Singin Dolla Dolla Bills, Y’all


So I wanted to again send a huge shutout to Viva, who beautified these pages of cyberspace for an amazing week. Her photos are truly gorgeous and maybe if everyone begs and pleads and sends her very nice things with labels like ‘Versace’ or muffins, because I’ve heard she likes them, maybe, just maybe, she’ll return. But it’ll be like that third star wars movie, just warning you. No holds barred, guns blazing photography with maybe a furry bearlike thing to punt around. Because she’s going camping, and I’m sure the Ewoks are careless this time of year, what with all the warm weather snoodling that goes on between them.

Speaking of spring, I guess the season where nature buys herself a drink and tries to take herself home (wish her luck), it seems like all the middle schoolers have the same thing on their mind. I’d like to think its kissing, but I’m not quite that deluded.
Lab safety, though, has gone by the wayside, as almost no one thinks goggle face (when the front of the safety glasses sucks your eyes from your skull like a dementor trying his hand at a hickey) is attractive. Let’s hope the love stricken kids’ luck hold out until we’re done with our acid chapter.

Games are growing up

For real;
an open-shut case,
it all started in this little hotel on park place.
They say the hat and thimble got wasted
and started surfing the pay per view stations.
Caught by the authorities when they used
the cannon’s credit card information, they
were sent directly to jail
with no allowance.
Rolling double sentences was
just a Monopanomaly, they say,
but it comes crashing down more quickly
than mousetrap mayhem.

soon, Milton Bradley’s involved in lawsuits
across the boards.
Dirty scrabble words pop up
and stay for more than four hours,
making players flee fearfully to the
doctor’s office for a shot
of topical cream.
Meanwhile, lubed shoots and ladders
lead to bad crack deals
on Baltic Avenue.

Games is growing up.
Mad parents sue when their kids clue in
to Colonel Mustard and Miss Peacock
making the bed rock in the basement.
Meantime, in the drawing room,
the lead pipe is going “boom, boom”
against the carpet as Professor Plum
subs to Miss Scarlet.

Speaking of plums,
Candyland has transformed
into a hungry, co-ed college dorm.
With frat letters and single’s numbers
plastering the Plum Woods
“For a good time,” it’s come to an
age of gumdrop keg stands
chocolate schnapps fountains from
Queen Frostine’s personal stash,
and Edward 40 hands played
in liquor-ish land.

Games are growing up fast.
The game of LIFE has a divorce rate of
60% and parents texting on cell phones
while driving past mobile homes.
Sorry is in such a recession that
the apology is optional.
Operation has ED,
and the game’s now subsidized by
a well-known pharmaceutical company.
Think of Hasbro fingering apples
to other apples like American pie,
We’re in trouble, why?

Not because games are taking a
turn for adulthood, that’s fantastic,
because someday soon they’ll sell
for a lot of money to collectors who will
keep them safe wrapped in plastic.
But as the decades crawl by
they will be too old and grey with missing
pieces an only 1 page of the rulebook
left to remember who they were,
And when they pass away to that
great goodwill in the sky,
We won’t be bothered to ask what will replace them.

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