fabric

what is all this talk about the fabric of spacetime?

in the books and movies the fabric is always endangered. somebody is always tearing it. how can that be? hasn’t spacetime been around since God made the world or since the world evolved, if you’re a non-believer. Who thinks you can go around tearing it?

when I was a kid growing up in New York, the only time you heard about fabrics was when your sister talked to her friend about sewing or buying a new dress or if you knew a boy who was a tailor’s son or whose dad repaired car upholstery.

talk about fabrics on the street corner and everybody would think you were a… a… whatever. tho i did have a friend from Philadelphia who would call the rear part of a girl her fabric. he’d say, some nice fabric out on the street today.

i also knew a boy from London who called his underwear his fabrics which made everyone hoot.

my mom made my shirts but she didn’t ask me what kind of fabric i wanted in them.

also, come to think of it, the sign on my dad’s shop had the word fabricate in it.

 

For Daily Post

The Very Dark Web

The Dark Web is part of the Deep Web. The Very Dark Web is part of the Very Deep Web.

You can make a browser go to the Dark Web, but only by resetting its scruples. No browser can go to the Very Dark Web. Browsing is for winners.

The Dark Web is for the heinous, winners though they may be. There can be visuals on the Dark Web. The Very Dark Web has no visuals. Too dark. Audio only. Mostly low moans.

My grandma visits the Very Dark Web. She’s been dead for years, which tells you something. Her visits do not cheer her up.

The Very Dark Web has a special place for Dark Web visitors. Don’t go there.

Ever hear Elvis do Heartbreak Hotel? The VDW is like that. No love. I went to the VDW after you broke my heart ’cause I couldn’t dance, you didn’t even want me around, and now I’m back to let you know I can really shake ’em down.

The Dark Web is about crime; the Very Dark Web is against crime. McGruff the Crime Dog? He’s down with VDW. Trump’s Justice Department is so mean to McGruff. They hate McGruff. No love for McGruff.

Best machine to use for your visit? A hammer to the head haha. But no, the older the computer the better. Less memory.

Cop Compares Breastfeeding Mom To A Terrorist

[Headline in the Huffington Post]

I’m here to protect and serve. That’s my job. That’s my duty.

Actually, I was off duty on the day in question. I was in civilian clothes, but armed, sitting in our local Starbucks with my girlfriend Kristin. Kristin was drinking a Shaken Iced Peach Green Tea Lemonade and I had an Orange Spiced Iced Coffee in front of me, fortified with some special sauce from my pocket flask . Note that unlike another person in the shop, I wasn’t drinking milk from its source, which in my case would have been my girlfriend.

This is America. We have laws. For example, you can’t run around naked in public, unless you happen to live in San Francisco or a place like that. I would never be a cop in San Francisco. Where would I pin my badge ha ha. But seriously, you’ve got the inmates running the city up there. How would I know who to arrest? Or is it “whom”?

Anyway, we’ve got laws, such as if you are a woman, keep yourself decent in public. If you want to feed your baby at home, go right ahead. But you don’t go to the bathroom in public, and certainly not sitting in a Starbucks, so why would you expose yourself in front of the rest of us in terms of your bosoms? (Which by the way have got nothing on Kristin’s!)

Some perps break the law to get money. They steal and so forth. Others commit violence in the name of revenge or due to anger-management problems, or because they are a bully or a malcontent.

Love and money. The roots of crime. They teach us that at the academy.

But then there are the political criminals – the communists and anarchists and civil-rights crazies. They break the law to further their own twisted ends. These are those who would commit acts of violence solely to instigate terror and civil discord. These are those who have no good reason for breaking the law – no reason we can understand – such as love or money.

This woman in Starbucks, who oh-so-innocently draped a baby blanket over her baby’s head, to “hide” the fact that under that blanket she was unbuttoning her shirt, dropping the flap on her nursing bra, and suckling the child – or the child was suckling her, I forget how you say that – this woman wasn’t doing this for love or money – not the kind of love where you shoot somebody, I mean. She was just doing it to spread unrest among the other customers, including me and Kristin. Or me, at least. Kristin had her back to the woman. So, yeah, I’d call that terrorism, sort of.

Did I draw my weapon and escort the woman from the store? Yes. I did it to reassure the other customers that there is still law and order in America.

Did I get a round of applause? No. Evidently, most of those present knew that the woman was Mary Kelly, our district’s representative on the Board of Supervisors. They had the sense to keep their heads down.

Ms Kelly, continuing her terrorist activities, has me walking a beat – for the next ten years, according to her – around the county sewage plant.

4 Red Flags You Shouldn’t Ignore

Lead a busy life? It’s a mad whirl out there for so many of us. I forgot my pants this morning. Just kidding.

Please, take the time to look both ways before stepping off the curb. Check for bones in that forkful of haddock. Confirm that the seat is down before sitting on the toilet.

These are common-sense precautions. It takes a little luck to get through life.

Having said that, trusting to luck WILL NOT HELP YOU in certain situations. Learn to recognize the warning signs!

#1 You boss tries to kill you.

This is a warning sign. Your prospects for future advancement in the company may be compromised. Having failed to murder you, will your boss be able to give you a fair and balanced performance report during the next employee review cycle? Will killing him help or hinder your progress up the corporate ladder? Should you continue shtupping his wife, or move on?

#2 Your wife tries to kill you.

There is nothing more important in life than good, basic nutrition. When you get up in the morning, you need a good breakfast. When you get home from work at night, you need a good dinner. Anything that gets in the way of these essential meals must be eradicated without mercy. Remember, you can’t hire a wife, but you can hire a cook.

#3 Your children try to kill you.

Kids. What can you do? You give them everything. It’s why you go to work in the morning instead of turning into a homeless bum. You work your fingers to the bone and then work your wrists to the bone and then… you get the idea. Then they tear out your heart and skateboard over it. That’s not a warning sign. That’s just normal life.

#4 Your dog tries to kill you.

If you cat tries to kill you, you probably deserve it, you sorry piece of dirt. In the case of dog mayhem, you’ve got to look into breed. Your breed, I mean. What color is your skin? What is your religion? What is your orientation vis a vis LGBT. Are you conservative or liberal? Libertarian? What is your position on the right to bear arms?

Dogs care about these things, especially in the southern United States and Irish bogs. Given half a chance, they will thin the human herd.

Chicken Lays Giant Egg With A Surprise Inside

I don’t like surprises, which is why I don’t eat eggs.

I don’t open things. When I shop, I take a string bag, so I can see its contents at all times.

I take my mail next door and let my neighbor open it. FedEx delivered a box and I left it on the porch. My neighbor finally opened it because of the smell; it contained perishables.

I was considered strange in high school because on a hot date, I wouldn’t unbutton the girl’s blouse.

Later in life, when my older brother was killed in the line of work, I was the only one to attend his funeral because I insisted on an open casket. He was on the bomb squad.

I gave up my plans to become a surgeon because of this habit.

Once when I was feeling wild and crazy, I closed my eyes; naturally, I didn’t want to open them again. My neighbor had to thumb up the lids. I won’t close them again. I use eye drops and at night, eye props. I’m often accused of staring at people in a creepy way.

My marriage failed because I wouldn’t comply when my wife begged me to open up with her.

The bottom line: I live a quiet, solitary life, working at a low-paying job at a dry cleaners. Ironically, my boss makes me put out the Open sign every morning.

 

Sofia Vergara Reveals Bra Size

My husband has been trying to discover my bra size for years.

“Sofia has revealed hers,” he says to me. “Why can’t you do the same?”

Ha. No way. When I buy a bra, the first thing I do is remove the tag from it that divulges its size.

I find my husband hanging around our washer/dryer combo, hoping to lay hands on one of my bras. He figures that if he can obtain just one of them, he can measure it and deduce my bra size from that. Unfortunately for him, I hand-wash my bras and dry them on a rack in the attic, where he never goes.

He swears that he’ll figure it all out and then, just out of spite, that he’ll also figure out my cup size. Let him try. As long as I don’t let him grope me, he’s going to remain in the dark.

My girlfriends tell me that he asks them for their bra sizes. He wants to triangulate. Clever!

I didn’t marry a fool, just a Nosy Norbert.

Once, in a weak moment, he told me that after he got over the bra hump, he was going to start on my panties. This just demonstrates the difference between a wily woman and a dumb man. I’ve known that he wears jockey shorts in a 34 for ages.

Supermodel Spotted Without Makeup

I was working checkout on Monday, ringing up a woman with an unbelievable amount of makeup in her grocery basket.

“Who is this for?” I said, as I scanned item after item.

“Who do you think?” she said.

This was a skinny young woman of nondescript mien.

“When do you use it?” I said.

Opportunities for socialization are limited out here in South Potlatch.

“I don’t live here,” she said. “I’m here on a photo shoot. I’m a supermodel.”

“Good Lord!” I said. “I’ve never met a supermodel before. What’s your name, if you don’t mind me asking.”

“Princessa,” the supermodel said.

“I would think you’d bring your own cosmetics,” I said. “I never pictured you buying them at Walmart.”

“The makeup bus missed the turnoff and kept right on going to East Gravy Stain or somewhere,” Princessa said.

“Well, welcome to South Potlatch,” I said. “What tales you could tell, huh? What adventures you’ve had. And the funny thing is, you look a lot like Daisy over at the Dairy Queen. If you put on a little weight… Burt! Price check on this exfolient scrub with rice bran, please.”

Princessa was clicking her gum, which surprised me. You don’t see that on Project Runway. She was drumming her fingers, the nails sans polish and trimmed rather blunt.

“Are you looking at my hands?” she said.

I focused on the remaining items to be checked and shook my head.

“I don’t like people looking at my hands,” she said. She sounded like she meant it.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m not used to being around stars. I saw Phil Donahue from a distance once, but he was seventy-five at the time. Someone said he was approachable but I was too shy to try.”

Princessa also reminded me of Albert Chroner. He’s fourteen, Elmer Chroner’s boy. Just the slightest bit light on his feet.

I bagged everything up.

“Well,” I said. “Have a good shoot.”

Princessa didn’t answer. She was leafing through People Magazine with a jealous look on her plain little face.

The Tragedy of Baby Chen

Chen Xitong (not the ex-mayor of Beijing) is a multi-billionaire who took up residence in lawless Somalia fifteen years ago. An eccentric who was constantly running into trouble with Asian authorities in spite of his great wealth, Chen elected to find a spot in the world where he could build a personal enclave subject to his own personal rule and the rule of no others.

Once there, he married his long-time love, a female chimpanzee he had named Zhang Manyu, after the beautiful Hong Kong actress.

In due course, Zhang became pregnant, presumably at the hands (so to speak) of her chimpanzee manservant Bo Xilai (not the mayor of Chongqing). Chen Xitong, we know now, then traveled to a rogue state in northern Asia and there arranged to pay one billion dollars to the government to have portions of his DNA spiced into Zhang’s blastocyst.

The procedure was accomplished and the baby was born. At first Chen was delighted. Since he was hardly taller than Zhang, the child was born naturally, with no need for a Caesarian delivery. Chen named the little girl Zhange Ziyi, after one of the Four Young Dan actresses in the Chinese film industry.

The little one had a yellow cast to her monkey skin. Her eyes had the epicanthic fold. By the age of six months (maturing rapidly, chimp-fashion), she could speak like a disabled human three-year-old. She was pretty good with math and the violin, too.

Where is the tragedy in this? you ask. The trouble began when Chen suddenly realized that his daughter looked more Korean than Chinese. Could her DNA have come, in fact, from the frozen supply of Dear Leader sperm, or from one of the country’s 24 million starving denizens? Chen flew to Korea and demanded his billion back. He was given no satisfaction. In anger, he canceled his order for four hydrogen bombs.

The mother Zhang had no interest in any of this, of course, being an ape. (A “dirty ape,” according to her Somali maidservant, who was charged with picking up her dung around the house all day.)

When Chen got home, he canceled his daughter’s violin lessons, upsetting the professor who flew in from Paris three times a week. Chen fired the little girl’s math tutor, who, as a matter of fact, was getting rather too friendly with the little tyke anyway.

The child Zhang Ziyi is fourteen now. Rebellious. Has all the Planet of the Apes movies hidden under her bed. Fools around with a gibbon she met at the zoo. Has stated publicly that she’s black enough to be all ape. Her grandmother (the human one) has not given up on her. Gifts her with presents from Elsa Schiaparelli and Roy Halston Frowick at every opportunity. Visits the girl’s Facebook page and embarrasses her there with expressions of affection.

Chen Xitong, disillusioned, has divorced Zhang Manyu and impulsively married a spider monkey named  Gao Yuanyuan, formerly one of his many concubines. Her agility is unparallelled.

Somolia Part 2

Somolia Part 1

I was out in the cold and dark last night and a homeless fellow asked me for fifty cents for a cup of coffee. I told him, automatically, that all I had was plastic. I lied. I thought about that on the way home and felt a change.

Recreating the Past

[100-Word Challenge]

Would you like Grandpa’s old toolshed standing out in your back yard? The family chicken coop of yesteryear? Great-grandma’s potting shed? With Queen Vicky’s Weathering Paste (Royal Patent, 1887), you’ll have the wood you need for your dream structure in no time!

Go down to your local lumber dispensary. Purchase what you need, fresh and green. Bring it home.

Of course you can now try white vinegar and steel-wool pads, but this isn’t a birdhouse you’re building. Slather on our paste and in a week, you’ll have lumber that looks like it came from the ark.