I’ve lost my home of 20 years

It started out as a box.

The former tenant, a dishwasher, had vacated, and I moved in.

This was in the trash-bestrewn lot behind Moe’s Used Appliances. I was living in a canvas pup-tent bag at the time. To reside in an actual box was heaven, plus I had the lot to myself, not counting the vermin.

Later, I stole tape to add to the box a large carton emptied of its frozen turkeys. I’m not proud of that crime. Later I replaced the tape with staples. This didn’t absolve me of the original theft, but I felt better not staring at the tape all the time. I stole a stapler to do this.

By the time the rains and then the snow came, I had my home waterproofed with a tarp I borrowed.  Time passed in a blur. It’s like that when you get situated securely in life, right? Your kids, or in my case, rats, are born. They grow up and leave home. You put in your time as a member of society, in my case begging in front of the butcher shop. Next thing you know, you’re older.

I’m not as sharp as I was but I’m still game. I took a wrong turn somewhere but I’ll figure it out. The town has grown but it’s still my town. My home is out there somewhere. If I keep looking, I’ll find it.

The Budget Will Pass Before Midnight

Boy we’ve had our troubles passing our annual budget this year.

Times are tight. Al wants this and that. I want the other.

So far we’ve kept our tempers, but it seems neither of us wants to compromise.

We’re sworn to settle this. To write a budget and sign it before the sun comes up.


The kids are over at Grandma Jane’s, out of the way.

Then Bob comes by and asks Al if he wants to walk down to the VFW for a beer. Go on, I say, it’ll do you good. Order yourself a shot and let the beer chase it, I say, and they’re off.

Now I sit down and open the spreadsheet on the Mac. I’m alone and suddenly I’m in the mood to compromise. I give Al some of what he wants. Why not? We’re a team, aren’t we? Married thirty-five years. I give myself some of what I want.

Time passes and the budget is finished. I print it out. When Al walks in, he’ll be three sheets to the wind but that’s ok because Al is a pleasant drunk. I’ll sit him down and rub his shoulders and give him a cup of coffee and a piece of coffee cake and he’ll sign and I’ll sign and we’ll turn in.

Our version of the government.

Two Photons Entangled While at Opposite Ends of the Universe

Two photons in the colorless part of the spectrum have been entangled for 14 billion years, scientists say.

The photons headed off in opposite directions that long ago, taking a break from each other, and thus are now 14 billion light years apart.

Scientists say that nevertheless, they are still a thing.

The photon at this end is “just sitting there,” researchers say.

“Just waiting, I guess,” Dr. Paul told me.

I asked about the other photon.

“I worry about black holes,” Paul said. “There are a lot more of them out that way. Also a lot more colored photons around.”

I asked if a photon could become entangled with more than one photon at a time.

“I’m a Christian,” Paul said. “I don’t think the Creator would make a world like that. However, the straying photon might interact with a distant photon, just a physical interaction you know, and perhaps even be annihilated, producing  smaller hybrid or mongrel particles. Science hasn’t found Hell yet, but the dead photon could end up there.”

I asked Dr. Paul if a collection of particles, like a human being, could become entangled with another human being in the same way.

“I’d be happy if she’d just go visit her mother once in a while,” Dr. Paul said, “and take the kids with her.”

Ask Sister Theresa: Can This Marriage Be Saved?

Dear Sister Theresa,

We are five lovers, recently married in Goosefeather, California.

We are:

Carl,  assigned sex = male, gender identity = male, sexual orientation = cis

Eunice, assigned sex = female, gender identity = female, sexual orientation = cis

Nancy, assigned sex = male, gender identity = female, sexual orientation = cis

Tom, assigned sex = female, gender identity = male, sexual orientation = cis

Brad, assigned sex = male, gender identity = male, sexual orientation = gay

Our problem is that Brad, our only non-cis marriage member, is having trouble fitting in. Or adjusting, might be a better way to put it.

We have “hit the social scene” searching for a solution and have found 4 new potential marriage partners:

Paul,  assigned sex = male, gender identity = male, sexual orientation = bi

Cheryl, assigned sex = female, gender identity = female, sexual orientation = lesbian

Lucy, assigned sex = male, gender identity = female, sexual orientation = intersex

Gordon, assigned sex = female, gender identity = male, sexual orientation = polysex

Do you think Brad may find a more complete true-love connection if we add these prospects to our marriage?

Sister Theresa responds:

Wow. You guys have got me in a bit of a pickle here. When I was Brother John, I had some strong ideas on this subject, but now that I’m Sister Theresa, I’m lucky to get my wimple on straight in the morning.


We have one last day in the Verma/Wong household to pass a budget. Shutdown looms.

Once initiated, the shutdown will end only when a damned budget is agreed upon between Ms. Verma and Mr. Wong, with Mr. Wong and his boat and his poker nights taking it seriously for once!


Upstairs and downstairs baths, showers, and sinks will be shut off.

Toilets will be kept on for the first week of shutdown. Outhouse remodel should be complete by the second week. Sears catalogs are ready to be deployed in it.

Medications, medical equipment, and sanitary paper supplies will be limited to the first-aid kit and box of Kleenex in Ms. Verma’s Prius.

The TV and all iPads are locked in mom’s closet.

Actual, real books, with pages and covers, will remain available because apart from mom, who really cares?

Reduced Services

Pets will be fed. The children will be put out in the neighborhood to forage.

Infant nursing by Ms. Verma will no longer occur in public.

The house will be locked at night, although in Ms. Verna’s view there is no longer anything in it worth knicking.

No WiFi. This is the final post.

Budget Talks

Budget talks will follow the same protocols as those set for North Korea/South Korea talks. The Goldfarb house next door will be our DMZ. (Mr. Goldfarb will continue as Ms. Verma’s potential divorce lawyer. Ms. Goldfarb will cover it up around the house for once.)

God’s Family: The Children

I have commented previously on God’s wife (here, here, and here) and dog (here and here). What about His children?

Of course we’re all God’s children. Jesus is the best and Satan is the worst. George Washington never told a lie but he’s the only U.S. president and God’s child who can say that. (I’d credit the wag who wrote the line about Washington but can’t remember his name.)

All of God’s children have got wings, robes, harps, shoes (some debate about this one), rhythm, swing, and trouble. They may not have money and they may have the blues.

So what about the kids still up there, living at home with God, who we never hear about?

God has three kids in the house: Bud, Randi, and Claude. Bud is a Buddhist who climbed a tree in God’s backyard a long time ago and never came down again. Randi is a two-billion-year-old teenager who lives in the basement and has a problem with the size of her wings. Claude… I’ve got nothing negative to say about Claude. Claude’s an angry young dude.

So nothing newsworthy about the stay-at-homes. Don’t call them Millennials! The Creator keeps it real up there in the Fields of Bethesda… or no, that’s a housing development in Maryland I’m thinking of.

There are stories about God’s special children, but I’ll save them for later.  I don’t want the next missile scare to be worse than the last one.

resolutions for the new year

I’m turning 21 in a month, so my first resolution is to stop drinking. HaHa.

Next is the question of my virginity. Let me come back to this one.

And the LGBTQIAPK thing. Let me come back to this one too.

Do I talk to my parents? No. I resolve not to. But I don’t want to anyway, so does this count as a resolution?

What about Chris? Do I talk to Chris? Chris is as confused as I am. I resolve to talk to Chris… about whether we should talk.

What about grass? Nah. Nobody cares about that anymore, especially now that it’s legal and getting a lot cheaper.

What about God and prayer and talking to Pastor Alexopoulos? Really? In what universe is that ever going to happen?

But the virginity thing. What should I resolve to do? Go all the way? Which way? How do you even… No, I know what to do. I resolve to research this on the internet. Chat groups or whatever. But nothing gross! Eewwww!! Why even think that?!?

Nevermind. I resolve to study more at school. I resolve to get some As and Bs. At least one of each. Without cheating. I resolve to stop wasting mom and dad’s money there. I resolve to thank them for paying my way. I resolve to get a job during the year that pays better than Pizza Heaven.

And I’ll check out Chris’ resolutions. Maybe I can get a clue or two from them what I should do.

Meantime, happy new year.

Man Adopts his 42-Year-Old Girlfriend

Headline, Huffington Post]

The guy’s name is Marvin. Once Sue was all adopted, he took her home to meet his former mom and dad, now his adopted son and daughter.

“Fred and Betty,” he said to them, “meet your new sister Sue.”

“Keep it down,” his daughter said. “Your son is taking his nap.”  

The elderly woman was trying to assemble a lego jeep.

“I’m sure glad to be here,” said Sue. “Say, Betty, can I help?”

“You can go make dinner,” said Betty. “After you put in a load of wash.”

Sue frowned.

“I meant, can I play with you,” she said. “I’m not your slave.”

“Now, kids,” chuckled Marvin. “Don’t start scrapping. Remember, I love you all equally.’

“We’ll see about that tonight,” said Sue.

“Whoa, there, Pilgrim,” said Betty. “This is a Christian home.”

“Remember that when you hear me shouting Oh God! tonight,” Sue said.

 “Marvin!” Betty said.

Spot, Marvin’s other son, came in through the doggy door.


“Oh, goody,” said Sue. “I always wanted a brother, and not some old geezer asleep at two in the afternoon. Spot, sit boy! Roll over!”

Marvin took Sue aside.

“Baby,” he said. “I’m afraid that tonight’s off.”

“What? Just because you’re my daddy?”

“No. I adopted myself today, too. I’m your big brother now. I’ve got to look out for you, and that includes not letting your daddy take advantage of you.”

GRAPHIC VIDEO: Monkey Attack Caught On Tape

(Headline in the Huffington Post, 11/17/11)

I picked up my son Saturday morning. Outing with divorced dad. A beautiful day.

My son wasn’t mad at me, or bitter that I had moved out. We got along. He was excited to visit the new primate exhibit at the zoo.

We stood in line for tickets. Everyone wanted to see the monkeys. The new enclosure was extensive. A zoo is a jail, I suppose, but this jail, for the monkeys at least, was more pleasant than usual. There were many new apes, some quite wild. We spent a long time admiring them and their antics. Zoo personnel went in and out of the enclosure several times, always careful to keep the gates locked. No one wanted a wild ape running loose.

We took a break for some lunch. Spent a pleasant half-hour at a table in the sun, eating zoo food. Talked about mom and me and why we were apart.

As we were leaving, we heard some crowd noise down a side path.

His mom was waiting to pick up our son at the gate. We were friendly with each other, she and I, but a little formal. After she had pulled away from the curb, with the boy waving to me from the passenger’s seat, I turned and walked back to my new apartment.

Teens Discover New Ways To Hide, Consume Alcohol

(Headline in The Huffington Post, 11/15/11)

Just to be clear, teens invented alcohol, back in those prehistoric days when precious few of the tribe made it past the age of twenty.

For the same reason, teens invented sex, hunting, gathering, and fur clothing.

A fourteen-year-old girl, feeling rebellious like they do, had to take it out on her pet tortoise, which was the only thing older than a teenager in the cave.

How the alcohol thing happened was, the cute-girl clique went out gathering one day and came back with a collection of grains, fruits, and the odd root. They gave the rebellious fourteen-year-old with zits the whole mess in a fur bag and told her to prepare dinner. She dumped the bagfull of stuff  into a rock pot and left it sitting out in the sun all day. When dinnertime rolled around, and all the teens were lounging by the fire enjoying some major preprandial hemp, the girl poured off the fluids that had accumulated  in the pot and served it around, and everybody present got righteously tight on top of their high. Thus was born “drinking.”

Cut to the 60s. Girls hid nip bottles in their beehives. One reason the braless fad died out was the need for C cups or bigger to secret pills and cigarettes in.

Cut to nowadays. Parents go on interminably about their wine-tasting trips to Napa and the cases of fine vintage they’ve brought back. They keep fifteen brands of flavored vodka on the shelf. Microbreweries proliferate. Even Mormons are doing grape jello shots. What a bore. You’re a kid with a favorite? Just add your bottle to the shelf. By the time you sober up, you’ll be an adult too.