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Yankeedoodle30
“The worst mistake a writer can make is to assume everyone has an imagination and a sense of humor.”
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Misheard lyrics! Yes, of course listening to Pearl Jam's "Yellow Ledbetter" inspired this challenge! So pick a song that you just can't understand and write what you hear! Try to keep it flowing with the song so we can follow your lyrics along, and please do post a link and make sure to mention the name and artist (as we always should). Please tag me and have fun!!!! I'll do one, too!
Written by Yankeedoodle30 in portal Comedy

Huh. What did he just sing?

Why do I . . . always misinterpret song lyrics? It's gotta' have something to do with the way my synapses are always misfiring, or maybe it's some faulty brain wiring, or possibly it's a manufacturing defect and the recall notice got lost in the mail.

• On Elton John’s 4th album, Madman Across the Water, I thought he was always singing: “Hold me closer, Tony Danza”.

• When I heard Joe Cocker sing, "The Letter", I wondered why he was saying, “Give me a chicken for an air-o-plane”.

• In college, I asked my friends if they’d heard Maria Muldaur’s latest song: "Midnight after you're wasted."

• I told my girlfriend Monique, a big Beatles fan, that my favorite line in ‘Lucy in the Sky With Diamonds’ was: “The girl with colitis goes by." We broke up over that line. (just kidding but we did break up). 

• When Pink Floyd’s, Another Brick In The Wall came out, I convinced my carpool friends that the words were: “No Dukes of Hazard in the classroom.” They politely informed me, the real lyrics were: “No dark sarcasms in the classroom”.

• My wife loves Crystal Gale so I always ask her to play: "Donuts make my brown eyes blue.”

• It took me years of being lactose intolerant to figure out that The Eurythmics weren’t singing, “Sweet dreams are made of cheese.”

• In college, when I wrote for the Berkeley Barb, I wrote a review of a hit song: “Big ‘ole Jed and Lionel.” The editor was a big Steve Miller fan. That “ Big 'ol Jet Airliner” faux pas, got me fired.

• At summer camp, when I was twelve, we were taught these silly lyrics about horses and deer eating their dinner: “Mares eat oats . . . and does eat oats . . . and little lambs eat ivy.” Just to annoy the song leader, we sped up the song and it sounded like: “Maerzee dotes and dozee dotes and little lamsee divey.”

      Even back in the sixties, when my synapses were misfiring, I was listening to vinyl.           Back then, analog records were nothing more than two ounces of plastic with a hole         in the middle, and some tiny 'wiggly' grooves. 

      That’s why the hippies called the music: “Groovy”.

      Back then, not all albums had a lyric sheet so I’d have to translate the words on the           fly, as they flew by, whether they were coming from the radio or out of my hi-fi.

• In the summer of 69’, I was seriously into The Fifth Dimension. When their latest song, “The Age of Asparagus”, went to number one, I just assumed the band members had all become vegetarians.

• I was about to head off to college when Simon and Garfunkel came out with their "Scarborough Fair" album. The lyrics seemed appropriate. "Are you going to Harvard or Yale? "

• In 1978’, I thought the Stones had made a 'foodie’ album because they had a hit song called: “I'll never leave your pizza burnin'.” Years later I bought the Some Girls album that had the real lyrics: "I'll never be your beast of burden".

• I lived in the Bronx at the same time Eddie Mahoney was a cop in Brooklyn. He changed his name to Eddie Money and moved to Berkeley, CA. I thought his 1st hit song was: “I’ve got two chickens to paralyze”

• I had trouble decoding some of the Beatle’s obscure lyrics. Their first overtly political song was Revolution. I listened to it a hundred times and couldn’t figure out why John was singing about “carryin’ pictures of Jim and Al." My politically activist friend told me they was carryin’ pictures of “Chairman Mao.”

• In 1977 when Star Wars came out, “Crazy on You” by Heart, was their first big hit. I’d be drivin’ down the road, listening to AM radio, and belting out, “Crazy on you, let me pour gravy on you. "

• Don't tell anybody, but in the early eighties, I was secretly in love with Pat Benatar, back when she was the ‘Bad Girl’ of MTV. Her videos were hot, I mean steamy HOT! and I’d sing along with her: "Why don't you hit me with your pet shark . . . fire away.”

• Last but not least, REM was the first alternative rock band that I really got into. ‘Losing My Religion’ was a great song but, Michael Stipe’s silly lyrics really cracked me up when he sang: “Let’s pee in the corner, let’s pee in the spotlight.”

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Misheard lyrics! Yes, of course listening to Pearl Jam's "Yellow Ledbetter" inspired this challenge! So pick a song that you just can't understand and write what you hear! Try to keep it flowing with the song so we can follow your lyrics along, and please do post a link and make sure to mention the name and artist (as we always should). Please tag me and have fun!!!! I'll do one, too!
Written by Yankeedoodle30 in portal Comedy
Huh. What did he just sing?
Why do I . . . always misinterpret song lyrics? It's gotta' have something to do with the way my synapses are always misfiring, or maybe it's some faulty brain wiring, or possibly it's a manufacturing defect and the recall notice got lost in the mail.

• On Elton John’s 4th album, Madman Across the Water, I thought he was always singing: “Hold me closer, Tony Danza”.

• When I heard Joe Cocker sing, "The Letter", I wondered why he was saying, “Give me a chicken for an air-o-plane”.

• In college, I asked my friends if they’d heard Maria Muldaur’s latest song: "Midnight after you're wasted."

• I told my girlfriend Monique, a big Beatles fan, that my favorite line in ‘Lucy in the Sky With Diamonds’ was: “The girl with colitis goes by." We broke up over that line. (just kidding but we did break up). 

• When Pink Floyd’s, Another Brick In The Wall came out, I convinced my carpool friends that the words were: “No Dukes of Hazard in the classroom.” They politely informed me, the real lyrics were: “No dark sarcasms in the classroom”.

• My wife loves Crystal Gale so I always ask her to play: "Donuts make my brown eyes blue.”

• It took me years of being lactose intolerant to figure out that The Eurythmics weren’t singing, “Sweet dreams are made of cheese.”

• In college, when I wrote for the Berkeley Barb, I wrote a review of a hit song: “Big ‘ole Jed and Lionel.” The editor was a big Steve Miller fan. That “ Big 'ol Jet Airliner” faux pas, got me fired.

• At summer camp, when I was twelve, we were taught these silly lyrics about horses and deer eating their dinner: “Mares eat oats . . . and does eat oats . . . and little lambs eat ivy.” Just to annoy the song leader, we sped up the song and it sounded like: “Maerzee dotes and dozee dotes and little lamsee divey.”

      Even back in the sixties, when my synapses were misfiring, I was listening to vinyl.           Back then, analog records were nothing more than two ounces of plastic with a hole         in the middle, and some tiny 'wiggly' grooves. 
      That’s why the hippies called the music: “Groovy”.

      Back then, not all albums had a lyric sheet so I’d have to translate the words on the           fly, as they flew by, whether they were coming from the radio or out of my hi-fi.

• In the summer of 69’, I was seriously into The Fifth Dimension. When their latest song, “The Age of Asparagus”, went to number one, I just assumed the band members had all become vegetarians.

• I was about to head off to college when Simon and Garfunkel came out with their "Scarborough Fair" album. The lyrics seemed appropriate. "Are you going to Harvard or Yale? "

• In 1978’, I thought the Stones had made a 'foodie’ album because they had a hit song called: “I'll never leave your pizza burnin'.” Years later I bought the Some Girls album that had the real lyrics: "I'll never be your beast of burden".

• I lived in the Bronx at the same time Eddie Mahoney was a cop in Brooklyn. He changed his name to Eddie Money and moved to Berkeley, CA. I thought his 1st hit song was: “I’ve got two chickens to paralyze”

• I had trouble decoding some of the Beatle’s obscure lyrics. Their first overtly political song was Revolution. I listened to it a hundred times and couldn’t figure out why John was singing about “carryin’ pictures of Jim and Al." My politically activist friend told me they was carryin’ pictures of “Chairman Mao.”

• In 1977 when Star Wars came out, “Crazy on You” by Heart, was their first big hit. I’d be drivin’ down the road, listening to AM radio, and belting out, “Crazy on you, let me pour gravy on you. "

• Don't tell anybody, but in the early eighties, I was secretly in love with Pat Benatar, back when she was the ‘Bad Girl’ of MTV. Her videos were hot, I mean steamy HOT! and I’d sing along with her: "Why don't you hit me with your pet shark . . . fire away.”


• Last but not least, REM was the first alternative rock band that I really got into. ‘Losing My Religion’ was a great song but, Michael Stipe’s silly lyrics really cracked me up when he sang: “Let’s pee in the corner, let’s pee in the spotlight.”
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Written by Yankeedoodle30 in portal Comedy

. . . To Fast Food or Not To Fast Food . . . That's not even the question.

My best friend called me the other day. “Hey bro, I’m really sorry to hear about your Dad.” 

My dad was seventy when he died. I told my friend, “We always told him fast food would kill him, and it did.”

“Really sorry bro, was it a heart attack?”

“No, nothing like that, he was hit by a Pizza Express truck.”

I heard my friend choke back tears, “ Well at least he enjoyed life in the fast food lane while he was alive.”

I chuckled. “Yeah, I guess that’s true. You know when I was little, my Dad used to tell me, the journey of a thousand pounds begins with a single burger. That was his way of telling me, don’t get fat.”

My friend changed the subject, “I just heard the other day on TMZ you can now you can buy a Big Mac at Disneyland.”

“Oh my gosh,” I said. “You mean you can now get a Happy Meal at the Happiest Place On Earth.”

My friend said, “Yeah, that's a bit redundant, huh?”

I responded, “I read in the New York Times they just built a new art-deco McDonalds on the highest level of the Guggenheim Museum.”

My friend responded, “Amazing the progress we’ve made, it requires a certain kind of mind to see beauty in a hamburger bun.”

“Hey man it gets worse," I said. "We now live in an age when the pizza delivery truck gets to your home before the police do.”

I told him, "In a year, you can order your KFC using an app and you won't even have to use the drive through. KFC will knock a hole in the side of the wall and shoot out your order as you drive by.”

“Hey dude, I’m hungry, wanna go get a burger and fries, I'll come pick you up."

I hesitated. “No, that’s what I had for breakfast, but I’m up for a Meat Lover's, Personal Pan Pizza at Pizza Hut and a couple pitchers of beer.”

“Lets roll guy, if we get there before noon, we can get half a dozen Cinnabon Delights for free.”

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Written by Yankeedoodle30 in portal Comedy
. . . To Fast Food or Not To Fast Food . . . That's not even the question.
My best friend called me the other day. “Hey bro, I’m really sorry to hear about your Dad.” 

My dad was seventy when he died. I told my friend, “We always told him fast food would kill him, and it did.”

“Really sorry bro, was it a heart attack?”

“No, nothing like that, he was hit by a Pizza Express truck.”

I heard my friend choke back tears, “ Well at least he enjoyed life in the fast food lane while he was alive.”

I chuckled. “Yeah, I guess that’s true. You know when I was little, my Dad used to tell me, the journey of a thousand pounds begins with a single burger. That was his way of telling me, don’t get fat.”

My friend changed the subject, “I just heard the other day on TMZ you can now you can buy a Big Mac at Disneyland.”

“Oh my gosh,” I said. “You mean you can now get a Happy Meal at the Happiest Place On Earth.”

My friend said, “Yeah, that's a bit redundant, huh?”

I responded, “I read in the New York Times they just built a new art-deco McDonalds on the highest level of the Guggenheim Museum.”

My friend responded, “Amazing the progress we’ve made, it requires a certain kind of mind to see beauty in a hamburger bun.”

“Hey man it gets worse," I said. "We now live in an age when the pizza delivery truck gets to your home before the police do.”

I told him, "In a year, you can order your KFC using an app and you won't even have to use the drive through. KFC will knock a hole in the side of the wall and shoot out your order as you drive by.”

“Hey dude, I’m hungry, wanna go get a burger and fries, I'll come pick you up."

I hesitated. “No, that’s what I had for breakfast, but I’m up for a Meat Lover's, Personal Pan Pizza at Pizza Hut and a couple pitchers of beer.”

“Lets roll guy, if we get there before noon, we can get half a dozen Cinnabon Delights for free.”
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Written by Yankeedoodle30

. . . . Faith in the written word . . .

                         The short story is very unique in

                         that it resembles the way we live

                           out our lives on a daily basis

                          From dawn to dusk, we shape

                         our lives through our hopes and

                            dreams, from sadness to joy 

                          from passion to rage and in pain

                           The longer work of the novel

                         represents the individual chapters

                           of our lives and it is the poetry

                            that we write that reveals to

                            us the ultimate goal of every

                              individual is to be loved

                               and find love in others 

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Written by Yankeedoodle30
. . . . Faith in the written word . . .
                         The short story is very unique in
                         that it resembles the way we live
                           out our lives on a daily basis

                          From dawn to dusk, we shape
                         our lives through our hopes and
                            dreams, from sadness to joy 
                          from passion to rage and in pain

                           The longer work of the novel
                         represents the individual chapters
                           of our lives and it is the poetry
                            that we write that reveals to
                            us the ultimate goal of every
                              individual is to be loved
                               and find love in others 


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Written by Yankeedoodle30

I wore out several pairs of shoes

I never know where my No. 2. pencil is going to take me; mentally, physically, spiritually. Outside the rank and file of life is mostly where I live. I stumble through life, like most of you, satisfying my curiosity. I know that everyone on the planet, at any given moment, is going through a hard time.

The other day, I decided to take a walk around the world in search of the great divine. Sometimes I walked thirsty, dusty, and dirt tired. Sometimes I was hungry or hot or cold. I walked happy, I walked sad, I walked with a stone in my shoe.

I didn’t know whom I’d meet along the way but I never walked alone. I knew whoever met me, wound never forget the man who was walking around the world. Now this world I speak of is three quarters water, so in a few places I had to take a boat, a hot air balloon or a plane, because there’s only one man I know that could walk on water.

My destination wasn’t the story, the people I met were. I talked to thousands of them and I discovered the biggest truth in the world. We may have different borders, languages and cultures, but our stories are all the same.

I wasn’t far from Jerusalem when I met a muslin man. He was trying to get to his mosque, thru a tunnel, to pray, but it was blocked by an Israeli soldier. I spoke to the soldier in the only universal language I knew; the same language the angels speak, it’s called love. I told the soldier that I was walking around the world and that all my new friend wanted to do was get to his mosque to pray. The soldier put down his rifle, smiled and stepped aside. My friend bowed and went on his way to pray. In that moment I realized, the history of the past means nothing when you travel the world in the presence of the moment.

I walked through valleys, across streams, and over hills and every hundred miles, I’d ask three questions to the first person I come to. 

I’d say: “Who are you? Where are you from? Where are you going?”

And now that I'm back home, I'm curious how all those people reading this story, right now, would you answer those same three questions?

 Who are you?                  Where are you from?                Where are you going?”

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Written by Yankeedoodle30
I wore out several pairs of shoes
I never know where my No. 2. pencil is going to take me; mentally, physically, spiritually. Outside the rank and file of life is mostly where I live. I stumble through life, like most of you, satisfying my curiosity. I know that everyone on the planet, at any given moment, is going through a hard time.

The other day, I decided to take a walk around the world in search of the great divine. Sometimes I walked thirsty, dusty, and dirt tired. Sometimes I was hungry or hot or cold. I walked happy, I walked sad, I walked with a stone in my shoe.

I didn’t know whom I’d meet along the way but I never walked alone. I knew whoever met me, wound never forget the man who was walking around the world. Now this world I speak of is three quarters water, so in a few places I had to take a boat, a hot air balloon or a plane, because there’s only one man I know that could walk on water.

My destination wasn’t the story, the people I met were. I talked to thousands of them and I discovered the biggest truth in the world. We may have different borders, languages and cultures, but our stories are all the same.

I wasn’t far from Jerusalem when I met a muslin man. He was trying to get to his mosque, thru a tunnel, to pray, but it was blocked by an Israeli soldier. I spoke to the soldier in the only universal language I knew; the same language the angels speak, it’s called love. I told the soldier that I was walking around the world and that all my new friend wanted to do was get to his mosque to pray. The soldier put down his rifle, smiled and stepped aside. My friend bowed and went on his way to pray. In that moment I realized, the history of the past means nothing when you travel the world in the presence of the moment.

I walked through valleys, across streams, and over hills and every hundred miles, I’d ask three questions to the first person I come to. 

I’d say: “Who are you? Where are you from? Where are you going?”

And now that I'm back home, I'm curious how all those people reading this story, right now, would you answer those same three questions?

 Who are you?                  Where are you from?                Where are you going?”
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Written by Yankeedoodle30

A Parable

My tenth grade teacher said, "Read and review chapters 32 and 33 for the quiz tomorrow and your book reports are due on Friday. Your dismissed. Go on kids, get out of here."

Ms. Phillips had said those words hundreds of times, I just never thought about their real meaning. What I assumed she meant was - you have been cooped up in my classroom long enough, you’re free to go. Go on, get out of here.

For most sixteen-year-old boys, those were happy words but not for me, I had been dismissed all my life. Dismiss is an odd word with many meanings; for me it could be used interchangeable with words like, cast off, discarded, brushed off, pushed aside, cast out and rejected. No matter what way a person spells dismissed, all six of those words had happened to me, more than I care to think about.

It bothered me that my teacher had also said, Go on, get out of here. Didn’t she know, the people closest to me had been yelling that at me all my life. I remember the first time; I was six. I walked into my dad’s office at home: his feet up on the desk, smoking a cigar, reading a magazine, a glass of whiskey and a bottle next to him.

He looked up and stared. He didn’t bother lowering the cover of the magazine. It had two naked women on the front. “What do you want now?”

I said, “You said you would. . . “

That was the end of my part of the discussion. “Shut up will you, I didn’t say I’d do anything for you, Go on, get out of here.”

Yesterday he had been in a good mood because he wasn’t drunk, yet. He told me when he wasn’t busy; he’d take me to town and buy me a kite. I never had a kite. I hoped he would help me assemble it and fly it.”

I made what I thought was the biggest decision of my life, right then and there, at the age of six. I would never trust my dad again with nothing important and/or not important. I was going to show him I could live without him. A month later, after my plan had been set in motion, in died in a car crash. I hated him, even more now. He had selfishly lost his own life just so I couldn’t trust him anymore. I was lost. I never cried or grieved over his death. Like I say, I was mad at him.

Only now do I realize what was really going on in my six-year-old head. It had taken me ten years to realize a simple fact of life; you cannot put a stop to something that does not exist. Another way of saying it is; you can’t be mean to somebody who is dead. To get some satisfaction from your actions. they have to be alive.

Now here was the confusing part. I had held a grudge against my dad for ten years. Now that's another word I wish had never been invented. I looked it up; there were twenty-eight words that meant the same thing as grudge. A few of them even sound more terrible like: maliciousness, bitterness and hatred. Now don’t get me started with on the word, forgive, because I found over a hundred words that mean the same thing. 

That grudge of mine had zero effect on my dad. He was dead. He couldn’t feel it, heck he was in hell, he was burning up forever. That thought didn’t make me feel good, nobody should go to hell, unless they want to of course, and I knew my dad would never choose to go to hell. He would never choose suicide either. That’s why I never considered killing my self; I was after all his son, why should I do something terrible that he would never do himself?

Then I got to thinking, remember I’m sixteen, and even though he’s dead, I’m still my father’s son, and so I looked at the situation the other way around. Why should I do all the terrible things my dad had done?

I made a mental list of all the horrible things he did to me growing up. I didn’t want to write them down, there were too many of them. At that moment, I made the biggest decision of my life because I decided, from then on, what had been done to me was now over and to prove those things no longer had power over me, all the things that had been done to me and others, I refused to do it to anyone else.

Now things were beginning to make sense. My dad had held a grudge against my Uncle Fred, as long as I could remember. He had never said a good word about his brother. I checked that off my mental list. My grudge against my father dissipated into thin air.

It was ironic; the very person I was holding a grudge against had now, somehow from his grave, taught me to never to hold a grudge.

My mental list of offenses was instantly flipped around in my mind and it all made sense. What I didn’t learn from my dad when he was alive, I was now learning from him in his death.

I guess, somehow, he was speaking to me from the grave or where ever. It was then I heard a tiny voice in my head that said, “Son, would you forgive me?” and I answered back, “Yes dad, I forgive you, and would you forgive me for all the terrible things I’ve thought about you?”

I didn’t hear an answer and I was disappointed. Why didn’t he forgive me? Maybe he didn’t know all the hateful things I had screamed and thought behind his back. Maybe he assumed I loved him but why would he think that; look at how he had treated me. He had to know that I hated him.

Three days later, I heard the voice again It was my father’s voice. he said, "God, my Father in heaven, has forgiven me for every bad thing I did to you and others." There was a pause and he said, “Of course I forgive you, you are my son."

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Written by Yankeedoodle30
A Parable


My tenth grade teacher said, "Read and review chapters 32 and 33 for the quiz tomorrow and your book reports are due on Friday. Your dismissed. Go on kids, get out of here."

Ms. Phillips had said those words hundreds of times, I just never thought about their real meaning. What I assumed she meant was - you have been cooped up in my classroom long enough, you’re free to go. Go on, get out of here.

For most sixteen-year-old boys, those were happy words but not for me, I had been dismissed all my life. Dismiss is an odd word with many meanings; for me it could be used interchangeable with words like, cast off, discarded, brushed off, pushed aside, cast out and rejected. No matter what way a person spells dismissed, all six of those words had happened to me, more than I care to think about.

It bothered me that my teacher had also said, Go on, get out of here. Didn’t she know, the people closest to me had been yelling that at me all my life. I remember the first time; I was six. I walked into my dad’s office at home: his feet up on the desk, smoking a cigar, reading a magazine, a glass of whiskey and a bottle next to him.

He looked up and stared. He didn’t bother lowering the cover of the magazine. It had two naked women on the front. “What do you want now?”

I said, “You said you would. . . “

That was the end of my part of the discussion. “Shut up will you, I didn’t say I’d do anything for you, Go on, get out of here.”

Yesterday he had been in a good mood because he wasn’t drunk, yet. He told me when he wasn’t busy; he’d take me to town and buy me a kite. I never had a kite. I hoped he would help me assemble it and fly it.”

I made what I thought was the biggest decision of my life, right then and there, at the age of six. I would never trust my dad again with nothing important and/or not important. I was going to show him I could live without him. A month later, after my plan had been set in motion, in died in a car crash. I hated him, even more now. He had selfishly lost his own life just so I couldn’t trust him anymore. I was lost. I never cried or grieved over his death. Like I say, I was mad at him.

Only now do I realize what was really going on in my six-year-old head. It had taken me ten years to realize a simple fact of life; you cannot put a stop to something that does not exist. Another way of saying it is; you can’t be mean to somebody who is dead. To get some satisfaction from your actions. they have to be alive.

Now here was the confusing part. I had held a grudge against my dad for ten years. Now that's another word I wish had never been invented. I looked it up; there were twenty-eight words that meant the same thing as grudge. A few of them even sound more terrible like: maliciousness, bitterness and hatred. Now don’t get me started with on the word, forgive, because I found over a hundred words that mean the same thing. 

That grudge of mine had zero effect on my dad. He was dead. He couldn’t feel it, heck he was in hell, he was burning up forever. That thought didn’t make me feel good, nobody should go to hell, unless they want to of course, and I knew my dad would never choose to go to hell. He would never choose suicide either. That’s why I never considered killing my self; I was after all his son, why should I do something terrible that he would never do himself?

Then I got to thinking, remember I’m sixteen, and even though he’s dead, I’m still my father’s son, and so I looked at the situation the other way around. Why should I do all the terrible things my dad had done?

I made a mental list of all the horrible things he did to me growing up. I didn’t want to write them down, there were too many of them. At that moment, I made the biggest decision of my life because I decided, from then on, what had been done to me was now over and to prove those things no longer had power over me, all the things that had been done to me and others, I refused to do it to anyone else.

Now things were beginning to make sense. My dad had held a grudge against my Uncle Fred, as long as I could remember. He had never said a good word about his brother. I checked that off my mental list. My grudge against my father dissipated into thin air.
It was ironic; the very person I was holding a grudge against had now, somehow from his grave, taught me to never to hold a grudge.

My mental list of offenses was instantly flipped around in my mind and it all made sense. What I didn’t learn from my dad when he was alive, I was now learning from him in his death.

I guess, somehow, he was speaking to me from the grave or where ever. It was then I heard a tiny voice in my head that said, “Son, would you forgive me?” and I answered back, “Yes dad, I forgive you, and would you forgive me for all the terrible things I’ve thought about you?”

I didn’t hear an answer and I was disappointed. Why didn’t he forgive me? Maybe he didn’t know all the hateful things I had screamed and thought behind his back. Maybe he assumed I loved him but why would he think that; look at how he had treated me. He had to know that I hated him.

Three days later, I heard the voice again It was my father’s voice. he said, "God, my Father in heaven, has forgiven me for every bad thing I did to you and others." There was a pause and he said, “Of course I forgive you, you are my son."










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The Sharks Have Evolved

 Why do I love this awesome team

 a logo is a start. What cooler than

a fighting shark, black, orange, teal

 and white. I like the play by play:

    “It’s Thornton for the goal!”

  Assists from Marleu to Pavelski.

 The chilly rink with the giant shark

on the ice, players skating through his

  mouth about to bite. To win a cup

   would be the best, until then the

      San Jose Sharks are the best.

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Written by Yankeedoodle30
The Sharks Have Evolved
 Why do I love this awesome team
 a logo is a start. What cooler than
a fighting shark, black, orange, teal
 and white. I like the play by play:
    “It’s Thornton for the goal!”
  Assists from Marleu to Pavelski.

 The chilly rink with the giant shark
on the ice, players skating through his
  mouth about to bite. To win a cup
   would be the best, until then the
      San Jose Sharks are the best.

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Written by Yankeedoodle30

Dodging a Bolt

I don’t remember the exact day when I was almost struck by the bolt of lightening. I just know if it had hit me on the top of my head it surely would have exited from my foot and left a large hole but instead it had missed me completely and so I did not have a hole in my foot. The people who watched the whole thing said the lightening bolt came down and hit the ground about a mile from me but I think they were wrong, it seemed much closer than that. Maybe a quarter of a mile, plus or minus. The crackle in the air caused by the electrical discharge was so loud that I had to strain to hear it. I could recognize the smell of lightening when it ionized the air but on that day I smelled nothing, which was odd since I was so close to where it struck. Perhaps the wind had blown the burnt smell away.

If I had been standing under a tree, I’m almost positive the lightening would have struck me but this was the desert and there was not a tree in sight. I wondered how the people who lived here avoided being hit by lightening. But then I realized not many people lived here so maybe the deadly lightening bolts had already taken a toll on the population and the odds were with the locals.

I walked over to my truck and retrieved my first aid kit with the Red Cross on it that looked like a thick plus sign. I spent twenty minutes trying to unlatch the lid on the small blue metal box the I took an inventory of the box; the fourth time this month. I almost found the tube of burn ointment that I always carry with me for situations exactly like this. In fact, I never left home without packing several tubes of burn ointment except this time I had been in such a hurry to outrun the storm, I forgot to re-pack pack the tube of burn ointment. I spent another half hour looking for a suitable replacement for the burn ointment. Unfortunately, since I didn’t have the ointment, I couldn’t look on the back, read the ingredients, and then match it to the other things in my first aid kit. But since I didn’t have the tube, I decided to guess as to its ingredients. I figured I had a 50/50 chance of getting it right, probably the same odds of almost getting hit by a bolt of lightening.

I found a small bottle of eyewash, an unlikely replacement for the burn ointment, but I put it into my pocket just in case I almost got hit by lightening in my eye. The bottle was small enough, about the size of the tube of ointment, that I decided from then on, I would never go anywhere without a bottle of eyewash. I put my first aid kit back under the seat of my truck and jumped in and turned the key. It was dead. I had heard of cars and trucks almost getting hit by lightening and most of them would start except for just a few. I guess my truck just happened to be one of the few. Since I knew a battery and gas were almost essential to stating the engine of a truck similar to mine, I decided to check and see if I actually had gas and a battery.

It took most of a half hour to see that I still had a battery. Half that time was spent getting the latch to work properly so I could raise up my hood up. I had recently, almost rear-ended another car and so I attributed the difficulty with the hood latch to that incident. I at my battery, I determined it was almost new and would probably easily start a vehicle similar to mine. I slammed down the hood with a loud bang. It almost smashed my fingers so I went back to the first aid kit to get some gauze and a can of Bactine. I knew the Bactine was used for injuries like stings, cuts, scrapes and burns. This time is only took ten minutes to get the latch open, because I remembered most of the details from the previous time, almost an hour ago. The roll of gauze was unopened so I put it into my pocket with the eyewash.

.

Never again would I open the hood of my truck unless I had a roll of gauze with me. I suddenly remembered, somebody lurking in the darkness had almost stolen my new battery several weeks ago. I made a mental note to myself, from now on, before I went anywhere, I’d pop the hood and make sure I still had a battery. This way, I could avoid the disappointment if my truck didn’t start. Now it was time to check to make sure I still had some gas in my tank, but before I did that, I wanted to check to see if I still had all four tires. I knew it would be almost futile to try and drive my truck if I didn’t have any tires. I walked almost the whole way around the truck and then headed back the other way.

I counted tires and had to sit down for a minute to figure out where the fifth tire came from. I had left home that morning with four tires. I had counted them so that I wouldn’t be disappointed if my truck didn’t start because the battery had almost been stolen again or it was almost out of gas again or if one of my tires was missing. I decided to count the tires again, in case my math was off a bit. I had almost graduated from high school as a math major and felt confident with my ability to add and subtract all the things that needed added and/or subtracted. This time I came up with three tires so I sat down again in almost the same spot to ponder the results of this second count. Then I remembered how to get an average of several numbers that were different from each other. So I added 3 to 5 and I got 8 and then I drew a picture on the ground with 8 tires and then I cut each tire in half and then I rubbed away four of the half tires and then put the other tires back together. Then I counted them. I had 4 complete tires which was enough to drive my truck, except they were now all cut in half so I decided not to trust the math and just take a chance getting home with just the 3 or 5 tires.

I opened the gas cap. It took me 30 minutes, most of the time spent trying to get it open, because it seemed to be locked. Then I figured out I needed the gas cap so I got in the cab of the truck. By now it was almost dark and I could almost see where I kept the gas cap key. So I wouldn’t run down the new battery by turning the cab light on, I turned the key, started the truck and drove about 17 miles to where the sun was still shining. Now I could easily see the gas cap key on the key ring that was also holding the ignition key. I took it off the key ring and put it in my pocket so I wouldn’t loose it. At that moment I realized how stupid I had been. I didn’t have to drive this far out of my way, I could have just turned on the cabin light and looked for the gas cap key. I turned the engine off. I enjoyed looking at the gauges as they went dead. Especially the gas gauge that showed it was almost full and then it slowly went down to empty. It was a good thing I had an almost full can of gas in the back just in case I almost ran out of gas. I had so many times almost run out of gas and I decided I would never do that again so anytime I went anywhere, I would bring a can of gas with me. I got out of the truck and went over to where the gas cap was. I reached into my pocket but the key had slipped so far down into my pocket, I could almost not reach it. I tried three more times and decided there was a better way to get it out so I went and got a metal coat hanger I almost never went anywhere without. I had on several occasions almost locked my keys in the truck and I needed the wire coat hanger to open the lock. I had learned this trick when a fellow with truck almost like my truck had locked his keys in his car.

I got the metal clothes hanger from behind the seat of my truck. It took me 30 minutes, most of the time was spent figuring out how the seat latch worked. I decided to leave the seat back down, I didn’t want to waste another 30 minutes of my time putting the seat back up.

I decided to take the hanger apart using a pair of pliers because I had once almost cut my hand doing something similar but for an almost different reason. My tool box was in the trunk. It took me quite a while to get my pair of pliers. Most of the time was spent getting the trunk and the toolbox open. I used the pliers to bend the end of the metal coat hanger into a hook that I was sure would almost reach deep enough into my pocket to grab my gas cap key. My first attempt at fishing for the key was almost successful except it got stuck in the bottom of my pants but I had anticipated this exact problem because it had almost happened to me several times below and so I never left the house with out having a spare metal clothes hanger. I was glad I had left the seat down until I realized I kept my spare metal clothes hanger in the toolbox of my trunk. This time it only took 20 minutes to get into the trunk and the locked toolbox. Most of that time was spent remembering the almost exact procedure necessary to open them both. I bent the wire with a smaller loop this time and went fishing again. This time I hooked the first metal coat hanger and pulled it safely outside of my pants pocket.

I finally fished the key out of my pocket and almost inserted it into the gas cap when I realized I had the wrong key. I had taken the key that opened the door to my truck. I got the right key and opened up the gas cap. It only took 30 minutes. Most of the time deciding which side went up and which side went down I knew I had a 50/50 chance of almost getting it right the first time. I didn’t get it the first time and so I went through the whole process again. When the cap was unlocked, it came off quite easily until it got stuck. I remembered the last time I filled it with gas in town, I had needed a hammer to hit it and open it. The hammer was in the truck in the toolbox. Ten minutes latter I had the hammer in hand and was pounding on the gas cap, I almost had it open when the hammer handle broke. I was glad I had a spare hammer. I had decided long ago never to go anywhere without having a spare hammer. It was behind the seat and I was happy I had not almost flipped the seat back up. I got the hammer and it took only another ten hits until the gas cap popped off. I put the spare hammer back in the trunk and the toolbox since this spare hammer had now graduated up to the status of prime hammer.

I didn’t keep track of how much time it took to put it back in the tool box in the truck but it seemed almost as long as the first time. The hole going into the tank was dark so I decided to get my flashlight that luckily was not in the toolbox locked in my trunk. I knew almost exactly where it was. It was at home on the windowsill of my kitchen. I figured I could drive home and be back in almost an hour, maybe less. Two hours latter I was back with the flashlight. Most of the time spent going down the wrong road for 30 minutes and then coming back in another 30 minutes. I shined the flashlight down into the tank. I couldn’t see anything because the pipe almost made a 90-degree turn into the tank. I decided I would get out my primary metal clothes hanger and use it to see how much gas I had. This time it took only 5 minutes to get into the toolbox locked inside the trunk. And another 5 minutes to get the pliers out of the toolbox. I bent the wire almost perfectly to fit the curvature of the gas line and inserted it. It went almost all the way to the bottom of the tank and then I pulled it out. The end of the metal coat hanger was almost completely dry. I decided to wait an hour before I would try this test again to make sure the metal coat hanger was almost completely dry. An hour latter I did the test again and pulled it out except it got stuck so I went and got the spare metal coat hanger and use it to get the first metal coat hanger out. The end was completely dry this time. So I decided that I must be almost out of gas and that’s why the truck wouldn’t start. I was glad I had some water and a sleeping bag in the trunk of my car and so I had almost unrolled the sleeping bag and got the cap almost off the bottle of water. I knew that in order to survive a night in the desert required the essentials. Shelter, heat, water, food, a sleeping bag, a compass, and an unbroken mirror. I almost had all these items except for the compass. Now my odds of surviving the night had just gone down. I decided to look for a warm and dry shelter because I heard thunder clouding booms off in the distance. I searched the area for almost several hours, and then skipped the shelter part, knowing I could always crawl under the truck if I had to.

Now I needed heat. I had matches and wood in the truck of my car. I had long ago decided never to go any where with out matches and wood in my trunk. Half an hour later I had almost started a fire but the wind kept me from lighting almost all of my matches. I was down to my last match so I decided to get inside my truck, away from the bone chilling wind and try and start a fire. I almost got the fire going until the seat caught on fire. I had to use all my water to put it out. The smoke was so thick in the cab, I almost passed out so I rolled down both windows and waited until the smoke cleared. My food, that was under the seat had also burned up. But luckily I still had my unbroken mirror and my sleeping bag. I put up almost all of the windows when it started raining. I jumped into my sleeping bag and rolled under the truck. I felt good. I had fought the law of nature and I had won.

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Written by Yankeedoodle30
Dodging a Bolt

I don’t remember the exact day when I was almost struck by the bolt of lightening. I just know if it had hit me on the top of my head it surely would have exited from my foot and left a large hole but instead it had missed me completely and so I did not have a hole in my foot. The people who watched the whole thing said the lightening bolt came down and hit the ground about a mile from me but I think they were wrong, it seemed much closer than that. Maybe a quarter of a mile, plus or minus. The crackle in the air caused by the electrical discharge was so loud that I had to strain to hear it. I could recognize the smell of lightening when it ionized the air but on that day I smelled nothing, which was odd since I was so close to where it struck. Perhaps the wind had blown the burnt smell away.

If I had been standing under a tree, I’m almost positive the lightening would have struck me but this was the desert and there was not a tree in sight. I wondered how the people who lived here avoided being hit by lightening. But then I realized not many people lived here so maybe the deadly lightening bolts had already taken a toll on the population and the odds were with the locals.

I walked over to my truck and retrieved my first aid kit with the Red Cross on it that looked like a thick plus sign. I spent twenty minutes trying to unlatch the lid on the small blue metal box the I took an inventory of the box; the fourth time this month. I almost found the tube of burn ointment that I always carry with me for situations exactly like this. In fact, I never left home without packing several tubes of burn ointment except this time I had been in such a hurry to outrun the storm, I forgot to re-pack pack the tube of burn ointment. I spent another half hour looking for a suitable replacement for the burn ointment. Unfortunately, since I didn’t have the ointment, I couldn’t look on the back, read the ingredients, and then match it to the other things in my first aid kit. But since I didn’t have the tube, I decided to guess as to its ingredients. I figured I had a 50/50 chance of getting it right, probably the same odds of almost getting hit by a bolt of lightening.

I found a small bottle of eyewash, an unlikely replacement for the burn ointment, but I put it into my pocket just in case I almost got hit by lightening in my eye. The bottle was small enough, about the size of the tube of ointment, that I decided from then on, I would never go anywhere without a bottle of eyewash. I put my first aid kit back under the seat of my truck and jumped in and turned the key. It was dead. I had heard of cars and trucks almost getting hit by lightening and most of them would start except for just a few. I guess my truck just happened to be one of the few. Since I knew a battery and gas were almost essential to stating the engine of a truck similar to mine, I decided to check and see if I actually had gas and a battery.

It took most of a half hour to see that I still had a battery. Half that time was spent getting the latch to work properly so I could raise up my hood up. I had recently, almost rear-ended another car and so I attributed the difficulty with the hood latch to that incident. I at my battery, I determined it was almost new and would probably easily start a vehicle similar to mine. I slammed down the hood with a loud bang. It almost smashed my fingers so I went back to the first aid kit to get some gauze and a can of Bactine. I knew the Bactine was used for injuries like stings, cuts, scrapes and burns. This time is only took ten minutes to get the latch open, because I remembered most of the details from the previous time, almost an hour ago. The roll of gauze was unopened so I put it into my pocket with the eyewash.
.
Never again would I open the hood of my truck unless I had a roll of gauze with me. I suddenly remembered, somebody lurking in the darkness had almost stolen my new battery several weeks ago. I made a mental note to myself, from now on, before I went anywhere, I’d pop the hood and make sure I still had a battery. This way, I could avoid the disappointment if my truck didn’t start. Now it was time to check to make sure I still had some gas in my tank, but before I did that, I wanted to check to see if I still had all four tires. I knew it would be almost futile to try and drive my truck if I didn’t have any tires. I walked almost the whole way around the truck and then headed back the other way.

I counted tires and had to sit down for a minute to figure out where the fifth tire came from. I had left home that morning with four tires. I had counted them so that I wouldn’t be disappointed if my truck didn’t start because the battery had almost been stolen again or it was almost out of gas again or if one of my tires was missing. I decided to count the tires again, in case my math was off a bit. I had almost graduated from high school as a math major and felt confident with my ability to add and subtract all the things that needed added and/or subtracted. This time I came up with three tires so I sat down again in almost the same spot to ponder the results of this second count. Then I remembered how to get an average of several numbers that were different from each other. So I added 3 to 5 and I got 8 and then I drew a picture on the ground with 8 tires and then I cut each tire in half and then I rubbed away four of the half tires and then put the other tires back together. Then I counted them. I had 4 complete tires which was enough to drive my truck, except they were now all cut in half so I decided not to trust the math and just take a chance getting home with just the 3 or 5 tires.

I opened the gas cap. It took me 30 minutes, most of the time spent trying to get it open, because it seemed to be locked. Then I figured out I needed the gas cap so I got in the cab of the truck. By now it was almost dark and I could almost see where I kept the gas cap key. So I wouldn’t run down the new battery by turning the cab light on, I turned the key, started the truck and drove about 17 miles to where the sun was still shining. Now I could easily see the gas cap key on the key ring that was also holding the ignition key. I took it off the key ring and put it in my pocket so I wouldn’t loose it. At that moment I realized how stupid I had been. I didn’t have to drive this far out of my way, I could have just turned on the cabin light and looked for the gas cap key. I turned the engine off. I enjoyed looking at the gauges as they went dead. Especially the gas gauge that showed it was almost full and then it slowly went down to empty. It was a good thing I had an almost full can of gas in the back just in case I almost ran out of gas. I had so many times almost run out of gas and I decided I would never do that again so anytime I went anywhere, I would bring a can of gas with me. I got out of the truck and went over to where the gas cap was. I reached into my pocket but the key had slipped so far down into my pocket, I could almost not reach it. I tried three more times and decided there was a better way to get it out so I went and got a metal coat hanger I almost never went anywhere without. I had on several occasions almost locked my keys in the truck and I needed the wire coat hanger to open the lock. I had learned this trick when a fellow with truck almost like my truck had locked his keys in his car.

I got the metal clothes hanger from behind the seat of my truck. It took me 30 minutes, most of the time was spent figuring out how the seat latch worked. I decided to leave the seat back down, I didn’t want to waste another 30 minutes of my time putting the seat back up.

I decided to take the hanger apart using a pair of pliers because I had once almost cut my hand doing something similar but for an almost different reason. My tool box was in the trunk. It took me quite a while to get my pair of pliers. Most of the time was spent getting the trunk and the toolbox open. I used the pliers to bend the end of the metal coat hanger into a hook that I was sure would almost reach deep enough into my pocket to grab my gas cap key. My first attempt at fishing for the key was almost successful except it got stuck in the bottom of my pants but I had anticipated this exact problem because it had almost happened to me several times below and so I never left the house with out having a spare metal clothes hanger. I was glad I had left the seat down until I realized I kept my spare metal clothes hanger in the toolbox of my trunk. This time it only took 20 minutes to get into the trunk and the locked toolbox. Most of that time was spent remembering the almost exact procedure necessary to open them both. I bent the wire with a smaller loop this time and went fishing again. This time I hooked the first metal coat hanger and pulled it safely outside of my pants pocket.

I finally fished the key out of my pocket and almost inserted it into the gas cap when I realized I had the wrong key. I had taken the key that opened the door to my truck. I got the right key and opened up the gas cap. It only took 30 minutes. Most of the time deciding which side went up and which side went down I knew I had a 50/50 chance of almost getting it right the first time. I didn’t get it the first time and so I went through the whole process again. When the cap was unlocked, it came off quite easily until it got stuck. I remembered the last time I filled it with gas in town, I had needed a hammer to hit it and open it. The hammer was in the truck in the toolbox. Ten minutes latter I had the hammer in hand and was pounding on the gas cap, I almost had it open when the hammer handle broke. I was glad I had a spare hammer. I had decided long ago never to go anywhere without having a spare hammer. It was behind the seat and I was happy I had not almost flipped the seat back up. I got the hammer and it took only another ten hits until the gas cap popped off. I put the spare hammer back in the trunk and the toolbox since this spare hammer had now graduated up to the status of prime hammer.

I didn’t keep track of how much time it took to put it back in the tool box in the truck but it seemed almost as long as the first time. The hole going into the tank was dark so I decided to get my flashlight that luckily was not in the toolbox locked in my trunk. I knew almost exactly where it was. It was at home on the windowsill of my kitchen. I figured I could drive home and be back in almost an hour, maybe less. Two hours latter I was back with the flashlight. Most of the time spent going down the wrong road for 30 minutes and then coming back in another 30 minutes. I shined the flashlight down into the tank. I couldn’t see anything because the pipe almost made a 90-degree turn into the tank. I decided I would get out my primary metal clothes hanger and use it to see how much gas I had. This time it took only 5 minutes to get into the toolbox locked inside the trunk. And another 5 minutes to get the pliers out of the toolbox. I bent the wire almost perfectly to fit the curvature of the gas line and inserted it. It went almost all the way to the bottom of the tank and then I pulled it out. The end of the metal coat hanger was almost completely dry. I decided to wait an hour before I would try this test again to make sure the metal coat hanger was almost completely dry. An hour latter I did the test again and pulled it out except it got stuck so I went and got the spare metal coat hanger and use it to get the first metal coat hanger out. The end was completely dry this time. So I decided that I must be almost out of gas and that’s why the truck wouldn’t start. I was glad I had some water and a sleeping bag in the trunk of my car and so I had almost unrolled the sleeping bag and got the cap almost off the bottle of water. I knew that in order to survive a night in the desert required the essentials. Shelter, heat, water, food, a sleeping bag, a compass, and an unbroken mirror. I almost had all these items except for the compass. Now my odds of surviving the night had just gone down. I decided to look for a warm and dry shelter because I heard thunder clouding booms off in the distance. I searched the area for almost several hours, and then skipped the shelter part, knowing I could always crawl under the truck if I had to.

Now I needed heat. I had matches and wood in the truck of my car. I had long ago decided never to go any where with out matches and wood in my trunk. Half an hour later I had almost started a fire but the wind kept me from lighting almost all of my matches. I was down to my last match so I decided to get inside my truck, away from the bone chilling wind and try and start a fire. I almost got the fire going until the seat caught on fire. I had to use all my water to put it out. The smoke was so thick in the cab, I almost passed out so I rolled down both windows and waited until the smoke cleared. My food, that was under the seat had also burned up. But luckily I still had my unbroken mirror and my sleeping bag. I put up almost all of the windows when it started raining. I jumped into my sleeping bag and rolled under the truck. I felt good. I had fought the law of nature and I had won.



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A beautiful ugly

  

By traditional standards, he was an ugly child. There was plenty of beauty in the modern world, but it had passed him by without notice. It was as if he had been hiding under the bed when the standard good looks were passed out.

A month before he was born, his dad was killed. A month after he was born, his mother died of a broken heart. Looking back on that day, he remembered both crying and smiling. For him, it was the beginning and end of his life. He had never his daddy’s son, he had never become mama’s boy. What would become of him, the only child his mother had left behind?

In his mind, he crawled among the ruins every day. Every night, when he went to sleep, he would weep. Growing up, he was no stranger to rejection. He asked himself every day, why was he made so ugly. The bathroom mirror was his worst friend. He eventually learned to stop asking the question and struck out on his own to find the answer, and he did find what he was looking for.

He learned that he was born a poet. An ugly poet, but never the less, a poet. He somehow knew he was born with a knowledge of poetry, because the lub-dub of his mother's heart was in iambic meter and so he came by it naturally.

Initially, all the things he wanted to be in life, he achieved through his daydreams.

He’d been:

a puppet,

a pauper,

a pirate,

a poet,

a pawn

and a king.

But it wasn’t enough, cause it wasn’t real, it was only make believe. Then life slowly started to choke the poetry out of him. He began to dream when he was awake and he dwelled and pondered on his own birth and death.

When he was thirteen, at a school assembly, he read his favorite poem aloud. It was titled: My First Toy. After only two lines, he noticed silhouettes and moving shadows in the exits. He stopped reading in mid sentence, the students and teachers were leaving en mass. He began reading again, within minutes, he was reading aloud to himself but he was by now, resilient and so he picked himself up and got back in the race.

At that very moment, standing alone in an empty auditorium, a sudden bit of goodness taped him on my head. It flowed the eighteen inches down to his heart and soul and from that day on, he was different. Different than any other person, yet the same. He had rejoined the human race.

Don’t pity him or me, he is and I am, who we are because of the difficulties we went through growing up. We are survivors, we never gave up and you shouldn’t either.

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Written by Yankeedoodle30
A beautiful ugly
  

By traditional standards, he was an ugly child. There was plenty of beauty in the modern world, but it had passed him by without notice. It was as if he had been hiding under the bed when the standard good looks were passed out.

A month before he was born, his dad was killed. A month after he was born, his mother died of a broken heart. Looking back on that day, he remembered both crying and smiling. For him, it was the beginning and end of his life. He had never his daddy’s son, he had never become mama’s boy. What would become of him, the only child his mother had left behind?

In his mind, he crawled among the ruins every day. Every night, when he went to sleep, he would weep. Growing up, he was no stranger to rejection. He asked himself every day, why was he made so ugly. The bathroom mirror was his worst friend. He eventually learned to stop asking the question and struck out on his own to find the answer, and he did find what he was looking for.

He learned that he was born a poet. An ugly poet, but never the less, a poet. He somehow knew he was born with a knowledge of poetry, because the lub-dub of his mother's heart was in iambic meter and so he came by it naturally.

Initially, all the things he wanted to be in life, he achieved through his daydreams.

He’d been:
a puppet,
a pauper,
a pirate,
a poet,
a pawn
and a king.

But it wasn’t enough, cause it wasn’t real, it was only make believe. Then life slowly started to choke the poetry out of him. He began to dream when he was awake and he dwelled and pondered on his own birth and death.

When he was thirteen, at a school assembly, he read his favorite poem aloud. It was titled: My First Toy. After only two lines, he noticed silhouettes and moving shadows in the exits. He stopped reading in mid sentence, the students and teachers were leaving en mass. He began reading again, within minutes, he was reading aloud to himself but he was by now, resilient and so he picked himself up and got back in the race.

At that very moment, standing alone in an empty auditorium, a sudden bit of goodness taped him on my head. It flowed the eighteen inches down to his heart and soul and from that day on, he was different. Different than any other person, yet the same. He had rejoined the human race.

Don’t pity him or me, he is and I am, who we are because of the difficulties we went through growing up. We are survivors, we never gave up and you shouldn’t either.


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A-White-Elephant-Exchange-Challenge-of-Sorts. Pick a discarded, worn out or unusable idea you've had for a story or poem and re-gift it to someone you know can breath new life into it! In the comments, tag the person along with the idea you are giving them. That person then has the option of completing the challenge and creating a new topic for someone else...or re-gifting the idea! I'll issue out the first topic and we may go from there. Tag me as well, if you wish. #whiteelephanttales
Written by Yankeedoodle30 in portal Poetry & Free Verse

Re-gifted idea #1 for: Kimba

Love can appear in a rainbow of different tones:

the magenta hues of passionate erotic love

the healing green rays of compassionate wisdom

the golden glow of friendship 

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A-White-Elephant-Exchange-Challenge-of-Sorts. Pick a discarded, worn out or unusable idea you've had for a story or poem and re-gift it to someone you know can breath new life into it! In the comments, tag the person along with the idea you are giving them. That person then has the option of completing the challenge and creating a new topic for someone else...or re-gifting the idea! I'll issue out the first topic and we may go from there. Tag me as well, if you wish. #whiteelephanttales
Written by Yankeedoodle30 in portal Poetry & Free Verse
Re-gifted idea #1 for: Kimba
Love can appear in a rainbow of different tones:

the magenta hues of passionate erotic love

the healing green rays of compassionate wisdom

the golden glow of friendship 
8
1
3
Juice
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Explain to the one you love why you will not be joining them in the afterlife...
Written by Yankeedoodle30 in portal Poetry & Free Verse

Get ready to wax and polish the pole

My dear @dLYNX, (the one I love for this challenge). I assume your talking about the “Afterlife Night Club” down on 17th Ave. and Irving, that used to be called, the Sapphire Lounge except the new owners, forgot to change the sign. I know, it’s kind of a seedy part of town but they blast out the best grooves. The best part is, after 10:00 pm the drinks are not watered down and all the pretty strippers, under forty, shake it and dance the pole.

Bad news is, I can’t make it tonight, so you’ll have to find another escort. Me and the boys

are gonna’ kidnap an heiress and threaten her with a knife, no, just kidding.

Actually I gotta’ wait for the cable guy to show up. I have a 12 hour window. No, no, no, I’m not that dumb; the window is only 2 hours.

Me and the boys decided to make an overnight road trip to Arizona, to find an Indian Guru to show us the inner light. Scratch that; I ain’t got no gas and my friends are broke.

It’s actual serious business, Hon; I have a late appointment with the vice president of US Bank; seems my bank account swelled while I was dreaming last night. Fat chance!

No, I'm gonna' get in a little midnight-post-Christmas shopping. Uncle Henry wants a solar heated kidney shaped pool, maybe he’ll settle for a microwave oven (kids -don't watch the food cook). I hope I can get a used Dyna-Gym for that BBW (Big Beautiful Waitress) down at the Afterlife, and I've been looking for a king-size unsinkable Molly Brown waterbed with polybendum, for my nephew and niece, the newlywed couple, on my mother's side.

My loose living little brother, Vinny the Snake, needs another  year's supply of antibiotics, and I don't know where to look for a dream date in kneepads with Paul Williams, for my Aunt Maud - she's on her fourth mid-life crisis.

And finally, for my son, Yankee Doodle Jr. (he has his drivers permit but he still can’t drive; I want to get him his first used car, that actually runs. He's very suspicious and superstitious as well, so the car brand has to start with the capital M.  That really narrows down the field to: a used Matador, a Maverick, a Mustang, a Montego, a Merc Montclair, a Mark IV, a Mercedes, or a Mazda. 

So you can see Lovey Dovey Honey Bunch; I’ll be busy until at least 12:30am. I’ll drop by the club and see if your still giving away free lap dances. I don’t know why you do that, you never let me have free lap dances at home.

Disclaimer: No stripper poles were harmed in any way during the writing of this story.

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Explain to the one you love why you will not be joining them in the afterlife...
Written by Yankeedoodle30 in portal Poetry & Free Verse
Get ready to wax and polish the pole
My dear @dLYNX, (the one I love for this challenge). I assume your talking about the “Afterlife Night Club” down on 17th Ave. and Irving, that used to be called, the Sapphire Lounge except the new owners, forgot to change the sign. I know, it’s kind of a seedy part of town but they blast out the best grooves. The best part is, after 10:00 pm the drinks are not watered down and all the pretty strippers, under forty, shake it and dance the pole.

Bad news is, I can’t make it tonight, so you’ll have to find another escort. Me and the boys
are gonna’ kidnap an heiress and threaten her with a knife, no, just kidding.

Actually I gotta’ wait for the cable guy to show up. I have a 12 hour window. No, no, no, I’m not that dumb; the window is only 2 hours.

Me and the boys decided to make an overnight road trip to Arizona, to find an Indian Guru to show us the inner light. Scratch that; I ain’t got no gas and my friends are broke.

It’s actual serious business, Hon; I have a late appointment with the vice president of US Bank; seems my bank account swelled while I was dreaming last night. Fat chance!

No, I'm gonna' get in a little midnight-post-Christmas shopping. Uncle Henry wants a solar heated kidney shaped pool, maybe he’ll settle for a microwave oven (kids -don't watch the food cook). I hope I can get a used Dyna-Gym for that BBW (Big Beautiful Waitress) down at the Afterlife, and I've been looking for a king-size unsinkable Molly Brown waterbed with polybendum, for my nephew and niece, the newlywed couple, on my mother's side.

My loose living little brother, Vinny the Snake, needs another  year's supply of antibiotics, and I don't know where to look for a dream date in kneepads with Paul Williams, for my Aunt Maud - she's on her fourth mid-life crisis.

And finally, for my son, Yankee Doodle Jr. (he has his drivers permit but he still can’t drive; I want to get him his first used car, that actually runs. He's very suspicious and superstitious as well, so the car brand has to start with the capital M.  That really narrows down the field to: a used Matador, a Maverick, a Mustang, a Montego, a Merc Montclair, a Mark IV, a Mercedes, or a Mazda. 

So you can see Lovey Dovey Honey Bunch; I’ll be busy until at least 12:30am. I’ll drop by the club and see if your still giving away free lap dances. I don’t know why you do that, you never let me have free lap dances at home.

Disclaimer: No stripper poles were harmed in any way during the writing of this story.
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Juice
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