Image by blogetta
Art, art, where art thou?
Modern art, you’re elusive;
Appear before me.
Is there a message?
What mystery do you hold?
Oh, nothing at all.
Plea to See
humor
Morning Bling
Image: Pixabay
He snickers at me;
Poppy seed between my teeth.
That’s my morning bling.
Chomping my breakfast,
An everything bagel
Gives me my black gem.
Dealings in the Ceiling
Image by Anna
Charlie thinks he is doing his boss a favor when he mentions the sound of scurrying feet above their paneled ceiling.
“I don’t like that. Reminds me of what Johnson, that guy two doors down from us told me last month. He was eating his lunch and suddenly this monster rodent lands in his soup. He lucked out that his bowl of hot liquid got that disease monger good. Ugh.” His boss shivers and continues, “I want you to put some traps up there now. Go to that hardware store a block from us. They should have something appropriate there.”
“Why can’t Ernie do it? He’s the Facilities guy.” Charlie looks around as if Ernie would appear.
“I’ll give you three reasons why . . . first, he’ll take weeks to get to it . . . he’s always got a more serious problem to deal with. Second, he’s afraid of heights so he won’t climb a ladder. That will add even more weeks because he’s going to have to find help; and third, he’s out sick today, so who knows when he’s coming back.”
Charlie regrets speaking up and catching guff from his boss again. As he walks inside the hardware store, he asks the guy behind the counter for help and buys a few mouse traps.
When Charlie returns to the office, his boss tells him he doesn’t want the details. “Just take care of the problem,” he commands.
Charlie places the ladder right under the area where he’s been hearing the muffled sounds. While holding a plastic bag that contains the traps and other supplies, he climbs the ladder and carefully pokes out a tile from the dropped ceiling. He sets the tile aside, along with his bag, inside the plenum space. He uses the flashlight on his smart phone to scan the surface. He can’t see anything over a foot from where he is, although the smell reminds him of sweaty socks.
As he reaches to place the traps in different parts of the ceiling, he hears a scuffling. From where he is, the sound seems heavier than the light scrabbling of mice. The hairs on the back of his neck stand out. His breathing is strained. As he prepares to scramble out of the area, he sees a large rat with red-rimmed eyes suddenly appear before him.
Lo and behold, the rat speaks, “Shh. I’m just bunking here for the week so I don’t have to take guff from my boss. You feel me?”
Family Blend Trend
Image: Pixabay
Yours, mine, ours,
Or theirs?
Too many sets of kin—
One from Stetson,
Another from Berlin.
But, what about Aunt Lynn?
Is she mine or yours?
Neither,
Just a freeloading stranger.
Stay Attuned by Voyancé
Image: Pixabay
The infamous Claire Vo Yancy aka Voyancé, Fate’s daughter, stopped by to give us a glimpse of the future. She’s mostly attuned to entertainment and technology. Let’s see what’s in store for us . . .
Voyancé: With reality shows being such a big part of entertainment, we will see more such shows targeting ever more specific audiences. Right now we have reality shows geared to dating and finding that right person, such as Are You the One?, The Bachelor, The Bachelorette. One of the shows I see on the horizon is called Are You the Last One? This program is geared for those over 80 years old. Six elderly couples will try to figure out their final match.
Another one is a game called It Said, They Said, where half of the contestants are channeling an inanimate object. For example, one of them would try to express what a chair might say if given the chance. It’s going to be an exciting breakthrough for those who have always felt they were born to be a tchotchke. What I don’t know is whether the Supreme Court will sanction special restrooms built for them.
Meanwhile, we’re going to find greater transparency in a new reality show called The Capital Grill, which is a day in the life of our President. We will get to vote on who sits on the hot seat alongside the President toward the end of the show. It promises to be as big as The Voice.
As for technology, I see a new product coming called iAm, which is a robotic clone of the owner. It’s a stand-in for when you cannot or don’t want to attend a function, like a certain holiday party, but your presence is considered important. An iAm would allow you to be represented by a reasonable facsimile. It’s like astral traveling except people can see you.
Interviewer: Thank you for sharing with us what we can expect. Do you have any last words?
Voyancé: One more show I almost forgot. It happens to be my favorite one. I can hardly wait for this. It’s called The Biggest Whiner. And it’s going to be great, big time. I’ll let you figure out what that could be about. Thanks for having me.
The Ugly Sweater Chronicles: Unraveled
[A trilogy of “seamy” stories about the lure of ugly sweaters. 3 of 3; see 2]
Image: Pixabay
Detective David LaFoote, along with his new junior partner, Detective Tobias LaFitte, shoulder their way in through the door. They look around the studio apartment, struck by the multitude of paper types pinned to a big bulletin board on the wall. Beneath all the newspaper clippings, invitation cards, and business letterhead is a large map of the metropolis. Different strands of colored yarn, connected by pins, point to specific locations on the map. Suddenly they hear a gasp and see a man cowering in the corner.
“I didn’t do anything wrong,” the man whines. He is wearing a green sweater with a big snowman on the front, grinning back at them. “I’m taking what’s been due me for years . . .” He rubs his nose, as he asserts himself.
“Save your breath, buster. When I was growing up I was told to crochet my own sweater. I got a ball of yarn, while my classmates had their ugly sweaters already made.” LaFoote shakes his head, marveling at how his deeply buried memories so readily surface.
“I’m really sorry to hear what happened to you, but at least you were given some colorful material to knit something new. All I ever received when I was growing up was a picture of an ugly sweater from a mail-order catalog.” The man is now raving on and on.
“Spare me any more sob stories. You’re going down.” Detective LaFoote motions to his partner and speaks with authority. “Book him, Danno–for burglary and grand larceny!”
“Um, David. The name’s LaFitte.”
“Can’t you just be Danno for today? I’m really feeling like the 5-0 right now,” says LaFoote, harkening back to his grade school years of adoring the original “Hawaii Five-0” series on Friday nights. LaFoote strides away, glad but weary from the long hours of finally cracking open the Ugly Sweater Serial Stealer case.
[To see the first story, see 1.]
The Ugly Sweater Chronicles: Pilfered
[A trilogy of “seamy” stories about the lure of ugly sweaters. 2 of 3; See 1 of 3]
Christmas music plays through the tinny speakers in the function room of the once popular downtown hotel. In spite of the worn carpet and faded drapes framing the bottle glass windows, the people getting ready for the Annual Ugly Sweater Convention are happily lining up chairs to create a stage. One of the highly anticipated events is the ugly sweater parade around the room and the judging. The grand prize winner receives an original, one-of-a-kind ugly sweater crocheted by one of the judges.
“I can hardly wait until you show us what you’ve crocheted, Henrietta,” Jody says to the petite woman helping her set up the chairs.
“Tell us the story behind what you’ve created.” Linda, another judge pipes in, as she joins them in getting their stage ready.
“Given that I had a whole year to think about it, I feel as if my hands connected well with my brain, because I just let them both go to town,” Henrietta says, smiling about the experience.
By this time, the rest of the judges have joined them. Henrietta beams at the attentiveness of her four colleagues toward her work. “The setting is classical–a wintry scene with a half-created snowman; that’s because Santa was interrupted by Rudolf the Red-nosed reindeer whose nose had fallen off. The elves are crawling about under a Christmas tree, which happens to be topped by Rudolf’s red nose.”
“How clever. It sounds intricate,” Donny, the only male judge says.
“Yes, I used a lot of different colors to make them all stand out.”
“We better get a move on. People are streaming in. Why, look at that ugly sweater.” The other judges look in the direction she’s gazing. Suitably impressed, they conclude all the sweaters are ugly. They disband and mingle with the crowd.
Soon after the end of the ugly sweater story telling event, the parade starts. About a hundred or so people walk around the room, proudly displaying their frontal artwork to the five judges, each absorbed and taking notes, some murmuring among themselves.
At long last, the judges come to their final decision. As the one who crocheted the prize, Henrietta announces the winner. She wheels in a clothes rack, which has a vinyl garment bag hanging from the top. Eagerly, she unzips the opaque casing. As she takes out the sweater, she gapes as she sees a plain red sweater without the swirls, pomp-poms, appliques, ribbons, and yards of yarn she has applied. She sputters, “This is not the sweater I made!”
One of the judges cries out, “Someone has stolen it!”
Never before in the history of the event has this ever happened. Without much experience in such matters, the Ugly Sweater Convention planners promise the good people that day that they will launch a full investigation. Leading the charge will be the famed Detective David LaFoote, well known in their town as the sharpest tool in the shed.
The Ugly Sweater Chronicles: Ripped Off
[A trilogy of “seamy” stories about the lure of ugly sweaters; 1 of 3]
Image: Pixabay
The air is full of excitement. Tomorrow is Ugly Sweater Day and everyone is looking forward to it. People are staying longer in the water dispenser talking about their sweaters.
“My sweater has one big boob on one side, covered with a green pom-pom. Beat that!”
“Yah, that’s ugly. But mine has the body of a penguin on the front, right under the neckline.”
Snatches of conversation followed by guffaws can be heard in every corner. Darren sits at his desk, working, but obsessing on how he still doesn’t have an ugly sweater to wear for the big day. He went to Target over the weekend but the prices for ugly sweaters had been hiked. He’s not about to spend $35 for a sweater he wouldn’t wear more than once a year. Then, he remembers the discount department store at an outdoor shopping mall, which is a 15-minute walk from his office park.
When lunchtime approaches, Darren hurriedly heads over to the mall. He is forced to walk because his car is at the garage and not available until tomorrow. As much as he dislikes treading over roads with no sidewalks, he hates it even more if he doesn’t have an ugly sweater to wear the next day.
Having successfully reached the store, Darren goes to the clearance rack. He pumps his fist up in the air when he finds what he considers the ideal. After paying for it, he practically runs outside to get moving. The walk feels long because he has to retrace the terrible route that got him here. He clutches his bag as he tries to avoid being run down.
Suddenly, he’s knocked off his feet and lands on the small strip of dirt, off by the roadside. Did he get hit by a car? He feels as if he’s been punched in the back. What was it? As he raises his head, he sees two feet running off. He realizes that he’s been pushed. He feels around for his bag and sees it’s been stolen. Close to tears, he gets up, dusts himself off, and heads back to the mall. Tomorrow he will wear an ugly sweater, come hell or high water.
Ham Hocked
Image: Pixabay
Everyone in the office was in a flurry. They all received the same white envelope with a blue seal.
“I can’t believe they’re going to do away with our tradition,” Dora says to Mary, whose office desk is just inches away from hers.
“You must admit that they were kind enough to give us advance notice so we can start saving for our holiday dinner now.” Mary waves the letter from their company’s President, copied to Human Resources and their holiday ham supplier, “Ham Hocks ‘r You, Me, and Us, LLC”.
Dora sighs as she rereads the letter to Mary:
Dear Valued Employee,
As our company is known to be charitable and humanitarian minded, we will be donating on your behalf the holiday ham to those more in need. I am sure you feel the same as I that this is for a good cause. To save up to purchase your ham for yourselves this holiday, see HR to have additional deductions made from your paycheck.
In keeping with the giving spirit, your holiday bonus will be donated to the company’s annual holiday party. We can all look forward to this year’s buffet spread including two meat choices of roast and ham, plus two desserts. As a bonus, two more raffle items can be added to our usual three door prizes.
I look forward to seeing you all at the holiday party.
Holiday wishes,
Brent Grimbsy
President, CEO, MBA, BSC, NBC, DeET, LDA, MlPH
Scents and Incensedsibility
Image: Pixabay
I sense something afoot;
I scent a deadly toot,
That threatens to pollute.
You ate that massive bean burrito
Chased it with a glass of mojito,
So stop playing incognito.
No worries though;
I’ll clear the air flow,
By politely asking you to go.
Karina Pinella 
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