My grandma had a silly saying when things didn’t work out: ‘Ah, fart in a fruitcake.’ Tried it once — didn’t work out.

I slept with a girl on the monkey bars jus’ because she was hanging around.

As a piss poor poet laureate, I’m always one verse away from a nervous breakdown.

Perhaps my mother’s spirit of thrift found its way to me early New Years Eve morning. More on that after a little back story on her ‘thriftiness.’ My Erector set wasn’t even a week old before I ripped the plastic window on the box. Mom was there when it happened and I asked her if…

I’m so financially well off that I’ve managed to blur the distinction between poor and broke.

Seems as I can remember last year as if it were jus’ yesterday.

Our big New Year’s Eve celebration was to Red Robin in the early afternoon. We learned that they have instituted a new ‘napkin’ system; paper towel rolls at each table. My wife took a picture to send to her sister. Their mother, Helen, was a BIG fan of the Robin. They both agreed she’d be…

“Effing buzzards,” I complained as I glance skyward hoping to catch sight of one. They were nothing knew, in fact I generally welcomed their company along with the occasional condor, hawks, ravens and crow. But because of the hot sun, a lack of decent water and an inability to catch a ride, the straight trek…

Is it simply an ending? Maybe it’s cautionary. A beginning of something else. Perhaps it’s a warning: A great big sharp-toothed Prehistoric fishy’s gonna fly Out of the dark murky depths And bite you in your arse. No? What then? Then que the suspense music! Dun-dun, dun-dun, dun-dun, Done, done, done, done, done… May you…

We’re all a story to be told. The question is: are you going to tell it now or will someone else tell it later, when you have no control over the tale?