Monthly Archives: September 2013

Name This Child

A small boy who had never had a name was wondering, “why don’t i have a name?”

He was right, you know, it seems everyone has a name.  But it didn’t bother him too much, he was just curious. He went on with his life as the young do, innocently.

When people would ask, what is your name? He’d reply, “I don’t have a name, what would you like to call me?” And that’s how he ended up with all the people he knew, for all the names he remembered, an additional name for himself.

When he was with Bob, his name was Arnold.  When he talked to Carol, his name was “Also Carol.”  And when he walked past Elvis, Elvis would call him “Hound Dog… thank you very much.”

One day he met a girl who also hand no name. He was shocked, he had never met anyone without a name before. And for that matter, neither had she.

“You don’t have a name either?”


They didn’t feel the need to give each other a name. It just felt right to be in each others presence.

They were right, you know, i mean, when would you ever meet another person who knew exactly what it was like to live without a name.

They had so many shared experiences — well, they shared so many experiences… with each other… both before they met, and while they fell in love and knew they would spend their lives together.

They decided to have a child. And decided it was really important. And when that child was born, they named her…

Hashtag Jesus

Three people, business casual, at an oversized conference-room table waiting for a meeting to begin, ALLEN, BABS, and CHUCK.

(note: # is spoken each time as “hashtag”)

Allen: When’s this meeting going to start? #ICantWait4Ever

Babs: Me neither #courseItsGoingToBeBoring #SoWhoCaresIfTheyShowUp

Allen: I should never except a reoccurring meeting #NotUlessTheresFood

Babs: I know I’m hungry #IHearTheresCakeInTheBreakRoom

Allen: #Awesome #BestDayEver

Babs: #TotallyGonnaRockTheCakeAfterThisMeeting

Chuck: Hold on, are you two going to talk in hashtags all meeting?

Babs: #Yep

Allen: #DudeRelax

Chuck: #Whatever


Chuck: It’s just that people use the hashtag too… superlatively.

Allen: #MostLikelyToSucceed

Babs: #ClassClown

Chuck: I mean, like, someone will post something like, “there’s cake in the break room” #Grateful

Allen: #BestDayEver

Babs: #Blessed

Allen: #Jesus

Chuck: Ah, you better watch what you’re hashtaging.

Allen: Oh, my bad #TakenOutOfContext #IsThereRealyCakeInTheBreakRoom

Babs: #IHopeSo #JesusLetThereBeCakeInTheBreakRoom

Chuck: Guys you cannot… #Jesus in a place of employment.

Allen: Yeah, I can #WhyTheFNot

Chuck: It’s like… #proselytizing

Babs: OMG #OMG #ForThoseOfYouWhoDontGetItOhMyGod

Allen: #ThereIsNoGodButAllah

Babs: #Jihad

Allen: #Jesus

Chuck has been checking his email on his phone.

Chuck: Ah… Teenagers… This meeting has been cancelled.

Allen and Babs highfive

Allen: #KnewIt

Babs: #LetsGoGetSomeCakeInTheBreakRoom

Allen: Oh, yeah! #ImGonnaPutAPieceOfThatCakeUPMYBUTT

This has become the first thing truly offensive to all three. Pause. Then,

Chuck AND Babs: #Jesus!


so called nation (bad poetry)

in this so called nation
we find our station
without hesitation
safely on the reservation
of your man made starvation
no grapes of wrath lactation
for old man’s libation
just a pure sensation
of your obligation
to this so called nation

a dutiful observation
without abbreviation
or scientific notation
or speculation
of the specification
and the unification
and the unionization
of this confederation
of this westernization
of this so called nation

there is no graydation
no obfuscation
no elongation
no generalization
no emancipation
(yeah, take that as a proclamation)
or any specialization
of the surgical operation
of the suspended animation
of the standard deviation, the stalin-ization, the standardization, standing ovation, sterilization, subordination, substantiation, suburbanization, symbolic representation, sympathetic vibration, synchronization, tabloidization, telecommunication, cellphone conversation, television station, television station, television station….

of this so called nation

Arm Punch

Two Men, 25, in the cab of a pick-up truck, in Alabama, shirtless.

TIBO drives, one hand on wheel, wears a confederate flag/camouflaged baseball cap. TUCKER stares out the window, letting his hand play with the wind.  Time goes by, then,

Tibo  punches Tucker in the upper arm.

TUCKER: Hey, what the fuck?

TIBO: Don’t be a pussy.

TUCKER: I ain’t no pussy!

Tibo stares at Tucker until Tucker looks away, forward, to notice an oncoming car in their lane.


Tibo turns,  grabs the wheel, jerks the truck right, on to the dirt shoulder, then hard back onto the road.  Both young men, yelling at the car that just passed.

TIBO:  Share the fucking road, asshole!

TUCKER: Jesus Christ, cock-wad!

Time passes as the two young men return to as they were, Tibo driving with one hand; and Tucker looking out the window letting his hand play wit the wind.   Tibo looks sad, or like sadness is approaching, he looks over at Tucker – he almost lost his best friend.  Then,

Tibo punches Tucker in the upper arm.

End of Play


Deer in a Gun Shop

It started off in what appeared to be an accident.  One night, a white tail deer was trapped in a gun shop.  And it was all caught on security cameras.

A 10 point buck could be seen parading down the aisles of guns.  He slipped a bit, here and there (the floor was linoleum?).  But, he agile enough to move throughout the store, breaking display cases with his antlers and knocking down racks of guns with the weight of his body.

By the time the gun store owner and the two police officers arrived the deer had done some significant damage to the store.  He had smashed the front window (was he charging his reflection?).  He had urinated and shat all over the store. (was he scared?).  He had knocked over the ammunition safe; and, as the video confirmed, he broke open the black powder jugs with his head and mouth (what did it taste like? was it like a salt-lick?).

All three men, stood in the beams from the headlights — an SUV and police car — with guns in their hands.

In a moment, a local news crew was also beaming light into the shop.  The buck was pacing inside.  He was tired, and cut and bleeding from his body and his face.

The owner decided to go into the shop, against police advice, but, “sumpins’ gotta be done.”  He unlocked the door, propped it open.  Then, leading with his pistol, he slipped into the wreckage of the store.

A gun was fired, that much is clear.   The sound of a gunshot was caught by three cameras. The police officers heard it, both reported, preparing to react.  

The shot created a spark, which caused an explosion, then another, and then a much bigger fireball style explosion.  The buck sprang through the doorway and leap over the cop car, then over the local news camerawoman, and bounded off toward the fields, the woods, the mountains.

The gun shop was destroyed in an evening of explosions.

Police reports confirm, the owner’s gun was never fired.