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It’s been a long time since I wrote a real story for this website.  So I did some really deep thinking about what kind of subject would offer a bit of a bang.

As we all know, stories depicting the foibles of humanity have wide appeal.

Oh, goody, I thought.  Wouldn’t it be a swell idea to get a little risqué and, at the same time, dabble into some unreported human activities during the way-back days of human history?

What possible thing of importance could history sages and authors have missed?  Nothing came to mind; and nothing would come to mind even though I grunted and strained mightily.

Good Lord, I thought, not another poem!  Please restrain me!  And The Lord did restrain me through days of dutiful labor and evenings of mindless of television.  My creative output became bound by Twitter’s 140 characters.

Suddenly, as suddenly as a lightning bolt, I remembered a silly comic routine from the Comedy Channel and combined it with the History Channel’s Naked Archeologist search for authentication of biblical history.

For certain, The Holy Bible has been telling us all about what went on with the people from way, way back for a long, long time.  Lots of people put The Holy Bible on the top of the Best Seller List, and lots of people pattern their lives accordingly.

The Bible tells of goodness and naughtiness.  The Bible tells us that the people ate and drank and labored and sacrificed. 

What The Bible falls flat on is how funny human existence can really be.  Thus, we can’t help but wonder about what they, for instance, read in the ancient outhouse.  Those clay tablets, you know, can be very heavy.

Let’s consider the simple but necessary effort of expelling gaseous buildup in the digestive tract. 

Oh, grow up people.  God made man and included plumbing for a very good reason.  Sure, eating and drinking and drawing breath figure prominently in The Bible.  There is also some serious celebrating reported, but The Bible doesn’t have much comic relief.  Didn’t the righteous people of the bible fart?

Yes, people.  I do dare to ask the question:  Where are The Lost Gospels of the Righteous Farts?

You see, when men gather together and eat and drink, they do fart.  They also point, pull fingers, inflame buttocks and laugh themselves silly.  In other words, they have fun with basic materials.

Oh, for sure.  Women don’t get a pass when it comes to the ancient art of farting.  But women suppress indelicate urges whenever they are in the company of others. 

Children are definitely in a class by themselves, and I’d rather not blow things out of proportion.

How many of you are still with me?  Will the staunchest of you please revive the ones who have fainted?  We are about to flush out the truth.


            The Lost Gospels of the Righteous Farts are out there.  They will be found.  They must exist, because righteous mankind cannot exist without basic humor.  There is nothing more basic to the human condition than the righteous fart.

Now, go out and spread the truth.  Relax, and ride a mighty wind to knowledge and understanding.  Most of all, please pray I won’t have to ever again shirk my duty.        




(Author's Note: The following poem is meant to be a humorous look at relationships.)




“In all good time, my love,” he prayed.

“The credit cards are yet unpaid.

Prenuptial remains unmade. 

My Jaguar needs a big upgrade.”


“Just trust in me and you will see

How blissful all eternity

Begins, dear one, with toys galore.

And time affords kids on the floor.”


“My couch resplendent with velour,

Begs lava lamps to light amour.

My Cat purrs with its jungle roar

Supplied by stick -- five on the floor.”


“In your good time,” she flung at him.

“I feel like I’m out on a limb.

Our future’s looking mighty dim.

My patience now has reached its brim.”


“I’ve waxed your toy,

(your pride and joy)

With wheels composed of strange alloy.

You viewed my efforts with annoy.”


“So, ’til we meet before the bench

Where from Judge Judy lets me wrench

My Common due, my pound of flesh,

With comments less than classic French.”


“I wish you well.

Go straight to Hell!

The wedding bell

Will never knell!”


So said they each -- impassioned speech.

A lesson well, meant more to teach

That couples thrive on broach and breach.

Yet one may parry with impeach.


He stood there thence with mouth agape.

His neutered pride a dried-up grape.

Yea, champagne taste doth do him in.

Forever branded: prideful sin.




I stared at his face.

It took a long, long time

Before he glowered back.


The cracks of Infidelity

Ran rampant through the frown.

Infectious Intent oozed free.


Truth fled to the right.

Fear clung to the left.


Justice and Sanity hovered briefly

Above the wreckage.


“Save Truth,” cried Justice.

“Reject Fear,” shouted Sanity.


Then Freedom awoke

And led Truth, Justice and Sanity

To the new face of America.







The Centurion


Ah! Once I was a mighty knight...

A strong and noble, lacy sight.

My branches reaching out to hold

One-hundred summers,

And enfold the brilliant sunshine...

The glistening dew

Of Texas’ blessings,

Through which I grew.


My roots grasped deep within the earth.

’twas such the manner of my birth.

And thrive, I did, for many days

To offer much, in many ways.


A pungent soul...

A core so pure...

My sacrifice,

Which will endure

A pyre set to honor some,

With glowing coals

And fiery goals.


Yes!  My name is MESQUITE. 

I give my life,

So others may relieve the strife

Of giving taste to humble meals.

I wither while the death knell peals.


So ends my century of numbered time.

I gladly bow to humankind.

Thou taketh not my life in vain.

Yea,  burn me well. 

And strew my ashes ’neath the rain.








For many of us, the affectionate companionship of a pet is the most special friendship we can ever experience. 

Cats, dogs, exotic birds, even tropical fish, etc., awaken our deepest emotions and bless the human spirit with unexpected degrees of compassion, understanding, and patience.

Every pet is special and unique.  We celebrate their brief time with us, and deeply mourn their passing. 

Over the years, I have been trained and manipulated by five very special dogs: Cookie; Holly; Noel; Pebbles; and Tejana Borracha.  Each one has a story.  Each one has been a Best Friend and precious beyond earthly value.

COOKIE’S story begins in the early 1960’s.  She was the love child of an accidental tryst between a blond Cocker Spaniel temptress and a snow-white Poodle Romeo.  She was tiny, cute and cuddly, with the dark soulful eyes of her mother and the spirited intelligence of her father.

Throughout my childhood, I had begged and pleaded for a dog.  My parents could not be moved.  “The City is no place for a dog,” they said. 

My mother was a little afraid of dogs, and could not tolerate the possibility of flying fur or accidental droppings spoiling the cleanliness of the house. 

My father liked animals (especially horses), and had dogs and cats around the house during his childhood; but he never thought of any of them as his very own pet. 

Oh, dogs were nice enough (sometimes), and cats kept mice and rats away. “WHEN THAT DOG SITS UP AND TELLS ME HE WON’T BITE, THAT’S WHEN I’LL BELIEVE HIM!” was his philosophy.  Plus, “DOGS AND CATS WERE MEANT TO LIVE OUTSIDE, NOT INSIDE THE HOUSE!”  You see, my father spoke very loudly and with supreme authority.

And so it went, for twenty years.  I grew.  I prospered.  I longed for a dog, and knew that someday, when I was in charge, a dog would be mine.

That day came when my husband (then fiancé) and I saw Cookie.  It was love at first sight, and I plucked her from the kennel and named her before the money was even paid. 

The soon-to-be-newlyweds cooed and hugged this furry bundle with scant thought about parental approval.  Heck, we were in love.  She was adorable.  The in-laws would just have to tough it out for a year-and-a-half.

To put it delicately, her introduction to my parents began with a SQUAT and a SPOT

They were not impressed.

We were worried. 

My father spouted several epithets. 

My mother ran for the Lysol. 

I ran for Cookie and the front door.  And my fiancé sat down and waited for everyone to calm down.  When order was restored, Cookie was the one who took charge. 

With a little woof, and that kind of lopsided trot that most puppies have, she boldly confronted my parents and nailed them with puppy-eyes filled with remorse.

They were not (yet) enchanted, but agreed to house her for ‘just the weekend.’  So, newspapers were spread thickly on every floor surface, and little doggie dishes were placed in the kitchen. 

On Monday morning, all was well and her visitor’s permit was up-graded to probation status.  Glory be!  She was in! 

It didn’t take long before my parents were hooked.  Cookie was housebroken in a flash, and her gentle, loving nature had them fussing over her as if a new (human-style) baby had just arrived. 

She was definitely pampered to excess, but returned our love ten-fold. 

Since my father worked the night shift, Cookie became Daddy’s little girl during the daytime.  He slept.  She slept – on the bed – with him.  He ate.  She ate.  He went to work.  She, well...  Let’s just say that she was an expert in time management and kept Mom and me on our toes and at her beck and call.  

The year-and-a-half flew by. 

As wedding plans progressed, I swear, the possibility of Cookie trotting down the aisle, dressed as a flower girl, with a petal-filled basket in her mouth, briefly crossed our minds. 

On my wedding day, Cookie was right in the middle of the excitement.  She went from room to room, greeted bridesmaids, helped me cope with my fears, and comforted Mom and Dad. 

During that hectic morning, my father retreated to the basement Rec-Room with Cookie.  One if his sisters found him there with tears in his eyes.  "I’m losing my two girls,” he said, “Cookie... and... Maureen.”  (Notice whom is mentioned first!)

This rough-and-tumble man survived the Great Depression, Prohibition, and the countless battles that many males of his generation fought.  Fists and ferocity were the legacy of those hard times.  Yet, his tears that day made him more of a man than any victory in battle.

As we bid our families and guests farewell, and left on our honeymoon, the old saying A SON IS A SON ’TIL HE TAKES A WIFE, BUT A DAUGHTER IS A DAUGHTER FOR THE REST OF HER LIFE, was much on my mind.

Our honeymoon in Jamaica was wonderful and our thoughts of the future naturally included our families.  But even the romance of a beautiful tropical island could not solve our most pressing problem: COOKIE

We all loved her and wanted her.  My parents NEEDED her. 

It was the Wisdom of Solomon that directed our first major decision as husband and wife.  Cookie, of course, must remain with Mom and Dad.  It was a bittersweet decision; but it was the right decision.

Mom cooked special meals and sewed little coats for her.  Daddy put bows on her and proudly took her (in full regalia) on trips and neighborhood walks. 

A baby seat was even adapted for Cookie’s comfort and scenic viewing pleasure during automobile trips.  

She was the proud owner of her own baby stroller, and drew many stares and chuckles along the seashore Boardwalks of New Jersey. 

Yes, she became their little girl, and lived a luxuriously happy life.

Cookie will always be a precious part of my life.  In her own special way, she was a Best Friend, Teacher, Child, Sister, and Healer.  

When my father passed away, I know Cookie was there to greet him.  She will be there for me, too. 

Our pets are God’s special gifts.  Please treasure them at Christmas, and all the year-round.

Today’s recipe cannot be measured in cups or spoons.  It is healthy, non-fattening, and can be served at any time.


                                              COOKIE’S LEGACY

Combine the following ingredients.  Blend thoroughly and replenish often. 














Share mixture with everyone you meet.  Reserve heaping portions for your pets.  Lavish mixture on your children, and teach them the recipe.



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