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Superhero
A different kid is Charley Findley. Dressed in a superhero costume for ‘show and Share’, aka, ‘Show and Tell’, Charley minces home.
That was long before The Fantastic Four.
Cartoons provided all the superheroes or there are no heroes at all.
Billy Hardcastel guffaws from the back, “awe… save it for Halloween.’ Everyone laughs. The teacher writes a note home to my mother.
Dear Mrs. Smith,
Charley needs to talk to you about, ‘show and share.’
Sincerely,
Donna Jones
That was back in the day when a teacher could expect a parent to ‘parent.’
Mother imagined me as possibly crazy ever since the catapult incident last July 4th. The word
‘short bus’ crossed her mind.
Panic ensued. All my fantasy toys were burned but the bow and arrow were not torched.
Privately, I slipped into a fairy-circle realm every chance I got.
I could disappear and reappear at will. I lived for time in the woods. For me, the bush is the
charmed place. Dead trees become Monsters and wild bees create hives of honey that I
harvested as they sleep in November.
That had been my reality until that very moment of the note.
One moment of lapsed judgement at Show and Share had cost me my kingdom.
The grocery bag of “Star-Of-The-Week” stuff seems heavy to me:
Yo-yo
Robin Hood pen knife
small stringed kite
two horse chestnuts
a baking soda powered plastic submarine
one charred Chewbacca.
Oh boy… I blew it…. I am not a superhero today.
And now this: Lions 10
Dreamers 0
The Little Old Lady with Paraphernalia
“But you don’t even have a screen in here….the craftsmanship is good…ironwood you say….Jamaica. Throw it away and try this…it’s on sale right now, ceramic bowl and a deeper bowl”
I’m tired of dicking around with this one, you’re right on that; always getting plugged; dirty.”
“ahhh, you have a licence, but I don’t, can you put away the paraphernalia; it’s okay on my side of the counter but the camera might see it different on your side.
“Done. Anyhow, I’ll take it.
“Let me see if I get you a deal.”
Deals Smeals, get me outta this place: Why is everybody trying to give me deals?
“Thirty”…..”?”
“Good, great, wrap it up.”
“So with your twenty percent discount; don’t you still want the filters? Yes, okay….thirty six ninety eight.
“Do you take pension cheques?”
“My dear we take entire pay cheques.”
Don’t ‘my dear me’ I’ll phuck you up mister
And here's a coupon for next time.
"oh.thanks."
"Bye…have a good one"
Goodbye…have a good one… ? My meter is almost out.
The Little Old Lady at the Head Shop
“You want I shouldnt show U da cheaper ones?”
“Anyways, dis one, I feel it works. But der, I fill it.”
“I can’t use this one; it has a nude person on it.”
“No but, bettr deal, same price.”
“No, I’ll take that little green one down there; see?
“Dis one ovr here, good deal two.”
“No that one is not butane. Just give me whichever little butane one of those that works best; my parking meter is running out.”
“Ok, my dear.”
“‘My dear,: I’ll, ‘my dear’, ya buddy.”
~
Next time…Little Ole Lady buys a pipe
Pains’ Journey – Medical Marijuana
A Labyrinth of an Ordeal.
Toronto offers many ‘solutions’ for pain.
Chinatown offers exotic cures using teas, infusions or zests. Thornhill might inject you with four inch needles, jammed in, to numb nerve endings. Richmond Hill might suggest Therapeutic Touch and Reiki. Scarborough churches perform the 'laying on of hands' or an amateur exorcism.
Specialists stab, poke, or laugh, depending on the decade. First they call you neurotic. Then they list you as hopeless. After rounds and rounds of different medications, you find yourself thirty pounds overweight, chronically short of breath and impacted.
The end of my thirty five years of pain began two years ago at the office of Doctor Saul David, a peach of a man who normally specializes in men’s health.
Forbidden Advice
“No No round eye no no.” I feel eyes drilling a slanted, yellow hole in my back.
“It ova heah… the art-rit-teh!”
OHHHHH over here! I feel the rat-tat-tat-a-rat cadence of her thought pattern.
It sears into my spine; worse than the pain.
Finding your way safely around a health food store is much like navigating a
minefield.
There are a lot of traps—hidden behind a lot of hype, misinformation, and
outright ignorance to be on the lookout for
while trying to find useful products.
Fuck it, “where’s the Aleve?”
“We have special for Aleve.”
Oh no not another decision.
Now that I have exposed my racist tendencies, let me say that I intend to become equally indiscriminate to all races, including my own ‘til the sun comes up on the Santa Monica Boulevard’ of my mind.
All this PC bullshit…what’s up with that? It’s elitist to act all PC in my view.
As opposed to
“Doc, can’t you just do a nerve block?”
“Well Mrs. Simpson, there is a specialist who does just that. Here’s a referral. Remember, blocks are not the best treatment for all pain problems.”
(Yah, just stick them in…let me be the judge)
“Okay doc I guess I will know. Thank you.”
http://kcadocs.com/trigger-point-injections/
Up next, Goalie for a Dart Team…
Medical Marijuana Pain’s Journey
Alright, alright. i wasn't just listen to the static. I got my finger on it.
The next blog is exactly about the subject mentioned. I need fifty readers. Can you help?
Who could compete with that?
Jams understood why the Gems were jealous of Yellow Bird, booze and jerk at the front, ‘white’ magic healing out back. But the shuffle to forgive them does not jive with the shame of forgetting about Jackie.
Some say it was her own fault, her blunder in assuming she could ‘go native’, forgetting that she would always be an foreigner, pretending that she was not an outsider. But these transgressions do not merit being murdered.
The Gems were sent away to do a little time. Ja jail is as far from paradise as you can
get. Time served there is double time anywhere else.
None of it hit the newspapers. It’s amazing to me how a country’s culture, so based on rumour and innuendo can keep these things so secret.
The names in this story have been changed to protect the guilty.
Maybe one moral: It’s the moral too late for any forgotten victims of unsolved murders. Never forget where you are, who you are, and that
if they want you; they can always get you.
Ultimate Monkey Therom
The crime scene had seen a few showers before Police finally found what was left of Kent’s Canadian brand shoe tracks on the victim’s remains. Kent and Jackie finally unlocked from that unholy game of death.
Jackie needed the bosom buddy that she tried to bill me as. I was
neither her spy no confidant and she was fresh out of those too. After a time we figured this is why she wanted me to seem like those things to other people. A pal. A buddy. A chum. Jackie had used and abused, lied to or treated like dirt anyone she came in contact with, to get
ahead. There was no one left.
The mystery was not as if you put a monkey in a room at a keyboard and she finally started typing Shakespeare.
The gems may have used black magic to appear from out of the sea, but the rest was text book: Jewll’s filleting razor at the scene, a dozen witnesses who heard the death threats, blood in Ruby’s trunk.
And the reality that struck Jackie as she died?
Jewll’s gem was not even semi-precious. More like a rock. Not only did she have a five o’clock shadow but an Adams apple to match.
She did not need Ruby to kill or Jackie. Jewll needed her only to dump the body into that narrow valley, and later, to blame the murder on.
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