Comfortable?

Pat and Cassie are both against me. They say I've gotten comfortable at our sea. At first glance you may think that isn't a big deal. But it is. For real.

"Get a grip, drama queen."

Pffft. You need to take it back or I'll attack.

"Got better things to do."

So do I.

Yeah, like relax with the interloper.

And while you are relaxing, it steals our toys.

And you just eat. That is it. It steals and you just eat.

And you stare. Stare at...squirrel!

"Are you done yet? Worse than a whiny child."

Quiet. It's reading. Now could be our chance to get one of two.

"Or maybe it's Pat way of a shameless plug."

Pat does that. Ugg. Maybe I should bite his Tons of Buns. Damn it. I'm doing it too.

"I think this counts as comfort."

Can't you see my face? No way.

"Busted."

Don't talk to me. No way I'm comfortable with poop machines, Nope. Nadda. Nope...

"Someone protests too much."

Go back to eating and getting fat.

Are you comfortable with poop machines? Can you believe Pat and Cassie both think I'm comfortable with them around? Interlopers of all sizes. Need to find some hills to take to. Hmm may not be too comfortable there. Damn. Did I just admit to comfort? I need to stop. Don't look at me like that.

Comfort sometimes takes form when things become the norm.

Round 67. Some Humans Aren't Going To Heaven!

There really is no hope for some.

"More like many. Humans, pffft."

Won't get any argument out of my little rhyming bum.

And we are here to prove the no hope with another round of the search engine dope. There have been plenty saved up. I'd rather deal with a frisky pup.

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Do I want to know? Probably no.

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Today you will die. Some fish I will fry. Then you will eat. Aren't allergies sweet?

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Damn, Hank. You must be pulling some money into the bank.

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Paper isn't real. Doesn't have the same feel.

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Is that like the post office at the door? Pat doesn't do that anymore.

cat in the mirror rhymes

Cat in the mirror.
Cat in the mirror.
If you want to see clearer,
Bring your face a little nearer.

hikey pokey fails

Failed out of the gate. Sorry, not really, mate.

fat booby

Chew some fat. How about that?

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Got your wish by coming here. Very very cheap by visiting my rhyming rear.

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Like, like, like. Silver Fox's page you may need to strike.

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Your lashes are so big that they could make a great wig.

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Don't go into the shack. That's where serial killers attack.

den flunky

A flunky in the den. Need to know when to say when.

rhyme time where many french films ran

Merde I know. SOL otherwise though.

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rhyme time challenge

Try try again. Searched twice at my den.

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Take an energy drink. Sleep won't be the missing link.

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Yep, just for you. You and your voodoo.

arguements on eating unethically

Is that even a thing? Humans sure are in need of umm something.

And the winner of this round sure won't be thought profound. Nope, not by anyone. If you do, you better run. The cat will never let you live that down. Of course you'd have to be from no-brain-cell town.

public bathroom assrubbing comp

So go rub that ass. Rub it in mass. There are germs galore. Pick the best store. Yeah, feel dirty just typing that. I think I'll stick to the litterbox for my scat. Any nuts at your sea as of late? Or is it just my fate? Maybe round 67 will send them away in mass. Yeah, that's doubted by my little rhyming ass.

If you're a newcomer, I'll be here all summer.

Lighting The Way!

So I was out and about, not that I wanted to be, but I was, and I was asked for directions to a lighthouse. Their map was sure screwy, so I gave them a much better way. They were sure to find it in no time at all.

The water's mist will point the way at the beginning of each new day.

The trees will bend and form and shake. Then your next choice you will make.

The clouds won't say a single thing, but those rocks will show you what to bring.

Sand in one pocket. Sand in two. Oh, let's fock it and put it in your shoe.

Now follow it to the nearby dock. Let the sand out and it's a lock.

Not, not that dock. The one above. Listen. Don't talk.

I told you not to go that way. Listen and no swamps will come your way.

Are we back to another dock? Maybe you need to take a walk.

I said walk. Not ride. Come on, pick up your stride.

And now you've hit a dead end. You need a better sense of direction, my friend.

Forget the boats already. They're a trap. Follow my words and not the map.

Now you're finally listening to me. You've found the tall grass and soon you will see.

Nope. Wrong kind of sea. The lighthouse is further down, gee.

Now you've got it. You're just about there. Well step up to it. Don't stop and stare.

Look in awe and all that stuff. Sometimes maps just aren't enough.

I may or may not have gave better directions than that, but hey, here are some visuals and I channeled the cat. And yeah, more water to see. Doesn't that just delight thee? Ever searched for a lighthouse or given directions? I may have sent a few to different sections, but not any more. Sadly, I know where everything is near our shore. And now you know where to find the lighthouse near here too. Don't say I never helped you. In case you forgot though...

The water's mist will point the way at the beginning of each new day.

Freely Caged

I laugh with a force so loud it deafens my own voice upon release. You, the so-called superior one, curl your nose and hold your breath, resembling a blobfish, as you haul my daily droppings away. Your cantankerous yearnings for my failures hold no sway over me. I listen to the deathbed promise you mumble each day. An oath you will never break, but one you wouldn't mind fumbling should I make my escape. Open door. Freedom. Take it. Your vocabulary boiled down to five words. One standing above the rest. Freedom. A word whose definition is flawed with half truths and fairy tales. For are you ever truly free?

You freely live within the confines of your own cage. A slave to the lenders who so graciously provided you with the funds to purchase four walls and a roof. You freely live on the land you own, yet should you freely decide to forgo property taxes, your wise overlords will freely take your land and ask you not so freely to leave. You freely fill the confines with do dads and gadgets, each bought and paid for by credit cards and each believed to be a necessity due to finely-worded advertising. You freely pay for the comforts of electricity and water, whether through overlord support or funded within your own land. You freely pay to cover your confines in case what you just swiped from my cage happens. You freely forget to read the fine print, so they can freely deny you when what you swiped from my cage happens.

Now you freely leave, freely locking your confines in the belief that it will be safe from thieves, who could freely break the window and crawl in if they so wished. You step into your wonderful machine. You freely signed over your life to the overlords to get those four tires on the road. Four tires that will have to be replaced multiple times, along with other aspects of your oh so great machine that are built to break. You freely fill your machine with the fuel needed to freely get where you are going. You grumble more than your wish for my freedom over the cost, but you freely pay what the overlords demand for said fuel.

You finally make it to a new confine. One of which you freely give eight hours, if not more, of your life to each day. All so the overlords can freely take much of your pay for your own benefit and leave you with just enough to freely survive. But never fear, you are freely working, so those lenders will graciously give you more should you fall on hard times. You just may have to freely pay higher interest and put up your great confines, what little you own in it, as collateral. You are freely available for overtime, freely giving away even more of your life, as to pay off the extra they gave. But oh, they gave more, you freely needed that next do dad, and you...when did eight becomes fourteen? You freely complain. You freely blame the overlords, lenders, and even me. Never yourself, which you are freely able to find excuses for avoiding.

You are free to think of alternatives. Free to imagine quitting the other confines. Free to imagine living on the road. Free to realize you are a few steps away from living under that bridge you freely passed in your, I mean the overlords machine, as you still have five years left to pay it off. You are free to envision without the consequences. You are free to try. You are also free to freeze to death when the winter months come back around.

Freedom. A right. A right to owe. A right to pay. A right to slave each day for the right to owe and the right to pay. A right for the few moments of peace you are granted before the next ding. Bill due. Payment due. New do dad you must have. New built to break machine. New faults within your confines that need fixing. New rules that will increase your deductible and payment. New needs that increase property taxes, like overlord raises. Freedom a righ...luxury few can afford.

I yearn to see that blobfish impression again the next day as you replace my paper and close the door. I am free. Free to stay within my confines and have you a slave to my every need. You are free to revoke your oath, but you never will. Confined to a belief of your own design. A message to a departed no longer languishing upon the earth. A feeble freedom of your own fruitful design. Freely caged while forever free of your freedoms.

Words: 794

There we go. Took it a bit of a different way. As are we truly ever free? Maybe if you are a millionaire, but you still have to pay property taxes and such. We are free to make our own choices, unlike so many, thankfully, but there is no way in life to truly ever be free to one's self. Even if you go live in the woods, which you are free to do, you can still be moved by whoever decides to buy it, sell it off, or nature can freely cause an earthquake and suck you up. Always something. May be better off being the bird in the cage at times. Or not. Free to choose. As my mind freely goes all over the place and we may even rhyme in this space. See? Did that. Now we are freely done with it where we're at.

Enjoy life, forget the strife.

Eye Of The Beholder With Or Without Growing Older!

The cat is here to give a peer. I don't know what I'll peer about. Actually I do or this post wouldn't have came out. Or maybe I don't and let my claws do the typing. Hey, at least I know this isn't Skyping.

Ticking of time.
Such a crime.
Ticking tick a ticking.
Age you ain't licking.

Unless your tongue sags.
Could go with eye bags.
Eye of the beholder.
Maybe tongue down to the shoulder.

I guess that would grow.
What do I know?
A little and a lot.
I answered the question I sought.

Hypothetical or not.
Maybe a rhetorical plot.
But what the heck.
I hit the deck.

It hurt the hand.
That isn't grand.
Age and brittle bones.
Moans and maybe groans.

Hopefully they're fun.
May kill someone.
But hey, got a thrill.
Go in for the kill.

After all, you're growing.
Keep on with the showing.
You are growing older.
Hmm did the air get colder?

Nope, you just shrunk.
Closer to the ground, punk.
Was that an ancient word?
Maybe I should flip a bird.

Damn, finger won't bend.
Age is supposed to extend.
That is sure a lie.
By time does fly.

Umm it flies while you grow.
Yet it doesn't move and you shrink, so....
Liar liar pants on fire?
Made two for one expire.

Ever notice how they say that a lot? Grow older with many a plot. But you kinda, maybe, sorta shrink. Shorter and saggier could bring all to the brink. Plus, you forget more too. Hmm did grow get a meaning not known to our zoo? The cat just had to chime in with this pass. Now the post count shall grow with my ever not so growing any longer little rhyming ass.

Experience spring, have a fling.

Deprogrammed Death

Pssst. Forget keeping you alive. Trees are here to ensure you have a shiny death.

The tabbies mentioned this one as we went on the deprogramming of engagement rings. It was on the list, but we moved it to the top after that. From engagement to death, that's a cheery thought, huh? Hopefully there is no correlation between the two for you. If you don't have a big life insurance policy or bank account then you are probably safe from such correlation. Probably is the key word though. Don't take it as gospel. You could have a secret serial killer in your bed. Okay, author brain is off. Now onward we go.

Death Expenses

At one point or another we all deal with it and we all have it in our future, not a cheery thought or easy in any way, but you can bet that since it is certain, someone somewhere is going to capitalize on it. And, as we all know, many surely do.

Whether you see it coming or not, grieving takes place once death occurs and then the vultures strike. Sadly, it isn't actual vultures. That would be cheaper and maybe even better for the environment. Hmm, maybe just cheaper. Who wants skeletons lying around everywhere?

First come your options. You can have them buried or cremated. But the you only applies in the checkbook, credit card, bank account, or drug money. Hey, when you're hard up for a place to hide it, have to make due. Remind me never to touch money again. So you pick. Your pick is the casket.

Look at them all displayed out. They are oh so great. Hell, many are nicer than your first apartment. I'm sure those who are dead with no life left in them and who's body will rot away are going to appreciate that. And just for all the tree huggers, I'm sure the trees gladly gave up their life so you can coddle the dead. Bah, they start at a mere $5000. That's nothing to show the dead you care. Even though the dead can't see any longer from their eyes.

Next you have to have an open casket so all their loved ones can say goodbye. You just have to. So let's rip everything out and shove a bunch of crap in them to preserve them and make them look all pretty. Hey, it works for the brain-dead Hollywood bimbos, may as well do it when the rest of their body dies off as well. It only tacks on a bunch bit more.

Now you have to have a place to view. Our home is all geared up for it. We'll make all the preparations. Don't worry, that is all factored in. And oh, you still have to have some gathering afterwards, we can have it here or recommend a good caterer, for which we may or may not get a kickback from, and take all the work out of your hands. Aren't we nice? Our fee is our reward.

And then we have to have the hole dug, your plot has to be paid for, your headstone must be there, and you really, really have to have a shiny one. 1000 years from now when no one knows who you ever were and you would know no one at all, they still need to know you were here. It's how you leave your mark. It must be done.

Oh, you wanted to be cremated? Well then we have a fancy box just for the ashes. And we charge extra if you want the ashes burned separate from others. You just must sit them on the mantle. And this box would look great. I mean trees died for your dead, if that isn't sacrifice, we don't know what is. So don't let their sacrifice be for nothing. Sacrifice your money and common sense to us and buy this shiny box for what results into dusty kitty litter. Do it before your grief wears off and you realize you can get the same thing from stuffing the dusty kitty litter into a coffee can. 

And the other stuff still holds. You still need a gathering and, and... What? Don't bring math into this! Get back here!

Let's say that you are on the high end and cost $500 a month for groceries. That includes TP and all that stuff. That is $6000 for an ENTIRE year to keep yourself fed. $6000!!!! ENTIRE YEAR! ALIVE! 365 DAYS! And that is rather high in many cases. Yet, most of the time, if one gets suckered by the funeral homes, sentiment, and the way things must be done, it costs more than that for you to die than for a full year of you eating to stay alive. Does that make logical sense? Oh, but it is how it is. It is how it must be. Blah blah blah.

Yes, you need professionals of some sort to dispose of the body in some way, or we'd have dead people buried on many a property. Hmm, suppose that is one way to bring down property value and afford a house. BUT spending that kind of money just to die. Pfffft. The dead don't care if they are in a fancy box or a box you nailed together from sticks in the woods. They don't care if they are sat on a shelf in a fancy box or thrown to the wind from a coffee can. They are dead! Of course maybe Great Aunt Ruthie still wants to look good and paid in advance. Hey, she cared when she was alive, but guess what? Not when dead still holds.

And this doesn't even include estate stuff, hospital bills, and all other various stuff one may not learn of beforehand. People can spend upwards of $15,000 or more just getting it all taken care of. Granted if life insurance is in place or money had been sat aside in the estate to cover such things, great. Go to it. 

But when did it become fact that this stuff is oh so needed and unicorns are fake? Funerals are the last great con that get you even when you think you're finally out. They pull you back in and then bury you in a fancy box where you can rot in peace. Not to mention violate you in many a way to make you look all pretty for those few who really give a damn, those many who are only there to be nice, and those few that hated you alive, but who say you were oh so great once you're dead.

Pfffft. Burn me, toss me in the litterbox, and be done with it. I'm dead. I won't care. Piddle on the ashes yourself for all I care. Maybe then my dusty kitty litter may float up and get in your mouth. Would suck on that apply? Last laugh? 

Nope. Not struck down after typing this. I guess no ghosts or gods or whoever cares about funeral stuff. What was that? I hear it faintly. Bla...bla...bla...Oh. Blasphemy? Does that count coming from a funeral director who sells $5000 shiny boxes and goes to town up and in dead bodies? Nah, I think I'll take my chances with the unicorns.

Anything to add? Feel free at my pad.

Favorite Time

Would the title be talking about your favorite time of day? Year? Month? Second? Or would it be talking about my favorite time of day? Year? Month? Second? Or would it be my, or your, favorite time because of certain things, acts, or whatever? Or would it simply be saying that it is time to post about your, or my, favorites on something? Or would that be a single favorite? Should I have said that only once as favorite(s)? Or am I totally wrong like ten times, yep, still too lazy to count, and spelled it as favorite? Maybe I should just get on with it before you get confused. Too late? Damn, I'll have to clarify my titles better sometime in the future. Maybe in one that is far far away. Nope. Can't do that. I may end up with an awful prequel or a remake that pretends it's not a remake. Right. On with the question.

Of all the genres you read and write, which is your favorite to write in and why?

Did we skip the read part? Why ask read if you only ask write in the second half? Hmmm, would they call this nitpicking? Yeah, I'm a dink at times, or maybe all the time, but I can take it. 

Do I have a favorite? Hmmm if I had a favorite maybe I'd write in that all the time. But then that might get boring and it wouldn't make it a favorite anymore. Isn't that like that with most things? You do something you enjoy, but if you solely do that, you kinda want something else. Yes, I said do. Don't go to the gutter because if you do....

He only has eyes for you.

So I guess it is more a favorite at the time thing. Then I try the next and the next and then swing back around and still find it a favorite. But then swing back to the next and the next and find they are a favorite too. Maybe that would count as my favorite way to write, right? Did that count as answering the question? Yes? No? Maybe so?

Pick a favorite and savor it.