Shakespeare’s Lost Song Lyrics

I bought a box of junk at a yard sale and at the bottom I found a batch of parchment being held together by paper clips and rubber bands. When I unfolded them I discovered they were song lyrics written by the bard himself, William Shakespeare. It turns out Shakespeare was ahead of his time musically as well as with the written word. He wrote songs in many different genres. Check these lyrics out:

Heavy Metal

Devil, Steal My Life

Death, thy sting produces mortal wounds

upon my flesh.

Off this blackened coil I must flee,

a rose in my hand for you.

Where art thou, devil, a hoof for my soul,

and horn for my all-seeing eye.

Dost thou allow thyself humor at my expense,

for there is my might.

By another name blood still flows in ribbons.

Any other name bespoke is still blood.

Beyond my countenance, devil, steal my life.

Rap

What Dost Thou Say?

What dost thou say, woman of low quality?

What dost thou say?

What dost thou say, man of uncoupled birth?

What dost thou say?

These are my words arranged in a rhyme

I am a troubadour lost out of time

Say what name is thou low-formed female

I am a ram of power, bull of spirit, a high born he-male

Hear me, see me, allow me room to move

My especial dreams bring you to hove

Feel me, lest all the world break me down

My name is a taste on your tongue that I own

Blues

The Baying of the Hounds

I dost lost my hound today,

yea, and a woman too.

I dost lost my best hound today,

verily my woman has gone as well.

I rue this day and the sun that rose because of it.

Where have mine coins gone?

I am bereft.

Where, oh where, didst mine coins go?

I am lost.

I wish to return to whence I had value.

Keep these dogs of violent refrain.

I shout to the abraded heavens to

keep thou dogs for work of the devil’s hand

and leave me to mine own council.

Now if I could just get Patrick Stewart to record these songs . . .

The Dog Days of Politics

Welcome to the John P. Finkbinder Community Center, tri-county dumping ground and meat processing plant for tonight’s debate between the candidates for dog catcher in this year’s election. On my right we have the democratic candidate Troy Melatonin and on my left the tea party Republican challenger Balthazar Ham. Now let’s go to the moderator for the first question.

The building that the stray dogs are now housed in is inadequate. How do you propose to fix this problem? We’ll start with Mr. Melatonin

TM: Thank you. I am proposing to build a brand new $45 million building where each stray pup will have their own private room, a daily massage and relaxing music will be piped in through an overhead stereo system. To pay for this I am proposing a new tax on rawhide chews and squeak toys.

Mr. Ham?

BH: The current building is fine, all it needs is a coat of paint. The real problem is that these dogs need to start earning their keep. I am proposing a work-release program where during the day the dogs will be driven to local farms, schools and senior centers to help out with menial chores such as pulling wagons, rodent eradication and acting as pack animals carrying groceries and supplies.

One of the county’s big problems is stray dogs reproducing more unwanted pups. What are your plans for spaying and neutering?

TM: As part of the new building we will be constructing a clinic staffed by the best veterinarians we can find. All stray dogs brought to the facility will be spayed or neutered free of charge. To pay for this I am proposing a tax on the air you breathe.

Mr. Ham?

BH: That’s the trouble with this country: everyone is cutting off their balls. Let ‘em be. Let the doggies go at it as God intended. Stop trying to mess with nature.

And one last question: How do you plan to catch the inordinate amount of stray dogs this county seems to have?

TM: I will purchase a fleet of vans equipped with state of the art tracking equipment including GPS, radar and sonar. It will all be tuned to a satellite we will put into orbit from my backyard. Porterhouse steaks will be used as bait. To pay for all of this I am proposing a tax on the marrow in your bones.

And Mr. Ham.

BH: My cousin Mel has a 1995 Ford F-150. I figure once a week we’ll drive around and see what we see. If we find a dog we’ll lure him with beef jerky and put him in the back of the truck.

That’s it everyone, thanks again for coming to the John P. Finkbinder brain injury research institute, flatulence containment area and community senior center for tonight’s debate. Join us on Saturday for the Divorced Mother Anger Management Group’s semi-annual bake sale to raise money for an operation to get Delilah Hoffman’s foot out of her ex’s ass. Good night!

Feng Shui Falderal

I was trying to do a little feng shui on my cubicle at work. I have a shelf with a bunch of personal items on it to make it feel a little more like home than a day time prison cell. One of the toys is a 4 inch high Viking warrior complete with sword raised in battle-readiness and a shield in the other hand.  Another item is a framed picture of Linda Carter as Wonder Woman, a gift from a female co-worker to all the men in the department after we mooned over Linda one day. Today I made the mistake of moving Wonder Woman and the Viking too close together.

I heard WW say to the Viking sarcastically, “Nice sword. What are you compensating for?”

I wasn’t sure he even knew what she meant but he replied, “Shut your dragon mouth woman or I’ll put out your fire.”

The next thing I know WW’s golden lasso is out and she’s trying to hog tie the Viking. He countered with some nice sword cuts and took her legs out with his shield. As I’m trying to separate the two of them all hell breaks loose in my booth.

I have a wooden pencil holder that was made in India with a golden elephant on the side of it. The elephant charges, trunk high in the air trumpeting loudly. I’m a fan of the North Carolina basketball team and their mascot is a ram so I have a wooden tchotchke of the mascot. He sees the elephant coming and goes into his own charge. They crash together shaking the walls of my cubicle. Meanwhile WW has gotten in to her invisible plane and is flying above my head with the Viking hanging on to the tail slicing at the wings with his sword.

Another toy I have is an old style steam train engine. After getting buzzed by WW he takes off doing laps around the shelf, blowing his whistle and shouting, “Tommy the train doesn’t like fighting! Tommy doesn’t like fighting! All aboard the 10 a.m. shuttle from Santa Fe to San Diego. ALL ABOOOOOARD! TOOT TOOT! TOOT TOOT!

The train took out the ram but the elephant jumped on board. He’s trumpeting, the train whistle is blowing and WW crashed her plane into my notebooks. She has the Viking in a headlock and he’s smacking her ass with the flat if his sword. The plane debris was laying over the train tracks and as Tommy rounded the bend . . .

TOOT! TOOT! The 3 p.m. from Tuscaloosa to Talladega is now leaving from gate 4. ALL ABOOOOOARD! LOOK OUT! TOMMY THE TRAIN DOESN’T LIKE CRASHING!!!!!

This was the result:

I don’t think I’m ready for feng shui.

The Bane of the GOP

Here is my completely fabricated, and yet still more factual than Fox News, interview with a random member of the GOP.

CO: Tell me about the Affordable Care Act.

Random GOP member of congress: It’s a screed writ by the devil himself. End times prophecy it is, worse than a beast with 3 heads or a female goat who lactates sulphuric acid.

CO: That’s a little much don’t you think?

Random GOP member of congress: No! That document was produced in a dark room by fingerless thugs who printed it with iron nails dipped in raccoon blood on a parchment of stretched whale blubber! It’s evil!

CO: It’s the law.

Random GOP member of congress: Unconstitutional!

CO: Not according to the Supreme Court.

Random GOP member of congress: Damn it!

CO: Honestly, what is so bad about the Affordable Care Act?

Random GOP member of congress: It’s Obamacare.

CO: The name is the Affordable Care Act.

Random GOP member of congress: Obamacare!

CO: Affordable Care Act.

Random GOP member of congress: Obitsacod!
CO: Affordable Care Act.
Random GOP member of congress: Obungeecord!
CO: Affordable Care . . . wait, what?

Random GOP member of congress: Osamabincrap!
CO: Sir, your speaking gibberish.
Random GOP member of congress: I’m confusing you with my GOP mind tricks.
CO: I’m not confused; you’re definitely spouting nonsense instead of answering my question.
Random GOP member of congress: I am not the droid you seek.
CO: Sir, stop it.
Random GOP member of congress: Fine. The “Affordable Care Act”, or, Obamacare, puts too much financial burden on small businesses and forces people to buy insurance they may not be able to afford.
CO: Fair points, so what’s your solution?
Random GOP member of congress: We don’t have one.
CO: So why not try this plan out and see what happens? Neither republican nor democrat actually knows whether this will work. You can’t know until you let it go into effect and work through the problems.
Random GOP member of congress: I can’t get re-elected on thinking like that. Loud foofarawing and fear mongering, that’s how you get elected in the GOP.
CO: Final thought?
Random GOP member of congress: It’s the work of the many-horned beast! Obamacare is worse than Hitler, Stalin and Pol Pot rolled together in a terrible excrement stew! Repeal! Defund! Treason! 9/11! Buzzwords! Talking points! Complete and utter bullshit!

A Boy and his Bike

I bought a bike. A used, blue mountain bike that I wanted to ride to enjoy being outside in the sun and get some exercise. We made a good team out on the trail, my legs pumping and growing stronger, the bike gleaming proudly in the sun.

This is the story of how the bike turned on me.

On only my second ride on the trail, I was going through a railroad tunnel. When you hit the middle, its pitch black. The light from in front of you and behind you has all dissipated and you are alone in the darkness, just the sound of the bike tires rolling through the dirt and if you’re like me, your heavy breathing because you’re fat and out of shape.

After about thirty seconds of just me and the invisible things in the dark, a faint trace of light illuminated my front tire and I saw a ridge at the edge of the path. Then I saw the tire smile: A deep, snake-like grin. A licorice-black tongue snapped out, grasping the edge of the path. The bike slid out from under me and I went down, dragging my left leg through a morass of mud, gravel and dirt. When I stood up I was filthy and bleeding from the palm of my hand, my knee and from scratches all over my lower leg.

It didn’t make me “mean mad” as Ma Joad asked in the Grapes of Wrath. I felt stupid: An adult who can’t go on a simple bike ride. I did have questions about the bike though. I had the whole damn tunnel to ride in so how did the tire catch the only place that would send me to the ground? I didn’t want to believe the bike was bad, didn’t want to make the obvious “Christine” comparisons, but then it got worse. The bike lulled me into a false sense of security. I continued to ride it for weeks with no problems. On the road, on the trail, took it on vacation with me to the shore. I put dozens of miles on the bike without incident. Except for one thing.

I had a cut on my knee, a remnant of the crash, that wouldn’t heal properly. It started bothering me again on vacation and continued in the weeks after until last week when my own knee joined forces with the bike in a diptych of evil. Pus-filled blisters started appearing around the original cut. I drained them, put on ointment. But then, in a move straight out of the necronomicon, the demonic pairing created a blister on the back of my knee. Of course I didn’t notice it because who the hell looks at the back of their knee except for deviants and the Dutch? The abscess soon swelled to the size of a golf ball. By the next day my knee and ankle were swollen and hot and I knew. I knew that my bike had corrupted my own body against me. In the libertine smoke of the early morning hours, I had been infected.

I had to alight to the hospital where I was put on nefarious drugs which broke my skin out in hives. I was tortured by a tall man in a blue smock who resembled the angel of death. With metal instruments he cut and poked at the bulbous growth on the back of my knee, delighting a contingent of Dutch residents there to observe and squeezing out tainted, hellish pus. By the next day, immobile and itching, mercy was relayed to me by an angel with better drugs. I spent the next 4 days sitting on the end of my couch, my leg propped up and hurting. My cat used me as a bed and cleaning station. And all the while, from my spare room, I could hear the bike laughing, low and wet.

And the moral of the story comes from my brother: “It never pays to exercise. Put the bike away and forget it exists.”

Sage advice.

The Adventures of Johnny Douche

I was following a car yesterday with the license plate “Po’ Johnny”. Seemed like an odd personalization until I looked at the car: rag top Mercedes sports car. “Oh”, I said out loud to myself. “I get it. You’re a dick.” I can see him now with his friends. “I just got this baby for $60,000. And look at my new license plate: Po’ Johnny. Damn I’m funny.” He’s perfect for the new sitcom I’m developing for Fox called “Johnny Douche”.

Johnny Douche

Johnny Douche

Treats everyone like their a fool

Johnny Douche

Johnny Douche

He’s the world’s biggest tool

He white

He’s rich

He’s a greasy, entitled

Son of a bitch

Look out world, it’s Johnny D

This week’s episode: Johnny goes on a Date

Johnny: What do you think of my car?

Laura: It’s nice.

Johnny: Damn right it’s nice. I laid down 60g for it.

Laura: Oh, ok.

Johnny: Where would you like to eat tonight?

Laura: I really like . . .

Johnny: That’s ok, I made reservations at The Amberwine Inn. They know me there.

Laura: Ok, sure.

Johnny: You seem upset.

Laura: Well, you . . .

Johnny: Why are chicks like that anyway? Why can’t you relax, you know what I mean?

Laura: Look . . .

Johnny: Oh wait, my phone’s ringing. This is a prototype a buddy of mine built. Gonna be bigger than the iPhone. I’m going to make a fortune.

Laura: Good for you.

Johnny: Damn right good for me. Hey Chuck, you got Johnny D, what’s up? Right now? I’m driving to dinner. Uh huh. Really?

Laura: Can you just let me out at the corner?

Johnny: Hang on sweetheart, Johnny’s on the phone.

Laura: No, really, I want out.

Johnny: Anxious, huh? Johnny likes that in a woman. Why don’t we just skip dinner?

Laura: If you just slow down I’ll drop and roll.

Johnny: “Drop and roll”? Is that some kinky sexual position? I thought I knew them all.

Laura: I’m going to throw up.

Johnny: Whoa, not on the new leather seats sweetheart.

Laura: Don’t bother stopping, I’ll be fine.

(Laura opens the car door and leaps out)

Johnny: Hey, where are you going? Oh well. Hey Chuck, you want a ride in my new car? Yeah, it cost me 60g. And you need to see the license plate.

Johnny goes on vacation, next week on Fox!