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     MIMIB is a tag that I use that stands for move it, move it, baby. I post a MIMIB post daily on FaceBook in which I highlight whatever I have done that day that passes as exercise. Sometimes it’s a 15 minute walk while others it’s a 90 minute sprint triathlon. I started posting MIMIB when I became depressed. MIMIB posts “force” me to do something that qualifies as exercise. MIMIB is my how I hold myself accountable and I aim for at least twenty minutes of daily, moderate, aerobic exercise and I usually wind up approaching 400 minutes for a week. The emphasis is on quantity more than quality, though I’ll give some indication of effort by adding a time or pace to my little post. For instance I might write, “Today’s MIMIB was a 5k race that I completed in 31:18.”

    I became addicted to exercise in June of 1980 when I started cycling for transportation. It has been a cornerstone of my existence for over 35 years but my emotional downturn amplified the physical decline and vice-versa so that my descent was swift, painful and obvious. MIMIB helps when I don’t feel like exercising because I feel obligated to prove to the world that today in some small way I fought the monkey on my back. Even though I know that exercise will give me relief from my pain sometimes it’s the last thing in the world I want to do. Of course, if something is “the last thing in the world” someone wishes to do the benefit is likely to be minimal, but minimal beats the snot out of none whatsoever.

     My depression has abated of late, though I’m still far from the man I was a short year-and-a-half ago. On days that I go to work I tend to cycle a short ten miles or so in my neighborhood and perhaps swim a quarter-mile. Ten miles might take me close to 40 minutes and .25 mile swim perhaps 15. Slow exercise is better for me than no exercise but it lacks a feeling of accomplishment. The last three days I’ve managed to do a bit better and the increase in performance provides greater inducement to try harder; a nice upward spiral to replace the downward one with which I’ve become far too familiar.

     On Friday, June 23rd I posted:

I cycled for 10 miles or ~35 minutes and then swam 1/5 mile in 9:38.
I’m calling it 45 minutes total.

     The 17 mph average isn’t very fast but it is faster than I’ve managed of late and the uptick in performance buoyed my spirits.

     I had a similar workout Saturday, June 24th before work and my post read:

I cycled ~10.1 miles in 35:10 before swimming 1/5 mile in 9:39.

     Truth be told, Friday’s bike ride was 9.9 miles and Saturdays was 10.1 so I was feeling a little more optimistic at the end of Saturday’s exercise than Fridays. Then Sunday came along.

     Saturday night I had said to my wife, “I’d like to ride early tomorrow to beat the heat. Get out of the house no later than 8:00. Okay?”.

     Being neither a willing early riser nor as heat influenced as I she reluctantly agreed. She came out of our bedroom dressed in cycling gear around 7:40 and of course I wasn’t ready to ride because I didn’t think she’d be up and at ’em at the designated time. By the time I was ready to ride the hour was far closer to nine than eight before we set off on our little jaunt:

Today’s MIMIB was a 19 mile ride with PTK. I managed to travel 17.4 miles in the first hour but slowed for the last 1.6 miles and wound up averaging 17.0.
After the ride I swam 1/5 mile in the pool while Pat luxuriated. Today was a rare day when I was faster than the goddess.
     Being old as the mastodons it is hard on my ego when I can’t keep up with my wife. (I’m really pretty liberated for a man my age but it still stings when one’s wife is a tick older and way fitter than oneself.) I worked hard for my paltry 17 mph average and the fact that I circled back 1.5 miles and rounded up my beloved to ride home with her salved my fragile male ego.
     I have three days in a row of reasonable, though far from outstanding, performance and I hope that this bodes of better days ahead. I know I’ve got to keep moving lest I fall back but it sure is easier to be motivated with a little forward motion as opposed to merely holding one’s ground. In any case I know part of what I must do is MIMIB.
     That’s right, we’ve got to move it, move it, baby.
     P.S. I got out for a 21 mile solo bike ride on 06/27 and managed to average 18 mph. It’s a bit of a relief to know that my Sunday ride with its uptick in speed wasn’t predicated on finally being faster than my wife again; especially as she was just having an off day. Progress is sweeter when its shared. 



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     Woo was storming through the night screeching as she flew; Wise Old Owl flying high in land of red, white and blue. Heavens they were obscured behind shroud of storm clouds, Woo was on the hunt for meat and her stomach growled.

     Woo was happy for the overcast that hid harvest moon, though it made hunting more difficult it hid her from poltroons. Little chicken people, on which she longed to sup, made for easy targets if they saw naught when they looked up.

     Onward through the night Woo surveyed her home terrain; like a bullet tried to fell a rabbit but she swooped in vain. She was silent, she was cunning, she was brutal, she was fast and she did not hesitate in quest for her repast. Owl saw no brutality in her nightly hunt; she worked to feed self and babies, culled the Earth of runts. Unwary, hungry field mouse scurried through the grass? Woo was on him in an instant, swallowed him up whole and fast.

     Upon her little perch Woo takes a little break, spins her head to check her backside, falls not for prey’s mistake. For though Woo is a hunter she knows she’s also game; recognizes that survival rests on knowing world’s not tame. Woo can see the future but she can turn and face the past, understands predation is destined to last and last. The big fish eat the little ones whether by sea or land and it’s great, mighty hunters who have the upper hand.

     There is talk among men of lions bedding down with lambs but if you ain’t a lion, baby, best know that talks all sham. The law of the jungle, what Darwin wrote about, is eat or be eaten situation, of that there is no doubt. I’m not saying that it’s pretty or gives us warm fuzzies but a lot of us are putting our heads in chopping blocks it seems. Cooperation should be founded on trust but verify ’cause when a shark utters, “Believe me,” you can be damn sure he lies.

     Woo is out there hunting, doing the job of an owl, and though it isn’t pretty from truth we must not recoil. We’ve a biological imperative to do as we’re designed, if you think world’s full of nice sharks I fear you have gone blind. Each of us is hunter and each of us is game and the first ones to get eaten are those both blind and lame. We all need to work together in name of liberty but wearing rose colored glasses makes truth awfully hard to see.

     Woo was storming through the night screeching as she flew; Wise Old Owl flying high in land of red, white and blue. Heavens they were obscured behind shroud of storm clouds, Woo was on the hunt for meat and her stomach growled.

January Fourth: Part 21 of 32



Greyhound BusJohn’s claim to desire a nap had not been a lie. Even though he’d only been awake for a little over eight hours he was tired. You’d think just sitting on a bus would be easy but it wasn’t. Besides, he’d been thinking awfully hard about some pretty important things over the last two days and he wanted some alone time to process his decision to really try and make a life with his wife. Since there wasn’t any door to close nor curtain to draw around himself for privacy the next best thing was to hang a virtual “Do Not Disturb” sign around his neck. He’d enjoyed talking and interacting with Tamika and her twin sons but sometimes life called for a little subterfuge and this was one of those times.

Everyone was telling him to do what his heart had been aching for, namely to rise up and be an actual flesh-and-blood husband for his wife. They’d spent far too much time apart and had barely built a life together but the question wasn’t what he should do but rather how was he to do it. It was all well and good for folks to tell him to make like the cavalry and rush in for a rescue but what if he brought more hardship instead of succor? Awfully difficult to step back up on the cliff once you’ve jump off.

On the other hand, how long ago had his decision to strike out on his own, to stand tall, turned into nothing more than stupid human pride? “Shut up, Burton Cummings,” he whispered to himself, “looks like I already did something long ago that I’m regretting later.”

At first he had ventured out so that Joni could have a better life living with her parents but what now? They were both dead and she was on her own. There was not a single logical reason why he shouldn’t go and be with his wife. Even if she wound up supporting him financially at least he’d be there to support her emotionally and physically. It really was time for him to set aside his silly human pride and act like a man: Time to stand tall.

Having achieved both emotional and intellectual commitment to his decision he felt relief from the heavy burden that he’d carried for far too long. “I’m going to do this,” he subvocalized, “I am going to be the husband Joni deserves. If nothing else, I can always pick up day-work to help with the bills.”

John took a deep breath, exhaled, closed his eyes and drifted into easy slumber with the words “Never been this blue, never knew the meaning of a heartache but then again, I’ve never lost at love before. Somewhere down the road maybe all these years will find some meaning; just can’t think about it now, or live ’em out anymore. Stand tall, don’t you fall oh, don’t go and do something foolish. You’re feeling it like everyone, it’s silly human pride. Stand tall, don’t you fall. don’t go do something you’ll regret later…”

Alice’s Tail


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     I hurried down the rabbit hole hot on Alice’s Tale, Dodgson was my tour-guide but his guidance did not prevail. The burrow it had branches that climbed left and fell right; before I could say, “Jehoshaphat,” my road map flew from sight. Fat caterpillars clinging from desiccated leaves had gnawed from the ground upward roots of Tree of Liberty. Razor sharp teeth grinned at me courtesy of the fat cats, “Lord helps those who help themselves,” they intoned, “nothing wrong in that!”

     Meanwhile, over in their enclave, cowering behind a wall frightened midget warriors prepare for Humpty Dumpty’s fall. Convinced that evil lurks without they lock themselves within; cut off inside their fortress they wear fatuous grins. Safe from zombies midgets feared would come to eat their brains they’ve put their trust in cannibals who ply flesh eating game. The zombies, though ferocious, midgets had no cause to fear. Zombies channel Captain Kirk and say, “There’s no intelligence in there.”

     Concurrently Mad Hatter, Tweedledum and Tweedledee are quoting Henny Penny with their, “Sky is falling!” spree. Maleficent’s magic mirror ruminates on the unknown: Baffled why these characters so greatly influence Orange Throne. I’m just a simple citizen swimming against the tide, swirling round the drain in eddies from which I long to hide but no matter how hard I stroke or how fast I move my feet I’m doomed to getting ‘hinder and ‘hinder and end in defeat.

     World is greatly confused by all the Joker’s conflicting math,  and I sure hope no Jabberwocky runs across my path. Because down here in this rabbit hole hard to know friend from foe. I fear Bandersnatch will swallow me and my Vorpal blade whole. There’s a vial that says “Drink Me” but I don’t know that I should; love to return to land of reason, and leave this hole for good. But to escape these shady characters with their shady deeds seems to be getting impossible-er since Dodo Free World now leads.

January Fourth: Part 20 of 32


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Greyhound Bus“We were getting worried about you,” Tamika said as John clambered back onto the Memphis bound greyhound. “Aziz wanted to go looking for you but I just had him hold your seat instead,” she added, nodding to the seat where one of her twin sons sat. “Aziz, come back over and sit by your brother and let Mr. John have some room.”

“I was worried about me too,” John admitted. “Thanks, Aziz. I appreciate you popping a flag on my homestead.”

“What’s that mean?” the boy asked sleepily.

John smiled. “Saving my seat.”

The bus rolled out of the station promptly at 2:55 and John was able to finish his burrito before it got cold. The cold and frightened child that had lived inside him for too long was finally beginning to realize that he needed to grow up, to move past the hurt and despair. He still wasn’t sure how but he was going to stay with Joni but he was determined to do whatever necessary to ensure that their marriage was one of reality rather than just legality. Loki had been right; fifteen years was too long to be prostrate in repentance.

“So, did Loki catch her bus?” Tamika inquired from one row back in the aisle seat on the opposite side of the bus.

“Not yet. I think she said she had another half hour or so before her transfer left. Good thing it’s been warm lately. Traveling north in January doesn’t always work out so well.”

“You can say that again. Herman -that’s my husband?-  he drives for a living and he hates it when the roads get icy. Says everybody drives like a fool.”

“Yeah, that’s true. Even up north people don’t do very well with the first snowfall; and down here it’s always the first snowfall because you don’t get much.”

“True dat. I don’t like the snow but I hate the ice.”

“Yeah. Treacherous stuff. Looks like you finally got some peace: Vashi sleeping?”

“Vashti,” Tamika corrected with a smile, “and yes, she fell asleep. I filled these children with a late lunch, maybe they’ll all sleep for a while. Do you have any children, John?”

“Well, no. Not yet anyway. Maybe someday.”

“I didn’t think so. Listen, I don’t want you to think that I was eves dropping but I heard some of that conversation you and Loki had. I don’t know what kind of trouble you and your wife have but you need to fix it: You need to be with her.”

John turned his head toward the window so Tamika couldn’t see his smile. Hadn’t been eves dropping? What else would you call listening in on other people’s conversations? Not that he could blame her, she had been less than three feet away from them while Loki and he plumbed the depths of each other’s pasts. “No, I understand,” he answered, turning his head back in Tamika’s direction. “You couldn’t hardly help hearing what we said you being so close and all. She’s a real firecracker; isn’t she?”

“That is one way to describe her. I could comment that Loki sounds a lot like loco, but that wouldn’t be charitable, so I won’t. It sure sounded like she was making a whole lot of sense though when she told you to sit yourself down and figure out how to be with your wife up there in Chicago. Marriage is hard, I know. I’m coming up on eleven years and I wouldn’t give my crazy Herman up for anything. Sometimes you’ve got to fight for the important things; you know?”

“I do, Tamika. I do. Hey, I think I’m going to follow Vashti’s lead and take a power nap. We can talk more when I wake up. You need a book or anything?’

“Oh, I got one. What have you got?”

“I’m reading Some Luck, it’s a story about Iowa from World War One and on. I’ve got my O. Henry and With Malice Toward None, it’s a Lincoln biography. You want one of those?”

“No, I think I’m good. I have a Danielle Steel book. Maybe I’ll try that Lincoln if I finish it. Is it any good?”

“Don’t know. The librarian said it is; I haven’t started it yet.”

“Well, enjoy your nap. I’ll wake you up in Memphis if you’re still sleeping.”

“As if,” John replied.

“As if,” Tamika said with a twinkling little laugh.


Libidinous Lubrication


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I’m already taken, she’s surely not free
How much would a quick romp end up costing me?
Though she’s enticing and each other desires
Must resist current that does so beguile
My heart is pounding, I feel the rush
Hard to resist the flesh of my crush
Her timeless beauty’s magic indeed
Fear I’m all ahead at full speed

Final day of our business trip
Rum gave professionalism the slip
Started as one drink down in the lounge
Soon inhibitions had run aground
HR has lectured us endlessly
Still we’ve fraternized a bit too free
Though our flight out’s at six A.M.
We had one last round time and again

I shed my coat and lost my tie
Down her tight blouse my eyes did spy
She caught me glancing at her sweet girls
And two more buttons she unfurled
Began as safe, flirtatious fun
I fear inhibitions have all run
I grabbed the bill and paid the check
In ride up my hand dangled down her neck

Stepped out from elevator’s shaft
Invited me for one more nightcap
My room was left and hers was right
We walked to hers this fateful night
She fumbled with her room key
The one who put it in was me
Once inside kicked off her shoes
On bed collapsed from all the booze

Knew I should go but wanted to come
Libidinous lubrication, Caribbean rum
Looked down at her, thought we were at sea
But all of the swaying emanated from me
One of us wasted, the other one tanked
Little head dreamed of deposit sperm-bank
But though the board showed all systems go
Still was an anchor on my libido

My brain said, “Stop!” my lust cried, “No!”
When fate intervened in our carnal flow
She looked at me with those bedroom eyes
Then barfed up the booze that she had prized
Sobered up right then and there
And administered naught but fraternal care
Next morning on way to airport
She had no memory of how we did cavort

I’m already taken, she’s surely not free
How much would a quick romp end up costing me?
Though she’s enticing and each other desires
Must resist current that does so beguile
My heart is pounding, I feel the rush
Hard to resist the flesh of my crush
Her timeless beauty’s magic indeed
Afraid I’m heading in at full speed

January Fourth: Part 19 of 32



Greyhound BusLoki had not said a word as John reeled off the story of Sydney Porter’s death. When he was done speaking she gently bit the right side of her lower lip, did a micro head bob, exhaled and reached for John’s hand. After gripping it for a second she asked, “And?”

”And?!” John demanded. “And what? I don’t know ‘and.’ And I’m going to do everything I can to be with my wife?”

“Well I hope so. Did anybody go to prison over your manager’s death?”

“Yeah. Two of the guys that rushed him were convicted of involuntary manslaughter. They got twelve months. It’s interesting how they say twelve months instead of a year, isn’t it? Makes it sound longer.”

“And that was the maximum sentence?”

“No, that was the minimum; they could have gotten way more.”

“No,” Loki answered, shaking her head, “that’s not what I meant. I meant that was the most that anybody got?”

“Yeah, that was the most. Ridiculous, huh?”

“It is. It’s also ridiculous that you’re still doing time for a crime you didn’t commit fifteen years later: Fifteen times as long as the guys who got convicted. Does that seem reasonable?”

“No. They should have gotten a lot more,” he replied.

Loki tilted her head to the left, rolled her eyes to the right, brought the right side of her lips and cheek into a smirk and said, “That’s not what I meant and you know it.

“You better eat,” she added, “you’re gonna have to catch your bus.”

“I can take it with me. Oh! And get this. The employees who were involved? They were given an ultimatum; quit or be fired. The district manager came around and told us that if we quit then we wouldn’t have to say that we were terminated for cause when we apply for other jobs. What he didn’t say was that if we quit we couldn’t collect unemployment benefits. Another guy and I quit but two of the others refused. The DM said they’d be fired for cause and they were and when those two applied for unemployment Tyson’s rejected the claim. The two sued and won: How’s that for justice?”

“I don’t know and why do you care?” she said harshly. “I mean, I’m sorry, but get over it. You got a poop sandwich, okay? Yeah, you may have made it yourself but get over it. It sounds to me like this Sydney dude would have wanted you to keep on living. I think you owe it to him to forgive yourself; don’t you?”

John’s voice quavered. “Yes. He would. And you’re probably right. It’s probably time for me to stand up again.”

“I’m pretty sure we should probably take the probably out of the statement.

“Hey,” she added, “You’d better git or you’ll miss your bus. I’d walk you back but I’ve got to let my phone charge. Give me your number and maybe I’ll call you sometime, here’s mine,” she said writing it on a napkin. “Now stand up, give me a hug and go make a life for yourself with that wife of yours; you hear?”

“I hear,” he replied, doing as she requested and also standing. Hugging her he whispered, “You know what? You’re pretty smart for a retard.”

“That’s what all the boys say when they want to get in my pants. Now go, killer,” she replied with a smile.

John smiled and shook his head. “Up yours.”

“Screw you. Safe journey. Keep those twins occupied, Tamika’ll appreciate it.”

John winked a goodbye, grabbed his food and valise and hurried back to the bus platform.




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Lies! Such blatant lies you love to say.
Lies! Don’t let the truth get in your way.
Fear! Fear the changes coming round.
Fear! You are trembling toe to crown.
Life! It is dynamic in its change.
Life! Old ways are lost but new ways gained.

From the time you were a child
disrespect you have reviled.
You were born unto ruling caste.
You thought life at pinnacle would last.
There was an order preordained
you worshiped status quo not change.
God the Father with God the son
revealed to you how world to run.

But days of blatant misogyny
when women were chained and never free?
Days when credit was in husband’s name
and domestic violence was fair game.
Through a struggle long and hard;
fight so much more than burning bras.
Made a world foreign to you
where equality’s not so skewed.

Lies! Such blatant lies you love to say.
Lies! Don’t let the truth get in your way.
Fear! Fear the changes coming round.
Fear! You are trembling toe to crown.
Life! It is dynamic in its change.
Life! Old ways are lost but new ways gained.

You in Noah’s name and in Ham’s
did enslave your fellow man
and in doctrine of miscegenation
outlawed marriage rights throughout our nation.
Fearing brimstone, fearing fire
you cast homosexuals on the pyre.
Ten Commandments in our courts?
Second Amendment surely flouts.

You claim change is anarchy
when it’s bad for you and good for me.
Democracy’s all well and good
so long as your rule’s understood.
Gerrymander, redraw precinct lines
to keep your ward machine running fine.
Liberal to you is a bad name
but conservative’s just a power game.

Lies! Such blatant lies you love to say.
Lies! Don’t let the truth get in your way.
Fear! Fear the changes coming round.
Fear! You are trembling toe to crown.
Life! It is dynamic in its change.
Life! Old ways are lost but new ways gained.

Rainbow symbol covenant with God
been usurped and in freedom’s name lives on.
Rigid lines without amelioration
will no longer stratify our nation.
Don’t tell me what clothes to wear
long as I hurt no one why should you care?
And your rigid gender views?
Don’t always work outside your pews.

You have lost no human rights
because we no longer fold without a fight.
When you shoot us in the back
and claim order’s under attack?
Pain you’re feeling may be real;
how’s transparency make you feel?
“Uppity” may prove your epithet
when you find that center has moved left.

Lies! Such blatant lies you love to say.
Lies! Don’t let the truth get in your way.
Fear! Fear the changes coming round.
Fear! You are trembling toe to crown.
Life! It is dynamic in its change.
Life! Old ways are lost but new ways gained.

January Fourth: Part 18 of 32


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Greyhound BusJohn concentrated on removing the plastic lid from his to-go cup of tea, tearing open the two sugar packets, pouring them in, stirring his drink with his straw, taking a sip, nodding, putting the top back on and then pushing the straw through the tiny hole in the center of the top. Finally, he looked up at Loki and shrugged. “If I had a really good answer do you really think I wouldn’t be with her now?”

“Maybe,” she answered, nodding back at him. “But maybe you just like being miserable.”

“No, I don’t,” he answered forcefully. “I tried to get a job back in Cedar Rapids for over three years and couldn’t get past the first interview. I had to leave.”

“Okay, but that was then and this is now. Have you ever tried to get a job in Chicago?”

“Yes. Yes, I have,” he said curtly.


“A while ago,” he said acidly. “By the way,” he added softly, “you just said a book title.”

“Pardon me?” Loki shouted.

“That Was Then, This Is Now? That’s a book. S. E. Hinton wrote it, same woman who wrote The Outsiders? In fact, some of the same characters are in both books.”

“And?” she continued caustically.

“And what?” John asked.

“And what does that have to do with anything? See, this is what I’m talking about; I think you’re hiding from yourself.”

“That’s pretty deep for somebody who says she half retarded.”

“I didn’t say I’m half retarded, I said I’m half retard,” she answered, emphasizing retard. “You put the ‘ed’ on the end, not me. I know who I am; do you?”

John looked in Loki’s eyes for a second and then broke contact. He reached for his burrito, unwrapped two inches and took a big bite. “Maybe,” he said after chewing and swallowing. “Maybe I’m a coward. Maybe I’m a guy who caused a good man to die. Maybe I belong in prison.”

“Nobody else seems to think so.” She then added far more softly, “And is S. E. Hinton really a woman?”

“What?” he asked. “Uhm, yeah. She’s from Tulsa, Oklahoma where the two stories take place.”

“Yeah, I know where they take place. I saw both movies. So what exactly did you do?”

John checked his watch before replying. “Uhm, I’ve got ten minutes, max, so you’re going to have to get the really abbreviated version.

“On nine eleven this guy comes in to the hardware store where I’m working. A dark guy, an Arab guy; Iranian as it turns out. In fact, a really great guy, a doctor, but that’s beside the point. He showed up right after we saw The Twin Towers collapse on TV and a bunch of them, no, a bunch of us, didn’t want ‘the stinking towel head’ in our store.

“Sydney Porter, that was the store’s assistant manager, had met Dr. Tawil the day before, September tenth?” he asked, emphasizing the tenth, “The day before America was attacked and when Muslims were just thought of as odd by most folks? Anyway, Dr. Tawil had stopped to help Sydney’s daughter Margaret who’d had a pretty nasty fall while they were out on a bike ride….

“You know what? None of that matters. Sydney had Dr. Tawil up on like a balcony thing to protect him from them, protect him from us; and I mean us. A few employees and a dozen or so customers split up and charged up the stairs from both directions at once. Some of them had weapons; axes, hammers, that sort of thing? That they’d picked up in the store?

“I get up the stairs and Sydney is trying to get Dr. Tawil out but both stairways are blocked. The only way out is through a hostile group, either mine or the one behind him. You know what Sydney did? He called me out. Right there, surrounded by folks who had hate in their eyes he told us, told me, ‘I want all of you to get out of our way and then Doctor Tawil, who has done nothing wrong and is an American citizen, will leave. Got it?’ He said a lot of things but I remember those words.

“I listened; I mean I really did. I moved out of his way and was going to let them pass unmolested but the group from behind rushed them and Sydney tried to protect Dr. Tawil but when he did he got pushed over the railing and fell to his death. His head was crushed.

“You know what that ‘dirty towel head’ did? He pushed through the folks who had been threatening him and rushed to Sydney’s side to see if he could help. Then he convinced the cops that even though I’d been up there threatening him along with all the other folks that I had had a change of heart and wasn’t molesting them anymore when Sydney fell.

“Oh, and one more thing? He befriended me. Yeah, you know, me; the guy who was with a pack of hyenas that were yapping at him? He became my friend; not just in court but after. So that’s what I did. I killed one good man and almost another because of stupid, blind hate and that’s what I’ve lived with ever since,” he concluded with a huge sigh before covering his face with both hands.

Don Gordo


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     Don Gordo he was riding through Aldama’s hot dusty streets. Estómago strained his camisa, caballo’s hoofs kept the beat. Negro it adorned him from his bald cabeza to toes. It made Don Gordo caliente (but black’s very slimming you know). Silver studs adorned his chaqueta and the seams of his pants. Don Gordo thought he was guapo but from ladies got nary a glance. White maned horse he named Plata, thought was his big tonto joke. Envisioned himself as Lone Ranger; longed for chicita to poke.


     Up ahead in the distance Don Gordo spotted a cur. Trotting through the streets of Almada the dog made the dust swirl and stir. Don Gordo narrowed his eyelids at sight of pregnant fat bitch. With revolver he carried planned to leave dog dead in a ditch! Extracted gun from its holster so perrita he could dispatch. Excitement he derived from killing created a stir in his pants. Una sonrisa malvada covered his rotund face. As he was pulling the trigger he spied a vision in lace!


     The woman was muy bonita and she cried out in alarm. Just as the bullet went flying Don Gordo thrust down his arm. “What do you think you are doing?” Demanded the woman of him. “How dare you shoot mi querida? What kind of beast lives within?”

    The lady’s berating chastisement caused Don Gordo’s head to dance. La senorita’s great beauty had put him under a trance. Her pelo oscuro under a white veil was framed beautifully. Don Gordo was so enchanted la chicita was all he could see.


     The woman was so angry that her eyes saw nothing but red. How dare this sapo graso try to shoot her perrita dead?

     In her anger her beauty outshone the midday Mexican sun. Serrano sheath she was wearing? Made him yearn for hot bedroom fun. “Lo siento!” Don Gordo cried out to the woman rojo, “Por favor forgive my transgression and with me please riding go.”

      La senorita bonita answered Don Gordo in disgust, “I may be a peone’s daughter but you are an ugly sadist.”


     La mujer de vestido rojo had pegged Don Gordo just right and in his passionate fury her honor he longed to smite. From Plata’s back he attacked her right there on Almada’s streets. The woman was no shrinking damsel and upon his face she did beat. He ripped off the woman’s bodice and brought her skirt up over her head. With all her strength she resisted and screamed loud enough to wake the dead. Don Gordo he was laughing as downward he did pull his pants but perrita querida for Don Gordo had other plans.


     Mouthful perrita bit into, pound of flesh dearest to Don Gordo’s heart. The dog tore off his chimichanga and from the scene then did depart. El vestido serrano was no longer only thing red y la chicita bonita left Don Gordo better off dead.

     The moral of this sad story is that money does not a man make; for the high and mighty Don Gordo was lower than any snake. And the bite of a fat bitch can swallow up more than your pride. Verdad, Don Gordo’s poker never again was espied.