The Good Egg

Harvey didn’t really know his father.  He thought he was some big noise but he wasn’t aware of them ever really bonding.

Harvey thought this may give him issues in his further life, but why worry now?  At the moment his wonderful mother was his world.

She would sit with him day and night.  Nurturing him. Keeping him warm and protecting him when the wind was howling and the rain was bucketing down.

She was his shield.  Her love and attention kept him whole.

This meant Harvey was truly content.  He felt important and adored.

But then, one day, Harvey hatched.

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“Come on.  Come on Archie.”  His dad is softly calling.

Archie runs as fast as he can and holds his father’s hand.  Their hands now sticky where Archie’s sweet bonds them.

Archie feels his little heart beating in his chest.  He is trembling with pain.  He tries to be The Little Man, like his dad says, but his tears won’t stop flowing.

Archie feels total despair.  His world is falling apart.  His toddler soul is burdened with misery.

He knows that his whole life from today is ruined.

“Dad,” he cries. “Dad.  Why wouldn’t that bigger boy get off the swing?”

Donald Trump is finally president.

His toupee is doing a Mexican wave.

He is surrounded by a thousand naked dancers spray painted gold. Classy, he thinks.

He lovingly looks at his wife who is wearing the most expensive outfit money can buy. He marvels at how wonderfully cheap she makes it look. A sure sign of quality.

Hordes of adorning fans fester on the White House lawn awaiting his words of wisdom.

Shit, thinks Donald, I’ve forgotten my speech.

He rushes into the Oval Office and presses the red button to summon his butler.

The End.

Late!

Absolutely incredible. Colours, mountains wow

NihongoJapango

I am almost too late for this week’s “Where’s my Backpack” theme which is of course late.

I thought of this previously published story of running late with my mum and dad in Japan but then I thought of the long lazy summer evenings in New Zealand and how the sun sets so late.

These photos were taken on New Year’s Eve in 2010 at Lake Wakatipu in the South Island as the late afternoon or should I say evening sun set over the lake and farewelled 201o. In the evening, down south it doesn’t get dark until late, about 9.30 to 10 pm at night.

I also hope it is not too late to edit this post and include a link to the Daily Post’s weekly Challenge – Half Light

“We live in a wonderful world that is full of beauty, charm and adventure. There is no end…

View original post 33 more words

I was chatting with a friend recently about getting back onto the dating scene.  She said was I ready?  Last relationship didn’t end well.  I realized I was dating a twonkwad.

A twonkwad is someone you throw out and 3 days later they turn up like nothing happened. A twonkwad suggests you start dating again, as they have given you sufficient time to reflect on your brash behaviour.  I sort of feel bad as fell out of love with him when he lied to me.  Then spent the last three months trying to rekindle a relationship that was dead.  I learned that you can’t force yourself to feel a certain way.  Think I may have confused love with Stockholm syndrome.  Twonkwad – just made that up.

Woman Looking For Man:

Must be a twonkwad.

Hefty chaps need only apply – as long as have self-proclaimed appetite of a sparrow.

Must have ability to wind people up and be truly offended when they are rude back.

Victim mentality an asset.

Advantageous if always right.

A real plus if you can talk over anyone you don’t agree with.

Questionable sexual fetishes.

If anyone fancies dating a twonkwad please contact me for details.

A gentleman dying of cancer in the US

A poignant piece which suggests why Britain should no longer put up with the madness of our political structure and the demands of our outdated government.  (Hope the senators got their heads out of their arses long enough to read it.)
Dear Senators:
I have tried to live by the rules my entire life. My father was a Command Sergeant Major, U.S. Army, who died of combat related stresses shortly after his retirement. It was he who instilled in me those virtues he felt important – honesty, duty, patriotism and obeying the laws of God and of our various governments. I have served my country, paid my taxes, worked hard, volunteered and donated my fair share of money, time and artifacts.
Today, as I approach my 79th birthday, I am heart-broken when I look at my country and my government. I shall only point out a very few things abysmally wrong which you can multiply by a thousand fold. I have calculated that all the money I have paid in income taxes my entire life cannot even keep the Senate barbershop open for one year! Only Heaven and a few tight-lipped actuarial types know what the Senate dining room costs the taxpayers. So please, enjoy your haircuts and meals on us.
Last year, the president spent an estimated $1.4 billion on himself and his family. The vice president spends $ millions on hotels. They have had 8 vacations so far this year! And our House of Representatives and Senate have become America’s answer to the Saudi royal family. You have become the “perfumed princes and princesses” of our country.
In the middle of the night, you voted in the Affordable Health Care Act, a.k.a. “Obamacare,” a bill which no more than a handful of senators or representatives read more than several paragraphs, crammed it down our throats, and then promptly exempted yourselves from it substituting your own taxpayer-subsidized golden health care insurance.
You live exceedingly well, eat and drink as well as the “one percenters, consistently vote yourselves perks and pay raises while making 3.5 times the average U.S. individual income, and give up nothing while you (as well as the president and veep) ask us to sacrifice due to sequestration (for which, of course, you plan to blame the Republicans, anyway).
You understand very well the only two rules you need to know – (1) How to get elected, and (2) How to get re-elected. And you do this with the aid of an eagerly willing and partisan press, speeches permeated with a certain economy of truth, and by buying the votes of the greedy, the ill-informed and under-educated citizens (and non-citizens, too, many of whom do vote ) who are looking for a handout rather than a job. Your so-called “safety net” has become a hammock for the lazy. And, what is it now, about 49 or 50 million on food stamps – pretty much all Democrat voters – and the program is absolutely rife with fraud and absolutely no congressional oversight?
I would offer that you are not entirely to blame. What changed you is the seductive environment of power in which you have immersed yourselves. It is the nature of both houses of Congress which requires you to subordinate your virtue in order to get anything done until you have achieved a leadership role. To paraphrase President Reagan, it appears that the second oldest profession (politics), bears a remarkably strong resemblance to the oldest.
As the hirsute first Baron John Emerich Edward Dalberg Acton (1834 – 1902), English historian and moralist, so aptly and accurately stated, “Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely. Great men are almost always bad men.” I’m only guessing that this applies to the female sex as well. Tell me, is there a more corrupt entity in this country than Congress?
While we middle class people continue to struggle, our government becomes less and less transparent, more and more bureaucratic, and ever so much more dictatorial, using Czars and Secretaries to tell us (just to mention a very few) what kind of light bulbs we must purchase, how much soda or hamburgers we can eat, what cars we can drive, gasoline to use, and what health care we must buy. Countless thousands of pages of regulations strangle our businesses costing the consumer more and more every day.
As I face my final year, or so, with cancer, my president and my government tell me “You’ll just have to take a pill,” while you, Senator, your colleagues, the president, and other exulted government officials and their families will get the best possible health care on our tax dollars until you are called home by your Creator while also enjoying a retirement beyond my wildest dreams, which of course, you voted for yourselves and we pay for.
The chances of you reading this letter are practically zero as your staff will not pass it on, but with a little luck, a form letter response might be generated by them with an auto signature applied, hoping we will believe that you, our senator or representative, has heard us and actually cares. This letter will, however, go on line where many others will have the chance to read one person’s opinion, rightly or wrongly, about this government, its administration and its senators and representatives.
I only hope that occasionally you might quietly thank the taxpayer for all the generous entitlements which you have voted yourselves, for which, by law, we must pay, unless, of course, it just goes on the $19 trillion national debt for which your children and ours, and your grandchildren and ours, ad infinitum, must eventually try to pick up the tab.
My final thoughts are that it must take a person who has either lost his or her soul, or conscience, or both, to seek re-election and continue to destroy the country that I deeply love. You have put it so far in debt that we will never pay it off while your lot improves by the minute, because of your power.
For you, Senator, will never stand up to the rascals in your House who constantly deceive the American people. And that, my dear Senator, is how power has corrupted you and the entire Congress. The only answer to clean up this cesspool is term limits. This, of course, will kill the goose that lays your golden eggs. And woe be to him (or her) who would dare to bring it up.
Sincerely,
Bill Schoonover

My gaze rests upon the Office Adonis. My pulse racing. My heart begins to flutter. This unique specimen of manliness. This buffed chest shirt filler. There is the smallest hint of muscle sensuously contained – fighting to be explored.

He stares back at me. His penetrating brown eyes bury deep within my soul.

I turn sideways to show my thinness profile. Stomach in, shoulders back.

His absent gaze continues. He is obviously fantasizing about my forbidden fruit.

I list seductively towards him. I misjudge my angle – over balance – and fall at his feet.

He steps over me.  His aroma intoxicating as he walks away.