‘I Fought the Law’, but the law didn’t win, because we bailed ourselves out and made it to the concert, so this song would not work.  I guess I could have gone with the Merl Haggard song ‘Mama Tried’, because if I was a good kid, then I would never have gotten into any trouble, but where is the fun in that.  Finally, I came upon the Paul McCartney tune ‘Band on the Run’ and that seemed to fit perfectly, because it starts out sad “stuck inside these four walls” which we were after being arrested.  Eddie paid the bail for Danny’s marijuana charges and me being arrested for having open containers of alcohol in a vehicle and it felt like, “the rain exploded with a mighty crash, we fell into the sun”, and I knew we were going to the concert to have a lot of fun.  We were a band of friends and we had good times together and now I use this picture as the wallpaper for my monitor.

Written for Linda G. Hill’s Stream of Consciousness Saturday where the prompt is to find the closest picture to you and then come up with the title and/or the lyrics of the first song that comes to mind when you look at the picture.  I probably screwed the pooch on this one, as I went through seven songs, before I found the right one.

Linda Made Me Do It

Wanker is a more general term for a tosser and you have to love those British people and their very interesting sayings.  Wanker is not exclusively British, as in the American movie Weird Science Chet is described as being a wanker.  The word tosser can be used the same way as wanker and it is not somebody that tosses bean bags.  Innocence is bliss and I felt a lot better when all I knew about a salad being tossed dealt with the beginning course of a meal and it had nothing to do with deviant behavior among male prisoners.

I hear that all of the pubs opened back up in Great Brittan today and everybody seems to be happy about that and I can’t blame them, as their weather isn’t so great and the food is even worse, that is unless you like fish and chips.  Trump said that corona would be over by April, magically disappearing when the weather got warmer, but I guess we can toss those words of wisdom in the trash.  I tossed all of my scratch off tickets away again after not getting any good numbers.

Written for Linda G. Hill’s Stream of Consciousness Saturday where the prompt is to use the word “toss” anyway you like.

Flirty Phrases

I always enjoyed flirting, but I never had any cheesy lines prepared like “coffee, tea or me” and I think that only a sexy girl could pull that one off.  One thing that I dad say was, “If you don’t have any fat, you don’t have any fun”, and this was not meant to make fun of skinny people, it was more in support of living a life without restrictions.  This philosophy allowed me to be myself and eat what ever I wanted, whenever I wanted and, in some countries, having a big belly was considered to be a sign of prosperity, before Jane Fonda got everyone interested in exercising.

I never had a line like, “The name is Bond, James Bond”, or “shaken not stirred”, but I did drink mixed drinks when I went out to clubs instead of beer, because I thought that was more sophisticated and it might impress the ladies.  Mixed drinks are sometimes referred to as cocktails, and my drink was either Tangerine and tonic or sometimes I might switch off to Smirnoff vodka with Coke.  All these drinks featured stirrers and all of my friends, who might be classified as drunks practiced this stirrer superstition, about deriving good luck from them, which I will explain.  The stirrers were in all the drinks to keep them mixed as the ice melts, but my drinks never lasted long enough for the ice to melt, so the stirrers were sort of useless to me.

The good luck comes from being able to bend your stirrer exactly in half using your thumb and forefinger, so that both tips touch each other, and then this was the sign that you would get lucky that night.  I bent a whole lot of stirrers back in the day and then it happened, and I was to get lucky this night.  I guess that even a blind pig finds an apple every now and then, but I was elated that this was to be my night.  The way I viewed getting lucky was that it meant that I would meet someone and it actually had nothing to do with actually having sex, but being a guy I always tried to get to first base and it would have been even better if I could manage to touch all the bases and arrive at home plate.  I had gone to the club with a buddy of mine, but we had split up and we were mingling with different people at this point.  I looked for him in the crowd to show him my lucky stirrer, but since I was not able to locate him, I just stuffed the stirrer in my shirt pocket.

I met these two girls out in the hallway away from the band where it was a bit more quiet and you could actually talk to people when one of them asked me what time it was, and I told them the time and I showed them my lucky stirrer.  They each told me that they had boyfriends, but they were both kind of cute, so I stuck around to keep chatting with them.  I remember rambling on about a satellite system that I was designing, which would beam the correct time into everyone’s watch and all the clocks for that matter.  I explained how nice this would be if everyone had the exact same time and then I went on to enlighten about how much time this would save when you had to set all the clocks forward or backwards each year.  These girls thought that I was brilliant and then one of them said that since I was able to express myself so well, why was it that I didn’t have a girl friend?  Cute is one thing, but cute and annoying is something else and I did not need that, so I told her that she made a good point and then I left them to find love.

My drink was empty, what a lush I was, so I went to the bar to get another, however the club was crowded and with all the thirsty people there, I could see that it would take a while before I was able to get the bartenders attention.  I knew all about tipping and I knew that if I could edge my way close enough that the bartender would recognize me as a preferred patron.  While I was waiting and watching the band, someone behind me tapped me on the shoulder.  When I turned around this girl held up this belt and asked me if it belonged to me.  I had no idea why I grabbed it, but I told that girl that it would never fit me and my best guess was that it belonged to some chick.

Now I am still several people deep, before I actually can get to the bar and besides having my empty glass in my hand, I now also had this stupid belt.  I was determined to get rid of it, so I asked a girl standing nearby me if it was her belt.  She was really cute and she had a pink feather in her hair.  She put both of her hands on her hips and swiveled from side to side and then she announced that it was not her belt, because she was wearing her belt.  I thought that she looked so cute sashaying there right in front of me, so I reached through a crowd of people to place my empty glass on the bar, it is always good to have long arms and then I dropped that stupid belt and it emerged into an abyss of oblivion, never to be seen again.  Well the sweeper probably got it the next day and then I smiled at her and I grabbed her hand and said, “Let’s dance.”  If it was not for that stupid belt we would never have met and it just goes to show that you never know when you will get lucky.

Written for Linda G. Hill’s Stream of Consciousness Saturday where the prompt is to find a flirty phrase like “coffee, tea or me”.

For the Buzz

Fuzzy Wuzzy looked for a buzz, until he lost all of his brain cells.  His brain was fuzzy from sniffing, or inhaling, which the kids called huffing.  He would put chemicals in a plastic bag and then sniff them to get high.  He started with airplane glue and then he moved on to Carbona, but his favorite was the wood filler in shop class.  He enjoyed being dizzy all the time, and often he fell asleep.  One day in math class as he was sitting next to the window, he fell fast asleep and ended up falling out of the window.  The other students all laughed, thinking this was hilarious, but fuzzy was hurt seriously this time.  Fuzzy broke his neck from the fall and now he is in traction.

Fuzzy slipped into a dream and he remembered being up in baby heaven before he was born.  God had asked him if he wanted any brains and Fuzzy thought that God said pains, so he replied, “No thank you.”  Fuzzy was not the sharpest knife in the drawer, or the brightest bulb on the tree and he dreamed that he was at a Ramones’ concert with a plastic bag tied over his face, where he endlessly inhaled vapors and dreamt of punk rock.  Fuzzy died in a coma with a smile on his face.

Wondering what I’m doing tonight
I’ve been in the closet and feel all right
Ran out of Carbona Mom threw out the glue
Ran out of paint and roach spray too
It’s TV’s fault why I am this way

Mom and pop want to put me away
From the early morning movie to the late late show
After it’s over nowhere to go
And I’m not sorry for the things I do

My brain is stuck from shooting glue
I’m not sorry for the things I do
Carbona not glue

Written for Linda G. Hill’s Stream of Consciousness Saturday where the prompt is to find a word with a double-z “zz”, and use it in your post.

Nailed It

Last week I cheated not doing a valid stream of consciousness, however this week will be different as I have nothing prepared and I will not indulge in any research.  If only I could only write like J-Dubs Grin and Bear It – Jilly Beans, this would be simple, but my mind works differently.  If I were a carpenter and you are a lady, I’d probably try to nail you.  I did drink a rusty nail which was really disgusting, so I will never do that again.  Nevermore cried the Raven, as it flew off to Never Never Land.  I’ve got nothing more to add, so I will end this post with the poem that was in my first post called Walking Gale and written on April 23, 2017, because it has the word nail in it.

She is wagging her tail.
We are getting the mail.
We will walk through the dale.
It started to hail.
Stopped to lean on a rail.
Just stepped on a snail.
Glad it wasn’t a nail.
Just saw a quail.
We will not fail.
And end up in jail.
We would need bail.
Let’s go for a sail.
It would be nice to catch a whale.
My hook got caught on some kale.
Put the fish in a pail.
Popped open an ale.
That girl is wearing a veil.

Written for Linda G. Hill’s Stream of Consciousness Saturday where the prompt is nail.

Not a Fan

I have never been a fan of Colin Kaepernick, but I do respect his courage for supporting the Black Lives Matter cause.  Sports are supposed to be played in front of fans and the NFL owners have made millions off obscure tax breaks associated with the construction of NFL stadiums, and allowing them to write off nearly all of the purchase price of their teams against profits over time, but it is wrong to give tax breaks to billionaires.  An unprecedented week in the NFL culminated in a landscape-shifting 24 hours that appears to have dramatically changed the league’s stance on player protests.  Last night Roger Goodell the current Commissioner of the National Football League said, “We, the National Football League, condemn racism and the systematic oppression of black people.  We, the National Football League, admit we were wrong for not listening to NFL players earlier and encourage all players to speak out and peacefully protest.  We, the National Football League, believe that black lives matter.”

Most people including me didn’t want to hear Colin Kaepernick’s message and I twisted it into him being disrespectful against the National Anthem, because I was always taught to respect the flag and our country from my dad who served in WWII.  I felt that Colin had the right to protest, but he was doing it at the wrong time.  I never walked a mile in his shoes, so I did not understand his suffering and although I have never been prejudiced, I am not an expert on racism or social injustice.  Drew Brees the quarterback for the New Orleans Saints apologized for some of his remarks which he felt were insensitive after taking flack from critics and Emmanuel Acho a former NFL linebacker launched a video titled “Uncomfortable Conversations with a Black Man”, which got a lot of views.

If the NFL changes the rules and allows kneeling during the national anthem, I will support it as a way of bringing our country together, because I have never seen it this divided before.  I guess Colin Kaepernick will be allowed back into the NFL, but I won’t be cheering for him.  I may be a privileged white person, one that does not understand what it means to be black, but I have never met a black person that I didn’t like, except the guy who sucker punched me and gave me a black eye.  I worked in Engineering most of my life and all the black people that I met were professionals, so in my sheltered life, the plight of the black people that have been persecuted for so long has been mostly hidden from me.

Written for Linda G. Hill’s Stream of Consciousness Saturday where the prompt is fan.