Posts

Showing posts from April, 2018

All Is Fair In Love And Food Fights

Once begun, Fast Food Wars may never end but until everyone gets a taste there's still hope. And ketchup. And so begins our story.

Lunch Bell Blues

Race to dine, it’s lunch bell time,
walk three steps to the car,
drive fast to the fast food joint
like the fool you really are.

Cholesterol, they’ve got it all,
name your poison, woof it down,
ride back to your cubical;
makes your butt so big around.

Stand in line, it’s lunch bell time;
do it for your sons and daughters.
Fatten up, do what you’re told
like cattle led to slaughter.

And sing them lunch bell blues.

To continue reading All Is Fair In Love And Food Fights just click on the link, scroll to the bottom of each page and click on Older Posts.

Just be forewarned, the story may never end even after the author dies.

Terrorist Attack!

We're All Burgers Now

Ronald threw a quarter pounder,
the room was turned to cheese.
The Hamburglar hit me in the head
with a fitness DVD.
A heavy burden weighed on me--
about two forty-five.
I’m amazed today I tell the tale,
amazed I’m still alive.

Burgers to the left of me,
burgers to the right,
fries, they laugh to give me pain--
I clutch my chest so tight.
The room is falling in on me,
my vision turning black.
And so it is I tell the tale
of how I fought them back.

And so begins the Fast Food Wars, an exclusive of Wackemall Network News. The world will never be the same.

The DAX

Now in case you don't know, The DAX is actually the name of the German Stock Market but if by chance you didn't know don't feel bad as I didn't until I looked it up just before writing what has become a recurring dream for me.

In this dream I have bought a book titled The DAX in which all knowledge is contained and constantly updated. For example, there a section of unpublished yellow pages with all the secret business and government telephone numbers that no one wants us to know. And should one of those numbers get changed while you are looking at it then you will see the change right on the page.

Hey, it's a dream.

In The DAX is every secret and every truth everyone in power doesn't want you to know. Also contained is the knowledge to do everything, and every bit of lost history never told. Yes, that makes for a very large book but thanks to the magic of dreams it somehow all fits into a manageable, albeit big volume.

Now with such knowledge right at my fingertip…

Cribs Were Built To Protect Daddy

I'll never forget waking up early one morning only to see the smiling face of my little boy, barely able to sit up in the bed, as he gently pulled open one of my eyes... And then tried to pull my eyeball out!

And when my screaming in pain scared him and caused him to cry his mother blamed me. But I wasn't the one who got out of the bed, pulled him from his crib, and put him in the bed between us.

War Like You've Never Tasted War Before

McCafé

They gather at the McCafé
plotting death to many fries.
Some work for the King,
some work for the Clown,
some work as double spies.

There are no smoke filled corners
but the air is never clear
for every secret spoken there
is whispered with great fear.

Mochas, Lattes and Cappuccinos,
they trade espresso beans
to seal the fates of friends and foes
with nutritionary dreams.

They never smile except to lie
for it's never what they say;
these troubled souls who gather late
down at the McCafé.

Once you get a taste of the Fast Food Wars you'll never see fast food the way you did before. And for those who don't believe... You will, believe me, you will.

Nine Seven Niner

"Nine Seven Niner to Control"

"This is Control, come in Nine Seven Niner."

"This is Nine Seven Niner, I've captured a human female, request permission to share her with others in the dining hall."

The year is 2079 and things are very different on Planet Earth than they were just a half century ago. A combination of events not completely understood by the world's few remaining scientists produced a super mosquito, immune to all known mosquito toxins, able to multiply even more quickly than regular mosquitoes, and big enough to carry humans from one destination to another.

The human race had been decimated in just a few short years as these super bugs rounded up humans and carried them back to their dining halls for repeated feedings in social settings never before observed in mosquitoes.

"That's a negative, Nine Seven Niner," Control replied. "The dining hall is over capacity. Looks like you get to keep this one all to yourself."…

Two Eagles Talking

Image
"Why do the humans cut down so many trees?"

"To build their nests."

"But we build our nests in the trees."

"I never said humans were smart."

 "You never said they were very likeable either."

 "They have any number of bad habits."



View the world from up on high at Two Eagles Talking, featuring the photography of folks like Shetzers Photography of Silverthorne, Colorado, info@Shetzers.com

Panther, Exotic Dancer

She's black as night and in perfect shape, albeit camera shy and runs away every time I try to take her picture, She leads me on as only she can do. She's a feral cat but I'm convinced she was an exotic dancer in her previous lifetime.

She comes to me, gently calling me just as she has done for seven years since I found her too small to eat solid food, raising her on bowls of milk mixed with the liquid poured from canned tuna. Only years later did I learn that cow's milk and tuna are said to be bad for cats.

She comes to be but after seven years I'm still not allowed to touch her. Oh occasionally I pet her back and she arches up against my fingers obviously enjoying the rub but then she turns her head to see it is me and pulls away, he eyes open wide, paw raised as if she is going to slap me but never does. I'm reminded of that girl when I was young that told everyone she wanted nothing to do with me but melted upon my touch.

But she comes to me expecting rewards…

In The Beginning, God Created The Parking Meter

A novel written in verse by Billy Jones.


Parking Meters Rule!

In OK City, the year '35
the first of our kind
stood upright, alive.
From there we spread
to where flags, they unfurl
and before you know it
we'll rule the world!

Today's Poem A La Parking Meter has been made possible by... Who am I kidding? I'm just an old man biding my time, entertaining myself, waiting for a check to finally come... someday, maybe, while struggling to survive the boredom that is life. No one is going to pay to sponsor this insanity.

And so begins at last, the story that is Parking Meter Poetry, hundreds of pages of which I've lost count. The story of how the lowly parking meter came to rise and fall, a roller coaster of bad drivers and worse parking, discrimination, and deceit never reported by the main stream media and only occasionally reported by the little known, agenda driven Wackemall Network News.

To continue reading just click on Parking Meter Poetry the scroll down the page to t…

Billy Channels Parking Meters?

My Space, My Rules

Park in the bushes, park in the yard,
park on your doorstep,
it's your house, your car
but when you park downtown
you park as I say.
Feed me your change
and have a nice day.

Could it really be true that Billy has the power of ESP and is able to channel poetry written by parking meters? Or is he off his medication again?

Parking Meters Living In Fear

What We've Got Here Is... A Failure To Communicate

"I'm lonely," the parking meter said.
"My best friend's a meter maid.
But she leaves me alone each Friday night
after she gets paid.
She never worries how I feel--
I'm still here, she's long gone.
What if a drunk with a pipe cutter comes
while I'm out here all alone?"


Who knew that parking meters were watching old movies? Must be those DVD players in those new SUVs left on while people run inside. I guess someone should explain to her that like Parking Meter Poetry, Cool Hand Luke is fiction. Or is it?

Parking Meter Poetry is made possible with support from Page 3 Girls.

Chapter 1 In The History Of Equal Rights For Parking Meters

Striking The Capitol Steps!

"Strike, strike!" the meters cry,
"It's time we got our shake.
No more will we be cheated.
We want the market rate.
We want ten bucks an hour
'cause we've got families too.
So just pull out those credit cards
and give us what we're due."

Parking Meter Union spokesmeter, Ima Onapole stated, "We parking meters deserve a living wage, if you don't like it then walk to work."

Get the latest Parking Meter News at Wackemall.com.
Or don't.

While No One Was Looking They Jacked Up The Meter, Peter

Parking Meter Strike

In Washington they've gone too far
cheating meters to park your car.
"Enough, enough," the meters say.
If you had your way we'd get no pay."

"Strike, strike," the meters shout.
"It's time we got, not do without.
We want more money, yes it's true
now load it before we ticket you."

Alas, the 1% even grips the throats of the lowly parking meters-- is no one secure in this economy?

Not Conflict Resolution At All

As long as agreeing to disagree and never admitting fault remain acceptable, no problem ever really gets solved, only pushed aside, and allowed to fester and grow. As a matter of fact, instead of conflict resolution these are rewards for bad behavior that are destroying our society as a whole.

Definition of Democracy

A political system which by design, only a complete collapse will bring about political change as the elites can always use the peoples' money to bribe whoever is elected.

Wendy's Frosty

Cold, Cold Heart

Wendy was locked in the Tasty Freeze
by order of the King.
Her crime was trying to best the clown,
somewhere, a fry did sing,
"We'll cover her with special sauce
and cool her body down,
wipe her buns with mayonnaise
and feed her to the town."

Get the latest coverage of the Fast Food Wars, right here, exclusively at Fast Food Wars 'cause there really is nothin' better to do.

Besides, it's the only war you can taste and still live to tell.

History Of Wackemall, Part 79: Chief Sequoya

The History of Wackemall would be forever incomplete without the story of Chief Wackemall and Chief Sequoya


The Wackemall were part of the Aniyvwiyaʔi or Cherokee: ᏣᎳᎩ, translit.Tsalagi) one of the indigenous peoples of the Southeastern Woodlands. Prior to the 18th century, but unlike the rest of the Cherokee who were concentrated in southwestern North Carolina, the Wackemall were concentrated in the Piedmont Region of North Carolina where they hunted, farmed, and mined wackemall that was traded with indigenous peoples from all over the Americas.

Much rarer that tobacco or gold, wackemall was prized by ingenious peoples everywhere but because only the Wackemall Tribe knew the secret to convert the raw materials into a finished product, all the tribes agreed to protect them and their secret throughout eternity.

When the first European settlers came to America it was assumed by all they had come to seize control of the wackemall.

The last of the great Wackemall Chiefs, Chief Wackemal…

Definition Of Philanthropist

Someone who spends his or her time spending his or her ill gotten gains under the guise of charity in attempts to curry the favor of politicians and the forgiveness of future generations who will suffer because of the means the philanthropist used to gain the money given away.


Synonym: Philander

Definition of Philander

One who will screw anyone given a chance.

Definition Of Charity

Giving away stuff one don't need to others who don't need your stuff.

Two Eagles Talking

Image
"Did you know humans have something called 
charity?"

"No, what's it look like?"

"Well it's not a thing you can see, it's something they do."

"So what is this thing called charity that humans do?"

"They give away stuff they don't need to other humans who don't need their stuff."

"Really, humans have stuff they don't need?"





Get the latest Two Eagles Talking at... Well, that was the link, click it.

Photo via harry pherson photography because all my photos of eagles came out looking like my parakeets.

Parking Meters Rule The World

Will Work For Food

Feed me, feed me,
you know I must eat too
for if you don't the meter maid
will come and ticket you.

The Truth! You Can't Handle The Truth!

For over 100 years a war has raged that few ever knew existed. Millions have died and billions suffer its tragic results-- some without even knowing. Disease and malnutrition haunt even the free world as a result of this epic event. And yet the media remains silent for fear the rulers will take them down should they speak of it.

Fast Food Kidnapping

The Hamburgular raised the window
for Ronald to climb in.
Wendy was in the shower
washing off wages of sin.
They stuffed her mouth with burger wraps,
bound her hands with onion rings.
Her fries never knew they had taken her...

What's this? Wendy kidnapped, bound and stuffed by a creepy red headed clown and a professional hamburgular-- what for? Could it be Ronald plans to use her as a pawn in the Fast Food War in his plot to lay waste to the Burger King once and for all? Or is the clown really just another sick pervert? And why is it the main stream media refuses to cover the war that's going on right in front of our taste buds? Stay tu…

Backyard Aquaponics Gone Wrong

Image
Well again I've been floundering in my attempts to do backyard aquaponics. A friend gave me these beautiful fish but all they do is float on their sides and the only thing I'm able to grow in my floating beds are weeds.



But the pond snails like them and can often be found hitching rides on the fish as they make their way slowly across the tank. Maybe I should try raising escargot?

Free, Must Take All

So you've got some garbage you want to get rid of. Most of it isn't worth anything but you're too cheap to pay someone too haul it away and too lazy to haul it away yourself. So what do you do? You post an ad to Craigslist saying, "Free, Must Take All."

And no one comes to get it.

Sure, there was some scrap metal there but the price of scrap metal is so low it is hardly worth hauling. If the scrap peddler has to pay to get rid of the rest of your trash then he loses money.

So you've got some good firewood there. No tree service is going to do for free what they get paid to do. It's just not smart business. And most people don't have the means to load heavy logs or giant chunks of wood weighing hundreds of pounds each.

Sure, you're doing some folks a favor by posting this stuff to the Internet but who is really getting the most out of it? Have you checked to see what it cost to have these things hauled away from your property? Of course you have, that&…

Aim Higher

As a gun proponent I'd like to point out we've always had some degree of gun control in the USA. In the olden days cities and towns all over the nation required that residents leave their guns in their homes. Not every town but many towns.

In the South and West open carry was considered a right of every adult white male but concealed carry was considered the mark of a coward. Blacks and Indians were not allowed to carry guns except on the reservations or their own property.

Visitors to towns were often required to check their guns with local law enforcement upon entering town limits and picked up their firearms when they left.
We have less gun control in America today than ever before in history.

While Gas Keeps Going Up

Welcome to Parking Meter Poetry where we explore the sometimes controversial and always symbiotic relationship between people, their cars and an American obsession with parking in the front door of the shops and offices in which they work and visit.

Too Lazy To Walk?

Park the truck, park the car,
careful you don't walk too far.
Ignore the meter you lazy bum
when the cop comes back
you'll learn to run.

And lie, "Wait, wait, I was only in there for just one minute!"

Parking Meter Poetry is brought to you by Billy's Page 3 Girls where parking is never a problem.

Missed It By Just This Much

Hitler and the Nazis believed America would never enter WW2 because Americans would never make the sacrifice. Had he waited one generation he might have been right. History will show my generation, American Baby Boomers, as the worst ever.

Hold The Mayo

The BK Kids all donned their crowns
and sang 'long with the clown.
While stackers beat the marching drums...

Indoctrinated, they'd become
another generation round
to wallow in the GMF grease...

Kept in check by hordes of fries
speaking words as smooth
as their favorite condiment.

Are we doomed to become a fast food nation as a result of the Fast Food War? And can no one keep a beat around here? What happened to the forth line in each verse? Hell, I don't know, I just report the news I see.

Voices Of The Old People

God forgive me but an old person without Wackemall is pathetic.  --Billy Jones

The Microwave

No one thought much about an appliance delivery van parking in the loading zone of the Federal Court House that day. Even the magnetic signs on the side of the truck failed to raise suspicions.

The driver unloaded his hand truck, placed a box containing a new microwave oven on it and rolled it to the security checkpoint at the door. Of course he had to take off his belt and empty his pockets and place the box on the machine to be scanned but all they saw was a microwave inside the box. As a matter of fact, had they opened the box they would have only found an ordinary microwave destined for the break room shared by judges and attorneys for the persecution.

With paperwork in hand he wheeled his package to the elevator, up several stories, down a few halls, and finally to his destination where a Federal Marshall unlocked and held the door open for him. There he removed the old microwave from the counter, installed the new one, put the old one in the box and made sure everything was tidied…

How I Became A Stalker

At eleven years of age as a member of the General Greene Council, Boy Scout Troop 371, later to be called Troop 271, I was a Tenderfoot looking to earn my Tracking and Stalking Merit Badge in the hopes of moving up in rank, impressing friends and family, and no longer being called a Tenderfoot, which at the time was the worst designation ever bestowed upon me.

On a Saturday morning our scoutmaster and assistant scoutmasters hauled a group of us to Greensboro Country Park where I would face my final test before earning my Tracking and Stalking Merit Badge. What was the test? I was blindfolded for a few minutes while Randy Holder was given a head start through the woods. To pass the test I had to find Randy's trail, follow his trail, and walk up and touch Randy without his seeing or hearing me before I touched him.

And it didn't help that Randy was older and more experienced than I was. As a matter of fact, that was how we did things back then.

The chase went on all morning and cov…

Lessons Not Passed Down

I can't count the times back when I drove a tow truck when I would get calls from highway patrol to come remove wrecked cars from the highway, and while trying to get there with my bright yellow lights flashing people would deliberately block my way as I drove onto the shoulder and into the medians to get around them. Some would actually shout, "You can wait like the rest of us!"
To which I would yell back, "Then we're going to be here forever, Dumbass, 'cause I'm the one they called to clear the road!"
People make these things harder than they have to be.

A Parking Meter Comments On The Economy

Postmodern Parking Meter

They call me, post modern.
I guess that it's true
but my post is rusty
and loosing its hue.
I could use some paint
but the budget is thin
so I guess post modern
is the state we're all in.

I guess an explanation is in order. Once upon a time, maybe 2 years ago, maybe 3, maybe 5, I donno... I've been writing these parodies for a very long time. I got an e-mail from a reader who claimed to work for the City of Austin, Texas and wanted to use one of my Parking Meter Poems in some sort of city presentation. She called my parking meter poems, postmodern. I took that to be a compliment and told her it would it would make me happy if they used one of my poems as the parking meters give them to me in the hope that their plight will someday be made public. As to whether or not my poem was used and the plight of the meters made public, I don't know.

Mustard Gas Or Just More Yellow Shit?

As the Fast Food War rages on, ever more violent and deadly than before, we hear rumors that mustard, microwaves and other weapons of mass distraction are set to be employed.


Attack Of The Quiznos

Rib dips lined the battlefields
wielding baguettes as batons.
From submarines, they'd fired
torpedoes, tasty bullets and Cuban bombs.
An ultimate club was loaded,
ready, set to fire
on the soft and toasty flatbreads
with whom they'd once conspired.

And somewhere, a classic Italian weeps...


Seriously, I know most think this absurd and my quickly depleting readership is proving that to be true, but hey, I like doing it anyway. Besides, someday, after I'm dead and gone, some fool who wouldn't know creativity if it bit him will declare me a creative genius and the masses will come running to read what is already gone. And that's the news for today!