What the Hell?

Fellow Go Figure Reads writer, Stanley McFarland is working on a project about hell. He writes on a blog a few times a year, and it’s usually something long, churchy, and egg-heady. It’s pretty boring stuff, but feel free to check it out. boring blog  

Anyway, Stanley says he’s reworking the concept of hell, and he asked me what I think of it. I wanted to say that hell was reading long, churchy, egg-heady blog posts about stuff I don’t understand, but seeing as he writes for Go Figure Reads, I decided I should be more helpful.

So here are the top ten ways that I see hell.

1) An eternal presidential campaign.

1a) A campaign where the two major candidates are the worst people I can think of. Wait! Are we in hell already?

2) Gnats.

3) Endless root canal session with about 50 trillion requests of, “just a little wider, please,” from my polite demonic dentist.

4) Celine Dion tribute on steel guitars.

5) Being next in line at the Department of Motor Vehicles while the person at the window refuses to leave until he can vent his complaint one more time…

6a) I pay to go to France with friends and find I’m the only one in my group that doesn’t speak French…

6b) And doesn’t understand art…

6c) And doesn’t like wine…

6d) And is allergic to stinky cheese.

7) All Award Shows, All the Time!

8) Lima bean Pop Tarts.

9a) To have that dream again where I’m back in school and I’m not wearing pants

9b) And find out it’s not a dream.

10) Any given day in Caitlyn Jenner’s life.

      Then again, some animated characters don't seem to mind hell.

Trial by Trade by S. McFarland

Stanley offered me this essay.  It actually made me chuckle a little which I really don’t expect from Stanley.  The least I could do is pass it along.

Trial by Trade

                             by Stanley McFarland

My sister’s a lawyer.  (We love her anyway.)  She likes lawyer jokes.  She doesn’t practice law.  (You don’t need practice when you get things right the first time.)  She helps undergraduates get into law school, writes stories, and helps the one’s she loves do things they could never accomplish without her.

She doesn’t like to bring it up, but I’m pretty sure that the reason she doesn’t practice the profession she worked so hard to attain, is that she doesn’t like the smell.

Centuries ago when you had a problem, the guy with the biggest army or the best sword or the biggest club would sit in judgment and settle it.  If your problem was with the guy with the biggest club, you kept your mouth shut or suffered the consequences.

Some people believe that law came about as a natural progression in the cultural advancement of humankind.  What really happened is that the guy with the biggest club decided he’d rather go out and kill animals than sit around and hear everyone else’s problems.  The judge was an invention of convenience for everyone involved (except the animals).

 Potentially, judges cared more about the dispute than making animals bleed.  Some only cared about how much each party was willing to pay him but many prided themselves on being fair.  Each party would approach the judge, give the best possible spin on their side of the dispute and await the ruling.  When the ruling just about equally pissed off both parties, they called it – just – for short.

Everything went along swimmingly until Fred the goldsmith had a dispute with Ralph the actor.

Now Fred figured he was in the right or at least no more in the wrong than that parasite line reader but Fred had a problem.  Fred stuttered pretty badly and had a high pitched wheeze from inhaling too much gold dust.  There were people in town that held up their own hankies when Fred sneezed just to capture any gold mixed with the spew.

Fred was sitting in a saloon lamenting his chances and was overheard by Juris who, like Ralph, was an actor.

Juris offered to speak for Fred if Fred would construct an object of gold to hide his nasty overbite.  Fred knew that actors lied and as Juris was a well-known actor – he lied well but prudently.  Fred could see some real advantage in this but only if Fred could be sure that Juris would lie for Fred’s benefit.  Fred demanded that Juris swear an oath by whatever Juris held most dear.  Juris was not a religious man so he swore by the very place they were sitting, his favorite saloon.  

Fred, satisfied that Juris would hold to standards of his bar, delivered the golden retainer, and Juris became known as Fred’s mouthpiece.

Today, we live in a land where most of the people who make the laws, prosecute the laws, judge the laws, appoint the judges of the laws, defend people in trouble with the laws, and profit from the laws: hang out in the same bar. 

 I find it particularly ironic when members of this association put people on trial for what they call “conflict of interest.”

Which ones fit lawyers...?

If Fred and Ralph had a dispute today, the actor would have no advantage.  No amount of stage eloquence or even common sense will help if you don’t go to that bar and speak the guild language of “legalese.”  Both Ralph and Fred would need to hire members of the mouthpiece cartel to seek what should be theirs.  The winner, after legal fees, would be left with a snow cone drained of syrup-

Or...  Just-Ice.

Someday maybe all of us can join this bar and enjoy all the rights and benefits of full citizenship.  Until then, I’m looking for a big club.

My sister told me most of these.

Worst Poem Ever

Not for the first time, I got to Wednesday night without a finished bit for my Thursday morning blog post.

I bought a Power Ball ticket.

No dice.

I thought about faking my death, but my unlicensed legal adviser told me that if I did and sold even one extra copy of Trouble in Taos

 or Volition Man

that I could be sued for fraud unless I was willing to actually…die.

“But how would anyone know if I sold one extra copy?”

My ULA (unlicensed legal adviser) gave me one of those looks lawyers (licensed or not) give you. “In your case,” she said, “that would be one copy… period.”

“Nope – not worth it,” I said.

“Too bad,” said my unlicensed legal adviser.

ULA’s can be mean.

Not surprisingly, other writers offered to come to my rescue offering stuff they would never get accepted by a legitimate publisher – figuring the only way it’ll ever see the light of day is on this blog. For the xx^th time, Stanley McFarland offered me his poem, Garumplefink.

“Haven’t I already posted this?” I asked.

“No, but you've turned it down several times.”

“Why do you think I've turned it down?” I asked Stan. (He hates it when I call him Stan instead of Stanley. Actually, I think he secretly hopes people will think he’s Stan Lee and give him credit for his favorite superhero Thor, whom he resembles…

 in no way what-so-ever.)

Stanley looked puzzled for a moment, and then said – “Because it’s too funny?”

“Right,”

After giving Stanley the mistaken impression I was considering posting his ‘too funny’ poem, Garumplefink, I started looking through a folder of unpublished poems he left with me, and found… The Worst Poem EVER!

I don’t think Stanley thinks it’s funny, but I do. I’ll skip the boring parts along with the title and get to the good stuff.

Every person is a sculpture

We begin roughly formed, and raw

We are shaped by sharp edges and blows

And pain

There’s a knee-slapper – at least it will have to serve as one because, as I said, it’s late Wednesday night and other than Stanley’s Garumplefink – I’ve got nothing.

At least I can assure you that I won’t even consider subjecting you to Garumplefink…

Until the next Wednesday night I’ve got nothing…

And Power Ball craps out…

And my ULA nixes everything else I think up.

And now - the news

Will Wright’s Kinda Like

So I had a parody fall apart – no I don’t want to talk about it. It’s Wednesday night, and I have no post for Just Plain Stupid for Thursday morning.

The Rug (which is actually not a person, but an old hairpiece,) my old partner in the show, Headley and the Rug (and Cral) offered a bit he did about Swiss cheese. Stanley McFarland – a man who mistakenly thinks he has a sense of humor, offered me a poem from his book, Confessions of a Protestant link - (there’s a real knee-slapper.)

You might see each of these offerings in future posts, but luckily for you, Will Wright offered an actually good story from his chapbook, Salt for the Journey link . It’s also available, as is so much of the short fiction and commentary of Go Figure Reads writers, on the official blog of Go Figure Reads – Junk Drawer. Junk Drawer

Of course it’s good because I helped him write it…

Kinda Like…

by Will Wright

It’s kinda like this

Imagine a hamster

He spends all day in a converted fish aquarium

He’s is left alone

Except for two five minute periods a day

When some giant says a few meaningless words

Does a few chores

And replaces the water and food pellets

The rest of the day

He’s on his own

Now there’s only one interesting thing in his cage

The running wheel

Not surprisingly, the hamster starts to run

He runs because he likes to run

He runs because there’s nothing else to do

He keeps running

Even when he needs to poop

He runs

It doesn’t matter

The poop falls right through the wheel

And lands on the floor

The hamster keeps running

He poops again

And keeps running

Running, running poop running poop

After a while

He looks down

He thinks

“Hey, that’s kind of interesting

When the poop falls through the wheel

It looks different than regular poop

It’s in an odd pattern

I wonder if I can do this

On purpose”

For the rest of the day

The hamster runs

And poops

With a purpose

Sometimes he moves to one side of the wheel

Sometimes to the other

He tries it while running extra fast

He tries it while walking

The pattern gets more and more interesting

When he has to eat and drink

He’s really careful getting down from the wheel

He doesn’t want to disturb the pattern

Just as the sun goes down

The giant returns

He grunts in human speech

“Gee, you sure made a mess today!”

He takes the paper from the bottom of the cage

And rolls it up carefully

He puts down new paper

And gives the hamster

Water and pellets

The giant leaves

The hamster lies exhausted

He looks at the clean paper

He looks at the food and water

And he finally understands

“He gave me food and water for my pretty pattern

He put down more paper for a new pattern

I must be an artist!

I’m underpaid”

Here's a hamster with a different "skill."  

Stanley McFarland’s Top Ten

So fellow Go Figure Reads writer, Stanley McFarland sees I’m doing lists of ten and he mentions that he has one himself in this month’s edition of Bethlehem Writers Roundtable.link Stanley’s not exactly a barrel of laughs, but I figure free material for the blog is free material for the blog. If you like this kind of serious stuff, you might want to check out his story, Sammy and May in the same issue.

Sounds That Make Me Smile

by Stanley W. McFarland

1)  A baby’s laugh.  You see a creature so completely innocent and awe-inspiring – then she pours out wisdom she’ll never top in her life.  Was I ever so wise?

2)  A train whistle.  A doorway to imagination – a train can lead to anywhere, from a grisly battle to an animated wonderland.

3)  Rain on the roof.  Do I smile because there is so great a sea of water above me – or because the roof keeps me dry?

4)  The whirring of an automatic can opener.  I think of all the cats I’ve known – poised, wishing, dreaming of that sound.

5)  A bat hitting a baseball.  Do I love baseball for the sights, smells, and sounds – or the game?  Which came first…

6)  Playing cards clacking in the spokes of a bike.  You almost never hear this anymore.  As a child it made me wish I was on a motorcycle.  As an adult it makes me wish I was a child.

7)  Opening theme music from the 1996 animated version of The Tick.  Okay, that might just be me.

8)  Dixieland Jazz.  Satchmo – I miss you dearly.

9)  Crickets, peepers, bullfrogs, an owl calling to its mate.  The quiet of the night cleans the noise from the world and leaves the beauty.

10) The heartbeat of the one I love – my head resting on her chest.  The rest of the world grows dim.

Sometimes people ask me why I can’t be more like Stanley.

 To be honest, Stan kinda reminds me of this guy.

I’ll admit – he’s more sensitive than I am, even poetic, but I can write sensitive. I even write poetry! On Monday, I’ll post some of my poetry – really good sensitive crap. You’ll like it!

Bad Poetry???

April 22, 2013

Some years back, everybody decided that it was time to send business envelopes that opened at the bottom instead of the top. There was no grand announcement, no note of explanation – it just started happening. I remember the first time I got one from Scurrilous and Scummy, a temp agency I worked for. I thought – isn’t this like Scurrilous and Scummy to have their envelopes printed upside down.

But it wasn’t just S&S. I started getting them from everywhere. If everyone but you is in on it, does that still count as a conspiracy? Maybe it’s just an update of my getting picked for kickball experience. I knew when they picked everyone, including a sleeping cat, but me – and nobody said a word that I was the only person not in on it.

Sneaky cat – pretending to sleep and hiding his little feline snickers.

I feel that way about poetry. What is good poetry? Everybody else seems to know, but me. In grade school it was a mystery to everyone. We’d have a passage like:

Come not, when I am dead,
To drop thy foolish tears upon my grave,
To trample round my fallen head,
And vex the unhappy dust thou wouldst not save.
There let the wind sweep and the plover cry;
But thou, go by.

All of us kids would scrunch our underdeveloped noses while the teacher would go on about how brilliant Mr. Pompous Dead Poet was. Then years later – my classmates stopped scrunching their noses and said – “yeah, cool.”

Heck! Even Robin Williams, a guy I usually understand, is in on this one. He did a whole movie about how great poetry is, and how it’s supposed to drive adolescent boys to suicide.

Did anyone else understand this? Really?

Stop saying arrested development; I think it’s mass hypnosis. We knew better in third grade, now it’s, “Oh, poetry is so beautiful, meaningful, moving… except Headley’s”

Even at Go Figure Reads – a place you’d think would be on my side at least once, they talk about Stanley's poetry. “Stanley, I was so moved about how you went to church and talk about God and stuff.” Then they talk about Will's poetry. “Will, I love your little children’s story poems about ships and ducks and baseball.”

Church, God, ships, ducks, and baseball? C’mon, what’s so hard about that? It looks pretty easy to me. So I write a couple of poems and submit them to Go Figure Reads…

Nobody says a word, but I swear I heard a cat snickering.

Okay, I get it. Go Figure Reads is not going to publish my poems, but I have this blog, now. I sorted through my collection and found the one that’s not a lymric – maybe I’ll give you those later.

Sir Isaac Phishernife

Sir Isaac Phishernife

Had but one goal in life

Which was fine with his wife

She was not one for strife

Though a very small lad

 



He heard from his dad

There was much to be had

So he should be glad

Though he would prefer

To seek possion du jour

He put away line and lure

And to his duty made sure

As a young squire

He was urged by his sire

To seek and acquire

More knightly attire

While still a young knight

He was sent out to fight

Any monster or blight

That was fearsome of sight

When the peers did accord

To make him a lord

He gave out from his hoard

Gifts he could not afford

As an earl of the realm

Wearing buckler and helm

He did host the Duke Ghelm

Though the costs overwhelm

When a Duke he was made

To the king he was bade

And before him were laid

Tasks that made him afraid

And then he was prince

No more need to wear chintz

There were whispers and hints

He’d be king not long since

And then golden plate

They did lay on his pate

But he took hold of his fate

And said, “I abdicate!”

He declared with a jeer

“I’ll not be king, duke or peer

But by stream, lake or mere

I will set down my rear

And my tasks now shall be

To lean back on a tree

And with lure, worm or bee

Try to catch two or three”

So Sir Isaac and Ma’am

Live and fish by the dam

And if no fish nearby swam?

They just bake a nice ham

So, what do you think, huh? Send me an email: headleyh@hotmail.com