Fella said his wife was an Angel that fell from Heaven. Ruined it by reminding him that’s also the Devil’s backstory.

I feel like a chocolate Easter bunny — hollow inside.

It’s been one of those mornings. Up early to take care of some outside chores before the heat becomes intolerable, but that isn’t what’s made this morning so frustrating.

First, I got out my favorite coffee cup and poured some java in it. I picked it up and the handle simply fell off, splashing hot liquid all over my still-bare legs, the kitchen floor and a nearby cabinet, not to mention breaking the cup.

Then while I was raking up dog crap like a dutiful human (pun intended,) the wooden handle came off the fan. The funny thing is that when it happened, I was leaning forward, dragging the tines towards me, causing myself to lose my balance, stepping forward on the handle and snapping it in half.

Finally, as I finished putting away the lawn mower and dragged in the garbage can filled with poop, grass clippings and such, I turned to go inside the house from my garage and the god damned door knob, which I jus’ replaced a couple weeks ago, popped off in my hand. It took me about half-an-hour to figure out why this happened and fix it.

And now, I’m afraid to go pee.

All political jokes are in bad taste because all politician’s are in taste bad.

I’d tell you a COVID-19 joke, but there’s a 99.62-percent chance you won’t get it.

Now that Joe Biden’s picked Kamala Harris as his running mate, let the joke making begin. And I’ll start:

New campaign names:
Joe Kamaltoe 2020
Twit and Twat 2020
Creep and C*nt 2020
Sniff and Blow, 2020
Pee Pads and Knee Pads, 2020
Perv and Prost, 2020
Joe and Hoe, 2020

New campaign slogans:
“Together, We’ll Blow It.”
“Together, We’ll pass the sniff test.”
“Why One Knee When Two are Better.”
“Two Hands are Better Than One.”
“Jill Knows Best.”

New sponsors:
Nike knee pads
Depends

And finally, when asked about being selected, Harris answered like Biden, saying, “I’ve never kissed a toucan or parrot, but I have a cock-or-two.”

Remember, I’m a professional joke-writer, so please don’t attempt this at home, but feel free to share.

her doe eyes glisten
ruby red lips narrow
i get up from my seat
toss down three bucks for our coffees
i walk out of the diner never looking back
she did not say a thing
what could she say
she had done exactly what i expected her to do
it was a hustle after all

she stokes the top my hand
her perfectly manicured nails make me shutter
god i want to melt like butter
it would be so easy i think
i peer through her sheer blouse
i can see her black bra
each cup spilling over with tanned flesh

i tried to not notice the too tight skirt
the too short skirt split up the side
she is not wearing panties
no outline on that fine ass
my mind envisions me naked in her
pumping her pussy hard
my dick exploding or my heart
christ what am i doing i think

it is my birthday tomorrow she had said
she wants a gift since her parents had both died less than six months ago
she had no one to celebrate her twenty third birthday with
heartbreaking

it was all a pattern
one i had seen all to often as a reporter
it was reporting on the death of the kids parents that i first met her
she was an immediate turn on
she was looking to replace her daddy
a man she obviously had daddy issue with
i was the mark

i am old enough to be your grandparent i told her
hell i got a kid older than you
she refused to listen
telling me how she could make me happy
that I could have her and keep my wife
that is nice of you I thought sarcastically

still I stayed the course wanting to be nice be honest be helpful be faithful
i tried but she asked for five hundred dollar immediately after I told her i do not have the money
i am only half a step from the poor house I added
i never said a thing as i pushed my way through the door and stepped out onto the sidewalk she never said a thing letting me go jus like that and that is because she knew she was was not worth my effort
she knew that i also knew it

i feel so fucking feel dirty
i need a cold shower

herecomesthatpoorolddogagainfortheumpteenthtimetoenailstappingoutatattoo onthewoodenfloorallIonlywanttodoissleepallhewantsisscratchedbehindhisears

Look at a US map and you will see how Montana looks like Joe Biden sniffing Idaho.

Since returning from Crescent City, California, I’ve found myself with a strange case of writers block. Strange, because I still keep my journal and I write lengthy notes, but I’m not writing words worth the sharing.

Meanwhile there’s a billion words swirling about my head like the multitudes of high-desert stars. And though they’re all there, I can’t seem to reach out and pick a single one from the hoard screaming left, right and up the center of my fevered brain.

Alpha and Omega.

Anyone looking at my journals, my notes, if ever they look, may well conclude that Covid-2020 was the year I slipped, drinking ‘Fireball’ and ‘Claw,’ taking long walks after dark, began loudly arguing with myself and visiting neighborhood dogs as a diversionary tactic. But I want it remembered: I’m built for this shit!

Others, maybe you, have it worse.