Buddha for Simple Minds

Trying to remain calm on Mondays?

Mania, mayhem and maladjustment in the Super Freak department?

Not up to snuff when putting on the ‘I live to be abnormal everyday…but Monday’ badge of honor?

Monk Mondays and Buddha baby bedtime stories are the way to embrace your emotional and spiritual rectum cleansing!

The City of Bedtime Bugs

Once upon a time there was a city.  It was a city different from the other cities that we may know.  But the people who lived there thought it was the nicest place in the world.

The city did not belong to Europe, or Africa, nor, Japan, not China or Australia.  It was in the United States.  In fact, it was to be found in California.  And whereabouts in California but the city of Angels: Los Angeles!

The city was filled to the brim with nice people and wonderful estates.  We would not have like these houses at all, not you or me, or anyone else but the people who lived in them.  It would only make sense that those who loved these houses were Mud Bugs and they found the cool wet comfort of mud houses just right.

Of the many Mud families, Mrs. and Mrs. Joan Mudbug were the proud parents of a new son.  Happy were they to know that their very,very,very fat and round son was the smartest among the Mud babies who lived in the neighborhood.

As their son grew up he became wiser and much more curious than the other Mud bug children.  He asked question upon question upon question to which some did not know the answers to.  The young fat Mud bug went to Grandpa and other elders for answers to his questions but often was given no response to his questions.

He best friend,was an older gentleman by the name of Mr. Greenfrog.  Mr. Greenfrog had eyes that would pop out which made him look much wiser than his peers.   This older gentleman seemed to have the answers to the questions that John Mudbug had been curious about.

Excitement had grown in Mud city for Grandma Mudbug had decided one morning to just get up out of bed and without saying goodbye to anyone not even Grandpa Mudbug climbed to the top of the tallest water-fern.  She struggled and puffed and struggled and puffed.  Grandma Mudbug had been known for her chubby disposition and big backside and climbing had never been her thing.  Up and up and up and snorting and snorting she went until she vanished just above the water.

As the townspeople stood in awe and amazement, the thought among many had been:

‘Who will watch the little Mud Bug children now?  Who will bake the Mud cakes?  Who will tell the bedtime stories now that Grandma is gone?’

“But where has she gone?” cried John Mudbug

Of course, that was a question that had no answer.

Immediately John Mud Bug went to see his friend, Mr. Greenfrog.

The wise Mr. Greenfrog listen with great interest as John told his tale of woe.  As the story ended a smile stretched across the older gentleman’s face.

“I know all about it.  I have set above the water and watched the Mud Bugs crawling up the water-ferns many times.  I saw old Grandma Mud Bug come up just this morning.”

“What happens to them after they come out of the water?” asked John excitedly.

“Why they simply toss off their old skin and become creatures that  grow bigger and bigger.  They have long and sleek bodies with wings like glass and they just simply fly away.” explained Mr. Greenfrog.

“Oh, I shall want to do that someday too!”  said John Mudbug

“Yes, they all do it!” replied the wise old Mr. Greenfrog.

John went back with his knew found wisdom and told his parents and the townspeople.  Many refused to believe John’s tale and continued to howl and cry complain.

They were much like the people of today.

John learned his simple lesson.  A lesson that many still have yet to learn.

The art is in our rebirth and that change is inevitable.  Our thoughts, actions and deeds make it so.

Amerika…land of the Scam


scam! (Photo credit: Pacdog)


I received encouraging information about you and how trusts worthy you are. I am delighted with such useful information I got about you, i am Mr. Hassan Kabore Auditor of Dona Security Company, A Senator Polycarp Nwite and former Ambassador Botswana 2008 and was recalled back 2009 as personal adviser to the president before he passed away on the 3rd September, 2010. I fund certificate of deposit he made with my Security Company here in Burkina-Faso without beneficiary his family have make other claims but did not take notice of this one because it has no beneficiary.I hoped that you will not betray this trust and confident that I am about to repose on you for the mutual benefit of our both famillies. I need your urgent assistance in transferring the sum of ($7.5) million to your account within 10 days.
I will give you more details, on your respond, i expect your letter with trust by providing me your following information details through this email(dr.hassankabore@voila.fr) such as:

Full Name:____________Pat Head______ Sex:__whatever and wherever_________ Age:__old enough to know better Marital:__marital arts?_____________ Country:_Out There U.S.A______City:___Intercourse______ State_Pennsylvania______ Zip Code:______66666_
Contact Address:______the North Pole_________ Phone No#_1-EAT-THIS__________

Fax No#_____1-PIn HEAD____________ Occupation:________Watching Paint Dry______ Position:__69 ___________
Date:________currently married but will swing___

i will give you more deatils as soon i hear from you

Reply me through this email(dr.hassankabore@voila.fr)
Mr. Hassan Kabore

419 scam - by post!!!
419 scam – by post!!! (Photo credit: henry…)

Dear Mr. Kabore-
I am so happy to hear that my good name has reached the motherland of Africa. Particularly when, and I know this with certainty, you are most likely in grief over the health of Mr. Mandela. Beings that are trusts worthy…such as me-self, are fuckin’ difficult to find in Amerika! Where you found the ‘ticket’ in question I dare not ask. The port-a-potty? Or, maybe stuck to gum on the bottom of your shoe.
No matter, it is my good luck that Africa has released what I already know, I am important and people just don’t know it yet.
In ending, my parents, one of supposedly Irish decent and the other native American, I knew had been fibbing to me. I was adopted. I now know the truth. I am black Irish! I’ve always been able to run long distances with grace. And, have a fondness for being nomadic while drinking.
Certainly I will do my best to save your country for they have suffered enough at the ends of American’s who are out for just themselves and tend to prey on persons via cyberspace. Wanting only to panhandle by sending false correspondence.
Thank you for easing my mind and certainly 7 million dollars just floating around with no attachment to anyone…needs to find it’s way to my bank account. An account that currently sits at .07 cents!
God Bless Your Barren Soul!

Description unavailable
Description unavailable (Photo credit: shoehorn99)

Get Out the Map

So after many, many years of marriage.  After the consoling.  The begging and the pleading.  The Misfits on the Isle of Misfit Animals and Lesbian women…will leave most of their brood home and head down to where the GAIETY began…Ptown!  The last stop on the Cape unless you plan on swimming to Cuba.  Been there many times before…this time however, the big boss has given the thumbs up to a bit of rustic romance in a tent!  My lucky day!

The other night I looked at my spouse as I am sure she has with me; thinking of how far we have come and envisioning the times I sing off key and understanding nothing would have been surmountable without my backup singer.    These now and again glances of quizzical comfort born from years of finishing each other’s sentences make up life.

With every lesson learned a line upon your beautiful face We'll amuse ourselves one day with these memories we'll trace
With every lesson learned a line upon your beautiful face
We’ll amuse ourselves one day with these memories we’ll trace
the Ambiguity of Love
love me love my feet

What is love after a decade plus of snoring, rubbing shoulders with Ben Gay, comforting one an another when a relative has passed?

Tough to say.    Yet, I think I’m beginning to getting the picture.

Could it be that accepting your partner’s not vain attempts at cooking while you’ve just come home from a shit day and a shit job…could it be that those slabs of crispy well done ribs, the pig sticks left in the oven too long, are parts of love’s equation?

Perhaps, at night when sleeping spouse beauty is near her twilight zone and you decide it’s time to draw circles around her breasts, an act she abhors, is that the twinkle in the eye of romance.  The twinkle that allows her to let your sophomoric ways continue a minute past her aggravation point.

Honestly, to me, I feel our love has grown with the frost heaves in the road.  The strange outfits, Hawaiian shorts and flannel shirts.  The days when there is little to say and that feels wonderful.  The nights when I can’t fall asleep and spoon my way into her heaven.  We aren’t big on fighting.  I preach.  My partner becomes moot.  Generally, we avoid a family discussion with all eight animals and the two human fools.  It seems far more peaceable to understand that the quirks and quips and eccentricities we all bring to the table are the perfect equation to a perfectly happy quietly dysfunctional home-built on love and duct tape.

Favorite All Time hit the Road Trip Song:

Get Out the Map

he saddest sight my eyes can see is that big ball of orange sinking slyly down the trees
Sitting in a broken circle while you rest upon my knee this perfect moment will soon be leaving me
Suzanne calls from Boston the coffee’s hot the corn is high
And that same sun that warms your heart will suck the good earth dry
With everything it’s opposite enough to keep you crying or keep this old world spinning with a twinkle in its eye
Get out the map get out the map and lay your finger anywhere down
We’ll leave the figuring to those we pass on our way out of town
Don’t drink the water there seems to be something ailing everyone I’m gonna clear my head
I’m gonna drink that sun I‘m gonna love you good and strong
while our love is good and young Joni left for South Africa a few years ago and then
Beth took a job all the way over on the West Coast
And me I’m still trying to live half a life on the road
I’m heavier by the year and heavier by the load.
Why do we hurdle ourselves through every inch of time and space I must say around some corner
I can sense a resting place
Poseidon and the Bitter Bug
Poseidon and the Bitter Bug (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

With every lesson learned a line upon your beautiful face
We’ll amuse ourselves one day with these memories we’ll trace
Get out the map get out the map and lay your finger anywhere down
We’ll leave the figuring to those we pass on our way out of town
Don’t drink the water there seems to be something ailing everyone
I’m gonna clear my head I’m gonna drink the sun
I’m gonna love you good and strong while our love is good and young

AYCE Blond

I am a vague blond...meaning I could change my mind at any moment
I am a vague blond…meaning I could change my mind at any moment

For some reason I have used being ‘Blond’. The true ‘Blond’ not the dyed, not the platinum, not the color akin to hay that has been sitting in a barn for several years and it’s roots are showing. The real kind of toe head. Bright eyed and shinny at birth and defined as someone to be weary of during the dating stage of life.
Sometimes the only thing smarter than the several degrees hangin on my bathroom wall is the Golden Retriever down the street.
I have fallen for this joke:
“Did you know pine nuts only come from male pine trees?”
More often then I care to admit.
Years in the cooking industry left me still in awe of myself when I witnessed these signs:AYCE meatloaf!
‘Ayce, WTFF is that? I thought I had learned all the new fancy sauces whilst sitting in the Julia Child wing at the Culinary Institute of America!’
So be it, I’ve yet to harm myself too much with my flaxen attitude. But today, today, I received a long from a supposed long lost relative from South Africa:

Cropped screenshot of Marilyn Monroe from the ...
Cropped screenshot of Marilyn Monroe from the trailer for the film Some Like It Hot (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Dear Ruth
I want you to patiently read this offer. I am Mrs.Aminata Abdullahi, the wife to the deceased former Head of Delegation to the World Bank in West Africa, I believe he may have been your Grandfather’s long lost tenth cousin removed twice. My husband was the linkman between the Organization for Petroleum Exporting Countries – OPEC and the petroleum sector in a West African country. He also attend OPEC meetings constantly in Geneva before his death caused by cardiac arrest in our home town.
Through the sale of our allocated oil quota in OPEC, he was able to make S$8.million.(EIGHT MILLION UNITED STATES DOLLARS)I want you to assist me to claim this money as i cannot claim it directly because he made the deposit as a fund belonging to his business associate in order not to raise eyebrow since he was a civil servant during that time, and the code of conduct bureau forbids him or his wife to acquire such amount of money.

The Doris Day Show
The Doris Day Show (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

It is on this basis that I am contacting you for assistance, if you will be interested, claim documents will been processed and sent to you. The documents with which the fund is deposited will be amended to reflect you as the beneficiary so that you will be eligible to collect the fund as his business associate.
You shall be entitled to 30% of the total funds while the rest will be given to me on arrival in your country for the up keeping of my only son and for further investment under your kind control there in your country as I can not be able to do any investment here in West Africa due to the origin of the said fund.
I will not fail to bring to your notice that this business is risk free and doesn’t have any negative implication. You should not entertain any fear as all modalities for the smooth and easy transfer of this fund have been finalized. If you can conveniently assure me of your ability to keep this business very secret and confidential, you can write back to me for further details.
Expecting your urgent response.
Best regards,
Mrs.Aminata Abdullahi
Your Grandfather would be proud of you!

Hillary 2016

Dear Mrs. Aminata-
My grandfather disowned me for being gay. He was a tough as the shit falling out of my bulldog’s ass and preferred to drink alone. His last known picture for the force looked eerily like a picture from the Hitler youth graduating class 1940.
Though I am sure West Africa needs my help right now. I am busy giving what little money I have to tanning salons and RJ Reynolds tobacco company. I would love to help yet my native American blood does not believe in aiding and abetting anything but casinos and Jack Daniels and peyote.
Thank You

My 22 Year Black Out

New Hampton School
New Hampton School (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
grant me the serenity to grow the fuck up!

Stepping away from the homophobia, the misogynistic parents, the stagnant direction of a borderline’s life; sobriety is the key to all unanswered and ignored questions.

Supposing that someone, and I am not going to name names that is childish, slept with boys and didn’t know how they got to the kitchen floor of a neighbor’s house, naked.  Assuming they had forgotten the boy’s name that they had found themselves next to.  Both participants in an attempt at college age sexual stupidity, reeking of leftover sex and cheap beer.

Acknowledging that all of the above may or may not mean you have a drinking problem.  All things considered, both parents are professors, both educated and well mannered, white house white picket fence, New Hampton School for Discriminatory, so on and so forth; how the hell does an adult fuck this ‘how to help my drunk daughter situation up?’

My mother, one month into my sobriety, ‘oh, its okay Ambien, it’s only wine and it’s my birthday.’

My father, ‘hey, I picked up some O’Doul’s for you.  They’re in the frig.’

Both parents, ‘if you run out of your meds just give the doctor a call…She’ll be fine with the fact you need them two weeks early!’

Mother Theresa even went so far as to buy me a book about Celebrities getting sober.  Later I had been told that that reading material didn’t really qualify as, worth a damn literature in the hierarchy of getting clean.  It is purely fantasy.’

Well, that was okay, I can’t really read and I love a good fantasy.

Sometime ‘round November, December, the parents thought it a good idea for a family outing.  Knowing their lovely Adopt-A-Daughter, Ambien not Full of Grace, a movie was always a good choice in the entertainment department.

Little room for conversation, little time for lies and absolutely no time for deep discussion about the plight of AIDS children in Africa; perfect family gathering!

We had seen Flight!

Quick synopsis:

Drunk, drugged but well trained pilot.  Pilot performs near impossible maneuvers to avoid killing all passengers on board.  Pilot than deals with the cunning and baffling disease of addiction the only way he knows how, more drugs, more sex and more booze.

I was pissed!  What had my mother been thinking?   Every time a pill was popped, a jug unplugged, a line was snorted and a sexual romp went unprotected; I felt like running out of the theater and screaming, somebody just get me a fuckin’ drink.

Educated persons handing down overly educated but obtuse wisdom with common-ness missing produces a child either unenlightened or addicted or both!

Did any of the three of us Concord NH scholars learn anything about addiction?  About the struggle, about the rock bottom, about the self-loathing and hate of the world in general, absolutely not!

I walked away, immediately texting Bianca, my fat and frenzied should be drinking lite beer not real friend.

“Hey, get the weed and fantasy movie ready…I’m heading to Wakefield.”

Oh, and the ending of Flight.  He finally admitted that he had a drinking and drug problem.  He came clean, as they say.

What a fuckin’ idiot!  I would have kept lying until there was no more truth to be found!