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.

The middle-aged woman wandered up and down the ragged beach, a place so forlorn and uninviting, that others, even locals, often refused to go there. Her bare feet pressed into the blackish sand as the waves crashed in to the rocky shoreline.

He had driven her there, and now he watched helplessly as she rushed about in her grand madness and hopeful giddiness. Some how she knew, she always knew and she had told him and this was the day.

“I’ll finally learn how to make perfect cucumber sandwiches, and wonderful teas, and flavorful biscuits,” she stated gleefully.

“You already know how to do that,” he pleaded, “You don’t have to do this.”

“Oh, but I do, its always been my dream,” she said.

Finally, she disrobed, dropping her dowdy house dress in the surf and stood quietly, head lifted to the overcast sky, arms away from her naked meaty sides and stout legs slightly apart. She was waiting.

Then it came, that eldritch thing with tentacles and wings and leathery skin and a multitude of eyes. It took her within a menacing claw and tenderly drew her to the churning, chilly Pacific.

“Wait for me,” she called back, a happiness in her voice.

“Okay,” he called back, less enthusiastic.

“Promise?” she asked.

“I promise,” he answered.

Then she was gone, taken beneath that those vulgar dark waves and from this upper world. He stood near where she last been, hands in his jacket pocket and head hanging down, chin on his chest.

He tried to cry, but found he couldn’t. Instead, he felt something akin to relief.

With a heavy sigh he turned, dragging his feet, glancing behind twice, making his way to his waiting car. Once there he looked out over the raging gray sea, mist rising and disappearing beyond the crags they tumbled on.

Then a thought struck him, “Perhaps, I shouldn’t have made that final promise.”

Fact: Women spend more time wondering what men think about then men actually spend thinking.

Officer James Herrod pulled into a parking spot about 30 feet from the food truck and picked up the microphone: “Robert One-18 to dispatch.”

“Dispatch,” a voice from the radio spoke, “Go Robert One-18.”

“Yes, dispatch I’ll be 10-7 at the corner of Main and Third.”

“10-4, Robert One-18, have a good lunch.”

“Roger and thanks.”

---

She had her ‘Seattle briefcase’ slung over her left shoulder as she walked from her car to double doors of the County Health Department building. For the last seven-years Janelle Stewart had been doing the same tedious job and once again was wishing she’d chosen another career path.

Janelle dropped the backpack at the side of her desk, picked up her coffee mug, one with a Batman emblem on it, and made her way down the corridor to the break room. She poured herself a cup of java and looked out the second story window with a sigh.

“Hey, young lady,” Stan, a bald-man in his early fifties said as he entered through the door. He looked at her and could tell something was wrong.

“What’s wrong? Anything I can help with?”

Janelle turned and smiled, “Oh, no. Jus’ gonna be another long day.”

“Understood,” he said in his usual chipper voice.

She could never tell if he was really that happy or if he was simply faking it. Janelle could never fake it, knowing that she wore her moods in the open.

“Have a better day,” Stan smiled as he left the room, his coffee cup filled.

She turned and walked back to her desk and sat down. Janelle quickly thumbed through her appointment book, looking at the five restaurants she had scheduled for inspection and the one mobile food vehicle on her list.

The mobile food vehicle was the third visit listed.

---

James was hungry and had decided that tacos sounded like the perfect lunch for the hectic day he was experiencing. He was waiting in line, three customers behind a construction worker, who was paying for five tacos.

He watched as an attractive brunette slowly got out of her car and walked to the back of the food truck, entered and made her way to the front-end of the vehicle. Then he saw the sudden flash of flame as it flared up and enveloped the length of the open window.

The woman, who he believed to be the owner, dropped a metal lid over the blaze. As this happened, he felt an odd sense of dizziness rush over his person.

James chalked his dizziness up to the fact that he hadn’t eaten since leaving his house at around four that morning,  was tired and stressed from a job, that after seven-years, he no longer enjoyed.

---

With two inspections completed, at eleven that morning, Janelle wheeled into the parking lot of the shopping center where she knew the food truck, ‘Taco Time,’ with it’s oddball tag-line, ‘Where the food is magic,’ would be parked, selling its popular Tex-Mex cuisine. She could see Amy Michaels, the owner, and her assistant Jose’ Oliveria, in the vehicle’s long window, serving a line of at least six people.

Amy saw her as she approached the truck. Janelle could see that the woman had a forced-smile on her face.

“I promise to stay out of your hair and to be as quick as possible,” she stated as she stepped up and into the vehicle.

“Okay,” Amy said. She was busy putting the final touches on five tacos.

Janelle slipped by Jose’ who nodded, acknowledging her. As she turned to watch the two work, a low pan of grease burst into flames, causing her to turn her head to avoid being singed.

---

James grabbed his forehead with his right hand, his gun hand, and looked down. Much to his surprise, he was no longer wearing his service boots, but rather a pair of much-too small red Reebok tennis shoes.

---

Janelle looked at Amy, who was closest to her. Amy was staring hard at her, as was Jose’ and both had strange expressions on their faces.

“How in the hell did you get in here?” Amy barked in surprise.

“I…I…I,” Janelle stuttered, her voice deeper than usual.

In a panic, Janelle rushed to the back of the vehicle and down the stairs. She caught her scattered reflection in the diamond-patterned aluminum siding of the truck.

“What in the…” she said, in shock after seeing herself now clad in the dark-blue uniform of a police officer.

She quickly rushed over to the only police cruiser in the parking lot and leaned against the vehicle. Her mind reeled as she came to understand that she was no longer a health inspector, but now a male police officer.

---

Across the parking lot, a brunette woman, who was standing in line, suddenly fainted to the asphalt.

Monday comes and it is already Friday.
This month is over and the year is up.
Many years are gone, leaving nothing,
Where waiting for later is loss of time.
So take full advantage of what is left
It is already too late for the going back.