What fantasies could we conjure that could surpass these realities? Watch THIS !!!!!
Bite My Tongue!!!
The Prompt: Time to confess: tell us about a time when you used a word whose meaning you didn’t actually know (or were very wrong about, in retrospect).
I wrote to this topic a year or two ago and I fear that blunder cannot be beat. To read it, go HERE.
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Dictionary, Shmictionary.”<
Can you see the levitating pastry in this closeup????? (Not photoshopped, by the way–only cropped for a closeup.)
Other times by special faces.
Stories going on around me.
Coincidences that confound me.
But if I see nothing else instead,
In the Blood!!!
(Dedicated to Walter Palmer)
Don’t you just love football—the running and the tackling?
The sounds of hamstrings pulling and the crunch of femurs crackling?
We sit up in the bleachers eating hot dogs, drinking beer,
comfortably viewing blood sport—the kind we hold so dear.
Aren’t dogfights lovely–the growling and the whining?
Too bad they aren’t more elite, so we could watch while dining.
So amusing watching canines being dished their due.
Dying is so entertaining when it isn’t you!
Better still are bullfights, though they’re few and far between.
The bull so lithe and dangerous, the matador so lean.
The best part of the sport is that the dying is so slow.
I feel its thrill suffuse me from my head down to my toe.
We adore big game hunting in such exotic lands–
our chance to prove our manliness with our own two hands–
handing over money to those trackers in the know
who guarantee an easy kill with rifle or with bow.
Easy on the hunter, but not the animal,
for just because he’s hit the prey’s not guaranteed to fall.
We get more for our money if he’s hard to track,
and war games are more pleasant when one’s foe doesn’t shoot back!
All these minor titillations just a prelude to
the main event and the most major way of counting coup.
Once all the good old boys are finding life is just a bore,
they round up all the younger men and send them off to war.
See how the valiant struggle, see their stripes and purple hearts–
apt pay for missing arms and legs and other blown off parts.
Lucky to be home at last and lucky to be living–
the products of that blood sport that just somehow keeps on giving.
R.I.P. Cecil and the numerous humans who have shed blood in unnecessary wars.
This post is in response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Game of Groans.” Think about an object, an activity, or a cultural phenomenon you really don’t like. Now write a post (tongue in cheek or not — your call!) about why it’s the best thing ever.