Dearest Decemberist,
While there are few things greater than greatness there are many things lesser than Les Nessman...including, if I may, (and I may indeed) the likes of Loni Anderson...ahem.
I perpetually ponder the pedantics of the political pressures put on the President.
Oftentimes I find myself questioning the nature of the question mark itself. It seems silly to puncutate with something so crass. Did the inventor of words pluck the tail from a swine only to add a dot thereby creating an inquisition? While Curley Sue was certainly the pinnacle of American movie making, a curley cue has no place in such a fine language as that of The Bard of Avon.
My nature weaves together my inner joy with the uncontrollable outcome of the players on the field. At this stage of my existence I have begun the painstaking process of disassociating one from the other. At this stage of my existence I fear it may be too late.
As I look forward to the future I am pleased at the notion that I assume a future. As I look back at the past I wonder if it has been standing behind me at all times. For that purpose and that purpose alone I have begun to tinker with an invention I refer to simply as "that device with which I see those things that happen behind my field of vision and without which I shan't have had the wherewithal to observe" although others to whom I have shared this idea reply "Dear Dirt, what you describe is a mirror."
I fear that the inmate on death row may have been misunderstood. When face to face with the Governor he uttered "Pardon me, sir" to which the governor replied "Indeed to are more polite than advertised" at which point he arose and exited the chamber. Now you too know the gravity of the commonality of our colloquialisms.
Indeed that time draws near during which I sink into hybernation only to emerge anew at an undetermined time. Adieu adieu, to you and you and you.
Dirt Wank
Friday, December 2, 2011
Saturday, August 20, 2011
The Mustache at the Bat
The hot sun shone down brightly on the dusty patch that day
The bracket set up nicely to induce a mild foray
Seeded first and filled with thirst the OC troops stood tall
Excelling at all facets of their dealings with the ball
They quickly made dispatch of opponent number one
Then patiently awaited news beneath the beating sun
No sooner had they hung their hat when over came the news
Their nemesis was on the way, they who just wouldn’t lose
Their gleeful cheer turned somber like the turning of the tide
First Nation and the Mustache had been un-disqualified
The Pastor made a bee-line over to the powers that be
“The Mustache shouldn’t be here after making threats” said he
But the powers wouldn’t listen as they caved beneath the weight
Of the heaviness of doing right, so it was left to fate
The Pastor made it clear there'd be no mercy on this day
And the troops marched to the diamond so the Pastor then could pray
And First Nation wondered why OC would now commune with God
But they quickly joined the circle with a handshake and a nod
The Mustache made his way to each and every hand
Declaring total sportsmanship to each woman and each man
“Let bygones be bygones” said the man who’d made the threat
And thus the Pastor thanked the Lord, declared us all in debt
To the Lord for sending sun, not cold but not too warm
He left unsaid the sentiment of calm before the storm
Soon there came a bellow “Batter Up!” and then “Play Ball!”
The fielders were steadfast, each one focused with their all
Early in the contest she attempted first to third
Perhaps she thought he’d hesitate after last week’s scathing words
But despite their accusations from the last time they had met
He simply couldn’t hold a throw, not before or even yet
So he unleashed a rocket which skipped once into the mitt
And her foot came down upon it making “out” instead of “hit”
Regardless of the wishes for a quiet, simple game
He couldn’t help but vocalize his feelings just the same
So he shouted when he saw the perfect tagging with the ball
“I did THAT on purpose! That one was intentional!”
So the game continued and the home team built a lead
For the early game’s anxiety there never was a need
The troops would love to claim that they had won with fullest grace
Despite the claim the pastor had thrown squarely at her face
But truth be told this victory was sweeter than the rest
Oft times contentious battles are the wins that taste the best
Although it might be sinful, all the glee that they would take
They reveled in the following, the frosting on the cake
The Mustache took the bat stepping right up to the plate
Two outs in the last inning and a hunger yet to sate
The elder statesman pitcher lofted ball into the air
The batter stood there motionless as if challenging a dare
The ball descended through the zone, the umpire yelled “Strike One!”
The batter knew the time was nigh, if not the day was done
The pitcher tossed another gem, the batter poised and steady
He took a swing, a moment late, if only he’d been ready
The ball fell foul, the second strike, the crowd held in its breath
The team, First Nation, now had drawn a pitch within its death
The sun shone down upon the ball as through the air it fell
Afterward all Meldrum Bar would hear great OC yell
The ball turned only slightly, just a very gentle hooking
Divine poetic justice, for the Mustache struck out looking.
Anonymous
The bracket set up nicely to induce a mild foray
Seeded first and filled with thirst the OC troops stood tall
Excelling at all facets of their dealings with the ball
They quickly made dispatch of opponent number one
Then patiently awaited news beneath the beating sun
No sooner had they hung their hat when over came the news
Their nemesis was on the way, they who just wouldn’t lose
Their gleeful cheer turned somber like the turning of the tide
First Nation and the Mustache had been un-disqualified
The Pastor made a bee-line over to the powers that be
“The Mustache shouldn’t be here after making threats” said he
But the powers wouldn’t listen as they caved beneath the weight
Of the heaviness of doing right, so it was left to fate
The Pastor made it clear there'd be no mercy on this day
And the troops marched to the diamond so the Pastor then could pray
And First Nation wondered why OC would now commune with God
But they quickly joined the circle with a handshake and a nod
The Mustache made his way to each and every hand
Declaring total sportsmanship to each woman and each man
“Let bygones be bygones” said the man who’d made the threat
And thus the Pastor thanked the Lord, declared us all in debt
To the Lord for sending sun, not cold but not too warm
He left unsaid the sentiment of calm before the storm
Soon there came a bellow “Batter Up!” and then “Play Ball!”
The fielders were steadfast, each one focused with their all
Early in the contest she attempted first to third
Perhaps she thought he’d hesitate after last week’s scathing words
But despite their accusations from the last time they had met
He simply couldn’t hold a throw, not before or even yet
So he unleashed a rocket which skipped once into the mitt
And her foot came down upon it making “out” instead of “hit”
Regardless of the wishes for a quiet, simple game
He couldn’t help but vocalize his feelings just the same
So he shouted when he saw the perfect tagging with the ball
“I did THAT on purpose! That one was intentional!”
So the game continued and the home team built a lead
For the early game’s anxiety there never was a need
The troops would love to claim that they had won with fullest grace
Despite the claim the pastor had thrown squarely at her face
But truth be told this victory was sweeter than the rest
Oft times contentious battles are the wins that taste the best
Although it might be sinful, all the glee that they would take
They reveled in the following, the frosting on the cake
The Mustache took the bat stepping right up to the plate
Two outs in the last inning and a hunger yet to sate
The elder statesman pitcher lofted ball into the air
The batter stood there motionless as if challenging a dare
The ball descended through the zone, the umpire yelled “Strike One!”
The batter knew the time was nigh, if not the day was done
The pitcher tossed another gem, the batter poised and steady
He took a swing, a moment late, if only he’d been ready
The ball fell foul, the second strike, the crowd held in its breath
The team, First Nation, now had drawn a pitch within its death
The sun shone down upon the ball as through the air it fell
Afterward all Meldrum Bar would hear great OC yell
The ball turned only slightly, just a very gentle hooking
Divine poetic justice, for the Mustache struck out looking.
Anonymous
Thursday, August 4, 2011
7 Degrees of Segregation
Sweetest thou,
From the cosmos to the Osmos (much like my grade school classmate Osmo Larmi who had a brother named…Joe), I’m here to dig up the earth, filter it through a screen and provide only the finest Dirt available in times like these.
They say there are only 6 degrees of separation between any two people. I hope that’s the case as anyone with a 104.6 degree fever is near seizing. Unfortunately, in my life, I have found, upon occasion, with some regularity, under trying times, with certain levels of reasoning, or lack thereof, or even for no reason at all, that, sometimes (and sometimes not), people, and by that I mean “persons”, tend to, with or without motivation, use, to a varying degree, too many commas.
As long as we are on the topic of proper usage of the tools of written communication I feel compelled to sort out the differences of “there” and it’s homonyms: They’re over there with their dog, Thare. There!
As a man I’ve never been able to differentiate the disparities of the varieties that span the floral spectrum. Petunia this, hydrangea that and everything in between. They seem to employ all of the Seven Dwarfs (which I would rather spell “Dwarves”).
1) Sleepy…yes, flowers cause me to become a bit drowsy. What with the sorting through the various cookie-cutter bouquets at the local supermarket. It’s exhausting.
2) Sneezy…obviously my seasonal allergies are triggered by each flower’s reproductive material.
3) Dopey…think poppyseed.
4) Doc…my family practitioner seems quite pleased to charge me for my visits during allergy season.
5) Stuffy Head…Sneezy’s conjoined twin.
6) Fever…covered in the degrees of separation segment.
7) Soyu Canrest Medicine…I’ve never known exactly how he fits in with the other Dwarfs but I’m certain that his whistling is exemplary.
The man who said “The only thing we have to fear is fear itself” was very brave…until I gave him a puppy…and named it “Fear”.
Thank you for your patronage…and at Christmas thank you for your partridge.
Endearment,
Dirt
From the cosmos to the Osmos (much like my grade school classmate Osmo Larmi who had a brother named…Joe), I’m here to dig up the earth, filter it through a screen and provide only the finest Dirt available in times like these.
They say there are only 6 degrees of separation between any two people. I hope that’s the case as anyone with a 104.6 degree fever is near seizing. Unfortunately, in my life, I have found, upon occasion, with some regularity, under trying times, with certain levels of reasoning, or lack thereof, or even for no reason at all, that, sometimes (and sometimes not), people, and by that I mean “persons”, tend to, with or without motivation, use, to a varying degree, too many commas.
As long as we are on the topic of proper usage of the tools of written communication I feel compelled to sort out the differences of “there” and it’s homonyms: They’re over there with their dog, Thare. There!
As a man I’ve never been able to differentiate the disparities of the varieties that span the floral spectrum. Petunia this, hydrangea that and everything in between. They seem to employ all of the Seven Dwarfs (which I would rather spell “Dwarves”).
1) Sleepy…yes, flowers cause me to become a bit drowsy. What with the sorting through the various cookie-cutter bouquets at the local supermarket. It’s exhausting.
2) Sneezy…obviously my seasonal allergies are triggered by each flower’s reproductive material.
3) Dopey…think poppyseed.
4) Doc…my family practitioner seems quite pleased to charge me for my visits during allergy season.
5) Stuffy Head…Sneezy’s conjoined twin.
6) Fever…covered in the degrees of separation segment.
7) Soyu Canrest Medicine…I’ve never known exactly how he fits in with the other Dwarfs but I’m certain that his whistling is exemplary.
The man who said “The only thing we have to fear is fear itself” was very brave…until I gave him a puppy…and named it “Fear”.
Thank you for your patronage…and at Christmas thank you for your partridge.
Endearment,
Dirt
Thursday, July 21, 2011
Mr. Wank? Please, just call me Dirt.
My Dearest Friends,
Unabashed and unprovoked I am delivering this underwhelming message to all of you, my understudies. I understand the underlying purpose of underwear but I believe we have understated and quite possibly underestimated the underbelly of the underworld.
From thence I can only provide you with a once in a lifetime opportunity to read these words, in this order, for the very first time. Remember that the best thing we can be is the best, but that while second place is the first loser, first place is certainly NOT the second winner.
I have never commercialized my writings, but in this case I must say "Eat at Super Torta in Oregon City. They will leave you full of the finest authentic Mexican ingredients that the health inspector will allow. I love it!"
There are certain things people say that make all the sense in the world. There are certain things people do that earn all the cents in the world. There are certain things I do that emit all the scents in the world.
The fineness of the wine should be measured by the company with which it is consumed. That is why I often drink Two Buck Chuck at Nike. Please note that notes are for sissies but the flip side of that coin is tails...which reminds me that I have never actually seen a tail on a coin except, perhaps, on that rare occassion a few hours after my dog ate a quarter.
I hope you are not dissatisfied with the length of this encounter, but rest assured this is not the first time I have had to apologize under similar circumstances. I assure you most assuredly that this is all that has passed through my brain since my previous post...in March.
Dirt
Unabashed and unprovoked I am delivering this underwhelming message to all of you, my understudies. I understand the underlying purpose of underwear but I believe we have understated and quite possibly underestimated the underbelly of the underworld.
From thence I can only provide you with a once in a lifetime opportunity to read these words, in this order, for the very first time. Remember that the best thing we can be is the best, but that while second place is the first loser, first place is certainly NOT the second winner.
I have never commercialized my writings, but in this case I must say "Eat at Super Torta in Oregon City. They will leave you full of the finest authentic Mexican ingredients that the health inspector will allow. I love it!"
There are certain things people say that make all the sense in the world. There are certain things people do that earn all the cents in the world. There are certain things I do that emit all the scents in the world.
The fineness of the wine should be measured by the company with which it is consumed. That is why I often drink Two Buck Chuck at Nike. Please note that notes are for sissies but the flip side of that coin is tails...which reminds me that I have never actually seen a tail on a coin except, perhaps, on that rare occassion a few hours after my dog ate a quarter.
I hope you are not dissatisfied with the length of this encounter, but rest assured this is not the first time I have had to apologize under similar circumstances. I assure you most assuredly that this is all that has passed through my brain since my previous post...in March.
Dirt
Monday, March 14, 2011
It's been l long time (OR "Like a Cigar-shaped Clock)
Greetings from the interim,
With the chaos being generated right now in many corners of the globe, I pause to realize that the globe has no corners. Having brought this to light I propose that we coin the term "orbisphere" for the purpose of expressed redundancy expression.
Remember the importance of imports when imparting imp parts. Performing perfect perforations is perfunctory for perfect perforators.
I hesitate to point out the flaws of others............ahem...............Lindsay Lohan is a drunk.
A word to the wise: chopsticks.
In closing I bid you all just below the reserve price of the auction. Times are tough.
Dirt Wank
With the chaos being generated right now in many corners of the globe, I pause to realize that the globe has no corners. Having brought this to light I propose that we coin the term "orbisphere" for the purpose of expressed redundancy expression.
Remember the importance of imports when imparting imp parts. Performing perfect perforations is perfunctory for perfect perforators.
I hesitate to point out the flaws of others............ahem...............Lindsay Lohan is a drunk.
A word to the wise: chopsticks.
In closing I bid you all just below the reserve price of the auction. Times are tough.
Dirt Wank
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