Tag Archives: Love

Down and Out, Or bad poetry is just like good poetry — only worse.

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You’re the cream in my coffee;
If I used cream for coffee.
You’re the nickel in a homeless mans shaking can,
As he struts along third ave and tenth being honked at by a van.
You’re the flap of a seagulls wings,
As it soars high Continue reading Down and Out, Or bad poetry is just like good poetry — only worse.

Twelfth Night

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Good madonna, why mournest thou?


Good fool, for my brother’s death.


I think his soul is in hell, madonna.


I know his soul is in heaven, fool.


The more fool, madonna, to mourn for your brother’s
soul being in heaven. Take away the fool, gentlemen.


I’ve seen Mark Rylance in La Bete, Jerusalem, and I usually think of him as the greatest Shakespearean actor I have ever seen on stage. Now having seen him in my first Shakespeare play of his — I am convinced he is the greatest actor I’ve ever seen on stage.

The cast had many standouts. All standouts. Aguecheek, Feste, Maria — just to name a few, but every single man on stage Continue reading Twelfth Night

Go Stalk to Her

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(A twenty five year old sketch comedy writer coming up with a bit that was too long for sketch comedy.)
Early morning. Lights up. A man in his home, finishing paper some paper-work. A doorbell rings. Alex sees who it is.

Alex: Oh shit.

Opening the door.

Sara: Alex!!
Alex: Hey!
Sara: Oh, baby.
Alex: What are you doing here?
Sara: Oh baby.
Alex: I can’t believe you’re here.
Sara: (embracing him) I’m here. I’m home.

Sara goes to make-out with him.

Alex: Sara. Sara.
Sara: (still holding him) Yes.
Alex: How did you…?
Sara: My parents are outside. They drove me Continue reading Go Stalk to Her


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The day was a hot mess.

Angelo had squandered his fortune on high risk dividends and wild stock options and all because of the advice from some pigmy.

Sitting in the sun under a hot northern California beach the pigmy slunk by dragging his right leg.

You must hear my tale.

Angelo mistook him for a child and asked if he was lost. The pigmy stared Angelo dead in the face and spoke of gain, and profit. Margins exploding by months — not years — and a stock market filled with bounce like a pogo stick.

It might have Continue reading Pigmy