SENSITIZE 76
Every morning, Mr. Cring takes a personal moment with his friends.
Today: The brain only knows how to handle things, not resolve them.
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Cracked 5 … August 24th, 2019
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Answers to the question, “Why Are We Here?”
A. Why are we here? Really horny chimpanzees
B. Why are we here? Needed a place for mentally retarded angels
C. Why are we here? God is playing again
D. Why are we here? ‘Over there’ didn’t allow fat, homely people
E. Why are we here? To divide up in colors and kill each other
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Sit Down Comedy … May 17th, 2019
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ROLY-POLY WITH JUICES
I am so roly-poly with the creative juices of exhilarated existence that I can no longer sip on the drip provided by a religious system which offers me exercises in worship, while robbing me of my strength, leaving me anemic and weak.
PLUMP WITH PURPOSE
Likewise, I am plump with purpose, and can no longer sit around with the abstract questioning of politicians who only pursue the trap and the snare rather than allowing themselves to use their position to reconfigure the world.
CHUBBY WITH MERCY
I am chubby with mercy and will not constrain myself to go on a diet of selfish, judgmental decisions against those who are created in the image of the one I say is my Father.
OBESE WITH HUMILITY
Yes, I find myself obese with the humility that chokes the heartless part of me that would pridefully believe I can follow some sort of continuing, narrowing path, and never find my steps to those in need.
ROTUND WITH CAPITAL
I am rotund with capital. Yes, money sufficient to care for my own self, and still coins and dollars left over for those the Spirit of God might bring across the pathway of my humanity.
FAT WITH ABUNDANT LIFE
I am too fat with abundant life to ever starve again on the leftovers provided by those who fear death so much that they can’t live.
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1 Thing You Can Do This Week To Be More Balanced
Watch Your Mouth
You see, your mouth is the problem.
Because what goes in your mouth makes you fat, and what comes out often makes you sound like a fat-head.
So here’s the key:
Purposely Talk Less
And while you’re at it, eat a little less, too.
Counteract those two by laughing more and forcing yourself to speak kindness.
Because what have you got to lose but a few pounds and the ugly nickname, “Grouchy Stiltskin?”
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Catchy (Sitting 65) Just As I Am… September 9th, 2018
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Matthew sat quietly in the rental car he had selected at the airport, having arrived early for a meeting with Milton Crenshaw–one he promised Jubal he would cover.
As he sat on the narrow thoroughfare winding through the trailer park leading to Crenshaw’s mobile home, he watched with great curiosity as a mama duck led her four babies across the road. She was so damn organized.
He suddenly felt very stupid because he envied her. She was just a duck–but she had a family. Matthew had no “honey” and no “sonny.” Just himself and a nice rental car. Oh–and of course, there was that little thing of being saved by his old friend, Michael Hinston and being given a second chance via a liver transplant.
Matthew knew he was an ungrateful son-of-a-bitch, but that didn’t make him any more thankful. When Soos called him that morning and told him it had been a hundred days since anyone had heard from Jo-Jay, he was concerned–but not engaged.
Likewise, it had been seven days since anyone had heard from Carlin Canaby. Matthew investigated, and discovered that Carlin had turned in all his rental properties and checked out of his suite at the Las Vegas casino. He was nowhere to be found.
Jubal felt that he should take over some of Carlin’s duties, so he asked Matthew to take the weekly meeting with Milton.
Matthew had been very reluctant. There was no real reason for it. Well, he didn’t like trailer parks. Or old men. And he wasn’t particularly fond of fat people–especially if they were “preachers of the Gospel.”
Overall, he just felt ill-suited for the task. However, the ducks completed their journey across the road, so Matthew decided it was time to go meet Mr. Crenshaw. Like a boy called to the dinner table on broccoli night, he took his time, dragging his feet. He trudged to the door, knocked, and a voice from inside bellowed, “Come on in. It’s open.”
Matthew stepped through the door. Sitting in a wheelchair was a big fat man with a grin. The fellow reached out a hand and Matthew took it. He then offered Matthew a seat. Matthew sat down and declined coffee, breakfast and water–he wasn’t staying long.
Milton waited for a moment and then realized that Matthew had no intention of starting the conversation. So he launched. “You’re a talkative one, aren’t you?”
“No disrespect, sir,” answered Matthew, “but you’re a stranger to me and I’ve never been particularly fond of strangers…”
Milton interrupted. “Especially big fat ones that preach the Gospel, right?”
Matthew was taken aback by the bluntness, but managed to reply, “Oh, no. Nothing like that…”
“So are you tired?” asked Milton.
“My flight wasn’t that long,” began Matthew.
Milton interrupted again. “I’m not talkin’ about your damn flight. I’m just wondering if you’re tired of dodging and trying to escape the obvious.”
“What is obvious?” asked Matthew.
“What is obvious?” mulled Milton. “Well, how about this? We’ve tried for several hundred years to live in a world where everyone is allowed to believe anything they want to, do anything they want to, and even form governments around that thinking, without any objection.”
“That’s what they call freedom,” inserted Matthew.
Milton laughed. “‘Freedom’s just another word, for nothin’ left to lose.’ That’s from Bobby McGee.” He peered at Matthew and added, “I’m sure thqt was before your time.”
Matthew sat up in his chair and stated, “Well, if it’s conversation you want, and you want it to be honest, I would just love to receive this report I’m supposed to collect and get the hell out of here.”
Milton smiled. “Well, I see you have some backbone. That’s good. So you want my report? Here’s my report. I’m sitting in a room with a man who has been blessed–who is so ignorant that he feels he has the God-given right to question the logic of the universe. How’s that for a report?”
“I don’t like you, Mr. Crenshaw,” said Matthew. “And it’s not because you preach the Gospel or because you are heavy-set.”
“You mean fat?” Milton interrupted.
“Your word,” countered Matthew. “It’s not because of that. It’s because you’ve eye-balled me ever since I walked in, as a potential conquest for your ego-stroking evangelical need to save the world, one damnable sinner at a time.”
Milton lurched back in fake horror. “Oh, my God! I don’t want you to get saved! Then you’d be my brother in Jesus and we might have to work together! I’m just pointing out that you find yourself to be so intelligent and erudite–yet the obvious continues to escape you.”
“Okay, I’ll bite. What is the obvious?” asked Matthew.
“I didn’t say I’d tell you,” replied Milton. “I don’t usually waste my time sharing valuable information with those who are determined to be ignorant.”
Matthew stood to his feet. “And I’m not accustomed to hanging around to be insulted. I’ve had enough of this. I’ll just tell Jubal that it was great and you were super-fine. How’s that?”
“Sit down,” demanded Milton. Matthew didn’t move.
“Please,” added Milton with some tenderness. Against his better judgment, Matthew sat back down.
Milton paused. His demeanor changed.
“My dear friend,” he began gently, “if the human race does not find a common cause, a common kindness and a common appreciation, we’re just gonna fuckin’ kill each other. I hope you don’t mind me using that word. I don’t very often, but sometimes it’s the only one that grants correct emphasis on the desperation and futility of a situation.”
Matthew jumped in. “My problem with you is not that you say ‘fuck.’ My problem with you is that you’re a big, fat fuck.”
Milton laughed. He roared. He slapped his chubby thigh and he rolled his wheelchair closer to Matthew.
“That I am,” he said. “Do you know why?”
Matthew shook his head.
“It’s because while you deliberate two inches of rope to determine its strength, the world is hanging itself by the remaining length. Please understand–I don’t follow Jesus because I’m a religious man. Hell, I had a porn addiction at one time in my life. I had to fight it off like crazy. I’m not a good man; I’m not a pure man. Morality is not my primary concern. It’s common sense. You see, the reason they killed Jesus of Nazareth is because he was sensible. And the reason the church today does not preach Jesus is because it’s afraid their people will not tolerate the simplicity of ‘love your neighbor as yourself.’ It’s much easier to play the organ, the guitar, preach the sermon and feign worshipping the heavens with candles and eucharist. But meanwhile, the world keeps dividing into smaller and smaller groups. And the smaller the groups are, the more dangerous they become. Organization becomes easier. You see, it would take China months–maybe years–to get agreement to destroy the world from all its various leaders. But sixteen fanatics in a garage in Syria, with a dirty bomb, could pull off tragedy before the weekend.”
“If we don’t come up with a common message–a common goal, a common sense–we will kill each other. And you see, Moses won’t do it–he believed in killing. As did Mohammed, Buddha and all the religionists throughout history. Jesus never killed anyone. He never recommended it. He said God is your Father, nature is your Mother, I am your brother, and the whole world are your cousins.”
“If that message doesn’t permeate our society in the next twenty years, we will have diminishing results, which will end up in a foolish decision to prove some asinine point.”
Matthew was stunned, but didn’t want to act like it. “What gives you the right, Mr. Crenshaw, to make decisions for everyone in the world?”
Milton leaned forward and said, “What gives you the right, young man, to deny that the decision has already been made, the price has already been paid–and all that remains is for each one of us is just to walk into the wisdom of loving one another and being kind and tender-hearted?”
Matthew laughed. “And you think you’re kind and tender-hearted? You think the way you treated me this morning is the spirit of love? If your attitude is Jesus, then you can stick the motherfucker right back up on the cross as far as I’m concerned.”
“Very dramatic,” said Milton. “I can see why they asked you to take on this mission. You have the power of your convictions even when they’re wrong. You started out your life–you wanted to be funny. You are funny. You wanted to have your own business. You do. You wanted to be successful. You are. You wanted money. God knows you got that. You wanted people to look up to you. Accomplished. Yet you sat in your casino suite and nearly drank yourself to death. How gentle do you think I should be with such arrogance?”
All at once Matthew broke. It really wasn’t anything Milton had said. It wasn’t a conviction from the challenge. But tears filled Matthew’s eyes. Not the usual weeping, where he conjured self-pity over some perceived injustice to his character. These tears were coming from another place, out of his control, streaming down his face, though he willed them to cease.
Matthew wept. Then he sobbed. And then he cried out, “Oh, my God! Oh, my God!”
Milton backed up his wheelchair and turned away to give Matthew a private moment.
Matthew was moved–but angry at the same time. He didn’t want to be some common, everyday sinner, repenting and weeping over evil actions. He hated himself for being weak.
But none of that stopped the tears.
Quietly, Milton spoke–nearly under his breath. “Just as I am, and waiting not, to rid my soul of one dark blot. Just as I am, without one plea, but that thy blood was shed for me.”
Through a gushing of tears, Matthew squalled, “Why did they kill him?”
Milton paused and turned slowly to Matthew. “Because they foolishly thought it would stop him.”
This brought an even greater torrent of mourning. Milton eased his wheelchair over and put his arms around Matthew, who laid his head on the old man’s chest and cried like he had lost everything.
No one hurried the moment. No one spoke again. Neither Milton nor Matthew knew exactly what it all meant.
Yet something was different.
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PoHymn: A Rustling in the Stagnant … June 6th, 2018
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Please Explain
by Jonathan Richard Cring
My friend Brillo has a pad
Crazy Larry is really quite mad
Dirty Harry is never clean
Porno Pete, quite obscene
Sistah Golda’s the Queen of Funk
Stinky Stephen sniffs of skunk
Reverend Frowner knows the Word
Charlie the Clown is truly absurd
Private Gump had Lieutenant Dan
The Potts family owns a special pan
The Bumblebee really rarely does
And Fuzzy Wuzzy has no fuzz
Little Boy Blue looks better in red
Are they thankful–the Grateful Dead?
We’re looking for a star without the wars
Windows of opportunity, or are there just doors?
It’s never funny to be sent to the farm
And a safety pin can do some harm
You may never find a hat on a cat
And a skinny farm is for those who are fat
Words, wishes on the wall
Graffiti or art–it’s your call
I’m not confused, don’t worry about me
Just please explain Chicken of the Sea
Today’s PoHymn is read by Lily, thirteen years old, from Broward County, Florida
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Dudley … May 25th, 2017
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DUDLEY’S DIET
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