Hey! I Have A Question….

Dance Time!

I had totally forgotten this song until the other day when the line “I don’t want your money honey I want your love” popped into my head. So I had to search the web and found the Uber-trashy, NOT punk by any stretch of the imagination,  Transvision Vamp. This was their only decent song and I dedicate it to Alien Boy and who ever else has a nice 6 pack and smile….if I was clever I could have put together a vid of my own with said 6 packs and Alien Boys wafting across the screen to the music. Alas, I have no time for such japes so you’ll just have to make do with the wonderfully trashy Transvision Vamp…..

Himself and the Girl Next Door

A little Irish humour wafts up from the floor…I based this on the only joke I know – or at least, can remember.

Himself went into Confession, and knelt in the Holy stall.
He said, “Father, forgive me, for I have sinned – shall I start with the great or the small?”
The Father said, “Now listen, son, I’ll tell you where to begin,
We’ll save the best for last, and you start with the smaller sin.”

“Well, Father, me brother has a farm, and he brings me meat for me dish,
And I eat it on a Friday, for, God Help Me, I can’t stand fish.”
“Now God doesn’t care,” the Father said, “if the man owns a couple of dairies.
You can’t eat fish on a Friday, so that’ll be three Hail Marys.

Now tell me about the other sin, though I fear for the state of your soul.
If it’s any worse than the first one, you’re looking at Hell’s black hole.”
So Himself said, “It’s my neighbor, she looks like that Sharon Stone,
“With lovely blonde hair and a killer shape, and she just won’t leave me alone.

“Each day when I’m making my dinner, I see her out on her lawn,
“And, Father I swear she has nothing at all but little bikini pants on.
“She’s giving me lustful thoughts, and Father, I’m in such a state,
“For here I am a married man with more than enough on me plate.

“I’m having to fend for meself these days, while me wife is at her mothers’,
“The old lady’s sick, and the worst of it is, me wife has four big brothers.”
The Father scratched his chin, and then he nodded and said,
“Three Hail Marys is not enough, I’ve got to get into your head.

“There’s a trick we priests have often used, which I’ll pass on to you,
“You say to yourself these powerful words, until you believe it is true –
“’You’re not a lovely young girl, says you, you’re a withered and wrinkled old crone.’
“If it worked for me with Sophia Loren, it’ll work with this Sharon Stone.”

Next Friday came and the Father was passing down the street.
He thought he’d call in and see if Himself was eating meat.
The door was standing open, so the Father went inside,
And found your man in the kitchen, and crept up to his side.

Himself was cooking his dinner as out of the window he stared,
At a lovely young woman sunning herself, and his lips were moving in prayer.
And this is what the Father heard, as Himself reached for the dish…
“By the Holy Crook of St Patrick, you’re not a steak, you’re a fish.”

Gail Kavanagh

Pirate Women Need Only Respond

Just hanging out…and and looking to have some fun

You know…

FUN.

As in not taking every little thing in life seriously.

Except for things like

Alien Boy

and

those guys from CSI

and Pirate Songs.

Of which the world needs more of.

So if you can’t sing, guzzle Margaritas and duct tape skinny Scotsman to trees with a hangover in your left eye…um…sing, guzzle Margaritas and borrow some tape from Lori or Jane, Heaven knows they’ve got plenty because Cle is always stealing MINE and giving it to THEM.

Ha.

Like I couldn’t figure it out.

So cheers, and if anyone knows where the floor is, be so kind as to point me in the right direction.

Thank You.

A.M.

“The Pirates That Don’t Do Anything”

we are the pirates we don’t do anything
we just stay at home, and lie around
and if you ask us, to do anything
we’ll just tell you, we don’t do anything

well I’ve never been to Greenland
and I’ve never been to Denver
and I’ve never buried treasure in ST Louie or ST Paul
and I’ve never been to Moscow
and I’ve never been to Tampa
and I’ve never been to Boston in the fall

we are the pirates we don’t do anything
we just stay at home, and lie around
and if you ask us, to do anything
we’ll just tell you, we don’t do anything

and I’ve never hoist the main sail
and I’ve never swabbed the poop deck
and I’ve never veered starboard, cause I’ve never sailed at all
and I’ve never walked the gang plank
and I’ve never owned a parrot.
and I’ve never been to Boston in the fall

we are the pirates we don’t do anything
we just stay at home, and lie around
and if you ask us, to do anything
we’ll just tell you, we don’t do anything

I’ve never plucked a rooster
and I am not too good at ping-pong
and I’ve never thrown my mashed potatoes up against the wall
and I’ve never kissed a chipmunk,
and I’ve never gotten head lice
and I have never been to Boston in the fall

(pirate captains log 2002
who be this band relient k
and why they be so full of contradictions)

we don’t know what he did
but we’re down with captain kidd
we don’t wake up before lunch
but we all eat captain crunch
we don’t smoke, we don’t chew
we watch captain kangaroo

and I’ve never licked a spark-plug
and I’ve never sniffed a stink bug
and I’ve never painted Daisies on a big red rubber ball
and I’ve never bathed in yogurt
and I don’t look good in leggings
and I’ve never been to Boston in the fall

we are the pirates who don’t do anything
we just stay at home, and lie around
and if you ask us, to do anything
we’ll just tell you, we don’t do anything

we are the pirates we don’t do anything
we just stay at home, and lie around
and if you ask us, to do anything
we’ll just tell you, we don’t do anything

The Were Pen’s Gift

   Were Pen was hovering madly like a possessed bee.  She was so angry she was spitting ink and making quite a mess. 

   “What’s the matter now?” I asked warily.

   “You – I – you have the nerve to ask what’s wrong. As if you didn’t know.”

   “All I know is you’re acting weird, even for you.  What’s wrong?”

   “I just think it’s unfair, that’s all.”

   “What’s unfair?”

   “The way you represent me in the Were Pen stories.  Like I’m some mean old muse, a wicked writing witch with a whip (which is hard to say fast 3 times in a row, BTW).  Sure, Gertie gets to be the wise woman everyone loves, with her cozy quilts and her china teacups, but they just think I’m out to aggravate you, to “really sock it to you.”

   “If the shank fits…”

   “I may say one or two tiny harsh words, just to keep you on track, but let’s balance the picture a little.  I’ve got a good side, too.”

   “I know,” I agreed.

   “Then why don’t you tell all those readers about the good things I’ve given you.”

   “Such as?”

   “Well, what about that very special present, that pebble in your pocket.”

   I instinctively reached into my pocket a touched the smooth river stone.  “Yes, that is a very precious gift, something I try to appreciate each day, and when I forget, it’s a good reminder.  I owe you, Were Pen, and I will tell all Lemuria.”

   The Were Pen became still, and seemed to take on a brighter shine, as I told the story of the Pocket of OK…

 

    “Once upon a time, there was a woman who worried too much.  She was afraid she wasn’t good enough, smart enough, brave enough, talented enough – you get the picture.  She knew bad things happened to good people and she hoped it wouldn’t be her turn any time soon.  So one day, as the woman, whose name was Kezza, sat trying to think of something to write in her journal, she thought, “The Muse must hate me! Or worse – the Muse doesn’t know I’m alive and trying to channel some inspiration!  Or worst – She knows and she doesn’t care because she thinks I’m no good, I’ll never be a writer, or an artist, or even a good email buddy…”

   As she sat there, writing a few words and crossing them out despondently, she heard a voice.  “Hey, take it easy!”

   “Who said that?” she asked.

   “Me.  Your pen.  Your Were Pen, to be exact.”

   “Were Pen?  Like a Were Wolf?”

   “Yes, or like Ged’s magic blue were light in Ursula K. LeGuin’s Earthsea Trilogy.”

   “So you’re magic?”

   “I like to think so,” replied the Were Pen.

   “Can you help me with creativity?” Kezza asked.  “Help me get inspired?”

   “I can do more than that.  I can give you a priceless gift.”

   “What do I have to do?”

   “Just close your eyes and open your hand.”  I did.  I felt something small and hard and round and smooth placed into my palm.  “Open your eyes.” I did, and I saw a small worn river stone, marked with one word, written in bold black ink.  It said “OK”.”

   “’OK’?  I don’t understand.”

   “I am giving you this gift to remind you of this simple message:  Everything is, or is going to be, OK.  You, as a person, your life, your writing, is, or will be, OK.  You may not realize every dream, or travel to all the places you wanted to, or meet all the people you wanted to meet, or win a literary prize, or get published by Random House, but everything is going to be OK.  When you start to worry, and you forget that, just touch the stone and remind yourself, ‘Everything is going to be OK.’”  And it will be OK – eventually.”

   “Are you sure?” I asked doubtfully.

   “Would a talking Were Pen lie?” she asked, slyly.

   So Kezza put the rock in her pants pocket so she would always have a pocket of OK, wherever she went, and she lived OK ever after – some ups, some downs, but basically OK, and she always tried to remember what a wonderful gift it is to have an OK day.

 

By Kerry Vincent © 2008