Logic in the world of an ex chicken butt

I am very logical.

I have morning sickness.

Thus, I am pregnant.

I am too old to be pregnant,

Therefore,  I could be the modern St. Ann.

Or there could be another extenuating cause of my morning sickness

I could have a terminal illness

It’s called life

And mornings are interfering with my enjoyment of life.

I need to find a night job.

But logically, I can’t

I don’t know of too many jobs that hire half in the bag, bags.

There are those who pay to see old rock stars and ex presidents.

Eric Clapton just turned 70.

Mick?  72.

Willie Clinton and George W?  69.

Orange is the new black.

And chicken butts are a dying breed.

The Donald?

Born in 1946.

So was Cher

I wonder if all of these old goofs are having morning sickness issues.

Does Keith Richards ever get tired of the same old riff of I can’t get no satisfaction?

Does Elton John really believe the bitch is back, after all these years?

Does the Looking Glass still think Brandi would make a good wife?

Is Willie sufficiently stoned when his blue eyes cry in the rain?

Do the Bushes still feel that one in the bush is worth two in the white house?

Did Donald’s wife ever produce a birth certificate?  Could she be an illegal alien?

Will the world ever wake up and realize that daylight savings is ridiculous?

Have you ever seen a grown man naked?

Sorry, I had to say that, just to be an idiot.

In parting, just one minor announcement:

The weather forecast is for rain

Lots of rain.

Enough rain to last for 40 days and 40 nights.

Get out your arks

It’s been a crazy September

Not sure if it is the red moon

Or if I am a lunatic

But it just may be a lunatic you’ve been looking for

Regardless, rainy days and Mondays always get me down.

Now what?

FYI:  I am going through a major life change

I have decided I will no longer be known as Wolf or Chicken Butt.

From this day forward, call me Mary Jane.












Home is the place when you go there, they have to let you in. Robert Frost

Usually a Monday gets a bad rap.

And rightfully so.

It interrupts the cadence of the weekend.

It shrieks at 5am through an alarm clock.

It starts the weekly routine and count down.

If that isn’t enough,

Try adding injury to insult

What you promised on Friday didn’t happen.

What you thought had ended, popped out of it’s hole and saw its shadow.

What you had put aside, took on a life of its own

Down a slippery slope

Into the black hole

And sucked the life out of you.

Oh my, this can’t keep up all morning.

And then it was noon.

And then it was 3pm and then you realized that someone had eaten you for lunch

Your self esteem was free falling

You wondered if it was time to call it quits.

Not just for today, but for every day.

At 5pm, you walked out into the sunlight

For the first time in your career, you did not say goodnight to your coworkers.

You just wanted to leave

To get a break

To go somewhere where you could have some space

Where no one knew who you were or are and didn’t care

To take an hour to contemplate

Before venturing home to face the homeland crisis.

Hello!  I’m home!

How was your day?


Couldn’t have been any better.

Somehow I don’t think you mean that.

How do you know these things?

I know, because I care about you, and I can tell. Want to talk about it?

No, I don’t need to, now that I know you understand that some days are like this.

Yeah, well, can you feed the cats? And get them fresh water? And while you are at it, get changed into your jammies and have yourself a beer.

And with that, I put on my pjs, had a beer and smiled.

I am home.

Can life get any better than that?



Dancing queen

So I drove up to the beer store, and wouldn’t you know it?  They were having a tasting event.

Italian Beers.

The kid doing the pouring was a giant.

Must have been at least 7 ft tall, and so damn cute.

There were 4 beers.

He said: Try one or try all four.

I said, “Being Irish, I will try the green one.”

It was bubbly and fizzy.

He said, “Do you like it?”

I stared at him and said, “Huh?”

“Oh, you mean the beer.  Oh yeah. Great.  Love it.”

I walked out with a case of the green.

I want to mention one thing:

If you are used to light beer, do not start drinking the green Italian beer at 8am on a Sunday morning.

At least not on your porch, in your pajamas.

It has the ability to knock your socks off

And to render you useless for the rest of the day.

Here I am, on a Sunday afternoon, fizzing and bubbling my ass off.

To stabilize myself, I opened a bottle of cognac.

Bad choice.

I put on my red shoes and am dancing the blues, on my porch.

In the serious sunlight.

I always did like David Bowie,

Ground control to Major Tom,

The chicken butt is floating around on her tin can, on the porch

Far above the moon

Planet earth is blue

and there’s nothing I can do.

So I might as well dance.

She can’t feel the heat
Comin’ off the street
She wants to party
She wants to get down
All she wants to do is
All she wants to do is dance

Just one question:

Is it still Friday?



Dogs and death.

I have been afraid to go to sleep at night.

Every night, I have nightmares.

They seem so real.

I wake up at 2am, or 3am or later

And relive my dreams.

This morning I was hanging out with my dog, who died several years ago.

He was talking to me.

Yes, dogs can and do talk.

He asked me to remember the last drive to the vet.

He was in my lap, with the window open, in the car.

He was so very thin,

So very sick.

But he took the time to glance out the window,

to enjoy his last few moments of the life he would soon be leaving.

He said to me:

“You know, we dogs deal with life and death a heck of a lot better than our human friends. When it is time to let it go, we are prepared, and we move on.  Do you remember all those wonderful moments, days, weeks, months and years we had together?  Did you cherish them as much  as I did, when they happened?”

Knowing that Barkley had passed on to another existence, I could only reply:  “Are you happy?  Do you miss your life with me as much as I miss you?”

Suddenly the dream was over.

I was awake.

Barkley’s ashes were in the little wooden box.

I think I heard him barking his ass off, as I drifted back to sleep.

He always was a pain in the ass.

A wild, spoiled, pia.

But I always loved him.

And always will.





Opportunities on an elevator

What if you and I were in an elevator tomorrow morning?

We don’t know one another.

Would we smile and say, “Good morning” and leave it at that?

Would we say nothing and pretend we were not sharing space in a box speeding towards the 1st floor?

Would you spark up a conversation with me?

How about a little small talk?

Lovely morning, isn’t it?

How you doing?

How boring.

When you really want to ask:

Have you ever seen a grown man naked?

What’s your name?

Who’s your daddy?

Gee you look familiar.  Are you George Clooney?

Can I interest you in a little hanky panky?

Got any weed?

Hey, it’s 7am.  Want to grab a few beers?

You sure are a hunk, a hunk of burning love.

Do you like whipped cream?

I am gonna make you an offer you can’t refuse.

Ever been to Tahiti? Want to go?

Ahh, but then, we never do say those things, do we?

Unless, of course, you are a mad hatter, or a white rabbit in Wonderland,

Or Chicken Buttafucco in Pennsylvania.

Long live Alice

Long live the queen

And would someone please take the Chicken B out back

And shoot that goof.

After all, an elevator should be a sanctuary,

Where we all pretend that we are alone.

No one else is in here.


Don’t talk.

Don’t make eye contact.

Just stand there, 2 inches from one another

And pretend you are alone.

Or better yet,

Dink around with your cell phone,

So that when the Chx. B. asks you if you are happy with your life,

You can either ignore the intrusion

And leave when the elevator stops on your floor

Or you can share the nonsense

And laugh at the ridiculousness of an elevator encounter

To start your day

With a crazy woman

Whose only motive is to make a connection

With all those she meets

To share a smile, a laugh and a moment.




The simple man: Pope of the people.

Washington DC

New York City


3 Great cities.

The Pope of the People

His message:

Love one another.

Share the wealth.

Take in the refugees.

Protect the environment.

Cherish the children.

Be humble.

Encourage diversity

Be non judgmental

Seek those who are suffering, and make a difference in their lives.

Take time, every day, for your spiritual growth.

Live each day as it is your last, or your first.

Marvel at the creatures who share this planet with you,

Sing, dance and enjoy.

Never forget that your life on this earth only lasts a short time,

And for that reason, do what you can to make a difference in the lives of others.

Tonight, after another stressful day, I am inspired by a simple man,

A man of the people,

And one of the most amazing popes of all time.





GG: the Fattest/baddest cat in the whole dang town

Even those who believe that no day is a bad day, it does happen.

Oh yeah.

When you take the sword once or twice, in a day,  you are wounded, but not dead.

Bounce off the wall,

Bounce off the back board,

Bounce back.

Suck it up

And move on.

Wait a minute.

Not again.

Another sword?

And another?

And one more?

Is there a full moon?

Have you really been such a @5^$$#$^ up person that all these issues have come to haunt you?

To spend your day in sin and misery?

In the house of the rising sun?

Do you want the truth?

You can’t handle the truth.

The world goes round and round and round.

The rich get richer and the poor get poorer.

You got to know when to hold em

Know when to walk away

And know when to quit.



Look at me, I’m as helpless as a kitten up a tree.

Yeah, ok.

I will probably be back tomorrow.

If I am, can somebody please step up to the plate,

Take me out back

You know the drill.

Shoot me.


And please, feed Gina,

When I am gone.

She hasn’t eaten in four years.

I would love to see a fat Gina.







Stopping by woods on a snowy evening


Ok, so it’s September.

So it isn’t winter.

And not even snowing.

But it is evening.

And I did stop

Yeah?  So not by woods.

It was in the local pub.

And a patron relayed his story of giving his sample in the woods.

Frankly, it was hysterical,

It was late December, back in 63,

Oh what a night,
You know I didn’t even know her name

But I was never gonna be the same

What a sample, what a night.

Ok, so I pretended I was Robert Frost

Whose woods these are?

I think I know,

But wait.


And neighbors.

And all that jazz.

Can we all agree  on one thing?

Follow the yellow brick road.

Ding dong,

The witch is dead.

All the world is made of faith, and trust, and pixie dust.

Today you are You, that is truer than true. There is no one alive who is Youer than You.

So have a good time, enjoy every moment.

And fly, tinker, fly.




Kelly, Orla and Colleen: Love those Irish lassies




Why is it that birds of a feather, drink together?

Now wait just a minute, here, Chicken Buttafucco.

Have you ever had a drink with Colleen, Kelly or Orla?

Have you ever seen the rain, coming down on a sunny day?

Have you ever asked yourself, “How can these 3 lovely Irish ladies put up with your dumb chicken ass?”

Do you really think you have all your marbles?

More importantly, do you care?

Orla commutes to NYC every day.

She is on her game.

Gorgeous, blonde, and Irish, and so enchanting.

Colleen commutes to New Smithville, every day.

She is known as the mother of Maddie.

Oh, yes, Maddie: a precocious,30 year old midget in the body of a 5 year old.

Colleen, her Mom, and Maddie:  What a tribute to the generations.

I don’t know who I admire more. Mom, Colleen or Maddie.

I guess I love all 3 of them.

And then there is Kelly.

She does what she has to do to take care of everyone:

Her family, her dogs and her friends.

And she happens to be the cutest Easter Rabbit in the history of the world.

Hard working girls.

All of them.

And they always have time for the Chicken B.

In spite of her emotional and mental capabilities.

Hey girls!

Thanks for making me feel special.

Some day, in the scheme of things, it would be so delightful to hang out on the Jersey Shore,

with you 3.

Just for a day,

For a moment in time,

That would never be forgotten.






Munchausen syndrome by proxy

It’s such a lovely thing, hanging out on the deck, on a Sunday morning, especially this morning.

A beautiful day, cool, breezy and boozy.


Did I say boozy?

I had good intentions, waking at dawn, with a winged heart, and all that jazz.

But when day light hit, and the cats started to drive me crazy, my ambition hit the deck…. literally.

4 beers later, I ignored the bustle in my hedgerow, and decided to take a day of rest.

I sauntered in and out to the deck, wobbling ever so slightly, as the morning progressed.

At exactly 12 noon, the cats were stalking me.

Lunch time!

Hey, guys, I know it is noon.  Just cool it, will you?

I am a tad bit unsteady on my feet.

I must have the flu or something.

Wink wink.

I love to pretend I am sick.

Do you think I have that munchkin disease?

I just googled it:

Munchausen Syndrome