hafta go out to the party store for a baby though. am fresh outta babies : )
Posted on 02/27/2006 5:49:42 AM PST by xsmommy
didn't someone say recently that she advised some fellow inmate to pursue an insanity plea for something??? if she is advising then she ain't the requisite amount of NUTS to avoid anything!
remember, Man, that thou art dust and to dust thou shall return.
Dust in the wind.
Kansas
I believe you are right.
yea, well, i was giving the very timely ASH WEDNESDAY catholic spiel.
hafta go out to the party store for a baby though. am fresh outta babies : )
A+++ i believe i forgot to grade you, also!
Gorgeous...you just amaze me. Thanks for sharing your talent with us.
Re nearly nothing: I remember a Leonard Bernstein Young People's concert about that time, during which he selected a few pop songs of the time (or nearly the time) and demonstrated they had actual musical value. One was a Beatles song (I don't remember which one, natch), one was an Association song (Along Comes Mary, of which Lennie, [the old sodomite] seemed quite fond), and Monday, Monday. At least, those were the ones I remember.
"You ARE getting older than dirt...the dirt in which we will all ultimately nap."
"Happy Birthday, anyway!"
Well, I never denied it...
Before There Was Dirt
When I was a little kid, a real long time ago,
We didn’t have a lot of things that you have come to know.
There was no clothing fashion, because no one wore clothes,
We spent our time just looking ‘round, and saying, “Look at those!”
A boy without a pocket means a boy without a frog.
We had a sort of clubhouse. We called our place “the log.”
The grown-ups never scolded us, we didn’t have the words.
I got a lot of credit then, for coming up with “birds.”
We summered in a place they called the briddish isles,
The briddish folk who lived up there seemed generous with smiles.
The little hopping critters that had grown their feathers out,
Seemed happy, so I called them brids, a word that went about.
The word got twisted round a bit, and so it came out bird,
But we were very language poor and needed our new word.
The job of giving names to things was one for senior folk,
And I was so much younger then, they took it as a joke.
But still the word got out and I got better known,
And in a way because of it, I got one of my own.
They gave me tufts of feathers, and tied them in a knot,
A rumper-sticker that said Bird-On-Board was something else I got.
After a while just B-O-B was stuck upon my rear,
And when I left somewhere they said BOB has been here.
We traveled around the world back then, or what we knew of it.
Some places seemed to be real nice, and some we quickly split.
There was one place that many thought was very fine and grand,
They dug their caves in nice soft rock, it was a holey land.
The sun shone down too brightly there, some guys became a pain,
Or maybe it was something else that drove the folks insane.
There was a kid who lived down there who played a game on sand,
His hoard of aggies proved he was the best one in the land.
Methuselah, he called himself, and challenged me to play,
I could afford to lose a few, and think I made his day.
I haven’t seen him lately. I think he may be gone.
Young kids like him could never seem to keep their britches on.
It wasn’t that he seemed to be the nervous type,
He just needed to be patient, and then to get more ripe.
I used to like a place that was a little North of there,
We still had warmer weather, and breezes filled the air.
A peaceful fishing village, somewhere they broke a dam,
We left some really bad words there when we went on the lam.
And so we wandered on a bit and learned to cope with life.
I grew somewhat stronger when I first encountered strife.
It was the prudent thing to do, to turn the other cheek,
One cheek too many though, could mean that you were weak.
I learned how to handle, those ones who’d be my foe,
It wouldn’t do to travel on, with nowhere left to go.
You make a man respect you, and he can be your friend,
And if he cannot live with that, you bring it to an end.
On the whole I’m peaceful, and settled in my ways,
And I didn’t really hanker for the more exciting days.
So I stayed pretty busy, avoiding getting hurt,
And life was pretty good to me, before we dealt with dirt.
Life was so much cleaner then, before the dirt arrived,
We strolled about the planet. Our numbers grew. We thrived.
We didn’t have much in the way of automatic toys,
But we had girls to chase, and they had all us boys.
And so our numbers went on up, more people every day,
The “planning” folks were not around to interfere that way.
Some had funny notions, and lived the way they wished.
Others took it easy. They hunted and they fished.
The animals around us seemed to give us lots of room,
Except for certain hungry ones, and meeting them was doom.
Some of us didn’t like that. We set out to fix their wagon.
We came back wearing nice warm skins. The others left, tails draggin’.
Without the dirt, we didn’t know, about the bathing reason,
We thought the little odors were, someone was not in season.
The animals didn’t look on us in “fawning” admiration,
They actually avoided us with our protective odoration.
It took a long time to discover which ideas beat the others,
Some folks lived on other’s work. Most treated men like brothers.
In the marketplace of thought, many notions came to flower,
And you never knew which one would be the flavor of the hour.
We all had lots of time to sit around and think,
My suggestions fell quite flat, because like me, they’d stink.
But I got better as I went, and sometimes had a thought,
That could have saved us trouble if the others would have bought.
My plan for building Stonehenge was to make it as a star,
With North and South along a line that went so far,
And lines to mark the point to which the sun would make its way,
In Winter’s slow migration up until the shortest day.
Too bad the guy in charge did not see things my way,
Or folks would not be looking on, and scratching heads today.
But he insisted circular, and folks began the work,
My stellar plans were set aside. He was a circle jerk.
I left that merry England, and others left there too,
It wasn’t all so merry then, too many folks were blue.
The pyramids were much more fun, the competition brisk,
We raced those stones on up the ramps and didn’t mind the risk.
I laugh to think about the thoughts that we used “rays.”
Life was so much simpler then, it’s how we filled our days,
With building competitions, instead of fighting wars,
Why else would we pile up stones, without a trace of doors?
We’d clap an arc of wood upon each face of cubic block,
And then we’d get it up to go, by pushing up the rock.
Then toss a rope around it, and take it for a stroll,
Let me tell you, we knew then, just how to rock and roll.
Someone asked of getting sick. We had a simple plan.
My way of dealing with it was, avoid it if you can.
If you called attention to yourself, when feeling ill one day,
Others would take notice soon, and go the other way.
It wasn’t a matter of cowardice, or feeling no remorse,
It’s just that lacking training, there was no other course.
The wisdom of the action, can still be proved today,
For how could AIDS be what it is, if folks weren’t turned wrong-way?
Political correctness, was not so big a deal,
We knew it wasn’t only wrong, we knew it wasn’t real.
When you reward someone, for doing something dumb,
You just create a person who’ll be nothing but a bum.
The old ways were not always the best way to abide,
But we learned before we threw them out, to set them side-by-side,
Before we tossed out customs, where errors may have lurked,
We tested them to see results, and find which system worked.
So when did dirt arrive? I guess you ought to know,
It’s been a thing that’s bugging me, since oh so long ago.
It was the stupid insects, those little robot bums,
“They’ll do the work of twenty men, and all of it for crumbs.”
Another bright idea, at least it wasn’t mine,
The first designs were clever, and seemed to work out fine.
But when the bug got busted up, it wouldn’t go away,
Instead the parts got smaller, and turned the dust to gray.
And every time you’d smack one down, or step upon a few,
You’d find a nasty substance, encrusted on your shoe.
You think they get recycled? Just trust me when I say,
The very first bug ever made, you’re walking on today.
The knowledge of unmaking them was limited to few,
The scrolls at Alexandria told us just what we should do,
So naturally, disaster fell, and no one knew quite why,
But I can tell you this, it was some stupid firefly.
I miss those simpler times when we all could get along,
We had our bread and wine, and in the evening, we had song.
Our musical devices could plunk out a pretty tune,
And more personal fulfillment could be found behind a dune.
But every day since I’ve been born has been a joy to me,
And I still get real excited with each new thing that I see.
I’ve still got time ahead of me and I’ve worked out all the math,
And I’ve even gotten used to knowing when to take a bath.
NicknamedBob . . . . . . . . Feb 28 -- March 2, 2004
LOL
Thanks for the ping, NnB.
I'll say it again ..... Have a Happy Birthday!
Your Kitty Poems Brighten my Day whenever I Read them. Thank you So Much! :)
And this is just the money from charities (Red Cross, Salvation Army, churches, etc.).
Toss in the $67 billion from the US Treasury, and you're damn near talking about REAL MONEY! (None of which includes the 6 months of free rent/hotels, debit cards, food, clothing, etc. doled out in Texas)
Remember the movie "The Money Pit"??
Meanwhile, in Houston this past weekend, Calypso Louie Farrakhan was on hand to remind everyone that George W. Bush is still a white devil.....
I'll archive that under "The Origins & History of Dirt"
It is also available on my about page, with some "annotations."
It covers a lot of "History" too, at least the way I saw it.
Hello Jack,
Very nice indeed.
Thank you. :O)
-she belongs in jail........
Somehow the "Religion of Peace" seems incongruous with peace.
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