A Border Collie and a Peanut Butter Sandwich


I cannot even find my picture of you,

Sitting in your favorite chair,

The place you would go

To eat your peanut butter sandwich after your walk.


Damn you for getting old,

For stinking, for dying,

Slopped about the house, black and white,

Tail curled,

Licking peanut butter off the roof of your mouth.


You loved to walk, scratching the wall,

The leash hanging above,

Still like death but standing in heartbreaking anticipation.

The restraint that so often muted your collie instincts marks your grave,

hanging on a green stake above.

A small but stunted tree struggles right next to it, above you.

Was it the noose that held you back, or have you finally broken free of stinking, aging,

And dying?


You were a sweet animal among the cruel human

And the psychopathic nature of Nature.

The sound of your nails tapping the floor,

The sound of you scratching,

And, yes, licking peanut butter off the roof of your mouth.

You, it, had a rhythm that gave predictability to the unpredictability of life.


Your eyes, that of a Border Collie,

Big and brown, full of feeling,

Teared up once, when I

Yelled at you.


You died alone;

I remember patting you on the head,

your labored but soft puffing.

You tried to hang on to the beauty of life,

an oft-stealth flicker in this vast and timeless universe.


I remember the day I got you.

You cried for mom,

and my fleeting-child parenting skills went

A wash when you peed in

My bed.

My mom put you next to hers,

In a box we got from the dollar store,

And you became her

Fourth son and my third brother.


And I let you die alone;

I couldn’t handle death,

The death of my friend, brother, and of my childhood.

I turned up the radio to block out the sound of the approaching

Reckoning for you and for all of us.

Being denied leave for a dying son,

My mother went to work while I went numb

And blocked out life.


As silence engulfed my room.

I no longer heard breathing from you.

There you lay,

A fragment of the brother you were,

But I summed up courage and mummified you

With the discount plastic garbage bags from the dollar store.

One over your bottom, and a plastic bag over your head—

A head I often kissed and pet;

I taped the middle shut and carried you,

Like a sixty-pound baby into the freezer we call Buffalo.

I moved on the autopilot that abuse and harshness perfects.

We would put you in the ground, when life was awakening.

The Squirrel and the Fox

Chinese zodiac.

Once upon a time there lived a squirrel, which was used to gathering nuts in a small town in Upstate New York. Now, New York and the small town, for that matter, had fine nuts—too many of them really, so the squirrel finally left the Apple state and sought kinder, gentler nuts in Western Pennsylvania.  He felt that Pennsylvania would be the land of trees and though there may be even more nuts in such a place, he heard that this place carried some great nuts of knowledge.  These would make him a better, smarter, and even a gutsier squirrel, but little did he know that there is more to happiness than simply good nuts.

One day, not long after he arrived in Nuttyanna, PA, the squirrel was scampering around in desperation trying to find and gather these great nuts of knowledge when, suddenly, he came across this beautiful, dark-haired fox.  He was taking a break by and old, fallen tree—a pleasant place—with wonderful odoriferous flowers of white, blue and purple sown in throughout the landscape. This delightful fox approached him. Once the two made eye contact, she glided toward him with beaming eyes and an enticing smile; she almost seemed happy to see him. The squirrel twitched nervously but greeted her with his big, brown gentle eyes.

“Hello,” said the fox, “My name is Young; you must be new here.”

“Hi, Young, my name is squirrel and, as you can see, I am a squirrel. I am new here; how did you know?”

The fox sighed, “Well, I don’t get a chance to meet nice squirrels often, so I know you are new here. “

“Really? I would have thought there were many squirrels just like me here.”

“No,” she smiled, they all are ugly and do not have bushy tails.  Your tail is handsome and you have gentle, good eyes.”

Young smiled with confidence, while squirrel blushed somewhat.  He was not used to compliments from pretty foxes, and nothing was a bigger compliment to a squirrel than noticing his tale.

“Well, you, too, are quite pretty and …”

“Witty? Yes, I am witty though not as much when I speak squirrel.  You should hear me speak fox.  I am much better really. So why are you here?”

“Well,” feeling much better now that he felt he knew Young a little, “I am trying to find the great nuts of knowledge. I came here from Upstate New York where there are many nuts, but I want something more…”

The fox giggled quietly, “There are a lot of nuts, nuts with bad taste, everywhere.  There are probably more here than in New York.”

“Oh, really,” said the twitching squirrel. “So there are no great nuts of knowledge here?”

“I wouldn’t say that, grinned the fox. But you have to come on a journey with me to find them.”

The squirrel was all too happy to oblige his pretty new friend, and he agreed and even went out of his way to hang out with the fox.

As time went on, the squirrel began to fall in love with the fox, even though his search for the nuts came up empty.  She, too, seemed to grow more attached.

But one day, Young was gone.  The squirrel searched everywhere but could not find her.  He grew frantic, even more than usual for a squirrel. He searched high and low, and even called her name. Finally, he thought to look for her where they first met, by the tree with the odoriferous flowers.  He wasted no time in returning to his favorite spot.  When approaching, we saw the fox sitting there, with her head bent downward.

“Young,” the squirrel called, “where were you?”  I thought we were going to go out today?”

The fox looked at him with a somber smile and spoke. “I got scared.”

“Scared? Scared about what?”

“Of being together. The timing is right, but you are a squirrel and I am a fox. I am afraid of what my family, what my friends will think, how they will react.”

The squirrel stood there speechless for a moment. He had felt the same way at times.  How could a fox live in a tree or how could he live in a burrow? Though he thought of these things often, he never let it get in the way of his search for love, for companionship.

He then spoke, “so you are worried about how to live in a tree, and I am worried about how to live in a burrow?”

Her old smile returned. “Why don’t you and I meet here later?  Don’t worry I will be here.  I am a fox of my word.”

The squirrel knew that Young was a fox of her word, so he agreed and then scampered off.

Later on, the squirrel returned to his favorite place and saw the fox sitting here.  He suddenly froze and hesitated to approach her.  He realized–while gazing at her in the midst of the heavenly flowers, the downed tree, and all the powerful trees towering all around them–that Young would be the most important and significant being in his life that no matter what, he loved her, even if he did not find the great nuts of knowledge.

Then he heard her speak and looked up in surprise.  While thinking this, his feet must have carried him toward her.

“I thought you were going to walk away.  I was going to get angry, but you came.” She smiled.

“Yes, I came…and was thinking about you…us.”

“Me, too. I was always thinking about us.” She grew serious, “I need to go away for a month and meet my family.”

“Oh, no,” said the squirrel, “I love you and don’t want you to leave.”

At this moment the squirrel cried, and they both embraced.

“I love you too,” said the fox crying.

At that moment, the squirrel felt much better.  He knew that she would not run away.  She was going to visit her family.  They agreed to keep in touch, and they did.

The squirrel never found any great nuts of knowledge.  He never found any nuts at all. What he did find was that though the fox could not live in a tree and he could not live in a burrow, they could live in the whole forest together.  That was a good thing, because ten years later, they became parents of twin white tigers in the year of the white tiger, a boy and a girl. One nutty and lonely squirrel became part of a family of four.

The tigers now rule the forest.


Dedicated to my wife, my son, and my daughter on December 25, 2011-

Love, your squirrel, husband, and father, Dropout Professor.



Star, Hush, Starlett, and the Fifth Leg (Redneck Fulfillment Series C)

Now this whole incident had me really shook up as I headed toward my job on the farm. It did not help that the old Fartster, a pet name I called my truck, was fuming me to death in the cab, and I sure the hell did not feel like crawling on the ground and using muffler tape over the long-gone exhaust.

How could I just leave on some trip looking for my damn brother? Shit! This is all bullshit.

I guess it was fitting that I would be working in bullshit come to think of it. Maybe that summed up my life. Why do I care? I thought. I work on a shitty farm, have a shitty truck, and what girl is going to date me like this? I had to face it.  I pulled the truck to the side of the barn and peered at the fucked up guy in the rearview mirror. He peered back at me, and though it was my own reflection, I always felt a bit nervous looking at myself.

You sir, are a loser. Damn it! You hear me! The image shook as if heartbroken by my revelation. I felt bad saying it but was interrupted by Hush who was yelling at me from the barn.

“Hey Frank, come on. You got to help Star get lucky today. It’s his big day.”

Oh shit, I thought. Today was the day I had to help inseminate Starlett with Star’s sperm.

“Yeah, I am coming hold on.” I began walking toward Hush with a rather humiliating frown on my face. Who wants this damn job, I thought.

“What’s up with the drama Frank? Why so glum? You get to shoot a porno today,” said Hush taunting.

“Shut up Hush. I am not in the mood. I really have to talk to you today about what happened at the rectory.”

Hush laughed. He was never one to be serious unless he had a good business idea. “Nothing good happens to a hetero guy at the “rectum” or rectory as you call it. There is a reason they call it that. They don’t get any help with insemination down there.”

“Not today, Hush. Don’t be so fucking sacrilegious.”

Soon the familiar scent of hay, shit and piss filled my lungs, and for the first time, I thought how I would miss that smell if I were to leave.

Then I blurted out, “She wants me to leave, Hush. Can you believe it? My mom wants me to find brother?”

“Shit, really? How does the rectum fit into this?”

“Father Chirpkins told me, and now I have to speak with mother.”

“Chirpkins?” Hush laughed, “Birds in someone’s rectum pecking at shit is always uncomfortable.”

“Please stop it Hush!  This is serious.”

Hush forced a straight face. “Okay, sorry but are they serious? Your mom wants you to leave?”

“Yeah!” I said shaking my head much more than needed. “That’s what I am saying.”

We were interrupted by the neighing of an over-excited horse. There was Star in all his glory, jumping around and prancing. He was waiting to get out where Starlett was.

“Suddenly, Hush grew very serious and pointed at Star. “Hey, look Frank, now that is what I call the fifth leg, huh? He’s packing thirty inches and you get to give him a modified hand job.” Hush giggled uncontrollably.”

“Hush, damn it! This is not funny. I am dead serious. Of course it has a big dick. It’s a horse! And I don’t need this shit right now.”

Hush put up his hands like a traffic cop, “Frank! Frank! Please, okay, okay, I understand. We will settle all of this after we shoot our horsy porno okay? After work, we will get a drink. You don’t have to do anything, right? Don’t overreact. Let’s talk about it, but seriously if you don’t concentrate, we could get hurt with this two-thousand pound horse. It may bang us.” Hush looked at Frank with a serious look while thrusting his hips and neighing.

Despite my own mood, he made me lighten up. Yeah, I don’t have to do anything. I can think about it with my best friend. I grinned at him. “Now that’s why you are my best friend even if you are a pervert.”

Hush seemed to pay no attention continuing to prance around the barn thrusting his hips like an excited stallion.

Unknown to both of us, Hush’s thrusting motions and neighing seemed to turn on our Star here. The feisty stallion forgot all about Starlett and zeroed in on Hush, his new love. Soon Star began to follow behind Hush, prancing in a similar motion.

Now, I have never been all that religious, but maybe this was God’s way to screw over Hush for being so sacreligious. But I noticed and got the shit scared out of me. The look on my face was not missed by my perverted friend. Simultaneously, just as I let out an “Aw, oh my God Hush!” Hush yelled, “Oh, fuck!” And went to run.

Sadly for Hush, he managed to slip on some shit and fell down. Maybe this was his lucky day, more than one way. Because he was lying down, Star could only tower over him and could not get his hooves around Hush’s body. Star just stood over a fallen Hush, thrusting.

As for the “fifth leg,” let me not even go there. Let’s just say that the leg got some much-needed traction, and though Hush was saved from too much traction, being dry humped by a horse can be pretty humiliating.

Now, I managed to calm Star down in part because let’s say he was already spent. I guess I learned something new about male horses that I did not think about much before. They can be just as quick as guys can be.

I know it’s cruel, but I wish I was more quick-witted and recorded the whole thing with my phone. After the danger of it was over, the damn incident was hilarious. I am sure I could have made a fortune on YouTube before the Safety-Moderator-Family-No-Fun-At-All-People pulled it down.

Between getting covered in shit and horse seamen, Hush had to shower and get changed. Besides, now we would have to wait a while before Star was recharged.

The minute I saw Hush returning, I could not help it. I burst out laughing.

“Now, you see, all my problems with money could have been solved if I just remembered to record the Hush-Star incident …”

“Oh, shut up. I could have been killed!

I could only laugh. I guess, as my past friend told me, if it’s not cruel, it’s not funny. I just could not help but laugh at his expense.

Soon, he too, started to laugh. That is what I like about Hush. He can laugh at himself, even when being hosed by a stallion’s fifth leg.

After an hour, Star had no problem performing for Starlett, and she did not seem to mind either. I guess all males are the same way, whether we have fur, hooves, or giant fifth legs.

I think I learned something today while leaving the farm and preparing to meet Hush to discuss Mom. You got to find the humor in life, even at your expense.

Maybe I am a kind of loser. Maybe that is true, but I have a good friend that makes me laugh. I guess that’s more than what some people have, but I did have the video after all. The good farmer had a camera in the barn to record the whole insemination thing.

I kept that recording because I wouldn’t want the old farmer to see what happened. You never know how such a recording can come back to haunt you.

Besides, I have more serious things to think about.

To be continued in Series D

Please follow the story as I write it here. Please comment and give advice; I will write according to suggestions and comments. 

Father Chirpkins and Puppet Love (Redneck Fulfillment Series B)

Normally, I am not awoken by my mother pounding on my door, but she was sobbing,

“Please answer.”

“It’s not worth it …”

“Oh mom!” I yelled but with a son’s tenderness, “I fell asleep! What time is it?”

I opened the door to see my crying mother. This was uncomfortable for me. She was not the overly crying type. Usually, her over obsession toward things she loved would temper her sobbing.

“What is the matter with you?” I said.

“Dear, I want you to meet Father Chirpins. We talked, and you know he is a social worker . . .”

I interrupted, “Why? Is this … is this about what happened earlier?  I … Jesus mother, what do you think? I don’t want to see a shrink in priest’s cloths. That’s the worst kind.”

“He is knowledgeable and kind …”

“He tweets like a bird. Hence ‘father Chirpins.’ Besides I cannot keep from laughing at him. And what should we talk about?”

Mom stood with her mouth tight. Her eyes looked larger than usual through the panes of her glasses. For the first time, I could see that her eyes were scared and her mouth concerned. She always did that before confessing. Usually, she was not the one to be quite for long. This time, she stayed quite.

“What is it mother?”

“I want you to go. I spoke with him.” She was tearing up now.

I felt anger and embarrassment, “About me … masturbating?”

“Oh stop it, Frank Julius,” her mind in too much thought to finish my name.  She went on, “You know how I feel about THAT and our faith, but we can talk tomorrow.”

Before I could respond, she cut me off and waived me to dinner and then to bed in one cumbersome sentence, “You will have dinner and go to meet him at 8:00 am. I told him my feelings, my plan for you but felt it best coming from him. Yes …” looking at her hand as if it were her other son, “It’s better if he tells you.” And she walked away.

I laid on my bed and could not sleep much. I knew Mom was serious. I knew she meant business and something told me to play the good son. Okay, as embarrassing and humiliating as it is, I will go and see Big Bird Chirpins, I thought


Before I knew it my legs were walking towards the familiar childhood Church. Just behind the modest house of God hid the rectory, as if something secret, and I could not help feel, as blasphemous as it was, that I was going in to get some illegal or nasty porn while in mid-daylight. I looked around, as guilty as hell and told myself, Frank, just get through this and go to the farm.

There I sat at the rectory office table waiting for the familiar priest to come in. I stared at the shelf full of good books and the many, many Bibles of all ages. Just above the dark mahogany bookshelf, were the Lord’s Ten Commandments, all in a straight line, as if sin happened in an orderly fashion.

Just as I got to “Though Shall Not Commit Adultery,”something huge and wet started caressing my right ear and the side of my face.  I jump up and turned toward the mammoth-licking object only to find myself face to face with an enormous Great Dane.

Great Dane isolated on white
The guilty beast at hand

“Ah!!!” I yelled and this scared the normally mundane and gentle-spirited animal into combat mode.

The tongue retreated but the fangs rushed forward. The sweet whimpering of the loving beast became the growl of a ferocious loin.  I was a little girl again, if I were ever one. I cried a girly screech and bolted to the nearest door only to find that I shut myself in a small room, maybe the entrance to Hell, and locked the door. I was saved, but I heard the beast’s breathing on the other side.

“Oh, thank you Mother Mary Jesus!”

I then became aware that I wasn’t alone. I heard a commotion behind me, and the combination of that and the breathing at the door made me freeze and, I sniffed … shit my pants?  I stood still until whatever was behind me spoke.

“Dear son,” came chirping but godly voice behind me, almost intimate, “What scares you so about this place, this world?”

I fell on my knees, “Oh God, it licked me and scared the life out of me. It’s so huge, like the devil I swear.”

“What … licking … are you talking about, what Evil, son?”

I started to get my wits about me as I knelt on the floor. Still I was too afraid and shaken to look at the Godly entity. This God had a familiar chirping sound, and I thought, Hey, God, you sound just like Father Chirpins.

Then it came to me that it was Father Chirpins. I was not in heaven or Hell but rather in his bathroom, and I did not shit my pants; he took a crap on the toilet. I must have rushed into his toilet during mid-defecation.

I tried to gain my composure. “Oh, gosh Father I am sorry. I felt a bit of urgency coming on, and I rushed in, but your dog scared me.”

I turned around to face him but kept my eyes on the ground. I was as red as a Red Delicious apple.

Father put his hand on my shoulder and my eyes did not have to move up that much to see the half man, half bird examining me with a tilted head and with humor enough to put me at ease.

He looked at me with such interest that I started to fear I was a worm and he was making the decision whether or not to devour me.

If he did devour me, I would have accepted it at that moment.  Instead, I found myself sitting back in his office chair while my ear was being randomly French kissed by his girl dog “Lickins” as he called her.

Father reassured me that Lickins was harmless, that is if I let her lick my ear and didn’t “yell” at her. But the whole event was awkward. There was a sinless man, a good judge eyeing me and a large beast licking my ear. What could I do but tolerate all of it.


Funny Priest
Father Chirpkins

“My son,” said Father, “your mother was here yesterday and was quite distraught. We spent much time talking.”

Between the chirping at each “S” and “H” and the occasional and overpowering lapping sound in my right ear, I interpreted that mother was upset.

I rushed in, “Father, I am not into sex with cookie-loving puppet monsters or any child-loving puppets whatsoever. I … I…was looking at something else …”

There was that curious look again from Chirpins. He attentively eyed my soul as Lickins tried to wrestle it from me. I was starting to get this. It was a kind of enhanced interrogation that involved licking and chirping. I really wanted to run out of the place.

“Son, let’s not talk about less important sin. Puppet love does not even make the top 1000. We have to deal with the larger half, you see. Your mother … has a mission for you, and I want you, Frank, to take me very seriously. She has asked me to tell you to leave home.”

I jumped forward in shock, “Why?” I mean how will she live?”

“As she has for all these years. We will see to her. Her journey will concern us. She wants you to leave the nest.”

How would mother get on? What about my job? I didn’t make enough to support myself? I was angry.

I got up, pointing my finger at him. “Father, am I being turned out? Are you, a man of God throwing me away? Is she?”

Chirpins looked at me patiently. He was not the stern type. He continued to examine me. He pecked at my soul searching for vulnerability.

He then asked, “What you should want in this life is to furnish the next. There is no throwing away of a human soul.”

He  paused. I got the message and sat back down.

“Frank. Listen. I want you to listen to me. For one moment, I want you to want me to be your Father. No words, just listen.”

“Okay, Father. I will listen.”

“As is with God and with life, I cannot reveal all. Some I know and cannot tell and some things I don’t know. But your mother has given me a mission and God has given me the other end of that mission. You are to leave the house and go and find your brother. You noted this to your mother.”

I nodded with my hands in my face.

“She said that you would not seek your father, out of anger, but we will address that later. You are to seek the closest part of you.

For you, brother means your sibling; for me it means the bond of love between people. To you, father means Dad, and to me Dad means God. Things sway differently depending on how the light presents it.”

I protested, “But how …  the money?”

“Frank!” Said father loudly but with tenderness. “Remember? You are to listen. You lived your life your way, but are you happy?”

“Yeah! Very happy.”

Then something odd happened. The good Father looked at the sky, said a brief prayer, stared me down as if we were two cocks in a fight, and said,


“Father!” I said startled.

“Bullshit!” He said again trembling as if it was the first time he sinned in forty years. He continued,

“I am not as naïve as you think I am. I know what you did in that room, and it’s not about the sex act or the masturbation. Maybe you like cookie-loving puppet monsters? Maybe you like dogs licking your ears? “He smiles and pauses,” but you are lost and lost sheep can beckon to wolves.

You are a man. I know that. You think I have no sexuality? You think it’s easy for me to keep vows? Oh, how we ignore the crosses others carry! It is not, and sometimes I fail, but do you know why I am here? Is it the love of Jesus on the cross?”

I stay silent and peer at him thougtfully. Here he confesses, is nervous, and seems to be apologetic to God.

“No, I am here because I have a passion to help people, not the Church. The Church is the vehicle toward my selfish acts: to help people. But it’s a better kind of selfish. I am happy when you are happy. You are not.”

Still stunned, I ask, “What do you want me to do?”

“Your mother has been studious in her faith, and it’s not about her or anyone else being hypocritical. It’s about commitment. She is committed to God and to you. You see, you and God are on the same plain, at this moment. You give me the wrong answer now. It’s not what I want you to do.”

“But Father you just said …”

“I know what I said. Let me repeat this, “hypocritical.” I have given you the first direction, and it is up to you to complete it. You are expected to leave next week Friday. Go see to your mother, and I will be back to bid you farewell.”

To be continued in Series C

Please follow the story as I write it here. Please comment and give advice; I will write according to suggestions and comments. 

The Mission: Mother and the Five Sisters (Redneck Fulfillment Series A)

I am kind of worried that I am addicted to porn but don’t know what else to do. Girls don’t like guys who smell like shit. I cannot get the smell off me from the farm.

Shit and milk go hand and hand, and, sometimes, the suction cups come off the cows’ teats and sucks up the urine and liquid shit on the floor. I am just covered in shit by the end of the day. I always thought the “Got Milk?” statement should read, “Got Shit? But I guess people don’t like the truth much.

This is my theory as to why I don’t get girls besides being in a town of five thousand where everybody is past fifty and the cute girls go away to college. Those left over are too little to think about or too … well, I hate to say it, common even for us very commoners. I don’t want a lady who looks too much like me, or I’d feel that I am fucking myself. And I’ve been fucking myself for ages, as you will see.

If I had to describe myself, I’d say I am a cross between George Clooney and Pee-wee Herman.

Pee-Wee Herman

As creepy as that is, I think the Pee-wee in me marinates with the Clooney. While I don’t look hot and have flawed teeth, I am not much of a pervert either. In all, I’d say I look decent except I have to wear shit-stained clothes. So this leads me to my whole mother and five sister’s incident. The incident would come to change my life.

Now, you got to understand men and pornography to get why we look at the shit we do. My plan at eight o’clock that night was to get a coffee to wash down the beer and then sit and look for some girls online.

I’ve never been into the webcam girl kind of thing, but that night I stumbled on a website called Live Gasm. The girls looked great, and every little icon, if you scrolled over it, would show you the girl live. These girls were in lingerie, usually on beds. They were dancing.

I clicked on one chick that looked half Asian and half white. She was really hot. Then she wiggled her tongue, and I almost shit my pants. Let’s say that she could KO Gene Simmons with that thing.

Now, I don’t know exactly why I got turned on by her tongue. Giraffes have long tongues, and I am not into them, but I did and I found my hands, much like my penis, having minds of their own. Soon I was registered. My penis and my eyes watched my hands in anticipation as I put my credit card in the Live Gasm system.

Now, I never had a two-way with a cam girl before, but she charged three dollars a minute. That seemed fine with my hands and my penis, but my head was in a fog.  They clicked on “live performance;” I heard a jingle, and the hot lady appeared.

“Hi honey, what’s your name? Where are you from?” Said the tongue girl in pigtails and white stockings.

I was so overcome that I think I wrote, “Hi, nice rear” and before I knew it, she dropped her drawers, got on all fours, rear facing camera and made some strange shoulder movement. I watched in stunned anticipation as she inserted her hand and then her whole arm up her bum.

I never lost an erection so fast in my life. I’ve got to admit that it takes talent to give one’s self a colonoscopy, but I was so scared that her hand would eventually come out of her mouth and that I would never get aroused again.

I clicked out of that shithole.  Saying “nice ass” does not mean that I want my head in your ass. I was thinking more of caressing a butt cheek, gently biting it, as a horse does its young, or slapping it, not the horse but your ass if you have a nice one and are a girl.

I’d be a doctor if I wanted to stick things up your ass. It’s a biological thing though to admire asses.

Whenever I see something shocking online, I try to feel better by looking at naked girls to man up.

Somehow, in my daze and conflict with my hands and penis, I must of clicked on something in my favorites, and I went from a hot girl doing something disgusting, to a cookie-loving puppet making orgasmic sounds as he took in a massive cookie, “Oh, yes, oh yes, yum, yum, YUM!”

This commotion must have stirred up my half-witted mother, and before I knew it, I heard my door pop open. Mom’s never knock, do they?

The top of my body just froze, but my legs tried to flee by swinging my office chair toward her. There I was naked with my “five sisters” barreling toward Mother!

“FRANK JULIUS YERNING!!! What in God’s name are you doing?!”

She, too, then turned and ran from the scene, and there I was trailing after her like a horny, incapacitated ninety-year old,

“But Mom, KNOCK Damn it!”

Now I have had embarrassing moments with Mother before, but her Janet Reno demeanor and appearance as well as her being Mother always took away any future desire to masturbate or even think of women, at least for a while.

Now, I really did like Janet Reno, but this is not the time to think about her dammit.

But now I suffered my second humiliation in a few seconds, and I shut the door and stayed in there for what must have been an hour.

It turns out that I ended up paying the tonguing colonoscopy girl $180 because I never closed the session.

I guess being screwed has really lost any positive meaning for me, but I really did not want to face Mother. The whole incident brought up the time I flushed our goldfish down the toilet. Usually, they are dead, but this one was alive.

I guess I was inspired by a Nemo-like desire for the fish’s freedom, but here I am coming back around to shit again, but I guess I am better off than Sir Thomas Crapper.

Sir Thomas Crapper did not actaully invent the modern-day toilet, but did his ass take credit for it? 

I found out he did not invent the toilet but got credit for it. That is just making me confused, so I better stop.

Eventully I summed up the courage to move toward the door.

To be continued …

Please follow the story as I write it here. Please comment and give advice; I will write according to suggestions and comments. 

Writing Brother(s)


It was you and me


That summer

I took $100

And bought a Sears electric


A brother in disguise, and

You, a manual one;

It was a Brother, too.

Oh, who would think that plastic

And rubber

And fresh painted steel

Could be so romantic?

If Hemingway had napkins

We had Brothers;

You and me hugging

The table

Our brothers and

The coffee machine.

We wrote that summer, though we were just boys;

I, a novella, of kids running away

From adults

And you, a boy running away

From life.

Yes, there were four brothers so long ago

In that room there.

Because napkins were too expensive.

Only one still writes.

The Brother(s) embrace no more.


Click here to listen to the poem.