People I’d Like To Set On Fire

Where to begin? Let’s start with the home.
People who call, or don’t; meaning those who say they will, and don’t. Or those who call and you wish your fingers could reach through the handset and poke them in the eye, or rip their nose hairs out.

There, that cheers me up. Or you’re in the store and Granny Goodbitch, with moths coming off her, is counting pennies for a coupon while liberally cutting the cheese. Or some real shitbird has 16 items in an 8 item lane? What’re you supposed to do? Take lunch? How about next time you say, ‘Hey retard, it’s an 8 item lane. Oh I’m sorry, maybe you’re not retarded, you’re just an ignoranus.’
Might just have to ask the cashier to smell my socks. Eau de just so Last Week.

Or there’s a very good looking woman standing around, whom you can’t help admire. She notices you noticing her, and looks at you like you’ve dropped The Big Brown One on her shoe.
Perhaps next time I ought to – say, ‘Disdain?’ Here’s dis ‘dain for you.’ Or she’s looking like you’ve pillaged, burned, and thrown her entire closet of clothes into disarray and ought to be charged admission for simply looking in her general direction.
I’m sorry. Yes, you’re good looking, but those aren’t personalities. Obviously.

A time or two I’ve run into strange looks from older couples who, depending on whether or not they’re carrying something, or parading around a small dog, appear to assume that I’m going to grab the goods, or cook the dog because I just happen to have that hunch-backed Quasimodo fascination with egocentric and arbitrary geezers who might be packing an extra used Kleenex I could borrow.

I’ve run into a few of those in malls, especially. However, there it’s packs of kids, thieves, pedophiles, welfare cheats, and cops of one kind or another.
Primarily interesting are the younger girls/women who either look at you like they wish you had candy, or ones who stare at you and make faces as if you were going to offer them some.
I’ve yet to find a shop that would sell me a Taser when I need one.
Zzzzt! Attitude change.

How about never minding those unread, opinionated assgoblins [picture a Rolling Stones' type tongue sprouting from an asshole with an Itchy and Scratchy replay]  who delude themselves and other assgoblins that because they are alive their opinions on anything from literature to life carries weight. They ought to be made to descend through Dante’s circles on a tiny tramcar yelling, “I am but an amoeba, a blood corpuscle, pay no attention to intellectual munchkins!’ I can see more than a few grinning know-it-alls on that trolley to hell.
Where’s my trapdoor when I need it.

So what about when you get in the car? How about we begin with the asshole driving next to you, though the entire highway is clear. Or the knobgoblin who likes to speed up, only to park in your blind spot for miles, again though the road is like sky.

Or you’re driving in the passing lane, cars stacked in the lane next to you, and one bonehead believes it’s okay to come right behind you, remaining a ruler’s length away, even though the highway is clear behind him, or her.

Let’s get it straight, age or sex has no province when it comes to stupidity, especially when driving. You can be a genius, and still drive like a Jethro.

I never understood why, when highways are endless, there can be traffic lines. If you’re in the fast lane, go fast. In fact, car insurance ought to cover the gomers you roll over when they’re driving the speed limit in the passing lane.
The passing lane is not your private driveway, and if that is what you are doing, there are thousands of people who want to politely ask you to stop, and examine their front fenders while they get back in their car and find out whether it’s true you make noise when you’re fucked.
You are hated – get out of the way.

Who are those idiots who roll in front of you when there’s hundreds of yards clear, and you’re busting forward to get out of the way of the axe-murderer right behind you? Don’t you just want to sweep that cow-catcher right up to their back bumper, and pitch them off to the side? (no, for the prurient, I am talking about traffic)

How about those old bags who give you the finger because they’re going say 60, in the passing lane, when the limit is 80, and you beep the horn to wake them from the tea-induced stupor? Shouldn’t a sort of road rage be legal then? You follow them home, and get your dog out on their front lawn, and feed it ex-lax? And if you don’t, then you get a fine.

What if you’re in the city and stopped next to some hearing-impaired asswipe with the stereo blazing with some shit about ‘bongo, bongo, bongo, I don’t wanna leave the Congo?’ Shouldn’t your license be taken away if you don’t immediately haul out your bazooka, and help them escape to another country, so to speak?
And your car insurance premiums decrease.

I guess what we’re speaking of is basic thoughtless and willful ignorance, and here you thought those California wildfires were accidental, or even arson. Silly.
Nope.
Shooting got to be too obvious, that’s all. And when you run off those highways, the ground really is very dry.

Next time, I promise to wait til we’re in the city and close to some robbers’ corner store, or at a poolitician’s speech about civic improvements: or right outside the line where a bunch of self-congratulatory corncobs with more money than brains are paying $1,000.00 for some movie or concert ticket.

I mean, can’t start a fire if you don’t have a match, right?
©Dean J. Baker
©Dean J. Baker and deanjbaker.wordpress.com, 2010. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material that appears here or has appeared here without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Dean J. Baker and deanjbaker.wordpress.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content. Page copy protected against web site content infringement by Copyscape

BOOKS ARE AVAILABLE at Dean J. Baker in limited editions, $14.95 + postage each – discounts available for libraries, bookstores, and distributors

First Books

If you are interested in buying my first two books, please contact me, and I will reserve them as they will be a limited edition.

Price is $15 each, plus postage within North America. European orders also available. Discounts for orders of  more than 5 each.

There are two books. One of poems; the other of Baker’s Bad Boys: you will not find these poems, or prose works, on either of my blogs.

The book blurb is:
“Dean is a combination of thought and torment that has made him write more than a baker’s dozen of fine poems.. he might produce a collection that could astound us all.” – Irving Layton

Irving Layton is one of Canada’s foremost poets, nominated twice for the Nobel Prize for Literature; teacher, friend and mentor to Leonard Cohen, and the man to whom Leonard dedicated his latest book.

So feel free to contact me for orders.. of the books, that is here, when you click on Send a Message. http://www.google.com/profiles/deanjbaker

Book samples: http://deanjbaker.wordpress.com

samplings of other works there  too http://deanjbaker.wordpress.com

And a great review: http://networkedblogs.com/76bfS

©Dean J. Baker

©Dean J. Baker and deanjbaker.wordpress.com, 2010. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material that appears here or has appeared here without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Dean J. Baker and deanjbaker.wordpress.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content. Page copy protected against web site content infringement by Copyscape

BOOKS ARE AVAILABLE at Dean J. Baker in limited, numbered editions, $14.95 + postage each – discounts available for libraries, bookstores, and distributors

The Daily Doo Dah

That would be the title of my newspaper. Online or not, it would at least be good for a wipe or two. I mean, a swipe. I mean, a swift glance.

Let’s see, in order to forestall guessing, we’d have politicians who don’t know their ass from their elbow and do it with your money. You don’t care though, you just keep electing the same idiots with different faces and hope?the game gets better.
And then deny it.
So we’d do stories on you, the voters.

Mrs. So and So went to work today and had a quiet sense of superiority when she realized she had saved exactly $100.00 more than her customers.
The dentist thought about Mrs. So and So’s savings and guessed he’d better charge her an extra $90.00 for working on her teeth because he bet that moustache she seemed to be growing would tickle his forearms again.
Schmoo, the mechanic, decided he’d have to up the price on the dentist’s repairs because his no-good son had started drinking again and gotten another ticket.
BoBo, the accountant, just knew he’d have to charge extra to everyone because he wanted that margin of security since those assgoblins in the Market had savaged his stocks.

Little Betty BooBoo was sure she could get Tommy Tourette, Timmy’s little brother, into some good trouble if she just whispered the right provocation when he came into the classroom.
And Tommy was sure as hell going to say something to Betty, hoping his brother wouldn’t find out he’d taken a few dollars from his desk drawer or there’d be a fight word-storm.
Bobby Boredom did some good deeds.

You get the idea.
Not as diverse but about you, your kin, their foibles and troubles.

Cause we’re different from politicos. They may say they’re the same, but they aren’t – they have power, and a powerful crowd.
They don’t just lie down and say okay, drive me home. Unless we all speak at once. But we all know it would take a virtual decimation of neighbores in the street for that to occur.
Politicians can lie, steal and lie and we do nothing. Just keep hoping. Watching TV. Worshipping millionaires.

Looking for a miracle. Ignoring our own predilections for change because we’re too damn tired from working, placating the wife, being sure to have more than the neighbores.

Doesn’t mean we’re unaware. Nope.

Just wish when the politicos lie they’d be a bit more clever about it. And when they conceal things, they’d have at least some humility when found out, that they’d say something.
Not simply pass by their own faults, wait a decent interval, and then start all over again telling us what was in our best interests.

We know. Even if we don’t know how.

Sure we’re venal and all want more money than the next guy – but we don’t want to be like him, or her. We’d make a difference.
Same way you can count on one hand the movie stars, the musicians, who donate any significant amount of their own money to kids, dogs and cats, or something else worthy, like alkies.

And we do know that in their hearts politicians are just like us – it does matter to them when people are murdered. When children are abused. When animals are ass-fucked, and tortured.
By the neighbores.
And they will do something about it.
Sometime.
After the fact.
In a sure-fire deterrent way guaranteed to make the pervs twitch before they next commit.

You can feel it, can’t you?

Those gun-toting, drug-sniffing – wait, I don’t mean border guards – those criminals are lining up to become respectable, get jobs and have some earned self-pride.
It isn’t that they need examples. Or that they’re stupid. Or lazy.
They’re smart. They see hard-working people have money, that’s why they rob, rape and kill them – when they aren’t killing each other because someone was too lazy to share their drugs.

Or white-trash isn’t drinking themselves silly, and wicked trash aren’t killing each others’ kids. Or rich assholes aren’t de-parenting their own kids by allowing them money, cars and whiskey until they kill someone with better character.

We could write about that, or simply let the political show with its lies and untruth, and the glamor or hypocrisy continue because it might just set sail to granny’s anxieties, gramp’s gonads might start dragging on the ground, and little junior would figure, why yes,  real people do talk like rappers.
And the elite are only those who can afford to sit back, look at the news, and think, why shit, that’s not me.

Whew.

©Dean J. Baker
©Dean J. Baker and deanjbaker.wordpress.com, 2010. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material that appears here or has appeared here without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Dean J. Baker and deanjbaker.wordpress.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content. Page copy protected against web site content infringement by Copyscape

BOOKS ARE AVAILABLE at Dean J. Baker in limited editions, $14.95 + postage each – discounts available for libraries, bookstores, and distributors

Keep In Touch

‘Keep in touch!’ How often do you hear those words from people?
If you’re like me, and fortunately not many are, you wonder ‘why the fuck should I have to keep in
touch with you, why don’t you try calling me, emailing, sending mail, and maybe one out of a hundred
times I might respond, succumb, feel charitable enough to say back, ‘hey, ok, let’s have coffee sometime.’

Don’t they get it? If I wanted to keep in touch you wouldn’t have to tell me. I wouldn’t need an ever-so-non discrete suggestion about doing so.
And isn’t it always the wankers who are asking, saying, telling? The ones whose social list reads like a phone book, which is why they need you to keep in touch – so they can remember you exist?

So basically they’re saying hey you, I think you might be interesting. If you keep in touch, that may prove so. I just might deign to remove myself from my social swirl and descend to your level of social ineptitude, and general isolation, pick the crumbs off my sleeve – or is that your dandruff – and engage in a forced conversation about my accomplishments because you have likely done nothing.

Oh, great. Meaning I would get to listen to their platitudes about society, life in general, their busy schedule, and  – ready – how I ought to stay in touch.

Therefore instead of enjoying a sloppy morning or afternoon writing, playing music, tormenting the kitty, I could pretend to be enthralled at sharing the wide dominion of consciousness with someone whom, if I saw them on the street, might think to myself, ‘now what is that wild-looking knob up to walking the streets?’

Exactly what would we say to each other?
Them: “Well, I hope you’ve been keeping yourself busy, staying healthy, and making money. Especially after that hard time of two years sickness when you’d finished taking care of your father for 10 years, when I was too busy to call or find out how things were going after you were settling his estate, and redoing the entire house.
Sorry that no one else was around either.”
Me: ‘Why hell, that’s ok. Your version of events and your perspective are what matter most. Just being polite, you know. The fact that I almost died means nothing, though abandoned literally by everyone, since I am here now. And fuck a duck, isn’t that what they used to say in the ‘60’s? Be Here Now? So of course all is cool.’

You silly stupid basturds.
I lead and have led one of the most interesting lives of anyone. Travelled the world, met and hung around with famous and great poets, writers, and musicians.
Write music, poetry, prose.
Been attacked in the midst of my fever by assholes and violent sheeples (“Great spirits have always encountered violent opposition from mediocre minds” (Einstein).

Lost my best doggie, an ex, my best writing friend, and another writer friend I’d known for decades, then lost my father, gotten sick unto death practically, had to deal with lawyers,  one remaining family member fighting with me, still recovering, and you tell me to keep in touch.
Have integrity to the degree that it is leaking from my shoes, and you say I should keep in touch.

If I was to keep in touch anymore, I’d implode.
If you were out of touch any farther, you’d be a speck of lint on that big ball of dirt they call the moon.

My keeping in touch is noticing the snow, drinking some coffee, writing, seeing strange, beautiful – I guess – blonde women hiding behind plants in the local library, and then saying hello.

Hello.

©Dean J. Baker
©Dean J. Baker and deanjbaker.wordpress.com, 2010. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material that appears here or has appeared here without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Dean J. Baker and deanjbaker.wordpress.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content. Page copy protected against web site content infringement by Copyscape

BOOKS ARE AVAILABLE at Dean J. Baker in limited editions, $14.95 + postage each – discounts available for libraries, bookstores, and distributors

The Idiots In Charge – 1

I was reading a book yesterday on public executions, to cheer myself up.

When I first saw the book on the shelf at the library in Port Colborne, I felt this great sense of relief.
Like maybe someone was finally going to do something about all those slow assholes driving in the fast lane, or the new immigrants walking on the left-hand side of the sidewalk instead of the right. Or maybe, just maybe, I’d never again hear the words about some Islamist dick deciding to lop off his daughter’s hoo hahs or go for a boating vacation with the entire family without a boat.

Perhaps finally, when the government wanted an opinion as to what to do about tax, they’d finally come to my door and I’d give them my idea:  make the politicians pay, or you die.
No more ‘ we tried’, and ‘we’ll improve in the next decade or two.’ Nope. Lop off their heads.
I mean, they are not  accountable to anyone really. They push for pay-offs in the form of taxes and insurance rates, they don’t pay interest when they owe you money yet claim it for themselves, and if you object they get an army of fucktards to pester you any time you make a move.
The only thing missing is a protection racket.

So I say we kill them. Publicly. And we choose who gets to do so.
You’re a senior citizen and they’ve just made it harder for you to stay warm without worrying about eating that can of beans?
You get to spit them, and roast them. And collect all the money from selling tickets.

They run a big city where the only thing they do is fuck-up snow removal, road repair, real estate, health care, and immigration? And then they tax you more? i.e. rob you.
You decide. What will it be?
They’re wired with lights to a buzzer that measures the deficit and every time it threatens to go up they light up like the town Christmas tree? Otay!

They feed prisoners, give them books, flu shots, rights for this and that; handcuff the cops from kicking their asses down a few station stairs, and kicking them in the bags?
You decide.
Prisoners are released into your custody. Do what you want with them. Only thing is, don’t forget to share.

The media, the government, other people prevent truth from surfacing so things could finally be seen and corrected?
You decide. You say yeh when did we begin to have gun crimes in Toronto so frequently? Maybe you make a list of what groups it couldn’t be doing so, and you name them.
Was it those ass-fucking priests? Noooooo. Was it the Protestants? No. Keep going….

In fact, anyone opposed to the use of a common sense, golden rule government is liable.

You know, the shithead in the store who coughs openly, wipes their nose on their hand and then says Have a good day, here’s your change.

How about we get the highways wired? You get into the passing lane and a sensor in your car lights up. You go below the commonly accepted speed of say 120, and once the sensors in the rear and front divine that no one is near you, you blow up.
This also goes for those nitwits who drive around with assholes blaring from their radios.
‘Bongo, bongo, bongo, I don’t wanna leave the Congo’… boom!
And of course if you object to that, or any other common sense thing, you get sent to the Island For Faeries and Liberals.
Plus, no lubricant.

If the media reports anything from any country or within our own, political, news, or otherwise, and doesn’t comment on the reality of it all, we get to drop them in the same circumstances, sell tickets, and ask them live, ‘ how does it feel?’

It would not mean if your Mom and Dad, your neighbor or friends, piss you off that you get to report them.
If you did, you get to go live on a show ‘Retards and Their Reprehensible Behavior.’ No more waiting for Jesus to let you know after you fuck more people up.

‘The Electric Chair, Home Edition’ becomes more than a game. Long visiting house pests beware.

You got kids telling adults to fuck off?  Taser them and receive a reward. Don’t taser them and you get marked as ‘politically correct.’ Uh oh.

Petty criminals rob you, push you, ignoramuses impede you?  Bullies decide how you feel?
They get pushed into the river. Or run over. And if they ruin your car, their family pays for it.

Your neighbor has a dog that always manages to take a huge fucking dump on your lawn after you mow it? Or anyone gives you shit when you are obviously in the right?
You get to poop in their potato pot and they have to dig in.
That’s right, you give me shit: chow down assgoblin, you’re eating it.

On a more positive note, if you happen to challenge any deficiencies of government and general behavior, you are hugely rewarded. Women, cash, homes, and your enemies given a hot-pepper enema daily, only part of the gifts of thanks.

Not that I am applying.
I am merely suggesting.

Let’s hope you have the common sense it takes.

I am patient.

©Dean J. Baker

©Dean J. Baker and deanjbaker.wordpress.com, 2009. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material that appears here or has appeared here without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Dean J. Baker and deanjbaker.wordpress.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.