Villa and the Steamrollers

New Mexico's numerous "Do Not Pass" signs are remnants of Pancho Villa's last top secret mission to thwart the Americanization of the Southwest Territories. Villa, sensing his grip on the New Mexico Territory was weakening, vowed to leave a perpetual thorn in the side of the encroaching Americans. He especially despised the East Coast Americans, for even in the early 1900's, the industrious New Yorkers were building trendy coffee shops near the border of Old Mexico. Villa hated the smell of coffee, almost as much as he hated the smell of New Yorkers.

So he began covert operations to make the roads more curvy. For you see, Pancho Villa was a visionary. He invented the first steamroller and often fantasized about an efficient asphalt-based mass transit system. He knew mass transit was the key to the New York coffee invasion. He also surmised curvy roads to be the enemy of speedy mass transit. So he played his ace. His highly-trained group of mercenary road engineers heartlessly massacred nearly every straight road in New Mexico. In extreme displays of power, they constructed roads that had no beginning and no end.

To this day New Mexico has zero trendy coffee shops, with the exception of Santa Fe. Villa's girlfriend really loved coffee, so to appease her he made a deal with the aliens. In exchange for two carriage loads of Mexican Jumping Beans, the aliens gave Villa the schematic for a machine that defied the laws of physics, making it possible for curvy roads and trendy coffee shops to co-exist. But the aliens had the last laugh. Their machine also released microscopic particles which acted as both an aphrodisiac and a poison, attracting New Yorkers and repelling full and healthy moustaches.

what's in the briefcase?

My last briefcase was stolen on the road to Reno. It's contents? Items from my place of employment.

unnecessary questions and comments posed to "look interested"
misplaced accolades
underserving respect
insincere sincerity
forced laughter

It also contained a small tin of Bronson lighter fluid and a 50 count box of strike-anywhere matches. We were driving out to the desert to burnt the shit out of it. This was out third trip to the desert this year.

kelly green

I have been thinking a lot about you lately.

I think you should wear more kelly green. It is a good color on you.

That old kelly green t-shirt that you used to wear. What ever happened to that thing? It used to seem so perfect with your dark hair and your big smile. You still do have dark hair don't you?

Remember when we used to bake cookies in your kitchen every Tuesday night? You would always be wearing that kelly green apron, with the little birds on it. You used to throw dough at me and being apronless I was defenseless. Do you still throw cookie dough at innocent bystanders?

Who could forget that beautiful day in late October, when the best snowball-making snow ever fell from the sky by the bushel. I never knew such joy as throwing snowballs at your head that day. The whole time I was focused on that kelly green hat and scarf you wore. It bounced around the yard like a bright kelly green target, inviting me to pelt the living crap out of your head and neck with snowballs. Do you still have that scar from the rock that somehow slipped in with that one snowball?

How about that time when I died your white cat kelly green for St. Patrick's day. That was awesome! I know that you didnt think it was funny at the time, but admit it, looking back that was hilarious. I am sorry about the bleach thing, I figure it works on socks... and that was the cats name right? I felt really bad about that and I bought you a new cat. Do you still have him?

Everytime I see a green Tic Tac I think of...

What? You never had dark hair? Or a little bird apron?
You have no scar on your face? You're allergic to cats?

WHAT?

I meant baby blue! I think you should wear more baby blue.

Hitler's Ghost

When he looked at the lightbulb he saw a burning star.
A glimpse at the eternal light of the universe.
And then he realized all things were made of such stuff.
And so was he. And the dogs. And the lanterns.

Fortune found him littering on the eco-highway.
He wavered not, for he knew Zen was a bread bath, a sea of cheese.
He felt his stance was poetic.
But he was to discover he had no stance at all.

That night Hitler's Ghost discovered the path to financial freedom.
And the gods wept.
For tomorrow they were to relinquish their primordial hold.
And primordial holds were strictly their business.

Mr. David Ferber

David Ferber is a bad motherfucker. I'll say it again. David Ferber is a bad motherfucker. There - I said it. Take that little parcel of information and do with it what you will, just DO NOT cross David Ferber. Don't even mildly upset him. Double Chin Sal, down on the corner, still cringes every time he sees a shopping cart. And if I'm not mistaken, isn't your mom still using an inflatable donut cushion? Yeah, I thought so. Shit, my dog still looks over his shoulder very time he relieves himself in the bushes.

Even if none of these incidents had gone down, one taste of his spicy avocado salad with ginger glaze would have you saying "David Ferber is a bad motherfucker.

If they handed out Bad Motherfucker Awards, they'd stop - 'cause David Ferber would be the only one winning 'em.

talk to me. please.

I work at a business and I have an intern. The intern reminds me of a younger…well, me. I will call the intern into my office and offer them a stool. It is here that I will gently prod them for details of what they did the night before, or what they are planning for the weekend, or where a good restaurant might be. I laugh a lot and say things like “get out of here!” “ahh, to be young”. It’s all under the guise of office banter, but I couldn’t be less concerned with the actual job they’re doing at the business. I pay the intern in fish sticks and internally reminisce of days gone by.

Redundancy is blind, I think.

Today I saw a man with a blind cane and an eye patch. I wanted to take his picture, but I thought he might see me.

this is progress...

On my way to work I pass what used to be 3 rundown old houses lining the road. Some weeks ago the homes were knocked flat and most of the debris removed. You could still see their footprints, though – and there were a lot of “leftovers” laying around. Enough to make you think that you should really go by one day and scavenge. Or at least explore. I like doing that – you never know what you may find...someone’s pictures, or diaries, or shopping lists from 1942. Just sitting there in the rubble. And each of the homes were surrounded by old age trees. Trees that went back quite aways.

On my way to work today there were no more leftovers. And no more old age trees. There were some yellow mechanical vehicles and an industrial chipper. And a stack of woodchips of which I have never seen the like. I’m not exaggerating when I say it was at least 2 stories high. And deep. It went back further than the homes had. And the chip pile was steaming. I had never seen woodchips steaming before in the early morning sun. They must have been freshly chipped. It looked so surreal. I felt like I was in a dream. Not my own dream, but someone else’s.