Dear Lawyers

 

You studied hard and passed the bar and now have been released into the wild.

You walk amongst us, dressed as would a professional.

You speak in complete sentences and articulate clearly your intentions.

You have the appearance of a normal person.  At social gathering you blend in.

It is only when you are in a running motion, breathing heavy, sweating to catch up to the ambulance that we can actually see your scales.

In your effort to warn and caution people of possible hazards, you have forced drug manufacturers to use over-sized pill bottles just so the warning labels can accommodate all potential situations, in every language.

It is because of you, the cost of a new car far exceeds people’s ability to buy one.

Your actions have altered children’s toys to the point of giving choking hazards a bad name.

Smokers no longer feel free to strike a match without first closing the cover.

As a result of your actions, the technology now required to buckle-in an amusement ride participant cost the same as strapping an astronaut into a space capsule.

Over time, you have stretched and manipulated the English language to such a degree that someone must hire another lawyer just to read what you have written.

You have made it to be the case that doctor’s offices are now run by insurance companies.

Lawyers have become so toxic and abrasive that now – in addition to fences around law schools, they have sneeze guards.

 

 

 

The Company Picnic

 

The shadow of the hawk glided swiftly, effortlessly, and silently over branches, picnic tables and the volleyball net.  Nobody noticed, or if they did, they didn’t give it a second thought, until Lulu’s whimper seemed to be coming from overhead.

    (Not sure where I'm headed with this one yet).

 

 

Stage Fright

 

Turn the doorknob left or right,

I wonder should I tug or lean –

The window tells me day or night

The music for me sets the scene,

Other actors know their lines

It is quite rare they miss their mark –

Someone didn’t move the chair

I stumble blindly in the dark,

A muffled chuckle from the crowd

Then lively laughter fills the air

Houselights on, so all can see

This clumsy actor laying there.

 

Mother Nature's Sneeze

 

Outdoor Concert

 

None of them had gone to school

they all played an instrument

collectively impressive

and somewhat overwhelming.

The night brought out the best in them

after a rain and under a blanket of stars

their music flooded the hillsides

amazing how they could all stop on cue

I wondered just who was orchestrating

this insect world.

This Stinks

 

I enjoy watching the large, white birds fly majestically over the lake.  They make it look as if they’ve never studied aerodynamics, lift or drag.  How is it they make flight appear as though they do it without even thinking?  Surely, they have mastered gravity, something Mankind fails at on a daily basis.  Why we’re at the top of the food chain I’ll never know.

We’re calling this one Saturday.  We do that.  We name things.  Did you ever notice how a baby holds tight to its blanket, a small child will never let go of its stuffed animal and old folks cling tight to their religion.  Everyone wants to hold onto something.  Office types and factory workers hang on to weekends.  It is what gets them through the week.

What, you may ask, does any of this have to do with flying?  Well, hold on and I’ll tell you.  Majestic, white birds hold on to nothing.  They push off with their legs, stretch out their wings and off they go.  They never look back.  They don’t carry anything with them.  They have no purse, no wallet, no bag of groceries.  It’s just their wings and the sky.  No possessions, no security blanket, no college degree, just the air and the hope of catching a fish.  Hey, birds gotta eat.

Which brings me to the point of all this.  What’s in it for the fish?  This doesn’t really seem fair somehow.  The poor fish, just swimming along, minding its own business, when who should be passing overhead but some lazy bird, who never went to flight school, can’t carry a purse or a tune and suddenly swoops down and snatches up the unsuspecting fish.  If you ask me, this whole thing stinks.

They're not all gems

 

There will never be enough string

 

I know that finding this Blog has not been easy but you get 5 points for adding it to your favorites.  I’m impressed.  I’m sure you’ve noticed by now that nothing here is actually worth your time, but hey – what else were you doing?  

As you can see from the side menu, this thing has gone on for years.  Feel free to wander around back there.  I especially think you’ll enjoy the liberties I’ve taken with my photography.  I expect someday it will be hanging in the National Art Gallery, maybe not out where it can be seen by the general public, but back in the janitor’s room.  I know he enjoys my humor.  

Anyway, I tend to look at this Blog as a time-capsule for my brain.  It is a running history of my thoughts, antics and feeble attempts at serious.  You’ll notice I have failed 100% at being serious.  It just isn’t in my nature.  My sarcasm, however, has no problem slicing through the politics of the day.  I have tossed that in at no charge.

I’m going to interrupt this for a minute.  I just fixed a cup of coffee.  It is a little pod and says 1850 on the top of it.  This is not my usual, so it has, for the moment, captured my attention.  It tastes like the coffee you have when you’re out camping, or you’ve just brought in a herd of cattle and now you’re sitting around the campfire, thinking back on that rattlesnake that almost got your boot.  Boy, that was a close one. Too close if you ask me.  

Anyway, here’s the thing about jumping out of the way; I believe there to be a direct correlation between a person’s age and their ability to react to a situation.  Take for example this 1850 coffee… Oh sure, I could have side-stepped this little pod, grabbed my usual coffee and gone about my day, but I didn’t.  This could, of course, come up to bite me later.  Time will tell.

Okay, so let this be a lesson to you.  You get to a point when the weight of your kite string pulls down harder than the lift the breeze is giving to your kite.  It will never make it up to the ionosphere, no matter how much string you have.

zc

Beyond the Gates

 

Someone here has run amuck

we’re not sure what to do –

I thought at first, it could be me

but now, I think it’s you.

I haven’t any proof of course

it’s nothing you have done –

it’s just I have these lotto stubs

yet you’re the one who won.

Maybe I should take a cruise

get my head on straight –

but with 27 orange vests

I’d be twenty-eight.

Maybe I’ll go back to school

learn me up some French –

maybe I could fix your car

If I get myself a wrench.

Seeing what I’ve written here

I now know that it’s me –

I’ve wandered out beyond the gates

and haven’t any key.

 

 

 

 

Weathering the Storm

 

There’s a worm upon the lantern

I doubt that is the norm –

safely, he is off the ground

soaking up the warm,

There’s a beetle clinging to the bark

a foot up off the ground –

holding tight within the dark

hoping not to drown,

A lonely cow stands chewing

oblivious it seems –

to wind and rain and lightening

Oops,

Never mind.

A weatherman from channel 4

pummeled by the hail –

soaked and freezing half to death,

fights to tell his tale,

No smarter than the cow is he

who, when the show begun –

was still alive and chewing

but now, is quite well done.

 

 

Is it me...

 

or is there an extra foot in this picture?

Not very thoughtful

 

The tabletops were very artsy.

A glass top over an assortment of wine corks.

They were fun to look at and I'm sure

they were tricky to assemble,

but somehow inappropriate 

for an AA meeting.

Well done

 

According to the statement made by Alice Munsker, who had been sitting at a near-by table, the customer in question reported his steak was not well-done as he had requested.

The statement by Wanda B., the waitress on duty at the time, said the steak was carried back to the kitchen and a request was made of the chef to cook it some more.

Wanda noted that the chef was not happy with the request but placed the steak back onto the grill.

Again the customer was not satisfied with the outcome and instructed Wanda to send it back a second time.

At approximately 12:24 pm, restaurant customers reported seeing a dinner plate fly from the direction of the kitchen.  Half way across the dining room, a medium-well steak flew from the plate and landed in the potted plant, while the dinner plate continued on, just missing the head of the customer. 

   

Time Release Socks

 

Here’s the thing, I purchased 20 pairs of socks. All on the same date, from the same company, from the same batch and lot.

Now, exactly the same number of days later, each and every sock has worn through on the heal. 

I have rotated the wearing of these socks, I have staggered their use and have, on occasion, opted to be random in the choosing of which pair to wear.

Note:  These are black socks and the drawer from where they are selected is dark, although I can attest, based on the laundry schedule, that never the same sock has been worn twice in a row.

My question to you is:  How can this be?  How can a sock manufacturer design precise timed failure into every pair?

 

I smell a rat.

 

the virus

 

And as I looked out, I could see that the squirrels were pixels, jumping about, chasing each other on my lawn.  Each tree across the road was a computer program all its own.  The Oak followed a set of rules that had been programed into it, the Elm, flickered in the sunlight, as if it had contacted a virus of some kind.  The entire landscape before me, already set in motion, was simply running its course, but where did I fit in?  How is it that I could be so haphazard in thought, willy-nilly in my adventures?  Suddenly I felt like a rogue, a piece of the puzzle that had run amuck.

Yet somehow, I was already running my Monday program.  I checked my emails, turned on the coffee pot and was now running my grumbling program.  At seeing no new emails, I always ran my grumbling program.  It’s what I was set to do.  As a diversion to get my mind onto something else, I just start typing.  I look around, I see that the squirrels were pixels, jumping about, chasing each other on my lawn.  Each tree across the road was a computer program all its own.  The Oak followed a set of rules that had been programed into it, the Elm, flickered in the sunlight, as if it had contacted a virus of some kind.  The entire landscape before me, already set in motion, was simply running its course, but where did I fit in?  How is it that I could be so haphazard in thought, willy-nilly in my adventures?  Suddenly I felt like a rogue, a piece of the puzzle that had run amuck.

Yet somehow, I was already running my Monday program.  I checked my emails, turned on the coffee pot and was now running my grumbling program.  At seeing no new emails, I always ran my grumbling program.  It’s what I was set to do.  As a diversion to get my mind onto something else, I just start typing.  I look around, I see that the squirrels were pixels, jumping about, chasing each other on my lawn.  Each tree across the road was a computer program all its own.  The Oak followed a set of rules that had been programed into it, the Elm, flickered in the sunlight, as if it had contacted a virus of some kind.

Yesterday's Pixels

 

Wilted as an old salad

pixels, dried and crispy

Hair is thin like pasta

what’s left, askew and wispy,

Leather shoes are broken through

as worn, as is the trail

My life’s work - is nothing new

not worthy of a tale.

I stopped to rest, a moment back

this photo can attest,

How even someone with a hat

can sometimes need a rest.

As Translated

 

No Smoking

 

It's OK, it isn't lit.

It would behoove you to know the difference

 

There is a distinct difference between the edge of the woods and the edge of the forest.

From here I can clearly see the edge of the woods.  It seems to be where the tree line and ground shrubs begin.  Up to that point it is clear.

The edge of the forest, however, appears as a dark entrance into an unknown, filled with danger, where teeth and claws await your arrival.  Wild things grow in the woods, but things grow wild in the forest.  It is no place for a fertile imagination.

 

Zobostic Corwin

Ignored by the Zookeeper

 Not on anyone's feeding schedule.

and rarely photographed.

Just Wait and See

There is a crazy lady in the neighborhood.  She has gone absolutely bonkers.  She has spread ugly rumors about people, and became so paranoid that she had surveillance cameras mounted all around her house.  She put up string all around her land identifying the boundaries of her property. 

Some of the neighbors are afraid of her.  No one really knows what sent her off the deep end, or what she might do next.

There are, of course, systems and programs in place for troubled youth, but no one knows what to do when an adult turns psycho.

Can you imagine an actual nutcase living right in your neighborhood?    

Here's the thing,  If it was her leg that had gone wonky, her neighbors would have chipped in for crutches or a wheelchair.  Had her vision turned fuzzy, folks would maybe do her shopping.  But when her melon runs amuck, no one knows what to do.  Everybody just stays on their side of the string and out of view of her cameras.

It's all very Stephen Kingish. 

 

 

While waiting for someone else

 

I have passed through many doors

Some leading to

Some heading away

All go somewhere else,

I have done so wearing jeans

suits and ties -

occasionally a hat,

Sometimes I stood in line

now and then, I walked right through –

Never have I been slid

under the mat

Refrigerate After Opening

  

You may not believe this story, but trust me when I tell you, it happened just this way.  Two friends and I were crossing Miller’s field.  This would have been about four weeks ago.  From the back, which was the view we had initially, it looked to be a full-size refrigerator just sitting abandoned in this field.  This was not something any of us expected to see.

As we came around to the front of it what shocked us was the fact that the thing was still full of food.  Not only that but everything was still very cold.  None of us could believe it.  We looked back around behind it and there lay the plug.  Nothing was plugged into anything and yet it was as if the thing had never been shut off.

The milk, the eggs in the cartons, the butter – everything was very cold.  How was this possible?  Any yes, there was ice in the icetray.

Mike took a soda from the door and popped it open.  It was cold and still very carbonated.  None of this made any sense.

Nancy snapped these pictures with her phone.

  I couldn't help myself.  I pulled out 3 Blue Bunny sandwiches and as we stood there trying to understand how any of this was possible we ate our ice cream.

As the three of us walked away, we kept trying to figure out what could have led up to this very odd refrigerator being in this field.  We never did come up with an answer, and haven't been back to see if it is still there. 

Every Ant's Nightmare

 

The entire time the realtor walked the perspective buyers through the house, no one noticed the ant in the sugar bowl.   To be fair, there were many other issues with the condition of the house that drew attention to themselves, so I can’t really fault them for not noticing such a tiny creature, rejoicing and dancing about his newfound discovery of sugar.

He was so excited to return to his little ant community and share with them the tale of such an abundance of sugar, just there for the taking.  Maybe, he thought, I should carry a grain of sugar back with me, so they can see it.  And no sooner had he thought it, he was marching along the edge of the kitchen counter, carrying the granule of sugar back to his house.

Meanwhile, color fliers and business cards were tossed onto the counter as the potential buyers made their way to the front door.  Disappointed, the realtor watched in silence as her commission fizzled away. It was the gust of air from the landing fliers on the countertop, however, that caught our ant friend off guard.  He tumbled to his left and in trying to keep his balance, lost his hold on the grain of sugar.

That evening, in his telling of the bowl full of fresh, tasty sugar, several of his uncles and a few of his aunts commented that he must be embellishing just a little.  One such uncle stood up and claimed that in all his days he had never seen such quantities of sugar as the little ant had described.

Just as the uncle had finished talking the little ant cringed, looked up – just behind the uncle and yelled… SHOE!

The uncle screamed like a little girl, and all the other ants laughed and laughed.

 

The end.

Sneezing Causes Stampedes

 

Everyone actively involved in the spirit world knows that you never, ever toast with French fries.  It’s one thing to clink glasses with wine, or brandy, but the dull thud of two fries hitting together summons such dreadful and sinister luck that you’d never believe it.

Once, in Denver Colorado, two cowboys, just goofing around, toasted using French fries.  That following evening, while playing poker, Larry drew four Jacks.  He thought for sure he had a winner and so he went all in.  His opponent had a Royal Flush and Larry lost the farm.  The other guy, the one who had toasted with the other fry, caught a nasty cold and missed going along on the cattle drive.  He was really bummed out and they never asked him to go along again.

It's all yours

 

    At one point I found myself staring at a blank screen.  I’m not sure why but I just started typing.  What you are reading right now is what I typed, and now I’m typing this part here.   I have no idea where I am headed with any of this, but so far you seem to be sticking with me.  I like that.  Either you are crazy too, or we are just both adventurous.  Let’s go with adventurous.

    Actually, I have never used that word on my resume, even though I’d consider this little excursion somewhat adventurous.  Throughout my working life my resume was always just sort of ho-hum.  It reflected a bland life, which is what I was living at the time.  I wasn’t really a risk taker, even though I tended to jump into situations that were way beyond my understanding or abilities.  (More stupid than adventurous)

    I tended to take things literally.  When I heard someone talk about a quarter horse, I expected to see some disfigured section of animal laying there, maybe looking up at me with its big, brown eyes, waiting to be put out of its misery.  To me, Big Ben was some guy walking around London telling folks what time it was.  None of my flash cards in grade school came with pictures so I just assumed.

    The problem there, of course, is I always thought there would be assault charges on anyone who struck a happy medium.  I’ve heard some people say they wish they had my brain - but trust me, it’s no picnic.  Don’t get me wrong, from a distance I come off as normal, but get too close and there is a strong chance I’ll start talking.  That’s never a good thing.

    Okay, well I can see I have ruined this blank screen.  I have filled it with gibberish and sprinkled a little nonsense here and there.  Now what do we do with it?

Zobostic Corwin
Left 2 Write

You knew someone was going to ask.

 

The Club

 The club was invented to hook onto

a car steering wheel, preventing it

from turning, and thus - 

keeping the car from being stolen.

The person who turned it into

a club sandwich was a moron.

(Although the pickles were a nice touch)

Harsh Caption

 

Game over.

But who's going to snitch?

 

 

I’m certain my spirit guide is extremely overweight.  They keep nudging me towards the cookies.  

I’m not really sure that’s allowed.

 

The Cut of your Jib

 

There is a place on Kent Street, just down from Whistler that apparently does alterations.  Not, however, on your clothes but on you.  If you are not at all happy with who you’ve become and if you can afford it, this place can alter the cut of your jib.  More than a makeover and way beyond behavior modification, they guarantee you will leave there with looks, personality and style far beyond your wildest dreams.

There are, of course, wavers to sign, documents to register and processes to go through that will curl your hair.  OK, not actually curl your hair, that’s more a figure of speech.  What I’m suggesting here is, some of the things you will be going though may shake you to your very core.  You will be scared, nervous and apprehensive.

Some people have even stopped the process part way through.  That’s nothing to be ashamed of.  If you, by choice, fail to complete the entire alteration, you will be given a partial refund and sent on your way.  Hint, if that does happen, don’t forget to have them validate your parking stub.

I asked them for some brochures that I could place on this Blog or that I could mail out to my readers, but they said they would consider that to be advertising, and they do not advertise.  Everything is by word-of-mouth, and as they can only accommodate so many people a year, they are already scheduled several months out.

 

If possible, I will try to get their email address and place it here.

 

 

Z. Corwin

Hip... Hip...

 

Waiting for the Coroner

 

There comes a certain insignificance with old age,

No longer the target of Madison Avenue,

Driving a car only accentuates how much we are in the way

Tropical destinations evolved into the closest hostess stand to your house,

Hobbies give way to the search for a decent doctor,

Priorities are adjusted according to restroom locations,

Menus are studied, instead of racing forms,

Memories of childhood become enhanced,

Fighting for what is right becomes someone else’s job,

We forget why we started this list…

Just wait outside, OK Pal?

We lost him in the woods

 

It was, in fact, a bunny.

The fur, the ears – we saw it hop,

No squirrel could trick us so.

No tree, no bee – no honey,

No turtle moving slow

It had to be a bunny.

Smaller than a horse it was

No bugeyes like a frog,

No nest above the tree line –

No taller than a log,

I swear it was a rabbit

I’ve seen pictures in a book

I even know what page they’re on

But I’d have to take a look,

My memory’s not what it was

For some, that’s hard to take,

But sure as I am standing here

I know it was a snake.

The Radish

 

It’s how they know to communicate,

They haven’t any lips –

Body language doesn’t work

They haven’t any hips,

But there are ways, the radish knows

Just how to get attention,

Some are oh so very hot…

Did I forget to mention?

They burn you as you're chewing them

So hot as they go down,

You’ll need to keep some water close

But stop – before you drown,

They love to ride the elevator

They have a hardy crunch,

They’ll ride a burp up to the top

Just to spoil lunch.

A Prize in Every Box

 

I remember it being small and inside a sealed envelope.  Even though it was just a small, plastic toy in the bottom of a cereal box, it was exciting.  It wasn’t a birthday, it wasn’t Christmas, it was just breakfast, and yet here was a present.   How clever – those cereal people.  When advertising the crunch didn’t work, or the sugar coating failed to achieve success, they stuck in a toy.  Red, plastic, maybe an action figure or a cartoon character.   It didn’t matter.  It could have been a diagram of a sneeze and we would have been happy.  It was a prize.

Being now in my 70’s, the excitement of breakfast seems to blend into thoughts of lunch, followed by conversations of "What’s for dinner?"  Thoughts of a prize have faded into the tangle of childhood memories.  The excitement is gone.  The cereal box holds only a list of ingredients, like sugars, carbs, and chemicals you wouldn’t think should be consumed.  No surprise there.

I did see a gentleman bent over, fishing around in a casket at the funeral home yesterday.  I wondered if he was hiding a prize inside.  Wouldn’t that be a hoot?

 

 

Too Heavy

 

I have just now spilled words all over this page.  Oh sure, to you – the untrained observer, you see them in straight lines, maybe even in complete sentences.  Trust me when I tell you, this is not the case.  This page is a mess.  Ink everywhere.  Nouns scattered here and there, adjectives – Hey!  Don’t get me going about the adjectives.

          And I was trying to be so careful.  I had all these words in a small cardboard box.  I think it was originally the top of a trivial pursuit game.  One corner of the box had been damaged, but I had Scotch tape on it.  I thought it was good enough to hold together.  Apparently too many of these words were heavy.  Some very heavy.

 

          We’re talking really HEAVY.

 

 

                                                Anyway, as you can see, the thing ripped.

    What a mess

The Temp Job

 

          It’s good that there are reminders, as I tend to forget that this is just a temp job.  I was put here, given one lifetime, free will and all too soon, I’ll be back at that timeclock, reaching for the card with my name on it.

          Our employee reviews are self-administered.  It is our memory that shows how many we helped along the way, as well as the things we thought we had gotten away with.  This self-review process keeps the system from clogging up and eliminates excuses and long lines.

          We’re not always crazy about the reminders, like failing vision, difficult knees, and just worn-out joints.  We’re not made to last.  Never were.  We are given what we need.  We’ve seen those who were given talent, and those who clocked-in with the gift of gab.  Each of us is different and uses what we were given in different ways.

          Me?  I was given stall tactics.  Just like the Arabian Nights, telling a different story each night, putting off death by keeping the spirit at the timeclock entertained, on the edge of their seat, hoping they forget about my timecard sticking out of the rack.