Gerald the Asthmatic Cheetah Part 1

Somewhere south of the suburban Serengeti there lives a brown spotted cheetah named Gerald. Gerald has Asthma. I only bring up the asthma because that is how Gerald introduces himself at dinner parties. “Hello, I’m Gerald the Asthmatic Cheetah”. He always says that having asthma is what separates him from the indistinguishable masses. I think it’s the asthma along with saying things like “indistinguishable masses”. Gerald is a regular Cheetah, a sort of hard-working, blue collar, every-Cheetah. He wears a red T-shirt with a pocket on the left front breast. Gerald, being the kind of cheetah that is embarrassed by referring to the pocket with the adjective breast, usually describes it by the less provocative word front. Inside his signature pocket Gerald keeps his secret weapon, his closest ally and his best friend, Raymond the inhaler. As far as breathing aids go Raymond is top notch; duel layer titanium alloy casing, patented double helix canister, and revolutionary lip moisturizing mouthpiece. Raymond prides himself on being the best experience you can have inhaling legally. And as for sidekicks there is none better. Raymond is always there for Gerald, whether the cheetah needs help at the factory or he needs a breath of fresh air to help him run down his breakfast. The two are inseparable. They finish each others sentences like an old married couple with telepathy. But it wasn’t always like this. There was a time when Gerald hated Raymond. Back before Gerald was so proud of his Asthma, and before Raymond was featured on the reality TV show “Pimp my Puffer”. . .

to be continued

I've been married a whole year. That is ridiculously amazing. I guess it kind of snuck up on me and then all of the sudden boom. I love it. I just wish I could figure out this marriage thing. Not that this past year has been bad or anything, it's just that I know I'm slacking hardcore. I am falling way short of my husbandly duty as spiritual leader because I am falling way short of my humanly duty to continue in a spiritual realationship with Christ. I don't know what else to say except that I need to do more to lead my marriage toward Chirst. Or maybe I need to allow God to lead me on a more regular basis. I don't know. Don't ever let anyone tell you being an adult is easy. Responsibilty blows and work is never as fun as it seems like it should be. I love my wife so much. I just wish I would make the time to do the things I know I need to do to make our marriage continue to grow. Pray for me I guess.

Shopping for a new Jesus

I'm walking the isles at the Jesus store
Looking for a quality product.
Perhaps a fine hand crafted Jesus
Or a powerful and efficient new model.
Something with that new Jesus smell.
Not to flashy though.
I don't want to get my Jesus jacked.

I pass the red furry Jesus
And the effeminate candle Jesus.
Kitsch Jesus just isn't my style
I need something more reliable
A Jesus with a money back guarantee.
And it better be in writing
Right on the box.

There is always the create-your-own-Jesus kit.
But I like my Jesus batteries included
No assembly required.
It just doesn’t seem like
They make Jesus like they used to
Maybe I'll just wait till my birthday
My wife always buys me Jesus.

It just never feels good
Walking into a store
And not buying anything.
Maybe I'll pick up some gummy Jesus
You know, for the kids.
I'll see what type of impulse Jesus
they have by the cash register.

Man 1: Pardon me do you have a hanky?

Man 2: How did you know I had a hanky?

Man 1: There is a hanky hanging from your breast pocket.

Man 2: How do you know I have breasts?

Man 1: Just becasue you have a breast pocket dosen't mean you have breasts.

Man 2: Don't get smart with me, beggar.

Man 1: It's just my allergies are killing me.

Man 2: I'd rather let you be killed than let you go on talking about my breasts.

Man 1: So you do have breasts?

Man 2: Quit slandering me.

Man 1: A question can't slander.

Man 2: Is that you're hooker or your wife Mr. Presidnet?

Man 1: Point taken.

Come to think of it.
Past the footsteps.
Soul intervention.
Miles of space.
Insert Interjection.
So to speak.
Turn back into.
Burnt filament
Long prestigious walks.
Self promotion.
Ill will to men.
If I were you.

Summer is a proud time if pride comes before the fall
Excuse me while I bulid an altar to myself

Does it matter anymore whether the time is wasted here or there? Are we mixing metaphors or sharing stolen property with the people. Wait that makes me a people. I am not a people. Long live the labor of the masses. Eventually the turn is inevitable. Ignoring wounds makes them worse not non-existent. I hope I don't wait for death to be my wake up call. I hate funerals.

"My sunburn hurts." Said the man who had been told a hundred times.

Accused before a jury of his peers for negligence. "I didn't know". He responded lackadaisically to the man with his finger on the decision maker.

"It was just an accident". The words slide out from his lips like everything he does could fall into that category.

He began his lie with a sincere apology for future wrongs "I'm sorry" The words sound calculated and not sincere like the phone system lady.

Individual instants
Creeping cowardly
From sex to silence

Wasted words
investing permanently
in lies of love

Apologize again
Crying cynically
on silk sheets

Degenerate Desire
resting secretly
in lock jawed lips

Hardened Heart
moving languidly
through lost life

Addicted to Almosts

So I fill my head with unthougts to relieve the pain of maybeness and uncontrollable futures. If all I have to deal with is a moment by moment forgetfulness and the idea that sleep is my most desired goal I won't have to do anything about the predicament of existence. He slowly takes away the excuses I am trying to build brick by brick like a jail cell and hurls them into the bottomless pit of omniscience. He knows that I am trying not to think about Him. He knows that I don't want to work on my soul. He knows that humility comes before change and that a proud piece of shit won't take a shower because that would be admitting defeat. So what if God beats me. I know he is right and I know I need what he is trying to give me. But then I couldn't worship myself if I let myself worship him. I just don't have that kind of time.

Ask a Hobo

Ask a hobo to dinner and what will he say
"Hell, Why not? What else was I doing today?"
Give the hobo directions, don't let him get lost
Give him money for taxis no matter the cost
If he says "Aye yo! Got a five spot for cigs?"
Throw him a Lincoln and watch his hobofied jigs.

If he shows up on time, great, good for you
But don't worry too much if he's running late too
A punctual hobo’s like a three legged cat
Nobody wants one but they’re fun to look at.
First thing he'll say is "Hey where’s da food"
Unless he's been drinking than he'll ask for the loo.

After his bowels are all emptied out
The loo will smell like fresh sauerkraut
“Let’s Eat” he’ll say and dig right in
Scarfing cheese, baked beans, and some grilled chicken
And he’ll keep on eating until the last dish
Or till he swells up like a pregnant blowfish

As soon as he’s done get that hobo outside
You want him gone if he explodes or dies.
Shake his hand if you want, but it’s not necessary
He lives in dumpster his hands could be scary
If he’s says “Thank you kindly” just smile and nod
But don’t worry an appreciative hobo is odd.

Now that your guest is back on the street
Crack open a cold one and put up your feet
You’ve done our city a wonderful deed
Preparing a meal for a person in need
At the end of the day there’s nothing like giving
Even if it’s to those who don’t work for a living