of Humor

How I Roll


As I drove through the toll booth
in my spectacular brand new super-fragalistic car
Sound ablazin’, motor a racin’
The one they said was sure to be a star
Not manufactured in decades, to be sure
Low numbers, high demand, sure to be a winner
Sure to appeal to the masses

Every wife, daughter, mistress, girlfriend, lover, and girl next door with glasses would fane for the privilege to get off of their asses and test drive the most spectacular automobile ever seen in twenty-five years. A low-profile convertible with Armor All’d tires and automatic doors

To be seen in the most spectacular car, the automobile manufactured for the price that anyone could afford, or
just be bored with whatever their spouse could afford

No! How can we pass up such a deal for the most spectacular car in twenty-five years?

The toll-booth girl, pretty and black
was in my seat in two seconds flat
standing up in the seat on a busy main street
waving her arms in the air
with not seeming a care

I took her to a shop where we bought some sexy clothes and other wares. We laughed and laughed until the store was closed. Then, came the sex and the grind, the moves that blew my mind. My love for the car diminished as she overtook my, well, you know

No oil change needed, my ego conceded
The car so exceeded that nothing was left but her coal

Still, the fever was seeded and the thought was repeated again and again until I bought another and another and sold to every sister, brother, and stupid mother fucker on the planet

Just goes to show.

High demand, production low, made me some money. That’s how I roll.


of Humor

Another Pall Mall

Another Pall Mall

Got up!
Made the bed
Ran to Speedy
Bought some cigarettes
Came home
Had a smoke
Shaved, showered
Had a smoke
Got my hair cut
Bought some groceries
Had a smoke
Washed the car
Had a smoke
Ate my dinner
Had a smoke
Got on Zoom
and that’s not all
Smoked another
long Pall Mall

The ashtray is full
So are my lungs
So much money
Wasted upon
A little indulgence
One after one
Over my life
more nearly a ton
An awful addiction
A son-of-a-gun!

Try to quit
then another one’s lit
I’ll keep on quitting
Someday it’ll stick
Don’t want to die
before my time
of suicide by cigarette!


of Humor

Lookin’ Like Elvis

Lookin’ Like Elvis

At three in the morning
He’s just pullin’ in
for an all-night buffet,
a shower and a cigarette

His rig, she’s been a movin’
Just a rollin’ down the line
Gassin’up, twenty minutes
and he’s runnin’ right on time

He sits down, orders coffee
Says “hey, you pretty thing”
I’ll be movin’ on to Memphis
but for now, I’ll have the wings

He’s been runnin’ down I-40
breaking speed and doin’ fine
One short stop in Chattanooga
bypassed Nashville one more time

Plugged the jukebox, told a story
of how he once jack-knifed
How he used to have a woman
and she used to be his wife

Black hair down his neck
Almost in his eyes
I looked again, then I noticed
and much to my surprise

He looked an awful lot like Elvis
Sideburns, everything
From his head to his toes
He just needed one more thing

As he paid for his meal
He curled his lip, said it was fine
Come again said the waitress,
She’s all smiles and goo-goo-eyed

Just then, through the window
It came an awful rain
He reached into his satchel
for just the missing thing

He threw a raincoat on his shoulders
and walked into the night
Some headlights caught his figure
and before he’s out of sight

He kneeled down to pick-up something
His silhouette is all I saw
A caped and stunning figure,
the velvet Elvis on the wall.


of Humor

Chinga Ringa

Chinga Ringa

She was a little senorita
way down from Ensenada
Came here with a Visa
missing nothing, I mean nada!

I was lonely little hombre
Didn’t know she was about
to play me like Miss Charro
Coochee coochee
There’s no doubt.

Hot Tamale, extra sauce
She cast her spell upon me
Like voodoo, that was boss
She danced la cucaracha
And that’s when I got lost.

Chinga Ringa, Chinga Ringa
is what she used to say
Never quite explained it
But I swear until this day
I remember Chinga Ringa
and the girl who talked this way.

She said her name was Blanca
I understood that to be White
She may have been some sunshine
but her heart was black as night.

She was charming
She was pretty
Plastic magic on her face
She tripped the light fantastic
Then she left without a trace.

Chinga Ringa, Chinga Ringa
I tried to look it up
There wasn’t a translation
Just a question in my mind
Still, the phrase still haunts my memory
and to me, it’s so sublime.

She said it when excited
She would just erupt
Chinga Ringa, Chinga Ringa
A phrase that I just loved
To this day, I have no idea,
surely, what she might have meant
doesn’t matter anyhow, as she came
as so she went.

The moral of this story
If you should so inquire
Take a little trip
if you should so inspire
down to Mexico
Ensenada, California
Listen for the sound of the one you so desire
singing Chinga Ringa, Chinga Ringa
A certain qualifier
to let you know
and let you play
with something called white fire.


of Humor

“The Like”

“The Like”

A most important
good look
Sparkly and cheerful
The look of success
A test of enormity
My public persona
in all its conformity

Soul searching,
true meaning,
An affliction
An addiction
A cancer exploding

This faction of posting and tweeting
Compelled to check-in
A delightful reaction
On and on
Still, no satisfaction

‘Round and ‘round
with no end in sight
Over and over
A merry-go-round
Wonderful colors,
sounds, and “THE LIKE”

Not so easy
for someone like me
Effortless engagement
or so it can seem
Spare time, yeah right
Even now, as I ponder
Even now, as I write
The need for a fix
is well within sight

No time to do
what has to be done
The excuses
The ruse
“Oh, I’m just having fun!”

I’ve seen it in others
I see it in me
The grand illusion
So important are we
The egos abound
Self-glorifying neglect
of one’s growth and real needs
Self-indulgent displays
of selfish good deeds

Guilty am I
Now time to be free
Freed of compulsion
so, to do what I please

To learn and to grow
into what could be me
I’ll never know that
until I am free

To sit by the pond
To sit and just read
a book with my dog
or even, just be

No thoughts
of what I might miss
or where they may be
or what they may think
of you or of me

The last of my poems
The last of my vids
The last of my pics
of fish and grandkids

To wish you well
Is not quite enough
so, until I relapse,
please remember my stuff.


of Humor

My Apologies Y’all!

My Apologies Y’all!

Torn between two women
Both are on my mind
It’s hard to choose just one
They both are, oh, so fine

One, she’s named Fiona
Her hair is red, her eyes blue sky
Her drapes so match the carpet
Her love I can’t deny

The other’s name is Constance
She’s a hazel-eyed brunette
Long legs, great ass
Lest anyone forget

The first, well she’s knock-kneed
I love to watch her gait
A graceful stride has she
It’s her most attractive trait

Constance, well, she’s bow-legged
A bandy sight I praise
Reminds me of a cowboy
by the name of Gabby Hayes

I’m torn twixt a bow-legged woman
And a woman who’s knock-kneed
Dear Lord, I pray you’ll help me,
Help me to decide
Which woman I like better
And which one I’d rather ride

Fiona squeezes tightly
With her gams on either side
Constance holds me loosely
With her legs so far and wide

Perhaps, I need to ask ’em both
Will both of yinz be mine
I’d have me one-straight-woman
With all their legs combined!

I’m torn ‘tween a bow-legged woman
And a woman who’s knock-kneed
Dear Lord, I pray you’ll help me,
Please help me to decide
Which woman I like better
And which one I’d rather ride



of Humor

High Class Problems

High Class Problems

People used to tell me
“Boy, ain’t you got problems.”
and they were right!
But they could never say
even on a cloudy day
that I was ever too up-tight

My cadi just broke down
and my dog, he bit my leg
My girlfriend just left town
and she stole my diamond ring
My stocks are down
Now, I can’t afford a thing
Cause I got high-class problems
and they don’t even mean a thing

I got high-class problems
and that ain’t never bad
I got high-class problems
they don’t never make me sad
I got a roof and some spaghetti
even garlic bread
I got high-class problems
the best I ever had

My band broke-up
The cat’s been run-over.
Then, In the middle of the rain
I found a four-leaf clover
Threw my back all outta-whack
and boy, am I in pain
I got high-class problems
They don’t even mean a thing.

Well, the good lord‘s got my back
and I’ll never miss a meal
Got a hole in my roof
but good-god, that’s no big deal
Cause ’there’s no hole in my bucket
So, I empty it with zeal

I got high-class problems
and that ain’t never bad
I got high-class problems
they don’t never make me sad.
I got a roof and some spaghetti
even garlic bread
I got high-class problems
the best I ever had

When I have a little problem
I just remember this
It gets a whole lot better
if my head’s not in a twist
I thank my lucky stars
I do a dance and I sing
Cause I got high-class problems
and they don’t even mean a thing

I got high-class problems
the best I ever had.
I got high-class problems
and for that, I’m awful glad.