puns

a doctor gave a man a clean bill of health, but told him to get more fresh ayers. the man started taking long walks. he a dorhns himself with a light illinois jacket, which he wears now more than evers. he looks a little funny according to malcolm whose ideas are usually middle of the abbie road. but on this occasion, he did not beatle around the bush. by george, he said "you better not go to the beach, boy, in that outfit." herman became a hermit from comments like this one, so i don't approve of his re-marx. i think i will karl him up and try to figure out what his engels is. once i did call him, and i interrupted his breakfast of a hegel and cream cheese. he wanted to kareem me. "don't you realize it is not the mark of a gentleman to disturb a man while he is eaton?" he bellowed. "saul got to stop doing that!" he stated, but i didn't go in for that jazz. "utah too much!" i responded, and then i went to the john and read about the stock market, which had dropped a ton. it's enough to make a man a boozer. sometimes i want to take hit of herb, but i don't have the williams. ohh, it is all so artifical, sometimes i feel like i deserve an oscar just putting a smile on my face. other times i think about moving west. in heinsohn, it's easy to look back at the past. sometimes, you just wilt under the presuure, and you don't want to stand pat any more. i would sail the river jordan if i could. yes serling, i need more than my rod. yes, dick johnson was a great playa, but was he guy smiley? did he get happy? all of me wants to know. for all we know, he is sad, for a penis is just a thing called joe, and his name is dick. in this cunt-tree grows the crops of life, liberty, and the pursuit of a penis. so pick asshole may try to paint a pretty picture, but the only thing that is real in this country, sonny, is ugliness.

senior day

today is the last day for the seniors at the school. so far, their prank has been to put a bunch of balloons in the hall way. i think they can do better...

how about a shit in? dozens of seniors could have had a high fiber breakfast topped with a glass of prune juice. sadly, there have been so shit sightings on campus so far.

after writing these words, the seniors did come up big. a number of them drove their cars through the park across the street from the school. others stood to the side singing "08" to the tune of "ole." (not the song from the coltrane album, featuring george lane) this brought the cops into the picture. a couple of students were arrested, leading to chants of "let them go, let them go!" some of the students even started chanting "fuck the police!" my gosh, what are we gonna do about these young white kids today?

now, this was a tough one. on the one side, you have the police. enough said. but on the other side, you had students driving cars through a park, one of the few car free zones left in our culture. furthermore, they actually cared that they were graduating, and that the year was "08." as if they had any control over when their parents fucked. who cares what year you graduate? and why do you need pranks at all? shake a few hands, exchange a few numbers, say bye to a few teachers, and get the fuck out of there.

by the way, if graduates from one of the predominantly poor black schools in boston were driving cars through a park and chanting "fuck the police," don't you think it would have been handled differently? probably would be front page news.

now look, you should be happy to graduate. it's a good feeling. but the students are just using it as an excuse to act out. every day, they feel repressed and sublimated, so on this day, they attain the illusion of freedom, and finally act in an improvisational manner. in fact, our lives should be filled with improvisation. we shouldn't need these recognized free spaces where we agree to let our collective hair down. and because it is a recognized free space, it comes off as artificial and forced, whereas if people were being spontaneously free, it may have a different feel to it. but it is in the nature of the society we have created to offer minor outlets as a way of better disguising the essential imprisonment which is at the center of our societal existence.

we should not need arbitrary achievements like a graduation in order to validate our worth. such validation can never be true freedom.

having said that, hearing them chant "fuck the police" was pretty cool.

of course, they will all go on to boring upper middle class lives, and will likely look to those same police to protect them as they go through life.

and they will likely again never be as mature as they were at that moment.

having the last name seaman must be pretty cool, huh? no one will ever question your manhood with that name..."dick seaman? nice to meet you." i thought of this because phil seaman is the drummer on joe harriot's free form record. i must give credit where credit is due.

seniors had to write a senior paper in order to graduate? why? no one should be forced to write. how can you tell someone to write anything. think about it. "i want you to write a ten page paper." "oh yeah? well fuck you!" imagine if a guy came up to you on the street and demanded that you write him a paper.

there is education and there is forcing someone to do something. write your own paper. i'll be over here digging blue mitchell.

but that's the set up. it's a force job. the pressure is on you to conform to the existing structure. it's never the other way around. that is why the brilliant men often go nuts. the system can't fit them in.

well, whose fault is that?

08, it's been real. but now i got to go. farewell my brethren. remember to always trust in the lord, and to pay back all of your debts. i'll see you when i see you. until then, remember to keep your dick in your pants, and if you must be a terrorist, be one outside of the u.s army.

phinko, i don't trust a word you cey, ron.

your lines are no fund. how do you expect us to bond over such lines? i don't bank on laughing at your jokes any time soon, although over time, i may grow to appreciate their value. for the stolen moment, they make no cents, and that is the abstract truth, even if it does give you the blues. i don't mean to be rudy, but i felt i had to theile you, for to keepnews to myself would not have been helpful. ron, remember that you are the mcmaster of your own fate, and you can engineer an improvement in your comments if you give your soul to the lord jesus. or, you could give your seoul to the koreans, and stop pretending to live like a rodney king. i know that line was not a riot, but i was distracted while writing it. i had a thought; why can't we all just get a long penis? i realize the society wants to police my thoughts, but i plead not guilty to the brutalization of my mind. denny wants to criticize me, but as far as i'm concerned, he can keep his mouth shut, for he is no angel himself.

the guy in charge of the copy center persists in making over the top remarks. foul language and sexual imagery abounds. but, he's gay. that seems to be his saving grace. if only someone had the will to fire him. richard, pryor to working with the priest, i had never dealt with a co-worker who was so disgusting. at least the year is almost over. the fact, is, i would like to carver up, but that would be a gaffey on my part, for you can betty that only i would get in trouble, and that would not be a step to success. for you see, i am upward bound, and i can not afford to be dealing with the h-cops at this point in my life. rather, i will persist in being an urban scholar, a john legend in my community. for umass remember that while you cannes film globally, you must act locally. cause i'm not looking for a tyson, i'm trying to win, and the only way to win is to make the rich feel they are experiencing helen earth. the rich are not our buddies. friends are for television. in reel life you have to make your movie quickly, and act now before the show is ended for good. i know i have your two thumbs up, and that means a lot to me, for wayne you have the support of the people, it makes your struggle seem a little bit shorter. for i realize it won't be easy. i will likely be put on a blakey list, for their golson is to eliminate everybody with merritt, jymie. yes, it will be an art-orous task, but if i can drum up enough support, and if stan getz the messengers out to enough people, i think we will steve soares like an eagle and fly like a donald byrd. vic torre will be ours, joe.

this should tell you a little something about the town of brookline. some parents are upset that a guy who owns an ice cream truck sells unhealthy food to their children. he parks across from the school. now, nobody is forcing these kids to buy from this guy. and by the way, i don't see these same people protesting all the pharmacies and fast food joints near by where the kids go for their daily fill of garbage. so, why stick it to this guy. furthermore, the government is selling unhealthy wars to their children, but this doesn't seem to merit a word of protest. fucking gutless liberals.

now, to be fair, the town has done something i like. the voters recently decided to change the name of the brookline high teams from the warriors to something yet to be decided. i can get with this. however, yesterday, a couple of guys i work with started bitching about the name change..."it's gonna cost the town 75,000 dollars to change all the uniforms. what a waste!" yeah, waste. not quite like the 720 million a day on the iraq war, but that might take some courage and knowledge to criticize. no, better to keep playing cowboys and indians. i listened for a while, and then said, "how about the brookline jews for a new name?" they quickly changed topics.

the story is telling. the average white guy is angry because "the liberals" have gone too far. "now, they are even changing the names of our beloved teams!" we live in a society that has not even begun to face and acknowledge the horrors of its past. and because of this, it is blind to the ongoing horrors of the present. of course, by the "society," i mean the white establishment, for surely the average indigenous person is hip to the genocide. wow, the white man rebels against the smallest apology, fights againt even the most miniscule of acknowledgements. and so, the sickness which will eventually envelop us all grows.

they really haven't found a replacement for the orgasism, have they?

a little about the hip hop cracker. a couple days ago, this white student who sounds black was making fun of latinos. i'm gonna need a score card soon. lately, he has been putting his hand over his mouth in front of muslim students and doing a stereotypical native war cry. i asked him "what are you doing? don't you realize that is insulting?" he responded "if i wanted to insult him, i would have called him the n-word." i dead panned, "if you wanted to insult a kid from pakistan, you would call him the n-word?" he said "yeah."

you know, they used to argue that the white man was racist because he didn't have contact with blacks and other people of color. well, here is a cracker ass cracker with a formidable rap collection who grew up in a housing project. cross lack of contact as an explanation off the list.

could it be that the white man really is the devil? hard to accept while listening to bennett sing "once upon a time" but nothing else seems to fit.

a couple of days ago, b was asked what grade she was in. she replied "she is supposed to be a 10th grader." well, i'm "supposed" to be malcolm x. i'm not, but i'm supposed to be. this is the same girl who stood outside our class door during the middle of our lunch. i went to the door. she asked "is it time for class yet?" i replied that she had lunch for another 20 minutes, and that she didn't even have our class next any way. 5 minutes later, she was back, again standing by the door. her sense of time is weirder than ornette's.

ok brook, don't get benton out of shape that the blog is ending. you knew it was only a matter of time, kiddio, before it ended. i'm gonna go watch some baseball. i hope it's not a rainy night in georgia.

until we meet again, some sunny day, i wish you a vera good day.

i, critic

idea for a joke; a guy sees a film by a good director, but he doesn't like it. he writes a review called "death of a sayles, man." punko suggests i should see a classic french film, but i think that if you've seen one, you've seen malle. you have to godard against watching too manny of these films, ramirez. but with my luc, i'll probably see one soon. girl, you'll be a woman soon; soon, you'll need a man. neil, that line was a diamond in the rough. my lines stay tight. you know how? because every sunday, billy, i neil down and pray, and my lines rebound like moses.

a man goes to the beach, sees a girl, and thinks of a tune..."it's the same old thong, but with a different meaning since you've been gone." the tune is set to the melody of four, which is tops in my book.

remember the bumper sticker "god made the irish number one." (i know, they are such fuck heads, aren't they?) well, how about "god made the spanish number juan."

a mann should never smoke herb, e. pat once said "osborne in a strict household, and nunn of us smoked, michael." michael, by the way, rode the boat a shore and walked home in time for dinah. considering he lived in washington, this was no easy feet.

you can't go home again. especially if someone has changed the locks. i was gonna change my locks, but i dred doing it, scott. and by the way, why is scott considered great? and which scott are we talking about? michael scott? he's not even a real person, chuck. hey, put down that rifleman! if it means that much to you, he's real! charles brown was a real person, but just thinking of him gives me the blues record, eugene. eugenes are in good shape, but you could do something about those shues, gene. remember, i am chi, so keep the love talk light. don't get too dramatics. and, if you are going to ring my dells, be gentle. or gentile. i was gonna go for gentile floors, but settled on hard wood. i could use some hard wood right about now, but sadly, i am softer than a fat man's stomach.

game 1, celtics-pistons. another 2:30 hours of my life, about to be wasted. well, at least i have a slim waist, ted, because i had the williams to change my diet. actually, all i changed was my shirt sizes. they got bigger, so now, i look smaller. now, i can breathe a cyborg of relief, and mellish the beauty that is me. i figured that was better than stapling my stomach.

ok, pink man, it's been colorful, but i have to move on down the line.

bob, theile you have the impulse to read again. meanwhile louis, i will be in the malle, just another joe in his arena.

peace

lenny bruce...american

hombre means herbie mann, and paul newman is herbie mann, so go frank wess young herbie mann, go wess. give a hoot, play the flute. i enjoyed the puns of pinko. pinko has been known to cozy up to red china. i once saw him fondling chyna. it was something i had to wrestle with for a long time, and as lawler knows, i don't wrestle men. wait a second, i have to kaufman. zehme get a drink a water and i'll be right back. andy came back quickly! he didn't even skip a line.

baby got back. well, of course she's got back! that would be quite a problem if a baby didn't have a back. perhaps the back was thrown out. you ever wonder why people are still throwing backs out. it's past time that they recycle them. i'll get back to this at a later date, if i can stomach it.

george carlin...nigerian.

i am up against the wald-ron, for you see, i am mal-adjusted. the thing is charlie, i have not been a roused for a while. perhaps i have been monk like for too long. but now george, i would like to joyner center, for her art like ways are taylor maid for my manhattan sensibilities. oh, if i could only depart to her chambers, but alas, my thoughts are off bass, so carter away from my mind, ron. i know you doug that line. others may say wat, but we are a kins in our thinking. but keep in mind pinko that you will never be red mitchell, though you may harold land a gig time after time. by the way, have you heard sinatra's tribute to another great singer, "this love of nat king cole mine?" good shit. the tune helped to make him a kay starr, but i just thought it was o kay. the tune was quite a cash cow, and the audience wouldn't let him moo vaughn until he would sing it, and being johnny on the spot, he wood do it in the nick of time. yes, at the root of it all, it was a gay affair, but it was nizer than a lot of other things. people in the crowd would hugus, even those in virginia, which is where it's pratt.

chris rock is joe rock and the skyliners

an italian joke; everytime it rains, it rains penne from heaven.

richard pryor to that line, where was i? for it is eddie murphy's law to not get steve mixed up by your own puns. this turn of events is certainly not what the doctor j ordered. if this goes on any mo, i will turn pinko in the cheeks with embarrasment. never mind my dennis johnson. the old dick lost whatever sax appeal it used to have, for i have lost the sparky due to the fact that i haven't had a miele in three days. three days? we've only been on the boat two days. i didn't eat yesterday, i didn't eat today, and i'm not gonna eat tomorrow; that makes three days. well, in a tad, i will hitch this cock of mine, for it is no drill, sargent.

why is it a man can be named north or west, but never south or east?

to all of you angry about your partners and jobs, i remind you that hundreds of people have starved since i started this blog. comforting, huh?

oh lord, don't let them drop the mccain on us. please lord, raise mccain. and get him the hell away from us.

has anybody here seen my old friend martin? yeah, he's in lawrence.

has anybody here seen my old friend john? yeah, it's in the bathroom. sorry, that line was crap. i just don't want to repeat the same old shit is all.

the truth is, i am a wanderer, though i may end up in belmont, but i don't know where or when. sorry to give you the run around, sue, but just keep in mind that i only have eyes for you. and now, quicker than a flamingo, i will change the subject.

jackie mclean once said about recording for a certain record label "it was like being under the nazis and not knowing it." this describes the life of the average american perfectly. unfortunately, most americans can't tell the phil woods from the jimmy forest. it's enough to drive a man up a tree, rollins.

so, as the hawk blows from a record called stasch, i bid you a farewell.

paul, your shooting pierced my heart

and now, my cavs hurt a little, anthony. as far as ray allen goes, he might as well be woody allen, or ray charles. but seriously, lebron and pierce went toe to toe. good stuff. sadly, the men in green won the game. at least most wasn't around to yell about bird stealing the ball. some were around, but not most.

kevin is going to costner a fortune, sonny, but what will it costas? in the end, sam will attempt to build cassell's in the air, but we are better off with eddie house. rondo you know what i mean? i hear you, sonny redd, playing the mode, but first let's deal with the mean. i'll grant you that if you want to hear blue you are better off with redd.

there is a teacher at brookline high that still says "red china." he is also 6'11. this explains why i didn't say anything.

i was gonna go to denzel washington to protest the war, but the driver got lost in the forest whitaker, so we were stuck looking at birds. i listened to cat anderson and relaxed, but other passengers got testes and began to ball their fists. they duked it out. i began to count the swings. like a goodman, i didn't fight, but i did egg them on by saying cheese and singing smile. it was not a pretty picture. someone even committed digital rape. i began to analog the events in my journal. i told jamal i made abu boo by forgetting to skip lines. he began to peltier me with rocks. we had a row to the death, which ended when i sprained my ed pinckney. the battle joe kleined from there. i became despondent. i figured out what robert parish i was in, and i went to charlotte church to pray. this was mchaled as a turning point in my life. my dennis johnson began to grow when i met a pretty girl in the choir. i preached to her about the wonders of my bird. yes, i found the ainge, just as the chorus sang danny boy. irish i could relive those moments again and again. jewish it too, don't you? italian you, those were the days. i'd flip if i could live them again. but it seems the good times are over, and that is not dynamite. i feel maude, lynn. well, please keep all these feelings in the family. for you see, life is war, and we are all in the bunker now. by george jefferson, happy days will not be here again. i am not trying to be flip wilson, i am just speaking to all who will gleason. and now, the end is near. i wouldn't mind an end being near right about now. it would beat this computer, raven screen. take note of the liners i am throwing at you, sonny. this stitt is tight. i feel like a collosus, as the tenor madness envelops me, and i have thoughts of movin out, somewhere way out west, perhaps to a suite down by the riverside where i can experience freedom and keepnews to myself. let the others have the prestige. i will drink the weinstock. i theile you no lie. the truth is, i have the impulse to record these thoughts for posterity. to be frank, i want to live from here to eternity. let others jump over clifts, or march for justice in montgomery. even if stars fall on alabama, and fill the land, causing my leg to be put in a cast, or, those marchers end up in alcatraz, i will still be free as a bird, man. life is what i want, the eternal springer, for i am just an ordinary joe undergoing a paterno-ty test because i am too povich to raise children, or as my mom's friend with the laughing face says, choldrin. yes, my penn will state my case, of witch i'm certain. i am in the joe hunt for something special, for this is no run of the miller time we are living in. albee sure to remember that life is an art, as the music of edward kennedy ellington serenades the sophisticated ladies who haunt my solitude. for you see, i have it bad and that ain't good. i am in a sentimental mood, perhaps one could even call it a mood indigo.

well, i got to get the one o'clock jump on the kids, as i count the time before they arrive.

back to basies

it is better to givens than to robin from the people

for to robin steal is to live as an outcast, and you will get a rap record before long. you will become a public enemy, so before you act, let's chew the fat, boy, because i don't want to see your vanilla behind put on ice, baby. cause man, being put on ice will tea you off good, dude. being on ice is some serious shit. ain't nobody on ice askin you what 5 cubed is. by the way, it's 125.

fucking idiots. every single one of them. don't ask me to explain.

reading colbert; i am america, and so can you. pretty good. have been on an ishmael reed kick since the pink one mentioned him. speaking of which, it is spring, but sadly, i am still white. just read both the terrible twos and the terrible threes, which were both four tops in my book. i have the temptations to read reed further. perhaps my girl can read him as well. i ain't too proud to beg her to read his books, for i know it's not just my imagination that they are good. it's the way he does the things he does whick makes his writing so strong.

also have a book out called "when the prisoners ran walpole" which is the main prison near boston. for a while in the early 70's, prisoners had a say in how the prison was operated. i look forward to reading the book, which is by an author who favors prison abolition.

a thought; the world would be a safer place if we freed everyone from the prisons, and then jailed the government and abolished the corporations. think about that. that's how fucked up it is.

nobody wants to admit that evolution is true. but perhaps it isn't. i think we have degenerated from earlier species. these earlier species never contemplated and prepared for nuclear war. so, that's it; i believe in degeneration. furthermore, i am not concerned about the age of rocks, but the rock of ages. seriously, science, like religion, or any other body of information, is man made. hence, men are always favored. we create human-centric bodies of knowledge, then study them, get degrees in them, and consider ourselves educated. the fact is, we don't know shit. we are overrated, and you know why? because we are the ones doing the rating! we made the whole fucking thing up.

man has no sense of proportion. take me for example. i think i am a bad motherfucker. complete nonsense. although i do take pride in owning a benny bailey cd. i think that gives me an edge.

back to man; no other being is as artifial. we are so cut off from the real, trapped in structures of our own making. no dog ever thought of reality tv, no wolf ever poisoned a river, no cow ever fought a war. evolution? no. more like devaluation, arrogance, disrespect. i call for a new body of scientific knowledge known as "man's massive ego trip." a three credit course. evolution and god made man in his own image. these really aren't the opposites that their advocates believe them to be.

what an arrogant collection of assholes, housed on planet earth.

for the moment.