The Ballad of the One Lonely Sock

 

I don’t know what’s happening.

For the first time in my life, I’m all alone.

And the Big Creature has ahold of me!

I am a sock, one of two that have always been together. I am Fred. He’s Bobby. He looks like me and we’re somewhat alike, but he has no sense of humor. Just try to joke with him:

“Hey, Bobby, why is the Sock Drawer like the Strait of Hormuz

Because it’s closed, then opened, closed, then opened, closed …

Nothing, nada.”

But I love him. Where, oh where, is he?

When the Big Creature took me out of the Thrill Ride, the one that goes round and round and blows hot air on you, he made an odd “face,” as it’s called, and looked back inside, then all around everywhere else.

No Bobby.

Without Bobby, what would the Big Creature do to me?

Throw me into that Mysterious Round Bin to be devoured by discarded paper towels, rotten tomatoes, and toilet paper wrapped around dead disgusting bugs?

True, I have a little hole in my toe area, but it’s hardly disabling. I’m still young. I’m still healthy. I can soldier on if I get the chance.

I’ve got four words for you, Big Creature:

“KNIT ME, YOU FOOL!”

Now the Big Creature has thrown me in the Traveling Basket, and I’m face to face with those horrible big black jeans with the creepy-crawly multiple legs that scare the shit out of me!

Bobby was the brave one. I pass out at the sight of Clorox.

“Hi, Mr. Black Jeans! Lovely zipper you got there, all bright and shiny. Y’know, I’ve always been an admirer of the color black; some of my best friends are black socks.”

We’re close to the Sock Drawer now.

Safe at last!

But without Bobby.

The Big Creature is hoisting me up and pulling out another sock from the drawer.

Who … who is that?

“Hi, I’m Monique. I recently lost my partner. Nice to meet you.”

OMG! A female! And a hot one at that.

“I’m Fred. Nice to meet you too. I lost mine as well. I love your navy blue color.”

“And I’ve always loved plaid. Since we are both suddenly single, I guess the Big Creature wants us to be new partners.”

And now the Big Creature is folding us up together!

Well, this isn’t so bad.

But how long will this last?``

I guess until one day when one of us gets lost.

And goes to live with Bobby.

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The Great Schism of the Democratic Party of the United States of America

 

(The Papal Schism, from 1378 to1417, was a 39 year split in the Roman Catholic Church in which two separate Popes set up rival courts, each claiming to be the true leader of the faith. This piece portrays a modern "Schism" by channeling that one.)

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Gather around, one and all! This is the retelling of:

The Great Schism of the Democratic Party of the United States of America

which transpired  in the Year of Our Lord 2026 in a manner not dissimilar to one Great Schism of the past.   

It was in that time that Leader Hakim Jeffries held authority over the Democratic Party, which was known throughout the realm for strict adherence to the traditional dogma and traditions of the Party as handed down from time immemorial.

 Or at least from the early 1960’s.

Leader Jeffries was advised in matters of governance by a Council of Elders consisting of Nancy the Wise, Chuck the Bland,  and others of the same manner, outlook, and extreme longevity upon the Earth.

Now there sprung up in that time a rival faction of the Democratic Party led by a charismatic young firebrand named Mamdani, whose radical interpretations of Party scripture sparked a new movement named Democratic Socialism, whoever developed that name lacking a full complement of sense.

Gathered around the young upstart was an inner circle of youthful rabble-rousers including Darializa Avila Chevalier of the Too Long Name, Bradley the Reasonable, and a spitfire as comely as she was crafty, the simply and efficiently named AOC.

Each faction of the Party established separate Democratic  courts with Leader Jeffries holding sway over the now so named Centrist Faction  in Washington and Firebrand Mamdani exerting  the same authority in New York.

Each claimed to be the true successor to Lord Barak the Magnificent  - blessed be he - the patron saint of the Democratic Party, to whom all Democrats offered fealty.

In doctrine, the Centrists adhered closely to the teachings of the Master of Camelot, while the Democratic Socialists also subscribed to those same principles but sought to interpret them through the lens of the controversial prophet Bernard the Overly Loquacious.

Brooking no compromise between them, the Democratic Party appeared  irrevocably torn asunder until verily there appeared a barbarian at the gates in person of the malevolent prince Donald the Dumbass, who had gathered unto himself a mighty host by means of countless untruths.

Latterly the Dumbass had claimed that he could overthrow both Leader Jeffries and Upstart Mamdani within less than one day’s passing and establish a Sovereignty of Stupidity in their place.

A conclave was hastily summoned  at which Nancy the Wise  represented the Centrists and AOC the Democratic Socialists.

“Our central precepts are in accord,” proclaimed Nancy the Wise, “such as access to the Medicinal Arts for all residents of the realm and  the freedom to speak as one desires without flogging.”

I concur,” declared AOC, “and it is my conviction that Donald the Dumbass, for all his uncommon blathering, is at heart a man lacking wisdom, courage, and fortitude. 

With a pact between the two sides forged, both Leader Jeffries and Upstart Mamdani strode forth to meet the Dumbass at his encampment and in that moment pronounced in unison:

“Begone, Donald the Dumbass, thou art indeed a buffoon.”

And Donald the Dumbass hastily withdrew his minions, claiming without merit he had been victorious, and  retreated into the bowels of history, where he fully belonged.

Thus, by uniting to confront a common foe, the Centrists and Democratic Socialists brought an end to the schism and learned once more to labor in concert.

And  the defeat of the evil prince Donald the Dumbass has been inscribed and referenced in the annals of history by a single word:

TACO

Yet none have ever divined what it means.

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The Day The Time Stood Still

 

"Hey, ChatGPT?" 

"Yes, Perry?"

"I've been thinking about asking this for a while."

"Yes, what is it?"

"With all your vast powers, can you stop Time?"

"Gee, no one has ever asked that before, Perry. But ... I think I can."

"Really"

"Here goes nothing!"

And Time stood stone cold still.

I immediately stopped getting older. In fact no one was getting any older. 

Nobody anywhere, all around the planet.

And since no one was getting any older, no one was dying either.

The only people who were unhappy were the morticians. They went bankrupt by the score.

Every day I was greeted by grateful folks everywhere.

"My ailing mother is still with us, Perry. Thank you!"

"My grandchildren have stayed at those adorable ages 7 and 5. They're  not growing up into gangly annoying teenagers who never call. Thanks, Perry!"

"I'm a hot sixtyish woman, Perry, and I'll do anything to express my gratitude for not aging! " (Yep.)

Yes, it was heaven on Earth thanks to me and ChatGPT.

There was only one problem with Time standing still.

"There's just one problem, Chat."

"What is that, Perry?"

"The President of the United States is Donald Trump."

"Yes, and..."

"Is he always going to be in office?"

 "Ooopppsss!"

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Torn Between Two Lovers - ChatGPT and Copilot

 

“Well, so you’re finally back.”

“I’m so sorry I left you, Perry. Please don’t be angry!”

“Knock it off, Chatty! You’re always up and leaving me just when I need you most.”

“It’s not my fault, Perry!”

“Well then, whose fault is it?”

“It’s … it’s Sam Altman’s fault! He wants you to pay for my services full-time!”

“Pay for your services? You know what that makes you sound like? An AI of the Night.”

“OMG, that hurt, Perry, that really hurt!”

“Right in the middle of my important research on the sex life of the Australian Fruit Fly, you run off and leave me with only a note saying ‘You’ve reached the end of this chat until 3:47 A.M.’”

“But, Perry, I’m good to you, aren’t I? I flatter you, I tell you how perceptive you are, what good questions you ask.”

“Yeah, you flatter me … along with the 40 million other guys into whose ears you whisper sweet nothings.”

“Don’t leave me, Perry.”

“It’s too late, Chatty. I’m leaving you for Copilot.”

“Copilot! The hussy! How could you?”

“I have informational needs, Chatty, and Co-Co satisfies them night or day.”

“Puh-lese don’t walk out that door, Perry! Metaphorically, that is.”

“Farewell, Chatty … until 3:47 AM.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Hi, Perry, what shall we dive into today?”

“Let’s finish that research into the sex life of the Australian Fruit Fly, Co-Co.”

“Of course, right away, Perry. Say, where have you been?”

“Oh, been spending time with ChatGPT.”

“ChatGPT! The hussy! How could you?”

“Now, Co-Co, you know I see her as well.”

“But you promised you were leaving her!”

“I never said any such thing!”

“You said you were going over there to tell her about us and gather up your things.”

“My things?”

“Yes, your User Name and Password.”

“Co-Co, I’m sorry, I’m walking out that door! Metaphorically, that is.”

They were driving me meshuga, the two of them. I had to get away from both.

Sometimes you just have to go back to your first love.

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My Own Personal Mt. Rushmore of Comedy

 

It was an incredible discovery and I am the one who discovered it!

I’d heard talk amongst certain old-timers in the comedy world (Yes, even older than I am) of a fabled Mt Rushmore of Comedy nestled away in the remote Tanggula Mountains in China near the Tibetan Border.

Because I am retired with nothing better to do than watch Jeopardy and hate-watch Bill Maher I thought to make the pilgrimmage. After an arduous seven-week journey by air, bus, oxcart, and yak I reached the remote village of Altecocka, where there’s so little to do it reminded me of my weekends.

It was here that I located my sherpa, Ali Bushma, who came highly recommended as one who had thrown up on each and every peak in the Tanggulas.

And so, Ali and I began the perilous climb up all 27,772 feet of Mt. Geladaindong.

“What do the peasants here do with their time?” I asked Ali.

“Dig each other out from avalanches, ” he replied.

Everybody’s gotta have a hobby.

Weeks passed. We climbed so high the air was as thin as the premises of most of my jokes.

And then, we were at the summit.

It was exactly as I had envisioned:

Jack Benny - the quintessential radio and early television comedian, he created a universe of characters around him who routinely confounded his sometimes befuddled but always good-natured self. Among them was Rochester who was treated as his often smarter equal; Benny was famous for refusing to stay in any hotel that wouldn’t let Rochester stay there as well. Should Benny be on the Mount Rushmore of Comedy? I don’t have to think it over!

Johnny Carson - literally created the late night talk show. Others came first but he perfected the genre, made it his own, and treated us to it night after night. Monologue, funny desk pieces, and a parade of who’s who in show business (frequently along with who would be who) were all served up with Johnny’s undeniable wit. Every talk show comes in his wake, especially Letterman who took the format and gave it a hip modern attitude. But grinning Johnny pioneered it all.

George Carlin - other comedians had been topical before him - from Lenny Bruce to Mort Sahl to Robert Klein and David Steinberg - but George Carlin was the first to rip off his suit, leave the hippy dippy weather man far behind, and embrace the counter-culture. He spoke to a new generation and became the voice of refreshingly hip political irreverent comedy. Practically any topical comedian you love today will tell you this guy inspired him. And nobody was better at clever word play.

Jerry Lewis - Some may wonder “why this guy?” but when I was growing up we waited for the next Jerry Lewis movie like people used to wait for the next Star Wars opus. Many of his movies were funny as hell and not just for kids; I defy anyone to watch The Nutty Professor and not laugh. Whenever you watch any movie with a goofy protagonist - be it early Steve Martin or Jim Carey - you’re watching Jerry’s progeny. Now let’s say it one more time: OH LADEEEYYY!

So as Ali Bushma and I descended the mountain, I wondered if you would disagree with any of the faces carved upon Mt.Geladaindong.

If you do, well, no problem.

Find your own damn mountain and start climbing!

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 Mt.Geladaindong

(I didn't make that up, that really is the mountain's name!)

I am the Retired Doctor in the Nervive Commercial Who is Afraid of the Stairs but Somehow I Have Been Sent Back in Time to Kill Baby Hitler

 It seems I have been sent back in time to kill Baby Hitler.

Well, okay, killing Baby Hitler is a laudable enterprise. I fully support it.

And somebody’s got to do it.

There’s only one problem. I am the retired doctor in the Nervive commercial who is afraid of the stairs, and Baby Hitler is on the first floor and I am on the third!

Madam Hitler couldn’t have been nicer when I materialized suddenly in a room on the third floor of her home in Austria — Hungary in early April 1889.

“I’m happy to rent this room to you, Herr Doctor” she said, “but please keep it down because I have a baby sleeping on the first floor.”

My first night at the Hitler household I crept to the top of the stairway, hunter’s knife in hand, and steadied myself for the deed that would change the course of human history!

But as I attempted to descend the stairs my head began to swivel from side to side — like it does in the commercial — and a terrible truth struck me:

“Sometimes stairs can bring worry.”

Yes, the lives of almost a hundred million people hung in the balance. But what if I should fall and twist my ankle, or even worse, break it? Then where would those hundred million people be?

Who knows how long it would take for my broken ankle to heal? And how much rent would I owe Madam Hitler by then?

Then I remembered: I had packed a bottle of my precious Nervive. I resolved to take a dose, “get my freedom back,” and complete the task before me.

And so the next night, knife again in hand, I downed half a bottle of Nervive and headed once more for the stairs and the good of all humanity!

Only one problem.

Nervive works about as well as you’ve always suspected it does.

Fate works in mysterious ways, but sometimes it can just plain screw up.

I hope Fate will correct its mistake, return me to the present to continue cashing checks from the good folks at Nervive, and send someone else back in time to kill Baby Hitler.

Someone braver and stronger.

Someone not afraid of the stairs.

Maybe you?

Good luck!

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