Smoking Charges Ignite
Last night, Amy took Anna, our seven-year-old, to the dress rehearsal for her 2015 dance recital. I was left in charge of Will, our nine-year-old, and Ella, our three-year-old. What follows is a litany of the kids showing me that I exist in their world as a piece of tightly-spun twine, permanently...
Our actions become our kids' reactions. Not exactly new. Not exactly Newtonian (pause while joke sinks in). But it's a truism all the same. ...
Piece of Sh*t Car Reprise
When I was in high-school, a popular song named "Ode to My Car," by Adam Sandler, spun regularly on the radio. No, it didn't. All foul-mouthed teenage boys wished such happy, unfiltered radio days would appear, but that didn't stop the explicit lyrics from making an impact, even if the song's plot...
I looked up to the right I looked up with my might I looked up with my interest growing And just what did I see? Oh, my Lord, could it be? Just an Irishman practicing throwing Not just anyone, see …...
Certain messes in life are unavoidable. If you get a DUI and your hair is sufficiently mussed or you manage to jam your finger into the nearest outlet just prior to the mug-shot, chances are you'll be a big-time celebrity some day. ...
A Reasonable Explanation
Therapist: Take me back to the beginning. Tell me how it all got started, how you eventually wound up holding the bloody knife in the aftermath of your killing spree. I'm sure there's a reasonable explanation....
That's a Mouthful
Waking up to the sounds of birds and (outside) insects is alluring, and when you have your second 10th cup of coffee and realize you are on vacation, and this auditory lovemaking is real, not the result of an ambitious-carpet-cleaning hallucination, you can finally relax, letting your bulk stress...
Stupid Piece of ... Oh, That's Right
I'm a realist. I call things like they are, and if I look stupid in the process, well, so be it. ...
The morning started off good. Four eggs fluffed with a splash of milk, mixed with Parmesan and salt and black pepper and red pepper flakes and slathered with Cholula hot sauce; four ounces of Bob Evan's spicy Italian sausage (sorry for the smell, honey, luv ya) fried into the wonderful concoction;...
When Did I Become a Pushover?
I've never thought of myself as the Ultimate Fighter type. As a kid, whenever the possibility of bodily harm came up, I tried to avoid confrontation. But if the issue was pressed, I could stand up and issue fake threats along with the best of them and hope that my manufactured bravado was enough to...
As I Approach 30
I live in a small town. Colona, IL has a population of just over 5,000. As a jogger, this means I am usually only assaulted with exhaust fumes a few times whenever I decide to go outside to burn some calories. But as far as the type of people passing me on the roadside? Over this, I have no control....
By Seth Kabala
I looked up to the right
I looked up with my might
I looked up with my interest growing
And just what did I see?
Oh, my Lord, could it be?
Just an Irishman practicing throwing
Not just anyone, see
And it sure won’t be free
But if you’ve got the right kind of money
You can see all his stuff
And be sure it ain’t fluff
When he struts in the ring face all sunny
All the hype will be grand
In that faraway land
Of Las Vegas Sin City red glowing
They’ll be girls in g-strings
Wondrous tiny small things
Bearing signs of forthcoming blow showing
This a favor? Oh, yes
For the girl in the dress
Who is down on her luck and her future
Line up the angel dust
Exultation of lust
Before long fine skin will need a suture
Be sure you don’t stray long
The workouts last a song
And the fighters retreat to their corners
Spitting buckets of chum
Anything but yum, yum
Then the action resumes and the mourners
There can be only one
Champion who’s undone
When the last bell rings out its vibration
All the preparation
All the sex and the fun
Will result in a most grateful nation
Everyone wins this duel
Full of farcical fuel
Of much bloviation and small postures
These figures think they’re grand
Rightful kings of the land
They are pawns in a game full of cost curves
The promoter has game
He cares not for the fame
The accouterments offered on station
His position is here
Future outlook is clear
Daily life is a constant vacation
Bring your wallets and bucks
And your don’t give a fucks
To the fight of the century billing
It will surely complete
Fantasies sans heartbeat
Pony up now all those who are willing
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Tags: bad poetry, blow, buckets, bucks, chum, corners, curves, dress, fantasies, fighters, fluff, fuel, g-strings, hype, interest, Irishman, land, Las Vegas, Lord, lust, might, money, nation, right, stuff, sunny, TFF Issue #15, throwing
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Yesterday while I was writing, Ella, our seven-year-old, came up to me and said she had thought of a joke. "My first joke," she announced, pride streaming from her voice and face. I asked her what it was. Here's what she said, "What does [we'll say Bob] want to do for school? Me U. Get it? Me U...
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