tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-47454740793753601412024-02-07T20:22:50.056-05:00Artistic ComedyThis is a bit of a project page. I allow myself total freedom and just start writing. Whatever comes out comes out.Mike Yoderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03221964712331026085noreply@blogger.comBlogger32125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4745474079375360141.post-86463355434418140652012-11-02T01:59:00.001-04:002012-11-02T02:03:27.580-04:00On My Way, Sire Hey, butler with the soup.<br />
Get over here with that<br />
delicious dish!<br />
<br />
You are fortunate<br />
that I'm in a<br />
good mood<br />
today.<br />
<br />
I had a<br />
delightful dream<br />
last night, you see.<br />
<br />
I was not merely<br />
but a swan,<br />
I was a swan<br />
dancing dangerously<br />
on a frozen lake!<br />
<br />
It was truly<br />
a poetic<br />
thrill!<br />
<br />
That doesn't give you any leeway<br />
to trudge<br />
over here,<br />
like a...<br />
<br />
Oh what's that word...<br />
<br />
Oh you know--a big clumsy slow-witted person!?<br />
<br />
An OAF!<br />
<br />
YES,<br />
that's what I was trying to think of!<br />
OAF!<br />
<br />
Now stop trudging<br />
like an oaf, and<br />
dash diligently<br />
over here with that<br />
soup!<br />
<br />
Yes,<br />
I am aware of the distance of my<br />
awfully<br />
long table...<br />
I get it.<br />
<br />
But you HAVE to admit<br />
that you're<br />
TRUDGING!<br />
<br />
Look,<br />
I'm not a<br />
bad baron!<br />
<br />
Am I right?<br />
<br />
I treat ALL<br />
of my servants<br />
with<br />
due dignity<br />
and respect.<br />
<br />
Am I right?<br />
<br />
Oh I KNOW<br />
I'm right!<br />
What am I saying!<br />
<br />
Of course<br />
I'm right!<br />
<br />
Now<br />
don't delay<br />
get over here<br />
with that<br />
soup<br />
you<br />
dingy dog!<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Mike Yoderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03221964712331026085noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4745474079375360141.post-66806224716277747572012-05-16T03:58:00.000-04:002012-05-16T03:58:36.134-04:00The sent of smoldering gunpowder stung her nostrils as Beth stood stunned. She had not even a millisecond of time to gain her thoughts during this whole debacle. But, now... now that her brother lied dead, blood racing to cover the linoleum on her kitchen floor, did she have time to think.<br />
<br />
There was not much to think about, it was pretty cut and dry: she's been on edge lately. Her ex boyfriend is a little crazy and has been threatening her. Buying a gun was the smart thing to do. She took some operational and safety classes on using it. It was for her protection.Mike Yoderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03221964712331026085noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4745474079375360141.post-18257532051032438382012-05-16T03:57:00.000-04:002012-05-16T03:57:09.230-04:00Thinking much about other things<br />
<br />
Yet I work hard <br />
<br />
May not be the thing I love<br />
<br />
But it pays me<br />
<br />
Keep my nose to the grind<br />
<br />
I like only the money<br />
<br />Mike Yoderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03221964712331026085noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4745474079375360141.post-25020940134177455972012-05-16T03:56:00.000-04:002012-05-16T03:56:41.166-04:00The unknown stain bugged the crap out of Ted. When wearing the shirt, it might as well be a stain on his brain. Helpless he felt.Mike Yoderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03221964712331026085noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4745474079375360141.post-46717251724571548032012-03-02T01:35:00.003-05:002012-03-02T01:46:26.506-05:00Take a LeftIf you do it <div>you'll be fine. </div><div>Take a left </div><div>my friend.</div><div>Take a left at that </div><div>corridor.</div><div>That's where you want </div><div>to go.</div><div>If you need</div><div>I'll make perfect sense. </div><div>Perfect.</div><div>If that"s what you need?</div><div>No problem, dummy: a stupid person.</div><div>Take that left,</div><div>you'll be on your way.</div><div>Everything will be all good</div><div>that way. </div><div>Everything. </div><div>Just take that left. </div><div><br /></div><div> </div>Mike Yoderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03221964712331026085noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4745474079375360141.post-57939566393530582232011-02-16T21:15:00.005-05:002012-03-02T15:24:49.555-05:00You Gonna Eat That?The crumbs on the table sit and wait<br />To be brushed away is their fate<br />Regrettably they fell off the plate<br />No worries now it is too late<br /><br />He wipes them away with moist rag<br />Tosses them aimlessly into a bag<br />About careless people he has to nag<br />Stench of garbage causes him to gag<br /><br />The bag is picked up by a man with a hump<br />It started small just a little lump<br />Garbage truck crushes bag with hydraulic pump<br />Escorted away to the city dump<br /><br />Birds peck through garbage at the dump for dinner<br />Little one squawks found the crumbs she’s a winner<br />Her small body couldn’t get much thinner<br />Getting cold time to head south for the winterMike Yoderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03221964712331026085noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4745474079375360141.post-60293393829449819652010-10-05T03:18:00.007-04:002010-10-06T13:20:26.430-04:00THIS fucking kidThe kid had lost his, Grover nose, and he was pissed. (Yes, Grover from Sesame Street.) Five years old, he didn't care about much else. He could be a wicked little bitch if he wanted to. Momma's dishes were his victim tonight. He knew what he was doing. He just needed someone else to feel the hurt that he was; might as well be Momma. He went into the kitchen quick, but steady, head cocked to the side; a deep guttural scream poured out of him that faded into, "<span style="font-style: italic;">WHERE IS MY GROVER NOSE!</span>" He grabbed the first dish he saw out of the counter drying rack and lashed it into the tile floor. It shattered to pieces. Felt good to do that! Then it felt suddenly bad. He was socked in the stomach with instant regret. What a foolish thing to have done! But wait, he was mad, it wasn't his fault. He rolled with that mind-frame; it would be his motivation for when momma surely would come and scream at him. He realizes simply using, "I broke your plate because my Grover nose is missing" as an excuse just wouldn't cut the mustard. He had to hang on to the pain of not having his Grover nose, and use it to make momma have some sympathy for him.<br /><br />It was then that he noticed he had cut his foot, and it was bleeding. He began to cry from that. NEW PLAN!Mike Yoderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03221964712331026085noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4745474079375360141.post-59450636215036131162010-09-28T01:48:00.005-04:002010-09-28T02:08:35.320-04:00Modern GadgetsI've got four different modern gadgets on my desk<br />They provide obstacles for my typing<br />It would be easy to move them<br />Yet easier to not<br />Two have touch screens<br />Two have buttons<br />In other moments they each supply convenience for a task<br />At this time they produce the opposite<br />That just goes to show:<br />There is a time and place for everything<br />You stupid modern gadgets<br />I don't mean thatMike Yoderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03221964712331026085noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4745474079375360141.post-46137726776935038592010-06-10T02:59:00.006-04:002011-06-01T02:07:02.233-04:00I just can'tYeah yeah yeah, I know, be normal. Talk about the normal stuff. Keep my attention with the things I can relate to. Make me think about stuff I want to think about.<br /><br />Please don't challenge me.<br /><br />Don't challenge me!<br /><br />Write it monkey. Write me what I want. What I think will do me good.<br /><br />Make life comfortable.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">I don't blame you.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">I just can't. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">I don't know you. </span>Mike Yoderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03221964712331026085noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4745474079375360141.post-61525640197294128872010-05-22T02:10:00.003-04:002010-09-28T02:18:50.507-04:00"Keep that viscous poodle back!" Gary yelled to the old Manhattan lady. She held surprisingly tight to the leash as the small beast chomped and spit and cursed at him. The old lady didn't say a word. Gary was cornered in the confined entrance-way of his eight story apartment building on the upper west side of the city. He had no other choice than to kick the ever-living-shit out of the little pest, and run, full sprint, three blocks to safety.Mike Yoderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03221964712331026085noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4745474079375360141.post-29777920828101272632010-05-22T02:01:00.003-04:002011-06-01T02:06:25.931-04:00I got my bones cracked by a chiropractor for the first time.<br />This is a very strange thing.<br />I don't mind cracking my knuckles... but my spinal column?!Mike Yoderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03221964712331026085noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4745474079375360141.post-3561463882088269622010-04-28T02:12:00.003-04:002012-09-17T21:14:42.109-04:00Take my wife pleaseShe stopped at an unimportant corner of an unimportant block in her unimportant neighborhood.<br />
She focused in on an unimportant crack near the unimportant corner.<br />
She looked closely at the crack; closer than normal.<br />
She thought more <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">in depth</span> about the crack; more <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">in depth</span> than normal.<br />
She thought of how much unimportant stuff had to happen to make this unimportant crack; it was all quite amazing.<br />
She wasn't sure why she was <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">compelled</span> to think more of this crack than any other unimportant crack.<br />
She just, maybe, wanted to make something unimportant, important.Mike Yoderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03221964712331026085noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4745474079375360141.post-18255117550945971392010-04-28T02:10:00.001-04:002010-04-28T02:12:32.638-04:00Being drunk sure can help an artist get haunted.Mike Yoderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03221964712331026085noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4745474079375360141.post-45136979919795152982010-04-28T02:08:00.001-04:002010-04-28T02:10:10.974-04:00A wrap around balcony can really class up a place.Mike Yoderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03221964712331026085noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4745474079375360141.post-64334082087270227702010-04-18T01:14:00.006-04:002010-10-05T04:43:46.921-04:00Oh HeavensJerry pulled very hard at the tough weed. It didn't budge as his clasped hand slid across the strong base of the plant causing something akin to rope burn. He cursed a <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">retched</span> curse to the heavens. He was pissed. It was bad enough his electric battery powered weed eater couldn't do the job of removal. Now God was playing jokes on him. He was sure of it. He <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">regrettably</span> stood up and walked all the way from his front yard to the old shed in the back of his house. The shed had uneven doors, sagged from years of wear, that were just <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">difficult</span> to open. After a bit of struggle Jerry was inside the shed trying to hunt down a tool he felt was over kill for such a job, but nonetheless, he needed: a pair of hedge clippers.<br /><br />Jerry blew on and <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">massaged</span> his wounded hand as he scoured the shed for the clippers. After looking on shelves and in boxes he found them where he least expected them: hanging in their place. He grabbed them and made his way back to the weed.<br /><br />When Jerry got back to the weed he was astonished to find it had transformed into a fire breathing dragon, and he was then engulfed by flames and cried to the heavens as his life <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">slowly</span> slipped away.Mike Yoderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03221964712331026085noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4745474079375360141.post-64922831684351401062010-04-18T01:04:00.003-04:002012-05-16T03:55:32.835-04:00Most PeopleThere is a hole in the wall.<br />
There is a hole in the wall where someone once <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">penetrated</span> a nail.<br />
I don't know what hung here.<br />
I don't know if something hung here.<br />
It had to have been to hang something.<br />
I can not think of what else it was made for.<br />
Maybe it was not a nail?<br />
I can not think of what else it could have been.<br />
People don't just make holes in walls.<br />
Most people.Mike Yoderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03221964712331026085noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4745474079375360141.post-38762272627472903082010-04-18T00:40:00.004-04:002010-04-18T00:53:47.994-04:00Tricky neonNeon is a color that <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">emits</span> light without a release of energy. I'm of course not speaking of neon gas lights, because that of course releases energy, stupid. I'm talking about the neon colors that children like for their cloths, shoe laces, and school <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">supplies</span>-- to name a few. The tricky kind. The kind that makes you think, "oh look at all that energy being released and causing a beautiful glow." But <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">NOOOOO</span>! It's all a lie! It's a crazy colorful magic trick! And I feel a bit <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">betrayed</span> to be quite honest. Just saying.Mike Yoderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03221964712331026085noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4745474079375360141.post-92135177835468772592009-12-25T00:58:00.004-05:002009-12-25T01:19:07.814-05:00Soul GravySoul gravy you better listen to me!<br /><br />Soul gravy you better let me be!<br /><br />Soul gravy you're my momma.<br /><br />I once woke up in an African village. Flies buzzing around my sweaty face. I just laid there telling myself it was only a dream. Because when I went to sleep I was not in an African village. Weird.<br /><br />Soul gravy you better listen to me!<br /><br />Soul gravy you better let me be!<br /><br />Soul gravy you're my momma.<br /><br />Come one come all to the fabulous Wesley Manor. Where no one is ever alone. What's that I hear in the distance? A horrible ghost? You betcha!<br /><br />Soul gravy you better listen to me!<br /><br />Soul gravy you better let me be!<br /><br />Soul gravy you're my momma.<br /><br />Living in the Army keeps me on my toes. Not like a ballerina. Like someone who could get shot any second. You know what I mean? Here let me show you.Mike Yoderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03221964712331026085noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4745474079375360141.post-77986936110285772632009-08-22T23:12:00.005-04:002009-08-24T22:58:55.405-04:00Too old for quick!Why did I think it was a good idea, at the age of 31, to drink a premixed bottle of strawberry quick? I can't even remember the last time I drank strawberry quick! It can't be anything less than 7 years! WHY?! WHY, DID I DO IT?! IT HURTS SO BAD! It's just not right. The body is saying, NO! Who was I to think that I could take down a solid 16 fluid ounces out of nowhere? No preparation, no training, no weaning myself up to 16 FL OZ. Oh my God, what are we feeding to our children?! I'm seriously going to puke in a few moments.<br /><br />It's like when you go a good 6 months without a big mac and then think, "hey, a big mac would be a great idea!" A BIG MAC IS NEVER A GOOD IDEA!!! THEY HURT AFTERWARDS!... <span style="font-style: italic;">they hurt</span>.Mike Yoderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03221964712331026085noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4745474079375360141.post-29032932841016873512009-08-09T17:12:00.008-04:002010-10-05T04:47:32.201-04:00If someone plays a prank and no one is there to hear it, does it make a sound?Melvin extended his hand into his travel bag and removed his funny-glasses. He wore these funny-glasses to play jokes on strangers by acting as characters other than himself. Sometimes he would play over the top characters, sometimes more subtle characters, sometimes without the funny-glasses, sometimes he'd wear a beret, sometimes no props at all (he called this free-balling it,) etc. The funny thing about Melvin is that he alone was in on the joke. He didn't have friends or family. He had himself and his characters. Today he felt like going over the top. He wanted to push the boundaries of unbelievable while still keeping it believable.Mike Yoderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03221964712331026085noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4745474079375360141.post-87731751681622694632009-08-07T01:27:00.001-04:002009-08-07T01:33:51.201-04:00Bathroom wall: Life Cafe, Brooklyn.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHQKpbn2riE0m0hwTUkgjgq4COFF1E6Y2pE6GXgexjEPCagSmaqKmhmd-J62Ooeuo0KJfKUintbyM47fjvNQ005V20pIcv7lt8snWXa0YCykzkdIdNW2VwrBV1X_wJawwzr_c3lPEwRPil/s1600-h/SSPX0217.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHQKpbn2riE0m0hwTUkgjgq4COFF1E6Y2pE6GXgexjEPCagSmaqKmhmd-J62Ooeuo0KJfKUintbyM47fjvNQ005V20pIcv7lt8snWXa0YCykzkdIdNW2VwrBV1X_wJawwzr_c3lPEwRPil/s400/SSPX0217.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5367090148438448034" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv5U4mC0IO6KqHmXoVMaHw3s4OaIbSZSsRK5xtsjAYvQPtdDVvAWnlfAZFdx59XeCXvseQTuUi6R3LZqHMXSaJjAvzBjpnew-PIaj8me3THhlwfUc-gh3W_hSWfBWGKIdNFJkoDAjZqRAL/s1600-h/SSPX0216.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv5U4mC0IO6KqHmXoVMaHw3s4OaIbSZSsRK5xtsjAYvQPtdDVvAWnlfAZFdx59XeCXvseQTuUi6R3LZqHMXSaJjAvzBjpnew-PIaj8me3THhlwfUc-gh3W_hSWfBWGKIdNFJkoDAjZqRAL/s400/SSPX0216.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5367090142651633858" border="0" /></a>Mike Yoderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03221964712331026085noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4745474079375360141.post-76050284629728620932009-08-01T16:23:00.001-04:002010-04-18T00:36:38.741-04:00Denis looked lost but was not. That's just how Denis looked: lost.Mike Yoderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03221964712331026085noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4745474079375360141.post-21405116573561072542009-07-27T16:19:00.001-04:002009-08-07T01:38:13.230-04:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNRth7xVWJQQ8CiBNgaiRT-wa_FxlycfIzmC6-Pj_aX9ehOAQ78p-ZwOoY40AaL4b1C4YtPBEhpv4TRUknSOMRSbCSELQdRu7_O65y68KaqBM_IUaP2Xw7KBlaVr-NV6h6A3V-tFjnDnMr/s1600-h/hooky.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 287px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNRth7xVWJQQ8CiBNgaiRT-wa_FxlycfIzmC6-Pj_aX9ehOAQ78p-ZwOoY40AaL4b1C4YtPBEhpv4TRUknSOMRSbCSELQdRu7_O65y68KaqBM_IUaP2Xw7KBlaVr-NV6h6A3V-tFjnDnMr/s400/hooky.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5367091957526471586" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBiu9TdPid3oQbyO6MXdBFTY4JI0LoJqp9mq3wuJgGm60mv8cRyHWL5tPOf8OQwF3r8j05f4TeNwgq_VNHa8CWmWZDKPPco53U1xDVsefq0JkG7I8AI4VT1SlQE26gqt-naXnOVbvMcyHZ/s1600-h/hooky.JPG"><br /></a>Mike Yoderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03221964712331026085noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4745474079375360141.post-5728473065331468642009-07-25T23:30:00.007-04:002012-01-30T00:46:18.007-05:00Miss Rita"I quit" said the servant, grinding his teeth, muscles tight, his face melted down in disgust at the way his boss-lady is always making passes at him. "You're a fool, Carlos! You could have <span style="font-style: italic;">this</span>." Miss Rita said gesturing her hand down her worn out body. "Now throw down your rake and take care of mama, and mama's gonna take <span style="font-style: italic;">real</span> good care of you... and your family." Carlos flung his rake to the ground, it hits the grass with a loud, thwap-sound; Miss Rita flinches. Carlos stares silent at her for a moment, his eyes squinted, the look of disgust never leaving his face. "<span style="font-style: italic;">It's women like you, Miss Rita, that give the world a bad name.<span style="font-style: italic;">" </span></span>"Well that just sounds foolish now doesn't it?" Miss Rita said, then takes a tough drag of her cigarette. Carlos turns away from her and marches off, leaving Miss Rita alone. "<span style="font-style: italic;">Damn it</span>, I really liked that one too!"Mike Yoderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03221964712331026085noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4745474079375360141.post-84203559911625858242009-07-15T23:58:00.004-04:002009-07-25T23:20:25.595-04:00The crow will eatThe crow squawked and quacked and hissed at the mangled and contorted rag of skin that was torn from the dead squirrel's carcass. He nibbled and plucked and tweaked it. Grabbing it quickly with his beak, tossing it into the air a bit, then letting it drop lifeless onto the asphalt; his head faced away while his eye's maintained an uncontrollable survivalist stare at the pile of flesh-food. Although he was alone, he knew the others would come soon. All he wanted was this generous portion of squirrel back to himself, but it was too heavy to fly with.<br /><br />There was the occasional vehicle that would slow down and avoid him by slightly swerving around him. He only had to fly off the road a few times to narrowly escape the vehicles of the unwary.<br /><br />But alas the crow was unlucky, for he suddenly succumbed to liver failure.Mike Yoderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03221964712331026085noreply@blogger.com1