from TORMENTING THE MONKEY…’ mR. sPOT aND jANE’

See Spot watch Jane. Jane is unconscious. See Mr. Spot check Jane out.

See Spot sniff Jane’s face, then move down to Jane’s crotch.
See Mr. Spot throw his head up and howl.
Poor Mr. Spot is grieving. He smells Jane.

See Dick come running. Dick is now working and he has brought whiskey.
See Dick pour whiskey on Jane.
Jane had tripped, broken off one tit, and been ass-fucked by Dick earlier that day before he had
to report for duty as a cop.

See Spot start licking Jane’s face for the whiskey.
See Jane wake up to a brand new day.
See Mr. Spot take a leak on Jane. Hear Dick say, ‘Good boy, Mr. Spot.’

See Dick arrest Jane for lewd behavior and public intoxication.

See Dick watch Spot run away as Dick sings, ‘Jingle Ball, Jingle Ball..’

Watch Dick get a promotion. See Jane go to jail.

So much for that fucking going up a hill to fetch a pail of bullshit.

See Dick start singing, ‘We are the World, we are the People’ and get hit in the head by a boot stolen
from an old lady and thrown by some angry poet.

White trash Ordinary Day for everyone!

©Dean J. Baker

-excerpt from Tormenting The Monkey, 214 pages, $16.99   No sacred cows in this long-awaited and in demand collection of satiric meditations on everything and anyone from politics, family, social issues, cultural and individual misconceptions…being that the ‘monkey’ loves to torment itself with things it already knows and enjoys the disconnect between what it knows and refuses to learn.


http://www.amazon.com/Dean-J.-Baker/e/B00IC6PGQM/

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from TORMENTING THE MONKEY… The Power Of Prayer: A True Story

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Russ was born with a normal arm, and a withered arm. He struggled through many chores, insults, and bullying; was subject to pivots and ignorance piled upon one and other.
At one time in his life, he was unable to withstand the stress any longer. In his ultimate frustration,
he prayed to God.

“God! Please, please, please make my arm like the other one so I can be normal!”
Exhausting himself, he fell fast asleep.

Upon waking, Russ gradually came to and noticed a tingling feeling in one arm.
Sitting up, he looked over to check and sure enough – the power of prayer had worked.

Both arms were now withered, and Russ continues to save on gloves and love his job as a traffic cop.

Given that the economy is rewarding secondary work, and his deep religious beliefs about making people feel useful, he also works as a spastic-on-fire [ed. note: modern dance] to encourage the Good Samaritan impulse in others.

He continues to honor his parents for their undying belief in euthanasia by bringing flowers to them every Sunday, and pats the dirt down so no animals will disturb them.

 

©Dean J. Baker

from FAT ALBERT’S OUTPATIENT FOLK CLINIC… ‘The Crepitators’

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Musician and throw-back alike were besieged by the Demon of the Blue Flame.
In this once known haunt of the Hunchback of Our Lady, the
surreptitious beast
puts to shame the formerly poetic stricture ‘trailing clouds of glory.’

Ray, the nominal host, was off in the corner praying to the Ghosts of the
Four Winds; hoping to catch one of the famous blonde sisters backing into him.

Some fucking gerbil’s on the carpenter’s podium exorting us to examine the nuances
of his infinitesimal cleverness or her simply radiant stream of socially conscious clichés.

Plutonium odes and fools’ gold for which there is no cure, but a
trapdoor I could work at my own discretion.

Imagine… just a hint of some bunghole tweeter about to philosophize, and plop!
straight through the real stage door.

©Dean J. Baker

A coffeehouse, café as society…”Acid wit, deep insight, humor, powerful metaphor, intelligence…. A smooth ride on a bumpy road, with side trips into unseen hollows of the human experience…. What else do you need to know? An excellent read, worth sharing far and wide… More, please….” Prose poems that are a paean to Musicians, Writers, Artists, & Wingnuts: to folksingers, the troubled and disturbed, open mic nights everywhere. The poet made it out alive from Fat Albert’s. A satiric, and loving, tribute to open mic nights everywhere, whether in coffeehouses, on campus, or in living-rooms of the desperately demented. The ironies and distinctions that make for unintended humor and discreet or not so discreet satire, as well as the tenderness evoked through an awareness of the frailties and too-human vulnerabilities of the denizens of Fat Albert’s Outpatient Folk Clinic. While tending towards a metaphor of the world and entertainment as just such a clinic for the disturbed, there is evidence of the mastery of the writer in these expressions of the unconventional, and the absurd, which allows us entry to our own thoughts, feelings, and perceptions of the world at large as one bigger Fat Albert’s Outpatient Folk Clinic.