Back in 2018, in the midst of what historians would come to call the dark age (unless of course the historians were asked, lobbied, agenda’d or thumb hunged to write something otherwise) I imagined dialogues, dialogues between a President and his sidekick in a treehouse because, well, making play in a treehouse seemed about right.

This was episode #8 and if I do say so, some of this is pretty funny which is why I reposted it.

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THE TRUMP TREEHOUSE OF TALL STORIES, TREASON & TYRANNY – EP #8: DAMN SWEDES

(The Official Secret Clubhouse of the He-Man Truth & Swede Haters Club)

(Donnie cursing – laying stuff out on the Treehouse floor)

Ben: Sir? What exactly are you doing?

Donnie: These directions are shit.

Ben: ?

Donnie: These directions…they’re shit.

Ben: You know you just need to turn the page over for the English vers…

Donnie: Look I’ve got everything laid out and organized…nuts, bolts, lug wrench, duct tape, a small paper clip, glitter, glue, pretty pictures of pretty Swedish chicks, My Little Pony game pieces…

Ben: My Little pony?

Donnie: Yeah…Spicer said I look like a unicorn, riding a unicorn over a rainbow and there’s a real player game now too and even a board game and everything so…did you know there’s a whole universe of guys who do this?

Ben: I’ve heard. Very manly. And I’m sure you’re they’re hero now. But organized? That’s not like you sir.

Donnie: Yeah, exactly, but I’m doing it anyway.

Ben: Don’t they have a simpler way? Directions are so constricting for you. Bullet points. Maybe they have bullet points on the directions that you could then delegate to someone else to figure out? Or maybe a graph, with color. You like color right sir?

Donnie: Color? Of course. Lots of color…a rainbow of color, like that Spicer unicorn thing.

Ben: A rainbow?

Donnie: Yeah, but don’t tell Pence. He’s such a tight ass. Always going on about this God guy and rainbows and shirtless dudes being a strange distraction…I mean, who doesn’t like rainbows…?

Ben: …maybe a multi-colored graph to show how these directions are trending up?

Donnie: That would be nice wouldn’t it? But apparently directions are specific. Specific don’t trend. Who knew?

Ben: Yeah, specific isn’t really your thing.

Donnie: I know tell me about it. But I’m trying to do it anyway.

Ben: Do what?

Donnie: Build these bunk beds

Ben: Why, if you don’t mind my asking, are you trying to build bunk beds?

Donnie: Don’t mind at…unless you’re questioning me..(glare)…

Ben:

Donnie: …I’ve got a sleep over planned.

Ben: A sleepover?

Donnie: Yeah, an important sleepover. A playdate then a sleepover.

Ben: With who?

Donnie: With who? Jesus Benfred, don’t you read the news?

Ben: Awww….Benfred?

Donnie: What? Yes, alright, I called you Benfred, the whole Batman butler thing you were going on and on and on about, Benfred. You’re Ben, he’s Alfred. And I just might be a superhero, the generals love that by the way, gonna have a parade, so I combined the two.

Ben: I like it sir. You combined them on your own?

Donnie: Of course.

Ben: (quizzical look)

Donnie: Ok…I got some help. Kim told me how to combine the names, she’s an expert on this kind of stuff, prisons too, have I told you how good she is with prisons?…then we took a picture in the Oval Office. You know she’s a celebrity right?

Ben: I’ve heard.

Donnie: Big time celebrity. And whip smart. Says she supports me now. What could be more whip smart?

Ben: Nothing sir. Support = Whip smart. A given. I’m sure the folks at MENSA have her on speed dial for just that reason.

Donnie: Damn straight. And her guy, that Kanye…

Ben: Yes?

Donnie: He’s whip smart too. I took a picture with him too. Tells everybody how whip smart he is. It’s important to do that by the way. Remind people how whip smart you are…just in case they don’t notice. And he’s black.

Ben: I’ve gathered that from the pictures.

Donnie: Hey, you’re black too!

Ben: Yes, I still am sir.

Donnie: Did you vote for me because you’re black?

Ben: Uh… (big hesitation) …well of course I did. Everybody that voted for you did so because they’re black sir.

Donnie: You got that right, the blacks lov…wait, something’s off there.

Ben: Black power sir! (fist raised)

Donnie: Ummm…right! (fist raised) Black power Benfred!! And you and Kanye are BOTH black. I assume you’re related then?

Ben: ?

Donnie: Never mind, I don’t wanna pry, family business is family business. But with you two both being black and having a cool combo nickname…that’s just some sort of…ummm…a uhhhh….coming up short here Benfred.

Ben: Coincidence?

Donnie: Yes, coinc…shit…that’s a lot of syllables.

Ben: I know. It gets tough after two.

Donnie: Tell me. Anyway, he’s black, like you, and supports me like you, is whip smart and reminds people of it all the time, just like me…so they don’t forget…

Ben: You already said that.

Donnie: What?

Ben: Never mind, No, the whip smart is obvious sir.

Donnie: It is isn’t it?

Ben: You know you could get someone else to do this right?

Donnie: Do what?

Ben: Build these bunk beds.

Donnie: Oh right…yes I could, but there wouldn’t be as much….ummm…

Ben: Satisfaction?

Donnie: Exactly. (to self – fucking syllables)

Ben: You sure? I could run down to Home Depot in the White House pickup truck again. Look for some day guys.

Donnie: I thought about that, but it would be too easy…and the off the books would be nice…but Swedish translates so poorly in Spanish…NO! I need to show the American people that I’m a hands on kinda guy, that I’ll get in the trenches with them…

Ben: That you can build some bunk beds on your own?

Donnie: Yes! And directions be damned. I know how it’s supposed to look when it’s done, I’ve seen the catalogue. What could go wrong?

Ben: Well…(imagined images to self: beds falling on top of each other – beds exploding – beds falling from space – beds igniting California wild fires as some sort of divine retribution – beds carrying tiki torches – beds sleeping with beds)

Ben: But sir you haven’t told me who you’re building these for?

Donnie: Hell, Benfred, didn’t I just ask you if you read the news?

Ben: You did sir. But it’s kind of depressing.

Donnie: Why?

Ben: ‘Cause it’s all about you.

Donnie: Vlad! He’s coming here Benfred, and I want to make sure everything is just right. And I want to build these bunk beds myself…show him I don’t need any help.

Ben: But didn’t he…

Donnie: BENNNNNNNFREDDDDD?!

Ben: Sorry sir.

Donnie: You know we don’t talk about that.

Ben: My fault.

Donnie: Hey wait! I just noticed. Have you been wearing a carrot on your nose this whole time? *

Ben: Carrot?

Donnie: Yeah, on your nose. Tied with string?

Ben: On my nose? No.

Donnie: Yes you have.

Ben: (pulling the carrot nose off his face) No I haven’t.

Donnie: Whewww, thank God. I thought for sure you were a witch.

Ben: They’re sneaky sir.

Donnie: Devious.

Ben: That they are.

Donnie: So, you gonna help me or not?

Ben: ?

Donnie: Put these bunk beds together?

Ben: You know they/you canceled that meeting?

Donnie: We/I did?

Ben: Yes.

Donnie: Why the fuck would we/I do that?

Ben: It’s all about the witch hunt sir. A rigged witch hunt. They just don’t understand your relationship with Vlad.

Donnie: Are you wearing that carrot again?

Ben: No sir. (after putting it back on then pulling carrot off nose again)

Donnie:…I know, they miss the positive influence that a good relationship with Vlad could have.

Ben: For the American people right?

Donnie: The who?

Ben: The American people sir.

Donnie: Who are they?

Ben: ummmm…they’re the ones you stand up for sir?

Donnie: Do I really?

Ben: Yes. The ones that wear your $40 hats. The ones you rile up into a mob frenzy with lies and incendiary short word language. The ones who would scream “jump” at a guy on a roof and then shoot him on the way down. The ones taking Russian as a second language now.

Donnie: Well I’m better at this than I thought.

Ben: You are sir. Much better.

Donnie: But a positive relationship with Vlad would be Yuge!

Ben: It would be sir. Yuge, just like you say.

Donnie: I mean he’s such a cool dude. How could anyone not like him?

Ben: …well…

Donnie: …Ok, the foot on the neck approach could be considered a little harsh by some, poisoning folks is a little much too, but I like the imprisoning of journalists and opposition leaders and the guy rides horses shirtless for Christ’s sake…and looks good doing it…I really gotta start working out…and his fake elections seem so legitimate to me…so does this piece go here?

Ben: What sir?

Donnie: This piece here. Does it go with this one?

Ben: Are we back on the bunk beds sir?

Donnie: Yes Benfred! Of course we fucking are! This has to be perfect!

Ben: What do the directions say?

Donnie: Dammit Benfred! We’ve talked about this!

Ben: I know sir. Sorry. Directions – bad. And in Swedish. Does Melania know about this?

Donnie: What? Who? And why should she? She’s in the residence with some kid and I got impor…

Ben: Your son?

Donnie: …yeah right…but I got important stuff to do here. Look, if you’re not really going to help at least grab some pillows.

Ben: ?

Donnie: For the fort. Duh.

Ben: Oh, right…the fort.

Donnie: …and grab a bedsheet to cover it. You got any flashlights?

Ben: I’m sure I could find some.

Donnie: …and some Playboys. Not a real fort without some Playboys right? Hugh, that guy really knew what he was doing. Oh, and make sure you put those nesting dolls under it too.

Ben: The nesting dolls?

Donnie: Yeah, the ones with Vlad’s picture on them over there (pointing the the night stand) They were a gift from him. They confuse me but he seems to like them so make sure they’re under the bedsheet.

Ben: But they shouldn’t confuse you sir.

Donnie: Why the hell not?

Ben: They’re right up your alley sir.

Donnie: (sigh) You’re going to explain why now aren’t you? (to self trailing off – fucking smart guys).

Ben: They’re a metaphor sir. Vlad is the big doll and you and Mitch and Lindsey and the rest are the little ones inside.

Donnie: A whatafor?

Ben: A metaphor. A figure of speech…

Donnie: …a nice figure?

Ben: Of course, always. Curvy. But like I said it’s one large doll with a number of smaller dolls inside, inside, inside and inside this one big doll.

Donnie: Hey! The 80’s were a weird time Benfred and I’m a hero for surviving them…and sometimes it hurt…

Ben: Sorry sir, didn’t mean to bring up ol…

Donnie: …it’s Ok…I didnt’t say it was bad…

Ben: …alright anyway…when is he coming now sir?

Donnie: I’m not sure and that makes me SOOOOOO mad!…fucking witch hunt…HEY!…are you wearing that carrot again?!

Ben: (after putting on and then taking off the carrot) No sir.

after a long pause  – working on the bunk beds

Donnie: Shit!…have I tariffed Sweden?

Ben: What sir?

Donnie: Have I tariffed Sweden? I wanna make them pay! I can’t get dick from these directions.

Ben: You know, again, if you just turn them ove…

Donnie: …fuck them.

Ben: I’ll grab the pickup truck sir.

Donnie: Good idea. And have them make me a taco salad when they’re done…I’m famished.

Ben: Will do sir.

Donnie: (trailing off) …Ok, this part goes…(bang bang)…shit! my finger…(bang bang)…son of a bitch…it’s supposed to…

* – always indebted to the Monty Python boys

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Habits:

On my way to another Friday night football game with Spectrum Sports in and about the Albany area (the 2^nd to last of the season for us) I kept to habit and pulled off half way there into the last Parking Area on the Taconic State Parkway North before it ends to randomly grab a Coke or seltzer from my little cooler along with half a sandwich for the rest of the drive, which is usually about 50 minute miles at this point, and to ask my Google Lady for directions the rest of the way.

I also kept to recent habit and stepped out of BB, my car, to take some pictures of Fall as the weather has been perfect in that regard the last few weeks with sunny skies and lazy, sleepy, meandering clouds peppering a pretty blue and a trees splash of colors that are the indicate of Fall we all rave about right about now, though mostly, I think, as just a way to ease and justify ourselves into the why’s it’s ok to live here before the impending doom of Winter.

When I pulled into this Parking Area there was only one other car there and I drove past it to sit for my moment in front of the “Historic Hudson Valley – Columbia County” marker right at its end, as I always do, before getting back on the road with Google Lady hitting me with the re-start merge onto the Taconic in 800 feet … yeah, yeah, yeah, gotcha Google Lady … just get me through the minutia of lefts and rights and the millions of strip malls to my final destination where I’m going to freeze my ass off tonight, I got this 800 foot re-start.   

I noted that that one car was seemingly empty in my rear view while I paused for my kept habit. Maybe that someone one car had their own pause and pushed the seat back to take a quick nap, maybe this was just a place to park and go for a hike, or maybe there was something ominous going on with movie plots and bass heavy soundtracks playing in my head and I shouldn’t linger too long.

Whatever it was I was alone, I thought, and snapped my pics without looking at them, just a snap snap snap in a slight turn turn turn panoramic kind of way with a knowing I’d look forward to seeing how they came out once I finally got myself late home after this most recent long Friday football night, a some picture’s Christmas for me if you will.

I actually did a pretty good job I think, in my snapping this time around, especially as I did it “blindly”, I had left my glasses in my Pirate’s hat on the passenger seat, with some pics eventually proving worthy of an “Oh, isn’t Fall beautiful” … before well, shit, it just ain’t … that impending Winter’s doom thing I mentioned.

Then I noticed in one of my pics a bit of a red dot in the middle, in the distance, at the edge of all these colors of a Fall justification, just a little red dot at a short hill’s tree’s edge overlooking my kept Friday habits, overlooking a me in a last Parking Area of a roadway.

A small red dot that seemed, as I looked closer, a man leaning forward on what looked a bench underneath one of those trees at the edge.

There was a bit of a late night chill at the realization that I had maybe been watched.

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Perspectives:

It’s been a few years, I know, Jen says “Dad, you need to go out” hit the diner with Phil and Bumpy, grab a coffee and maybe an omelet, the one I like with red peppers some swiss and cheddar and a bit of hot sauce that Dottie makes sure Jack does right, bless her, but I don’t have anything to talk about. I could try but the conversation always turns Bet’s way and how she had just the right touch for this omelet, possible omelets, possible everything omelets as she always did in a life that no diner or anything else is ever going to match … no offense Dot, or to you Jack, or to anyone else. You’re just not Betty. I don’t really have anything to talk about.

This view is the most cliché’d picture perfect thing you could ever imagine at just this time of year, at just THAT time of year, though I’m a little out of breath at the trek up the hill these days … again.

It’s always been my spot, or became my always spot after I blew out a tire so many young years ago with thankfully just enough shoulder in just this one place to not have intentional traffic possibly rip my door off. I’ve always hated this roadway for that, no room, not enough space, where it could seem difficult to breathe, an uncomfortable daily years upon years commute, a work’s metaphor, always concerns in your rear view if there were to be an issue but at least I had a carrot of a come home, a bear with it for that come home and the unexpected unworthy of it. How did I possibly rate such a find and all that it would bring, such a life, and the eventual Jenny’s to implore me to grab an omelet … after fumbling around in a trunk …?

“Can I give you a hand?”

It gave me a start, this question, as I was head down in the trunk and fumbling around for the spare hoping to look like I knew what I was doing to the intentional passing traffic and I didn’t hear the approach.

“Oh … hello” I said, almost bumping my head. (isn’t that how the best of future’s start in the movies?)

“You have no idea what you’re doing do you?”

For a second I thought to be manly and say that I was fine, chest out, fists pounding my jacket but right there, at that moment? Those eyes?

“No, I don’t”

She laughed a small laugh

“Well, how about we get this done then?”

“Yeah … thanks.”

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I drive up here sometimes for no reason, or for all reason and sit out of breath on a hill with the most perfect of cliche’d views over memories.

I watch a young guy stretch his legs and take some pictures.

“Thankfully for him it’s a not a blown out tire Bet”

“Or maybe he just doesn’t know he wishes it was” 

One of my favorite songs from the 90’s is Fun Loving Criminals “Scooby Snacks”, a tune that just cried 90’s if you’re looking for example and with a hook, though simple, that can get my/your shoulders moving in a playbeat.

It even borrowed Tarantino movie quotes to make it hipper than it already was and it just reminds me of a time where I was almost there.

So I did what I like to do back in March.

The video for this one by the way? Just too cool. Man those shoes.

Trumpy Snacks

“Everybody be cool, this is an insurrection!”

Don and lack facts set the track long ago   

His act election taint would be the big blow  

After mail in lies re-votes’ll be where the enemy goes

—

He exulted to podiums

Future fraud agendum

And lies don’t matter much

He bought with no cost

Small minds all loudly and blindly so

Singin’

Donnie Donnie Donnie

—

(Is this some Fascist-T love thing happening here people or what?)

—

When loss came the long game went into play

Cries rang out loud … that this was a no go

He couldn’t have lost … hell he even said so

Statistically not possible and numbers were his go go

Made up as they were he couldn’t have been wrong  

They thought singin’ all dumb dumb days long

So they listened to him being done so so wrong

Not to just to him but them that was a no no

—

“Look, I don’t know anything about any fucking election fraud
You can torture me all you want”

“Torture you, that’s good, that’s a good idea, I like that

—

Runnin’ around spoutin’ lies all whacked off on Trumpy snacks

We’ll take your commands

Rush the gates all whacked off on Trumpy Snacks

—

And Pence don’t give a fuck about a noose’s close call

If self respect was in height he’s only inches tall

He op-eds big lie, like he’s money

Though Trump had hoped his feet dangled funny

Ron Johnson chimes new times explanation

Antifa hell bent on insurrection

And try blame Pelosi for not calling in Nat guard

10,000 strong a Trump numbers lie song

Revisionists don’t care much what they get wrong

Say it enough and it’ll last days years long

But in the meantime you’re votes we leave charred

Suppression will and always be in their yard

Cause they can’t win without playing that card

—

Trumpy, we need you, are we fools?

Nah, you’re tools

—

Runnin’ around spoutin’ lies all whacked off on Trumpy snacks

We’ll take your commands

Rush the gates all whacked off on Trumpy Snacks

Muddy the waters make the rounds

All whacked off on Trumpy Snacks

Nothin’ to see pundits sound

All whacked off on Trumpy Snacks  

—

You got nothin’ on him

Nothin’

It was no big deal

(Facebook post on Friday)

So another Friday night and some more High School Football with Spectrum Sports.

I’m near Albany at Watervliet tonight on a perfectly crisp Fall Football evening (though I’ll probably be cursing wishing this “perfectly crisp” when it becomes “downright f’ing cold” later in the 2nd half … I’m old, this stuff gets felt these days ya know).

I’ve said this before but now that I’m here and a half hour from game time the world can piss off for a little football while.

(Some pics … from a stop at the end of the Taconic State Parkway to ask my google lady for directions the rest of the way … so Fall pretty …

… a ghoulie who could use a sandwich …

… refs preparing to do ref stuff and piss people off …

… the Devil keeping his hand and eye in/on things and doin’ a little camera freelancin’ …

… a shadow that knows, especially this Halloween weekend …

… and a mask I’m sure they’re gonna want me to wear for a broadcast Halloweeny “Frankencam” type shot … but it don’t look all that Halloweeny to me … it may intend gas mask, but it looks more like it comes with a ball and shame …

… and others

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Note: end of game addendum

Biggest blowout I’ve witnessed in my ten plus years of being part of crewing these broadcasts …

Fonda-Fultonville – 68

Watervliet – 8

… with Fonda scoring 40 in the 2nd quarter alone.

I almost felt compelled to look away for just the simple football fan humanity of the gesture.

Mom: (turning to me from the front seat) “Don’t look Stephen” as we pass the scene of a horrible accident.

I did think of a curious thing though at one point during the game, maybe just my brain needing to wander from what it was I was watching …

… Fonda’s team name is the Braves. Jane Fonda was once married to Ted Turner. Ted Turner once owned the Braves.

Yeah, I know. Never give me time to think curious things. 🙂

For the past few weeks I’ve done a re-post in a Sunday version of a Throwback Thursday, a So Then Sunday, recent song parodies of mine. I’ve come to like this idea and thought I’d continue it today, not with a song parody but with an old post, a first post.

Now it’s not like I just suddenly came to be writing things about my goings on, like Boom, here’s an Attic start the write, but for the life of me I couldn’t tell ya where I might have put my thoughts, the ones that really mattered, before the Attic other than to just save them in files lost in some haphazard saving way for none to see. But Maria was my eye back in our day. I mean obviously I did have my things saved, in that haphazard files in a PC kind of way, but it was she who made me put them in a place, if for no other reason than to have them to show, my thoughts right there, to her, and she was always, when I did get them in that spot, my arbiter of what was good, what needed some more work or what was just shit. To this day if I see that she has liked something of mine I know I’m on the right track.

We took a step together back in 2008 to a house, a little place in Newburgh NY, a place that would eventually house she and I and the JG (Jagger) and my Benny and Shoes and her Shana girl and soon puppies, Jackson and Brady, and then my little Bella in this small Newburgh place, the FrankenGreco Ranch, that had an unfinished attic, one we would finish and put my PC in. It was the most perfect of spots when done with undiscovered golden hardwood floors, duck your head ceilings in spots, a good and bad paint job, a couple of windows and life up some stairs. It became our Attic, a pride, a spot. Yes, I like the word “spot”.

Unlike the little extension on our house on Archer Road when I was a kid, the smallest of things really, just a few feet, but the biggest of things to my Mom, with a bay window, bay windows being how Mom’s measured themselves against other Mom’s then I guess, a thing for Ma to show off, this finishing of the attic wasn’t a Mom’s bay window. It was internal. It didn’t overtly overlook driveways or lawns or busy streets for all to behold in a Mom vs Mom kind of way, it was just there and we knew it and we owned it. It was a palpable change to an old new house that we could hang our hats on without the seen need. The rest of the house might still be the same just with new inhabitants but the Attic? It was ours … we did that … with no need to preen. And it was mine, with a keyboard.

Now eventually it became a too much mine and then housed a solitary bed, my own fault, not one down the stairs with pretty company, just some cats and an extra pillow but there was a time where, if given the time, I could write a few words about our at, about our us. Thus the first post from Frankenberry’s Attic 12 years ago.

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February 2009

THE LEARNING OF THE SEVEN

Let me start by stating that I live with a 7 year old. Let me state further that I have never lived with a 7 year old, the only experience I have with such being the one year I spent living with myself in the early seventies. It was the year Frankenberry cereal came out and I was more concerned at the time with prank phone calls and the fun poked at me on the school bus than I was in trying to accommodate the none too subtle nuances of living with me or anyone else that was 7. I’m sure if I talk with my mother she would be able to tell me of the similarities between that 7 year old and the one I live with now though I’m also sure that “I wasn’t like this”. This is a phrase that I’ve actually caught myself saying by the way, in the same way that we all catch ourselves defiantly repeating what parents laugh about that they knew we would defiantly say. They laugh a good bit.  Again, I’ll have to talk to mom. She’ll probably get the same laughing kick.

As to the living with a 7 year old that I’ve never done? Well I’m not completely ignorant to the world of small early stage humans, it’s just that I’ve never gotten this far in their evolution. My experience came when sharing a house with my brother and sister starting in 2000 when she informed us of her impending babyness, something we weren’t aware of, her included, at the time we decided to throw our hats into the same ring, a small 3 bedroom soon to be circus in Beacon, NY.

So there my brother and I sat, bachelor #1 and bachelor #2, looking down the barrel of myths, legends and outright falsehoods about pregnancy that would all prove to be true.

Without even a hint of girlfriends, never mind mom to be’s we were thrust into the world of babies. Everything babies, babies all the time, first, second and last thought babies, babies the book, babies the movie, babies the graphic novel, babies in IMAX (my god that pee stream is huge), babies are the world concerts for babies, babies rock for grandma, babies are babies u can’t touch this. And this was all before any baby was actually produced.

Eventually a baby did reach production, after a grueling 18 hours on the line and amid rumbles of a strike from the union workers: namely me. Across four hard plastic benches in the waiting room, with a newspaper over my face not hiding the early dawn and also not hiding the screams from my sister that led to a C-section, I was ready to walk off the job – that of waiting across four hard plastic benches in the waiting room with a newspaper over my face not hiding the early dawn or her screams. Then Jake came, a brand spanking new model replete with a great working engine, racing stripes and a fully functioning horn.

The next five years were a wonderment and support my contention that I’m not completely ignorant to this world of small humans, but I did regress. After getting my own place I quickly reverted back to bachelor #1 status just minus the main trapping of being a bachelor. Dating. Other than that my bachelorness went well. Benny and Shoes were happy. I fed them, rubbed their bellies, hung out in windows with them and scratched their ears. Shoes even learned how to get his own cat treats out of the kitchen cabinet and bring them to me while not knocking down the beer can pyramids on the kitchen counter, a lazy cat guys dream. All was good.

Then I met her. The best her ever. Violent regression backslide. Screeching breaks and smoking tires. Beer can pyramid tumble.

Now I live with a 7 year old. As with my first experience with my sisters’ baby product I’m getting used to a new product, one that comes with no directions or warnings, just like the first, requiring me to discover instead how to use it through trial and error and the common sense that I often don’t have. For instance, trying to operate said product early in the a.m. may cause auditory damage if not managed correctly, (tarmac headgear helps, refer to directions you don’t have). Or, when trying to dress product, at least 17 different outfits should be offered to assure that at least one of them will be considered the products’ own choice, if not, be prepared for a really long morning and another tardy note. Also know that the desired breakfast may not be available, either through the dreaded immediate advertising of Nick TV or because you just forgot to buy something that you didn’t know you needed and then ran out of.

Like I said earlier, trying to remember what it was like for yourself is fruitless unless you consult mom, who finds this too entertaining, though she does offer advice amidst her giggling. The amazing thing though is that showering doesn’t always come with wet collateral damage, breakfast does happen, outfits gets picked, teeth brushing gets successful unwanted attention, lunch is made, bought or two dollared for the cafeteria, shoelace tying is finally tackled on a daily basis.

It is a slow process and I’ve only touched on mornings. You don’t even want to know, if you don’t already, what carnage the phrase ‘bed time’ causes or what it is like to live in ‘contrary land’, and you’ve probably heard the word ‘meanie’ quite a bit. But I’m living with a 7 year old for the first time and the rewards, though they may seem to be minimal to the outside observer, are huge. Bachelor #1 has this new product tying his shoes the same way he does. Give me one check on an imaginary checklist.

I haven’t written a poem in quite some time, years actually, so this will surely be read as a poor attempt. Don’t be too harsh in your opinions, honest but not too harsh. I’m fragile yah know. 🙂

Crumbs For Crows

Thoughts dropped

Leavings

The wipe of a mouth

Crumbs

Damned falling bits of things

A crow’s right

—

We sit on lightposts

Signposts

Timeposts

Waiting

Watching

Hover busy highway or

Lonely humble back otherway

Sometimes with a God’s wink snark as you pass underneath

Overpass

Or around the long way

With a caww’s call

To friends

In just not enough light

—

We sit on lawns, flitting away’s easy flight of raised hand only to return

Sifting through around mad divide, anger a thing these days

We sit on sideways with defiance to remind

We even cousin famous sit in old haunting odes, though this isn’t one of them

We sit waiting ask just what is your crumb’s point

Get it right and we won’t pick you clean

… bones

No muddle middles

Just get it right

… bones

Pick you clean

—

We sit and figure how to use small stones to build things

Beyond you

We are here there to best you

We’re still

Were still

Are still

Will still

Knock knock

Doors

While we wait … always waiting …

—

We got those leavings,

Those thoughts

Crumbs

Crumbles

Crumbling

Picking, pecking

And we dance

Over them

In sideslide Crow clack steps

If you visit here (and for some reason come back, god bless ya) you may have noticed that the last couple of Sundays I’ve re-posted a couple of my parody tunes as a kinda Throwback Thursday thing just, well, on a Sunday, a So Then Sunday.

I’ve been doing this because, while I work Friday Night Lights High School football games up the Albany way for the season, I haven’t had opportunity to grab my little studio at work on said Friday nights to have my parody fun.

Now usually my parody tunes are political, my sort of musical opinion pieces if you will, but I’ve kept these “So Then Sundays” so far to the few songs that aren’t that. Things that are just a bit of fun.

So here is another and the post I wrote for it back in September of last year …

(PS … the scream in the song is an actual Jonna scream by the way)

—–

I record a show with two friends, have now going on, I don’t know, close to 10 years I think, minus a couple when I was let go at one group of radio stations and then picked up at another, “Happy Hour”. It’s Jonna Spilbor, you may know her, a regular contributor on Fox News and other shows as a legal expert and Keryl Pesce an author of two self empowerment books and the boss lady of a small publisher, The Little Pink Press, that helps others get their thoughts out there. A thank you for them. They are two of the most wonderful and whip smart women I have ever known. Ahhh, if only to live up to that wit and humor, something, I’m afraid, I often can’t keep up with on the show, but …

Jonna, whose stories of mishaps and annoyances are a regular part of the fun, is having her house renovated. So we thought it would be funny for me to come up with a little intro/sting jingle type thing to lead into whatever her latest story of misadventure might be, a something I can do. This renovation has had her move back in with her Mom and Dad for the moment. Sounds almost like being kid again right, just out of college? Except none of us are kids so this situation is ripe with possible comedy and I don’t think she can get back on her parent’s insurance now.

Well, the little intro/sting thing wasn’t enough for me. If I can’t keep up in the show I do have other things I can do, so I searched out “sitcom” this past Friday afternoon at our production music site, a wealth of good choices, but found the best of these sitcomy beds for just what was in my head. A few words later that afternoon, some ‘singing’ in my little studio after everyone had thankfully left for the weekend (other than time spent at the house with my furry girls it’s my favorite of times) and then back home to build. I came up with this.

The theme song for the Jonna Show.

Jonna’s back home after years on her own

Nance & John happy after their bird had flown

Back in her old room

Posters still up

Of boys that were a cause to just swoon

Cassidy brothers, David and Shawn, Travolta and even Scott Baio too

—

Jonna’s back home her own house is a mess

Remodeling disarray causing much stress

She thought then move back with the rents

Temporary sure but with Momma food scents

She’ll just need remember live when in Rome

But what could go wrong with moving back home?

—

They’d of course get along

Her single habits they wouldn’t grow long

No Jonna wardrobe mishaps would occur

Her raccoons though they will miss her

—

Nance won’t ask of margarita again

Or glasses of wine where she never says when

Or helping with the garbage

But in outfits to send

Young boys round the bend  

—

Jonna’s back home after years on her own

Nance & John happy after their bird had flown

Jonna’s thankful to avoid all the stress

Of that house of hers being a mess

And timelines that will most surely get stretched

—

Nance & John won’t now be alone

Cause their Jonna, she’s back home!

It Wasn’t Me, I Didn’t Pee

Back in March Celie gave me an idea, a tune about cats peeing where they shouldn’t.

(Original post)

To Shaggy’s “It Wasn’t Me”

Yo, Handsome … Open up man

What do you want Cujo?

Mom just caught me

Seriously?

I don’t know how

Where?

In the shower, you know

Man

I don’t know what to do

Well, say it wasn’t you

—

Alright

—

Celie came in and she caught me red handed

Peeing on the shower floor

Picture this, I’m a cat named Cujo

Who doesn’t litter box no more

How could I forget that she lived

On this very big house floor

Just right down the hall here

Till she was standing at the bathroom door

—

How could you forget that Mom’s the one who owns this villa

She’s got sixth senses that snap up on her pilla

You keep this up she’s gonna be your killa

She knows it’s you even got ya on camera

Before you were dumb and strolled off into the shower

These humans got tech to catch you any hour

Yeah that’s video your ass up on stovetop

You gotta say it wasn’t you to save you from the next stop

—

But she caught me on the counter (It wasn’t me)
Saw me peein’ on the stovetop (I didn’t pee)
Even saw me in corners (It wasn’t me)
Yeah she caught me on camera (I didn’t pee)
Saw scratches on the floorboards (It wasn’t me)
Smelled the smell that made her nose curl (I didn’t pee)
Heard her screams when she discovered (It wasn’t me)
I couldn’t stay so I took off

—

Celie came in and she caught me red handed

Peeing on the shower floor

Picture this, I’m a cat named Cujo

Who doesn’t litter box no more

How could I forget that she lived

On this very big house floor

Just right down the hall here

Till she was standing at the bathroom door

—

Act like nothing happened, that it’s no big deal  

Walk your Cujo walk, denial in your cool

See if you can sing another cat’s fault song

Maybe Sunny with who you don’t get along  

You’re gonna be banished from house for real

You’ll be pushin’ daisies soon for just this deal

You’ll be out garage, house life won’t last

Get caught again and 9^th life will pass  

—

But she caught me on the counter (It wasn’t me)
Saw me peein’ on the stovetop (I didn’t pee)
Even saw me in corners (It wasn’t me)
Yeah she caught me on camera (I didn’t pee)
Saw scratches on the floorboards (It wasn’t me)
Smelled the smell that made her nose curl (I didn’t pee)
I heard the screams when she discovered (It wasn’t me)
I couldn’t stay so I took off

—

Celie came in and she caught me red handed

Peeing on the shower floor

Picture this, I’m a cat named Cujo

Who doesn’t litter box no more

How could I forget that she lived

On this very big house floor

Just right down the hall here

Till she was standing at the bathroom door

—

Gonna blame some other

For the smell that I’ve caused

Gotta be some other cat who goes and pees against doors

I will tell her that maybe it’s because of the dogs

I’ll just make sure they don’t catch me

When they figure mad cause

—

Celie came in and she caught me red handed

Peeing on the shower floor

Picture this, I’m a cat named Cujo

Who doesn’t litter box no more

How could I forget that she lived

On this very big house floor

Just right down the hall here

Till she was standing at the bathroom door

—

Celie came in

She caught me red handed

It wasn’t me I do say

I didn’t pee I will say

Celie came in then

She caught me red handed

It wasn’t me

Meow

We Let Billy Drive The Car

Ok, it’s not quite a Throwback Thursday but I thought maybe a So Then Sunday might be in order today.

Apologies to Tolerable Tuesdays, Frantic Fridays or Wishy Washy Wednesdays but, well, today just ain’t your day.

No, really, look at the calendar, today just ain’t your day.

Monday and Saturday? You know your gig.

So a So Then Sunday it is, like a Thursday’s Throwback but just, you know, later in the week.

From a year ago.

Had a thought of grabbing an instrumental from our production music site, something I didn’t know, to see if I could write some lyrics to it and have a little fun. For the manic story idea in my head the instrumental just had to be fast.

Moved in fast

Wanted to grab cash

Had an inside

Point us to the stash

All gassed up

Had some cool masks

Famous baddies from

Old time gangster flicks

–

I was Cagney

Tommy was Edward G

No weapons though

Way too much the risk

Just a bluff

And the fear that goes with

Work the room posing threats

Now that’s biz

–

Grab the loot scoot

Back door left ajar

Plan was ticking

Like a really expensive watch

Into the alley

Out of sight of cops

Billy couldn’t be far … right?

–

“Hey, where’s Billy?”

“I don’t know man”

“but he knew the plan, we practiced, He knew this alley”

“I told you we shouldn’t let Billy the drive the car”

“Hey, you agreed man!”

“I had no choice, he’s your brother and I ain’t pissin’ off your mother”

–

Why’d we let Billy Drive the car

Mom always said he wouldn’t go very far

I wanted to just prove her really wrong

Was always singin’ the same ol’ tired song

Told her the plan no guns and just commands

Protect Billy In the best way that we can

Give him the wheel and just wait out the plan

–

We lit on foot then

Tommy and me we ran

Plan had been rocking

But now we’re on the lam

With nothing even resembling a plan

Other than shucking and really duckin’ now

Hidin’ round corners

And peakin’ round some bends

Tryin’ keep the coppers

From their ends

Cursing Billy to the hell he will attend

All in my head while we ran and ran and ran

Just tryin’ not to end up in the can

At least that’s if we had another plan

–

Why’d we let Billy Drive the car

Mom always said he wouldn’t go very far

I wanted prove her to be really wrong

Was always singin’ the same ol’ tired song

Told her the plan no guns and just commands

Protect Billy In the best way that we can

Give him the wheel and just wait out the plan

–

We shouldn’t have let Billy drive the car

Tommy said that we wouldn’t go very far

Except the slammer that’s just right up the state

But poor Billy he just could never rate

To the ones who always judged the most

A lost cause on their paper notes

He’s the one they say see ya later to

And I had no couch for that

–

“Oh shit Tommy, tell me that can’t …”

“I don’t know man …  I don’t wanna think about it”

–

“Billy, where you been?”

–

You were so right to let me drive the car

Coppers been sent a little way out far

Tripped an alarm at a different spot

An inside knew a perfect wild goose

At your plans on your wrist’s spot

Ticking along with your planned depart

I waited knowing just where your legs would stop

–

We were so right to let Billy drive the car

Tossed our masks and cash into the back

Cagney and Edward G they’d be so proud

And ode to gangster’s legends of the old

A new chapter maybe in that gangster ode

Of Tommy and me a new story be told

A one to finally make my momma proud

Of when we let Bill-lee drive the car

Of when we let Billy drive the car