The Realist Priest

    Father Casey said, “I’m getting tired”,
    Telling his dad his woes.
    “My Bishop says I could get fired
    Even my mistress knows”

    Well, if it’s only money, Mike
    I might have a good idea;
    Might even get you promoted;
    And get you out of here.

    That Sunday morning after Mass,
    Father Casey addressed his Clan:
    All parishioners would get Last Rites
    Early, on a monthly payment plan.

    Not only that, he went on to say,
    We can put a rider to the deal;
    With a guaranteed, pre-paid, burial
    In our own little lily field.

    Well, the Bishop showed up
    The following day
    And now Father Casey’s
     In Zimbab-ee-we

Nice Weather? (April 2012)


Middle of April, not a cloud in sight;
The motels call it
A tourists’ delight.
But some are afraid;
That it just ain’t right.

85 in Boston and not a cloud in sight
The fans at Fenway
Scream with delight.
As the homers fly off
Into the hot spring night.

At the top of the poles, not a cloud in sight
And the ice caps are melting,
Polar Bears taking flight;
When will we ever learn?
When will we ever learn!

Our Nurses

Wan big tuffes’ job,
In all ‘dis crazee worl,
Whether you big Russian guy
Or wee little Irish gurl.

Is standin’ on your feet all day
At a shaky nursy station
Pounden ‘lil pills to dust
An wachin; 30 pations

All de while she got in mine
Another can soon be gawn
An she’ll be doin’ paper work
And tryin’ not to mawn

She luv them all pretty much you see
Dere’s no time to relax
And she has no time to tink aboud
Wah dis Romney guy pays in tax!

If anyone is remotely interested, here is the link to my eBay listings. (Mostly rare books and odd-ball ephemera)

http://www.ebay.com/sch/bosoxmal/m.html?_ipg=50&_sop=12&_rdc=1

United States Debt: Big Deal?

While the Republican Party disintegrates before our eyes, their “message” continues to focus on how much we owe, (and they fill their committee chairman seats with White Men--exclusively!) Sure, it’s a lot nicer to have a surplus than it is a debt but:

If you could borrow as much money as you want (let’s say on a 5-year fixed rate) at 0.7% (yes, that’s ZERO POINT SEVEN) do you think it might be a good idea to fix that damn roof, and invest in the kid’s college while you can do it?

I would. (Maybe my little cutie will marry Bill Gates grandson and buy me new villa in Palm Beach!)

Voila!

Not all hypocrites are bad people. I had a boss (he fired me because I took a lady friend to a Las Vegas conference, even 'though I paid her way), who got on a "Buy America" kick back in the late 60s, early 70s. He dumped his Mercedes and bought a  Mustang which fell apart in about a month. All the while beating the druns for "Buy America", he was killing himself chain smoking Turkish cigarettes. A few years later he sold his hi-tec business to a new group of raiders from Japan. The number of employees dropped from about 500 to about 150!

Mr. D diad a year later from the cigarettes (and scotch), but he was a nice guy anyway; just happened to be a hypocrite.

Queenie

Whitey saw the girl in a bamboo cage,
Her chin at rest on her knee;

He thought she looked familiar
And said. “I guess I’d better go see”.

Sure enough, that was Queenie, all right,
His “friend” from the Cling Ting Café

The one who stood about 4 foot ten;
(Whitey was six foot three)

Well, Queenie spoke a little English
But, to Whitey, she acted dumb

And like she didn’t know him
She was quiet, still; almost numb.

Then a Chinese guard with a pole came along,
Which he pushed into the cage

And he growled as he started poking
Which sent Whitey into a blind hot rage.

The Chinese guy was Queenie’s size
Maybe five feet one, no more;

And Whitey hit the guy so hard
It broke the little cage door.

Queenie came out like a shotgun blast
With nary a “thank you please”

And while I was watching her disappear
Here come the f****n’ MPs

And while they were cuffing Whitey
And getting names and such

Whitey said, “Maybe you can find her, Bob;
Tell her I’ll be in touch.”

Two nights later at the Cling Ting Café
I spotted her through the haze

I sidled up close, and said, “Queenie, Hon,
Poor Whitey got 30 days.”