Yelps from the Closet: A Care Tag In A Coat of Many Colors

Yelps from the Closet: A Care Tag In A Coat of Many Colors: "Following is a little-known aside to the biblical story of Joseph and his coat of many colors. All names have been changed in order to avert..."

Yelps from the Closet: The Wizard of Fred

Yelps from the Closet: The Wizard of Fred: "The skies blackened. Winds swirled and began tossing begonias from their beds as if a giant turkey baster had been squeezed from above...."

Yelps from the Closet: My thoughts are a Four-Lettered Word.

Yelps from the Closet: My thoughts are a Four-Lettered Word.: "I'm sweaty. I'm stinky. I'm tired and I'm ready. ... and, I'm naked. Bring on the funk. Hit me with the deep backbeats and the soul-thumpin..."

My thoughts are a Four-Lettered Word.

I'm sweaty. I'm stinky. I'm tired and I'm ready. ... and, I'm naked.

Bring on the funk. Hit me with the deep backbeats and the soul-thumping bass beats that speak to my soul.

Tear the roof off the mutha, tear the roof off the muthasucka ....

The roof.. the roof ... the roof is on fire. I don't need no water, let the muthatfucka burn....

These were the words of Shakespeare as he translated them from Latin.

Quite the proper rapper, that english bastard. Shakesey might have recognized love and loss but he never understood life and survival. Shakespeare was the rap star of his generation ... the Milli Vanilli of his time .

Sure, he could rhyme. No doubt, he could piece together iambic pentameter and draw those into his words. But, he didn't grease the life of those he imagined and that is why he is no more worthy of recognition than an author of any of the 'Twilight' novels.

It might seem as if I'm slamming Shakespeare, one of the most revered authors and playwrights of our time. Don't misunderstand my words... I am slamming the bard. But, I'm slamming with all due respect.

You see, Willy Shakes wrote his words, in his time, hoping to be ridiculed and disliked. He looked in the mirror each morning, snarled at his appearance and directed his displeasure of life and self through his words.

Shakesy viewed his own weaknesses in that mirror. He played out his pain an retribution for his pain in that mirror. And, he spoke to those with thheir own mirrors.

I have never understood Shakespeare ..... thees and thous and english without cursing ... I don't get it.  But, I do understand visions based upon vision.

I also gaze upon my countenance each morning with displeasure with my life. What I have written is unworthy of my own acceptance. Bill Shakespeare and I can relate ..... Yet... yet ....

Yet..... what I write and bring to others, no matter how insignificant it may seem to be ... is important.

Important. That's a 15-syllable word.  Why do I say that? Because my dumbass thoughts are no less important than your dumbass thoughts.

You are me. I am you. You are Stephen Hawking. Stephen Hawking is you. You are worthy of respect and respect is within you.

Do you see where I'm headed? Your mind is your mind. No one can ever direct your life and your beliefs unless you allow it to happen.

I lost you at Stephen Hawking. That's ok. Maybe you never even knew who Steven Hawking was, or is ...

Hawking could have easily penned MacBeth ... the visions he and Billy Shakes shared are similar ....

Oh Home, Oh Home.. Where for art there Home? ....

... dismiss my craziness as reality .... I do.

The Wizard of Fred

The skies blackened. Winds swirled and began tossing begonias from their beds as if a giant turkey baster had been squeezed from above. Pandemonium gripped the populace. This had been prophesied.

*WhhooooomphedSplat!":

Silence. ...

......... silence ...... (wait for it)........ silence ............

At first glance, a structure, a building, had appeared to descend from the sky. Not a building, but an apartment... a one bedroom loft, guilded in pure gold. Above the door of this loft was posted a thumb and forefinger touching tip to tip.

Silence was deafening as the door to the loft opened ... no squeaks, no creaks ...


"Welcome to Westboro.." ... the tiny voices exclaimed. The reverend Phelps has been expecting you. "

Unsure where he was, the shaken figure of a man exited the loft apartment ... looking to his left, he saw legs prodtruding from the foundation of his loft... Panic began to overtake him until ....

".... those are the legs of the wicked Fred of the midwest ... "

"But, I was only a minute ago watching 'Jersey Shore' and plotting my return... your church never had any place in my plans.... How might I get back to heaven and be with those who are worthy of my love?'

"Take the shoes before you and put them upon your feet ... they will keep you safe in your journeys througout the land..."

So, the visitor from the House Above took the Hush Puppies from the feet of the slain one which
the loft apartment had landed upon, laced them upon his feet and mingled with the masses.

.... let's see how this apocalyptic scenario ends....




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