I was alone until the 6th floor.

Two people got on, a businessman and a lady who was crying because a family member had just died and she was on the way to the funeral home.

We all chose our spots on the elevator, the businessman chose to stand as far away from us as possible.

At the 4th floor, there was a terrible grinding noise, an audible sigh and the elevator bounced a couple of times and came screeching to a stop. The audible sigh came from me.

‘We’re stuck’ I said as the elevator numbers went all wonky and the businessman dropped his backpack and swore out loud.

I immediately pressed the ‘call for help button’ and we waited while it rang, and rang and rang. Finally someone answered.

She told me to press button 3 and the close door button together. I did and it brought the elevator down a couple of floors but the doors remained closed.

The businessman immediately stepped up to the plate and offered to keep pressing the button.

“I can do a better job” he informed me.

Well, he tried, but nothing else happened.

Immediately emasculated, he went back to his corner and got on his cell phone.

The other lady moved closer to me, still sniffling. I asked if she was okay. She was.

Some time passed, slowly, and I started to read my book, the one about dying on Mt. Everest…then decided maybe I shouldn’t be reading that at the moment.

The businessman constantly shuffled his feet, and gave me ‘a look’, like this was all my fault.

It’s hard to read people on a stuck elevator.

Everyone is trying to be brave and mature, but who knows who is claustrophobic, or has any other number of aliments that could appear at any given moment.

The passage of time is like….f o r e v e r…

The intercom crackled to life and the desk informed us that the techs were on the way, they would be about 10 minutes or so. She told us to wait, and not jump up and down or do anything else till they got there.

The lights and air remained on, so we didn’t feel faint or get overheated but I can think of a dozen other places I would have rather been right about then.

“If Keanu Reeves shows up, I’ll know we’re in trouble.” Mr. Businessman frowned at my attempt at humour. His face was turning pasty white. He was ‘the man’ but it was getting to him.

“Ten minutes” he repeated. “Then we will be out of here.”

Some time passed and I asked him what time it was. He wouldn’t tell me. What he did tell me was that he would tell me when 10 minutes was up.

Very helpful.

He got back on his cell phone and I went back to my book.

Later still, a very loud pounding brought us to attention.

The techs had arrived.

I moved to the back and stood in between the businessman and the other lady.

So, moments later, when the doors finally opened, three techs stood there and the first thing they saw was us huddled together, facing the door.

They helped us off, we had to step down because the elevator didn’t meet the floor, and then one of them rode the rest of the way down with us on another elevator.

Once outside, the lady hugged me and I wished her good luck.

Mr. Businessman immediately lit a cigarette. A big relieved smile brightened up his pasty whiteness.

“We survived” he said.

“Couldn’t have done it without you” I shot back.

He laughed then, relieved that he didn’t have to be The Man any more, but just another guy in a suit, smoking and talking on his cell phone…




By Mary L.

Encounters With U2

I remember this well. Just getting over the Who, I was looking for someone or something to fill the void.

In rides U2 on horses singing New Years Day. I was in love. The guys on the horses weren’t bad either, but in the beginning I was more enamored with the horses. Yes, of course. Then, I slowly began to look at the riders and really listen to the song.

The sound was unique. The band name was easy to remember and rhymed with my former musical crush.

They wouldn’t be going away anytime soon.

There was something about these guys. They looked like they had already been somewhere and knew what they were singing about. The charismatic frontman unassumingly drew me in.

As the years went by they remained as other bands fell by the wayside and I stayed a fan. Sometimes I would stray over to other bands, but I always returned and faithfully bought every new CD.

Fast forward many moons.

I decided to start buying tickets to their concerts. A little slow there, I have to admit, but I am not a concert goer. The crowd and noise makes me nervous.

My first attempt bombed. I was sick in bed with bronchitis and could not go. But I had that golden ticket, and somehow, that was enough. Oh well, they’ll be back. They were. At this point, I still hadn’t found what I was looking for, someone to go with to their next concert. Never mind. I would go anyway. Or so I thought. I made the effort, but the heat, noise and drunken fools around me at their 360 tour ultimately proved too much and I had to walk away. No one followed. I left, drenched in beer, dizzy from the heat, I clung to my damp ticket as I left and never looked back. My idiot boyfriend at the time had just bailed on me, and under a blood red sky, I sadly made my way home. Only the cat greeted me as I returned several hours early from what should have been a fantastic night.

Filled with guilt over having left their concert early, I decided to go look for them the next day. I found them.

A black SUV pulled up at just the right moment in the right place and Bono and The Edge jumped out. I was immediately trampled by the media and shoved to the back. Frustrated, I remember saying out loud, I’m too short to see you Bono, but I know you here somewhere’. I’m pretty sure he heard me…(fingers crossed).

Suddenly, two of the more aggressive media hounds began fighting for the best spot. I mean a drag em down knock em out free for all which quickly escalated. Bono and the Edge quickly disappeared. The police came over and lectured us over our bad behaviour telling us they were willing to spend as much time as possible with the fans because they had no other engagements for a couple of hours. Shame on our behaviour. Oh yes indeed.

The next day they were leaving and I somehow knew which hotel it was, so there I went, wide awake and moved by a mysterious force in mysterious ways. It was alright.

Bono came out with security this time, and lots of it. The crowd was silent as he moved around signing autographs. Once again, I was shoved to the back and could not get near him. I decided to go back to the other side of the street, away from the maddening crowd.

I stood alone. I was one. An unforgettable fire was burning inside.

Bono was in the car by now, his driver waved at me, he remembered me from the day before, and suddenly Bono rolled down his window and gave me a peace sign.

Pause here for a moment of silence.

Just a bit longer.


I’m not a screamer and I didn’t faint, but that one single gesture in my direction from someone as worldly as he is meant everything. Time stood still. I was stuck in a moment. The crowd looked at me, but kept their distance. The car took off. I was thinking of all I could leave behind. And some things I couldn’t. And I was wishing I had taken a pic but, of course, it all happened too fast. Yes. It did. You’ll just have to believe me. Or ask Bono…

This brings me to this week and the IE Tour which I also bought a ticket for. Determined to go, I wore my sweatpants, because as you know, I have since given up on life, took a selfie outside the venue and made my way in.

My seat wasn’t the best, but I sure had a great view. They started a bit late but their high energy and fantastic sound was certainly worth the wait. And it seemed, I had been waiting for years for this.

I yelled softly ‘I love you Bono’ to no one in particular and no one heard me at all. Not even the chair the gentleman to my right was sitting in. I doubt Bono knew I was there which is why I wore my sweat pants, I wouldn’t be called up on the stage that evening to be sure. Despite my desire…

There was no peace sign in my direction, no mention of my name but he did mention something about being Irish which was in keeping to a previous tweet of mine…’everything seems a bit more Irish when U2 comes to town’…could it, is it possible…no, don’t go there. We are not psychically connected, I am sure, well, think what you want, anyway…

Best 21/2 hour concert I have ever seen, and one of the few…

What is it about them?

Well, how ’bout this.

They’ve never forgotten their humble roots which began on a bulletin board in a school. They have remained true to their fans through all their various hair styles, world conflicts and human up-rises.

Their language is honest and upright and in your face. They really want to make the world a better place, not only through their music, but through all the charitable work. They have a solid message but are pleasant enough. You could bring your toddler or your grandparents to their concert, they speak to everyone. Everyone. They’ve matured and I have too, right along with them. We are all a little more grey and a bit more tired of worldly affairs and the folly of human nature.

It’s been a long journey to here, but I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

By Mary L. Tagged

The Politics of Dancing With Wolves

I recently saw a short film called ‘How Wolves Change Rivers’.

It was fascinating. I watched a couple of times.

The premise was simple. Left to itself, Nature copes well. Very well without our help. She doesn’t need it. She doesn’t need us.

Deep down, I’ve always known this.

I scoff at the search for alien life on other planets. It’s here. We are the aliens thrown into the natural world, with nothing but our birthday suits.

Everything in nature is perfectly suited to its environment. Animals are born with everything they need to survive in a world hostile to the human race.

Perhaps this is why humans feel the need to control and contain and yes, even eliminate anything feared, misunderstood or deemed useless.

Anything that doesn’t bring in a profit.

That’s really what we are talking about.

We are talking about money.

The bottom line.

The root of all evil.

Wolves have long since been a target of man’s fear and hatred. How sad. They make the most beautiful, haunting sound on the planet. Way better than someone shooting them from a helicopter and  yelling “Hey Bubba, we done got us another varmint”.

One of the top predators, this is what they were born to do. Eliminate the sick and the weak from their herding prey. This keeps the herds strong and disease free.

Then ‘Man’ stepped in and saw the wolves were hunting what they think should exclusively belong to them. Man likes to think they are top predator. They are the most destructive ones. I doubt you will ever find a trophy head in den of a wolf.

Country folk love weighing in on this never-ending argument siting the damage wolves do to their farm animals, slamming city folk as being ignorant and unaware of the true nature of nature.

Oh, I beg to differ. We be aware but politics is ugly and it always gets in the way. And where there is politics, there is money. And those who don’t buy hunting licenses, or pay taxes, or fit in to what we think should really be the natural order of things are quickly eliminated. Sometimes in the most brutal way possible.

Wolves are easy targets. Despite their highly social organization, their ability to reproduce according to the available food supply and the fact that the Alpha male and female are the only ones in a wolf pack that are allowed to breed means nothing when up against man, red tape, politics, big guns and small minds. They don’t understand our laws, or religion, or lack of but they are born and die much the same way we do. In between, they struggle, with the only means available to them. It’s nothing personal. They don’t target farm animals, they are really just looking to feed their families, just like everyone else.

Small comfort when you can’t sue the government, or call 911, or bring charges against the two-legged ones. Or shoot back…

So how do wolves change rivers?

They keep the herds moving so they don’t over graze. They eliminate the sick and the weak, keeping disease at bay. This allows other species to flourish. Trees grow where they would otherwise be trampled. The grasslands flourish. Birds return. The land is more stable and rivers don’t overflow as much. Everything in nature is in perfect balance and harmony.

And then we come in and interfere, and eliminate, and manage something we really know nothing about.

There are those of course, who work on behalf of the environment, who seek to educate the ones who have no regard for anything but their six figure income, but they are merely voices in the wilderness.

And like the wolves, they are fighting a losing battle, their voices drowned out by big business, corporate greed and unmistakable sound of pockets being lined by those whose arrogance dictates that we are the most important thing on the planet.

The planet doesn’t need us to survive, but we need it and the sooner we understand that, the better…

I hope we can come to our senses before it’s too late.

I hope when it comes down to all things planetary, we finally realize we are just a part of something much bigger. Something that can be taken away from us in a heartbeat.

And most of all, when it comes to wolves, I hope we dance…

By Mary L.

Canadian Sniper

It’s that moment when the body hits the floor and you have no idea where it landed.

It’s dark and cold and every ounce of energy is now concentrated on finding that thing and just getting rid of it.

Before the phone rings.

Before the cat eats it.

Before anything.

I search madly among the ruins of my bed sheets, clothes strewn everywhere, shoes thrown against the wall in a panic.

A tell-tale brown streak slowly slides down the off-white paint, pooling where the wall meets the floor.

Cautiously, all senses on high alert, I look under the bed. I looked down at the moment of impact and did not see where it fell.

There is dust under the bed. A lot of it. So much it seems that it obscures my vision of anything else. I feel itchy, and violated and stalked. I feel dirty. I feel watched. I am temporarily distracted while counting dust bunnies, carefully examining each one, looking for the one that is different. More alive. More dead. More ominous.

I have no idea how much time has passed.

I summon the cat to help me search. He has no idea what is going on, it is a new game, one with a sense of urgency. He is enthralled for about five minutes. He knows there is no treat to follow. He feels tricked. He leaves.

I am once again left to my own devices. I hate being alone at a time like this. So much has already gone wrong. Too much time has passed and I wonder if I missed my chance. I know I won’t get another one and I know I won’t relax until my mission is complete.

This moment. The longest moment of my life.

I had no idea when I got up this morning that I would be caught up in the drama of disposing of a body. One that I had killed.

All those years of bowling sharpened my aim. I hit my target on the first try. And the second. And the third. Like a sniper. The problem was finding the remains.

Finally, a smallish speck caught my eye. Dust-covered, the colour of pale tea, it lay crumpled among the dust bunnies. There it was. Curled up and quite dead.

I grabbed a broom and brought it closer. It was still wet from being blasted to smithereens by the Lysol spray.

Suddenly, I felt ashamed in that final moment. Angry over being in a position that left me no choice. I didn’t sign up for this. I am not a trained sniper and I hate taking lives.

As I quietly went about the disposition, I hoped his friends we’re not going to be looking for me anytime soon…

By Mary L.

The American Nickel


Out gallivanting today as usual.

The power was out last night which caused me to be somewhat fretful so I woke up tired this morning.

The cat kept jumping on my head to wake me. Sometimes he lies beside me and kisses me awake..haha…but not today. Today it was all about the jumping, like it was my fault the power was out.

It was not.

So, I decided to get an early breakfast out in the real world.

Not early enough.

I missed the daily special by mere minutes and the server was unrelenting, and very inattentive and quite rude because I was on my own today and she had no one to flirt with for a massive tip.

Well, here’s a tip…extend your breakfast special hours, try to overlook the fact that I wandered in late, and unattended, and don’t treat me like I’m invisible.

Oh my.

The table next to mine was crammed full of giddy, giggly girls, talking loudly about an imminent divorce. She gleefully recalled all the bad times, the most embarrassing times and the worst times. There were no best times. Not here. Not with them. They howled and smacked the table with great fervor and even talked about what a disaster the wedding had been. Perhaps they had all attended and had been thrown out for rude behaviour. Oh, I hope so.

And then the part I was waiting for….

The drinking binges, the bar hopping, the running around. Hers, not his… The pending divorcee wore it all on her sleeve like a badge of honour. I could see none of it. But I could certainly hear it. And I so didn’t want to on this mild day when I was feeling a bit off, a bit put off and totally ignored by my server.

Now where was she?

Oh, I thought I saw her once, hovering on the horizon, chatting up a couple of dudes who were only too glad to keep her busy and as far away from me as possible.

It was the worst of times.

Finally, breakfast was served.

A hash brown slid off my plate and onto the floor. I believe she stepped on it…

I wiped my dry brow and dug in.

My sausages, or whatever they were, were slightly burnt, the eggs runny and the hash browns kept trying to escape my plate.

Two gentlemen came in and sat near me. They were served immediately. I began to wonder if they were celebrities. One of them looked a lot like, you know, what’s his name…

They were both wearing sweatshirts with the American Flag and they talked loudly also. Mostly about schemes, scams and the american dollar. I presumed they were… American… and probably celebrities.

A long came the parking ticket guy.

I warned them and one of them lept up and went running out. Parking ticket guy, left in a big hurry. He was out-sized by about three feet. Yes. About that.

Meanwhile, giddy girls were packing it up to leave.

Good timing.

I had been waiting for at least ten minutes for my server to return. No sign of her. Anywhere…

I pictured myself pouring the salt into the sugar. I pictured myself break dancing on the table. I pictured myself getting up and walking out.

I wondered where the washrooms were.

Finally she returned and I paid my bill.

More waiting. Drumming on the table. I could hardly wait to get home and ‘google’ how to scam people without getting caught…

Giggly ones left. Dudes didn’t.

In my change was an american nickel.

That was her tip.

Bet she never saw that coming…

By Mary L.

Parental Advisory in Effect

Sometimes, like most writers I imagine, I find myself really having to hold back because of political correctness, shades of pink and imagined threats from unknown sources.

But lately, I’m not so worried about the above.

I’ve seen a lot of weird stuff in my life, some of it this week.

Like yesterday, this family of rather dubious origins was walking ahead of their son who was trying to keep up. They were dragging him along and he had his head down and wouldn’t you know it, he walked right into a No Parking sign and him and the sign both came crashing down.

Immediately there was a flurry of activity from said parents who began to berate him for not keeping up and watching where he was going. They stood there and screamed at him in front of everyone like it was somehow his fault that the sign got in the way.

Oh Yikes people…

I scurried past before they could accuse me of shoving him or putting a curse on him because they really looked like the type of people who would….

I’ve seen some great parenting in my life and I’ve seen some people who have absolutely no business procreating except for the fact that they somehow managed to.

You know, the ones with baby in one hand, beer in the other. The ones who expect everyone else to raise their kids, while they leave them and the dog in a hot car so they can go and gamble and/or shop for a couple of hours. The ones who forget the baby altogether. The ones who constantly scream at their kids in front of everyone and then wonder why they turned out to be juvenile delinquents, if I can even use that term…the ones who coddle them to the point that junior has to take them to job interviews in later years because they are too scared to go alone. The ones who don’t know how to really listen to their kids and understand when they are telling the truth or merely exercising an over-active imagination.The ones who blame the kids for everything that is wrong in their sorry, desperate lives.

Do I blame the kids for their bratty, obnoxious behaviour?


I blame their dysfunctional parents, and their parents before them.

It’s a generational thing.

And it’s complicated.

And it’s driven by the seven deadly sins, greed and lust being at the very top of the list.

And it’s governed by the very fact that humans are usually raised by humans, although in some cases, wolves may in fact do a much better job.

When did society decide the kids weren’t alright and a little Ritalin instead of sugar may help the medicine go down?

Who is society to be making these decisions about how to raise the next generation anyway?

Some thinks it takes a village to raise a child.

I disagree.

It takes two parents with a lot of common sense and a solid understanding of just how serious and exhausting a job it can be. And it’s never-ending.

Your kids don’t get to walk away if the marriage collapses. They are still your kids and they are going to suffer for the sins of their fathers. They always do.

And so do the rest of us. Society included. Especially if something goes horribly wrong.

I’m part of that society as well. A fact I’d rather not admit to at times.

The times when I see people who are too stupid and dysfunctional to even have kids, have them.

So where are my kids in all this? My kids are alright. I don’t have any. But I remember being one, and how it felt and where I ended up as a result.

Well, I guess that would render my opinion on such matters insignificant, like a priest advising a couple about marriage.

You don’t have to be in it to see what is going on.

Because some who are in it up to their necks, still haven’t got a clue.

And I really feel sorry for their kids, especially when that No Parking sign gets in the way…


By Mary L.

Talking ‘Bout My Generation

People ask me when I write.

Well, now seems a good a time as any….5:00 am.

I’ve been thinking about my generation.

You know, sex, drugs and rock ‘n’ roll. Sometimes in that order.

I’m not sure how many years makes a generation, I prefer to look at it from the view point of people old enough to be my parents having kids, and then us having kids and our kids having kids. Hope this clarifies things.

I always thought my generation was a step down from my parents. My father stood when women left the room. He offered his seat, he never swore in front of my mother. Cool stuff like that. None of this social finery diminished women in any way, shape or form, but some of our generation got the wrong idea. Someone somewhere a long the line decided that women were equal and could find our own seats, open our own doors, etc. I think the men of my father’s generation treated women with more respect than any generation since..

Not sure what burning your bra or getting tattoos has to do with equal rights but it has certainly become an issue these days. The turbulent, troubled sixties brought a lot of changes to the way society functioned. That’s when it began to become totally dysfunctional. Let’s, just for fun, blame casual sex, drugs, and rock ‘n’ roll on things.

Oh, and permissiveness.

Were my parents more permissive?

I think not.

Maybe they had more to give.

They were great at saving money, doing without and demanding we get a good education. and they hated our music, maybe with good reason. I still think however, we had the best music, and it changed the course of history.

So, we grew up and gave birth to the next generation. Well, not me, but a lot of people did. Enough for there to be a next generation. And something in the Universe shifted. Big Time!

We had less to give, overall, but were more permissive.

Suddenly, genders were not only equal, they became interchangeable. Anyone who gave birth in the 80’s must remember this. Boys, girls, all the same stuff, you could now mold them to be what you wanted. No more girls playing with dolls, boys with trucks. Shouldn’t matter. After all, a kid was something you could nudge in whatever direction you wanted. Right?

Full stop.


Girls still preferred dolls over cars for the most part and boys preferred trucks.

As our generation became more…well…let’s say mature for the sake of argument….we began to realize there was in fact a difference and we began, once again to relax a bit about it. It was okay, after all if girls liked dolls, and boys liked trucks and vice versa, and maybe even none of the above. We were more tolerant than our parents in some respects, but not as wise either. But we still insisted our music was better.

In walks next generation, whoever they may be and they are definitely a step up from ours now that they are old enough to give birth to the next generation. They’ve grown up in a more tolerable society, they have more money than we did at that age, aren’t as apt to wear jeans everywhere like we still do, but they are more likely to be sporting tattoos, have their ears covered with head sets, and they seem more polite in many ways than our vulgar, take this job and shove it generation.

I’ve seen some great kids come from people so dysfunctional, I’m surprised they even had the brains to procreate. Not that it really takes any. Yes, for the most part a definite step up from our generation. What they lack in common decency, they make up for in common sense.They are not in a big hurry to get married or have kids, they are more focused on getting a house and making their first million by the age of 30. Our generation didn’t seem to be that ambitious. And it’s caught up to us, hasn’t it? Oh Yes. It has. We tended to get a dog after we had kids, they prefer to get the dog first.

They don’t have the luxury of jobs to choose from like we did, but they are better at self-starting and running their own companies. What they think of us is another thing. Not much, I imagine. We, the Greatest Generation, turned out to be the most dysfunctional. Must have been all the loud music, and pre-marital sex, and maybe even the drugs. And it was definitely the permissiveness.

It seems this next generation has the fortitude to rain in our generation, while offering us seats on the bus and chiding our choice of fashion. They certainly don’t want to dress like us. Who can blame them? Maybe some of them like our music, but still, given a choice prefer their own.

Well, one thing still stands.

Our music was the best! And so were our movies.

This next generation, however talented they may be with all things techy, have no concept of what real music sounds like, lack imagination when it comes to movie plots and scripts and I’m not sure what kind of writers they are, not sure I want to know.

Let’s see how permissive, tolerant and politically correct they are when they have kids, shall we?

Can’t wait.

On the other hand….maybe, just maybe, I can.

I know something they don’t know….yet.

Human nature doesn’t change, no matter what ‘society’ tends to dictate.

Why We Can’t Be Friends: Daily Prompt

From the moment Mom and Dad told me in no uncertain terms: ‘We are your Parents, NOT your friends’, that seemed to pave the way for how I looked at friendship for the rest of my life.

Oh, I know, I know, nowadays, parents want to be friends, wait, should I say, NEED to be friends with their kids, and their kids friends, while keeping their kids’ friends parents at arms length, because they, in so many ways are NOT your friends, or your kids friends friends either.

I’m glad my parents had the insight to make that distinction. It’s an important one. Over the years I had many ‘friends’ come and go, but my parents remained exactly where I left them, unwavering, totally reliable and willing to commit to something a bit more solid than just ‘being friends’.

I always liked reading and writing as a kid and could keep myself amused for hours and didn’t much care if I had ‘friends’ around me or not. I had my childhood dog to hang out with, my Nancy Drew books, the original ones I might add, I had my Parents, and I had one or two ‘friends’ whose parents were also their parents and NOT their friends.

Hey it’s okay, I learned early in life to go out and make my own friends because I certainly wasn’t going to find it among my sparse family. I had their support, their love, their total sense of responsibility, but never their friendship. I found other people were sometimes handy for being friends with and some remained friends longer than others.

I miss that about childhood. If you were wearing the same sweater, eating the same ice cream, liked the same shows on TV, you were instantly friends. No questions asked. But those friendships were fleeting and shallow and disappeared with the passing of time. Most of them…

I find the friends I do have left are some of the ones I have known since childhood, at least many of them. I have made new ones as I travel down that road, I make friends where I find them but they often have a different path to take and these friendships end as suddenly as they began.

I miss some of my friends that I haven’t seen in awhile and are not likely to see again anytime soon.

Everyone who passes through my life at any given time for what ever reason has something to offer. I can learn from all of them.

I like to think of all the friends I haven’t met yet, however fleeting our friendship may be.

Do I ever wish my parents had been my friends?


They were my parents, able to reach me on a level my friends could not.

I don’t know where a lot of my friends are but I know exactly where my parents are.

They are right where I left them.

Always have been, always will be. They aren’t going anywhere.



The Greatest Generation Had The Best Music

I’ve heard it said that I come from the ‘greatest generation’ which means I was a kid in the 60’s.

So, keeping that in mind, of course we had the best music back then.

I grew up listening to The Mills Brothers, Nat King Cole, Andy Williams, Dean Martin, and of course all the great stuff that was on the radio at the time, that Generation Blah Blah now calls ‘Classic Rock’.

As if.

As if anyone who grew up on that stuff is now old and shaky and not only confused about what year it is, but possibly re-living it like it’s 1966.

Deja-vue all over again.

Ya, no way.

I’m stuck in the 80’s musically, but I still love my ‘classic rock’. You know, the stuff they will play when I’m in the retirement home.

The Animals, Stones, Beatles, Bob Dylan, The Kinks, The Beach Boys, Jan and Dean, Eric Clapton, Jim Morrison, Jimmy Hendrix, Janis Joplin, to name a few greats.

And Motown, I LOVE anything Motown, definitely the best!

Nothing Generation Blah Blah can come up with can even compare. Not even close.

The last time I heard good music was in the 60’s. Everything else is just noise. Everything after 1986, anyway.

Funny how our talented and musically driven generation gave birth to the least talented generation of all time.

Well, let’s see what their offspring can come up with, shall we?

Oh, I can hardly wait.

How To Poop With A Cat On Your Lap

Cat poetry in Haiku form:


Behold oh wonderful smell
Let me get closer to you
Your lap is inviting.

Poor human does not know
What is going on behind there
I will gladly sit.

Yes, behind on seat
So I can hide while plotting
Next move, claws in skin.

Human jumps as I take aim
Great fun, purr innocent
Pants down come up quickly.

Off seat as I strike
Awesome, will wait here
For next chance again later…