The farmer looked at his son, knowing the boy had no future. He’d been starved for air at birth, leaving him slow-in-the-head. It was the year 1892, modern times, with places one could leave an imbecile child. Family, town folk, preachers, and doctors all said to put the child away, but he couldn’t, such was…

My Cousin Elmo says, “Does Major League Baseball require a photo ID to pick up game tickets or buy a beer? Asking for a friend.”

You can’t help my isolation You can’t help the fear that it brings You can’t help yourself by seeing me You can’t help my fucking want You can’t help my wanting to fuck You can’t help our social distancing You can’t help the hurt that it brings You can’t help your helpless can’t You can’t…

My Cousin Elmo says, “I’m called an alcoholic because I drink alcohol, but no one ever says I’m fantastic when I drink Fanta.”

As a kid, reading Mark Twain’s, “The Adventures of Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn,” lead to “Treasure Island” and eventually “Lord of the Flies.” But somehow, I always returned to Twain, especially to his shorter tales. One such short story is “The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County.” In it, the narrator is sent by…

My Cousin Elmo says, “The Biden Administration is investigating Jesus for violating stay-in-the-tomb orders.”

We have a disconnect from logical thought in this country. To wit: President Biden ordered a missile strike on Syria. Shortly after, a Syrian man went on a shooting rampage in the United States. The Department of Homeland Security claims there is no connection between the two events. And yet…Syria. It’s as simple as that…

Thank goodness this week is over. It has been an expensive few days and will probably be worse next week. But for now, the weekend is here, and I can allow myself to relax for a few hours. It began with shorting the light in my garage. I hunted for the problem but eventually had…

My Cousin Elmo says, “I’m not sure what’s wrong with my TV, but I jus’ saw a straight white male in a commercial.”

All of my life I have wanted to belong. To what, I’ve never been sure. Jus’ belong. Talk of tribalism has reinfected that wound. I don’t belong. I have never belonged. Outside the circle, the community, the troop. Certainly, I have attempted to belong: school, military, service organizations, professions, even communities that involved hobbyists. Nothing.…