Posts Tagged ‘ ESSAY ’

ATTN. FUTURE GROOMS: NEVER MARRY THESE WOMEN!

THE HUMAN RACE

 

 HEY, GUYS…  IS IT TIME TO TIE THE KNOT?

    

Never marry a woman who plays the flute

and raises cobras for the hell of it.

Never marry a woman who refuses

to play catch with you.

Never marry a woman whose ex-husbands are muscle-

bound cage fighters or NFL defensive linemen.

Never marry a woman who believes that

motherhood must come with a nanny.

Never marry a woman who expects 3-karats,

new wheels and a Visa card before nuptials.

Never marry a woman who continually

beats you at checkers.

Never marry a woman who’s

mesmerized by her beauty.

Never marry a woman who’s been widowed

three times and is under indictment for ADW.

Never marry a woman who constantly

fusses with her ankle-length hair.

Never marry a woman whose mother prefers

nothing less than a kiss-ass son-in-law.

Never marry a woman who doubles down with a pair

of sevens while the blackjack dealer’s showing a King.

Never marry a woman who’s repulsed at

the thought of changing diapers.

Never marry a woman with thick chest hairs

who can bench press three-hundred pounds.

Never marry a woman who’s bent on turning

you into her mealy-mouthed daddy’s clone.

Never marry a woman who spends more than

three-hours a week at the beauty parlor.

Never marry a woman whose father expects

you to take over his house-plumbing chores.

   Never marry a woman who downs a vodka

Martini for an eye-opener every morning.

Never marry a woman whose eyeteeth grow

into fangs when the moon rises.

Never marry a woman who relishes her job

as bouncer at a saloon for longshoremen.

Never marry a woman who cackles and

flies on a broomstick.

 

Boots LeBaron —

ATTN FUTURE BRIDES: NEVER MARRY THESE MEN!

THE HUMAN RACE

NEVER MARRY THESE MEN

 

Never marry a man who drives a Mercedes,

wears a Rolex and lives in a hovel.

Never marry a man whose work tools include

a blackjack, a .38 Special and a silencer.

Never marry a man who allows his nostril

hairs to grow long enough to braid.

Never marry a dude who sees Viagra’s four

hour erection warning as a manly frivolity.

Never marry a man who insists on selecting

your bridesmaids from a Victoria’s Secret catalog.

Never marry a NRA enthusiast whose

favorite sport is fortune hunting.

Never marry a man who’s obsessed

with your bank account and his profile.

Never marry a man who asks you to

strip at his bachelor party.

Never marry a man who’s an alcoholic

posing as a workaholic.

Never marry a man who proposes as

you’re pole-dancing at Bada-Bing Bada-Boom.

Never marry a man who has the names of

five ex-lovers tattooed on his buttocks.

Never marry a man who blows his nose on

your grandma’s embroidered dinner napkin.

Never marry a man who twits a close-up

of his crotch on the Internet.

Never marry a man you catch

peddling your thongs on eBay.

Never marry a man who’d rather watch

a Star Trek rerun than you in a nightie.

Never marry a man whose last wife took

him for everything but an empty jewelry box.

Never marry a man who thinks he’s

too masculine to clean the toilet bowl.

Never marry a man who sees a girl’s

night out as a shameless act of feminism.

Never marry a man who goes for a Hickey while

   standing in line at the supermarket.    

Never marry a bank robber unless you

can drive the getaway car.

 

— Boots LeBaron

EXPERIENCING SELF PITY? USE HUMOR AS YOUR WEAPON

PUTTING A FACE ON THE HUMAN RACE

EXPERIENCING SELF PITY? TRY TAP-DANCING

IT AWAY ON THE STAGE OF LIFE!

We are all starring in The Theater of the

Absurd. Look into the mirror. See yourself?

Even at your saddest moment of

wretchedness, study the character gawking

back at you. Notice the bloodshot eyes, the

twitch, the frown etched in deep furrows.

Pretty pathetic, huh? Now look deeper. There’s

a gladiator hiding behind that gloomy

facade. I don’t care how you’ve failed

or how your spirit was damaged. Give your

memory sack a good shake and there’ll be

an assortment of memorable moments spilling

out. Guaranteed, you’re gonna find something

to howl, growl or smile about. I know, I know.

You’re uncomfortable. But don’t hide. You’re

tap-dancing under the glare of the spotlight,

sharing the stage with billions whose tragedies

would dwarf the grief you’re experiencing.

You’re suffering an ego attack. Maybe a broken

heart? Everybody gets them. So stop fretting!

Even in the midst of catastrophic sadness,

there is humor. When my childhood friend,

Dick (Bumbo) Channon died at 52, I had his mother

and sister laughing. I dropped a handful of

bubble gum into his open casket. Memories are

made of happiness. Fun, never dies easy.

When my Irish pal, Frank Francis O’Leary

recently kicked the bucket, I wrote a

story turning the portly aerospace

physicist into a leprechaun stuck in a

tree. Death might be an emotional disaster for

many, but beyond those woe-be-gone tears lurks

the soul of truth that’s ready to spring forth

and bite you on the buttocks, infecting your

solemnness with happy memories. Truth harbors

a helluva sense of humor. You just gotta remember

the good times. So, if you want to temporarily

overcome those doldrums, here’s my suggestion:

Go into the bathroom and lock the door. As I

suggested earlier, find the mirror. You’re all

alone, right? Now bend over and give yourself

a kick in the ass. If you’re not double-

jointed, pull down your pants or panties and

“moon” the mirror. That act, I suspect, will give

you good reason to rise above self pity. You might even

realize what a pathetic looking asshole you are.

Remember: Laughter beats tears.


— Boots LeBaron —

MY ‘DIVINE’ MESSENGERS LET ME DO THE THINKING!

THE HUMAN RACE

 

MY  VERY OWN SOCRATES, PLATO, CONFUCIUS, MOSES?

Dear God. Dear Goddess. Oh, Great Spirit who

lives within the conscience of each and every

one of us. I am convinced that the Sacred

Three welcome my inquisitive and perhaps contro-

versial nature. They are my Socrates, Plato

and Confucius rolled into one. Because of them,

I think. I fail. I agonize. I degrade pomposity.

I am forever searching for answers. I live

with guilt. I respect the less fortunate.

I suffer from pride. I trust my wife.

Sometimes I am opposed to her truth.

Yet, she tolerates me. I make

strangers laugh or at least wonder,

“Who is this old guy that just

stuck his foot in his mouth?”

My spiritual icons must get a kick

listening to my prognosis about life as if

I know what the hell I’m talking about.

When I have these one-way conversations

with the Silent Ones. I am in search

of solutions that will help define

the path I am forever breaking.

Although at times I feel inadequate,

confused and indecisive, so what?!

The thoughts I harbor about survival

in this demonic environment bolster my

pseudo-narcissistic tendencies — whether

they are right or wrong. Yet, I am

convinced that humility is my virtue.

Speaking unfettered to my Holy Hearers gives

me an insight that allows me to dissect

my soul. Call it a prayer, a search for

inner-truth, an unforgivable sin, the one

way confession belongs to me alone. For

that kind of gift, I say: Hallelujah!

 

— Boots LeBaron —

 

WHO’D KILL DUMBO, SIMBA OR MAGILLA AND CALL IT SPORT?

THE HUMAN RACE

 

KILLING INNOCENT ANIMALS  IN WORLD JUNGLES IS A HUMAN DISGRACE!

 

     What if poachers in Africa and other countries of the world killed Dumbo, Ruby the Rhino, Tony the Tiger, Smokey the Bear, Magilla the Gorilla, or Peter Potamus the hippopotamus or Simba The Lion King? Wouldn’t that piss you off?

     Of course, the above names belong to cartoon characters. But what if they were true to life animals killed by poachers in the jungles of the world? For instance, let’s identify Cecil, a magnificent adult lion, recently killed in Zimbabwe, to a famous cartoon celebrity many of us might recognize as Simba The Lion King?

     Cecil reportedly was murdered by a 55-year-old dentist identified by Associated Press as Walter Palmer from Eden Prairie, Minneapolis. Armed with a crossbow and protected by armed

guides, he killed Cecil who at the time of death was wearing a collar and was lured from a protected area early this month (July) where he was assassinated.      So Palmer, a big game hunter, was identified by the Zimbabwe Conservation Task Force, the Safari Operators Assn. of Zimbabwe and police authorities as an American facing poaching charges for the crossbow incident.

     Cecil was more than a statistic. He was a beautiful animal who was denied the right to live in Zimbabwe by a dentist who AP reportedly paid $50,000 for the sordid trek to kill a defenseless lion. So, there goes another Simba The Lion King to the sport of death.

     What a trophy he would make for the wealthy dentist who in 2008 AP says pleaded guilty to making false statements to wildlife officials about fatally shooting a black bear in Wisconsin in 2006.

     For cartoon identification purposes, let’s call that bear, Smokey. For making false statements to wildlife officials about the bear (Smokey), Palmer was put on a year’s promotion and fined a couple of thousand bucks. Despite the two killings, old Walter will never wind up in The Big House.

     If he ever goes on a big hunt, authorities should demand that he must replace steel-tipped arrows with suction cups. That’d make the odds more even.

     Several months ago, I wrote another story about poachers, using Dumbo, Walt Disney’s adorable little elephant, as the main character. My intention was to make readers realize that the mass murders of wildlife creatures were heartbreaking realities.

     Ironically, another well written story by Robyn Dixon of the L.A. Times reported earlier this month that more than 1,200 rhinos were slaughtered last year in South Africa.   Remember Ruby the Rhino cartoon? So sad.

     Anyway, let’s focus on Dumbo, a story I labored on a number of months ago. Imagine that today he was a full-grown mountain bull with massive ivory tusks roaming the jungles of Africa’s plush Botswana or the tundra in Northern Kenya. He’s the same precious little rascal with the big heart we all remember as kids. He’s just grown up.

     Animal assassins armed with automatic weapons, poison-tipped spears, bow and arrows and even crossbows are killing beautiful animals throughout the world today. Not only are these animal hunters killing for cash, but describing their brutal, inhumane homicidal acts as sport.

     I know, I know. Humanity is a violent species. Humans kill each other motivated by racial bigotry, greed, religious extremism, poverty, war, terrorism, ignorant fury or murderous vindictive acts focused at some tenant who’s not paying the rent a hanky-pankiest playing with your soul mate.

     As people overpopulating Earth, we are something to behold. God only knows why individuals must complete such missions of mayhem. Yet, some poverty-stricken African men and women

can earning as much as $2,500 a kill. They hack off Dumbo’s massive tusks and leave his rotting carcass for the vultures and other predators. Loads of ivory tusks are shipped to China and other Asian countries where they are carved into small ornamental knickknacks, jewelry, priceless chess pieces, and religious symbols earning fortunes for their remorseless marketers. Are you going to buy one?

     Since premeditated murder of innocent animals for profit is a sin, how can those who worship various Supreme Beings explain why they are making fortunes selling or buying religious artifacts made from the tusks of endangered pachyderms or horns of rhinoceroses? And why in hell would God-fearing customers purchase such religious items carved from elephant tusks? I guess you can chalk it up to a classic case of greed, ignorance, pomposity or an unsavory act of spiritual apathy.    

     By now, an adult Dumbo would have his own breed of babies and leave behind a grieving widow. Elephants do grieve just like humans. Experts on the subject report that in Africa alone, about 30,000 these magnificent mammoths are slaughtered annually.      The reason I used Dumbo as a metaphor is to make this point: How many of you know of giant tusker named Sato? Not many, I’ll wager. The renowned 6-ton pachyderm who roamed Tsavo East National Park in Kenya was killed by poachers on May 30, 2014. Some reports say he “died a painful death” caused by poison-tipped arrows or spears. Another news story reported that he died suffering eight bullet wounds fired from automatic weapons.

     Since you might not know who Sato is, I substituted Dumbo’s name. The information I gleaned from a variety of sources: CBS-TV’s Sunday Morning News, National Geographic and The Los Angeles Times, among others.

     Paula Kahumbu, a Kenya-based wildlife conservationist for Wildlife Direct, said that Sato (like Dumbo) was a celebrity in his own right; that he was highly respected not only as a “magnificent pachyderm but as major tourist attraction.”

     A National Geographic story quoted Ms. Kahumbu saying, “All the killers wanted was his tusks so somebody far away can have a trinket on their mantelpiece.”

     The question to those who have never witnessed such an atrocity is: How deeply would you care if you learned that an elephant named Sato was slaughtered for his tusks? After all, Sato was only one of an estimated 100,000 elephants ruthlessly assassinated across Africa in recent years. If Sato’s mutilated carcass turned out to be an adult Dumbo, once revered by children as well as adults, wouldn’t that leave an emptiness in your soul; a painful feeling of remorse in the pit of your conscience? I hope so.

     I realize that our violent society breeds its own stalkers, killers, drive-by shooters as well as domestic and foreign terrorists like ISIS. So who is truly concerned about some big old thick-skinned pachyderm named Sato in an African reserve tens of thousands of miles from our shoreline.

     After all, there are an estimated 690,000 African elephants alive today. That’s a lot of Dumbos compared to 5 million such giants roaming free back in the 1930s and 1940s. Now their severed tusks, each with a monumental price tag, are shipped to places like China, Thailand, Korea and Vietnam.

     Foreign criminal organizations with sophisticated weaponry kill viciously, reported CBS-TV. A horrendous incident reported in a 2012, an estimated 300 elephants were gunned down inside a national park in Cameroon, a republic stretching from the Gulf of Guinea to Lake Chad in West Africa.  

     In recent years, says one report, “dozens” of rangers were killed fighting to protect wildlife from poachers in Africa. Is waging such a war against those who kill animals for profit so horrifying when humanity is hard at work killing its own kind by the millions? For God sakes, we’re even decapitating heads and burning people alive to make a political point; stoning women to death because they refuse to obey the demands of ruthless males who dominate their lives.  

     Since we’re talking about cartoon animals, let me ask one last question: If you were a poacher, how much would you charge to kill an adult Dumbo for his valuable tusks and his sturdy legs used occasionally for coffee tables, Ruby the Rhinoceros whose horns are made into dagger handles or ground into power used for medicinal purposes as well as an aphrodisiac, Peter Potamus the hippopotamus for his cute ears and big toothies, Maguilla the Gorilla using his powerful hands and feet for trophies, Tony the Tiger for use as a throw rug which includes his handsome head and sharp fangs, Simba the Lion King for his mane and mandibles, Smokey the Bear for his huge paws and claws?

     I feel so helpless trying to rewrite parts of this story. Helpless!! All I can say is: Think of these beautiful, defenseless animals. For their sake, please don’t buy ivory! And vote against the rampant growth of guns in our nation.

 

                        — Boots LeBaron —

DONALD TRUMP FOR PRESIDENT? NO LAUGHING MATTER!

THE HUMAN RACE

CANDIDATE TRUMP LANDS MILLIONS OF DOLLARS

WORTH OF FREE PUBLICITY!

 

     Wouldn’t it be worth a $20.00 ticket and five-buck bag of popcorn to see a Woody Allen movie about a billionaire blabbermouth like Donald Trump who, despite overwhelming media ridicule, is miraculously elected to the highest office in the land? Could you imagine Trump as U.S. President?! Wow! It’s a frightening thought that could materialize in this land of the free and home of the brave.

     I know that storyline’s hard to swallow, but we’re talking comedy and farce here. If I was Woody, I’d cast an actor like Bill Murray as the Trump-type character. Give him a pompadour, of course.   And dress him pretty with groupies hired from Screen Actor’s Guild to follow him about praising his every word.

     What candidate Trump is giving presidential politics is a shot in the arm. His is a performance never before witnessed in a presidential race. It’s slapstick. It’s revolting. But at arm’s length, the unbelievable bigotry is almost laughable. So call it comedy.

     This controversial guy with his repulsive public demeanor is, I can’t believe I’m saying this: entertaining. He even made the cover this week of my favorite magazine, “The New Yorker.” Of course, his headline grabbing approach is winning him millions of dollars worth of free publicity. Yet the reality is exasperating.

     Next step: “Playboy Magazine.”

— Boots LeBaron —

A BROKEN PROMISE: CIVILIZATION’S MAJOR CRIME

THE HUMAN RACE

A BROKEN PROMISE AIN’T NO MISDEMEANOR!

 

A broken promise can scar the

soul of every individual who’s convinced

that trust is humanity’s cornerstone.

It’s capable of shattering the

confidence of any trusting person

whose confidence in another

has been desecrated.

In any court of

dignity where the indignant

act is exposed, the culprit

will either be exonerated,

mentally shackled with feelings

of guilt and anxiety for life,

stuck with a misdemeanor thanks

to the power of forgiveness,

labeled as a liar and a cheat,

or, depending on the severity

of the mental or financial anguish

inflicted on another. Of course, those

suffering from life’s broken-promise

syndrome, especially those whose lives

have been wrecked in the midst of a

lovey-dovey relationship, has every

philosophical right to reward that partner

with a seat on the electric chair.

Humanity consists of so many ridiculous

men and women in search of peace of mind

and a perfect life, which is never perfect.

No matter how benign or devious, a broken

promise can cause humiliation, hyperventilation

acute anxiety or psychotic short circuitry

despite the admirable intentions that kick off

any kind of human relationship. Yet, no matter

how intolerable the plight, a broken promise

should rightfully be labeled guilty as charged

on every victim’s shit list. Forever!

Boots LeBaron

BEWARE OF THE SMILEY-FACED OFFICE JACKAL!

THE HUMAN RACE

THE OFFICE JACKAL WILL EAT YOU UP!

 

Like the owl, the hyena, and

especially the office jackal,

they are out to get us! Comparing

these predatory creatures to people,

they are society’s bullies, workplace

maneuverers who feed on fellow employees.

Even brilliant CEOs have to defend themselves

against management subordinates who are

who are determined to devour their

executive bosses. Using disparaging

tactics, propaganda is the weapon

that keeps them on top of the

corporate and blue-collar heap.

They break hearts. They plagiarize.

Some are so brilliant, so creative,

they lure the naive, unsuspecting leaders

and fellow employees into a steel trap from

which there is no escape. These human

jackals exist because they are so

cunning. Many hide behind purity,

integrity, compassion. Even religion.

Some carnivores actually reward followers

who help carry out unscrupulous assaults

on others. So guys and gals who expect

to earn an honest buck at whatever

job level you are working, you’d

better beware that there are political

hyenas and other hungry predators who,

despite their hypocritical smiley faces,

see you as nothing more than tidbits. You

could wind up as carnage scattered across

that untamed concrete jungle you identify as

your World of Opportunity. Thank God,

that’s your problem. Not mine!

 

— Boots LeBaron —

 

 

THE SYMBOL OF BLACK SLAVERY ENDS TODAY (JULY 10, 2015)!

THE HUMAN RACE

 

SOMETIMES A LITTLE POLITICAL RISK IN LIFE WORKS!

If you experiment with life,

Undoubtedly you’ll suffer strife.

Failure can be remorseful

But lessons learned resourceful.

To gamble on a bright tomorrow,

Procrastination may result in sorrow.

Without risky experimentation,

How does one weigh true jubilation?

Symbolizing the brutal act of black slavery,

today the Confederate battle flag comes down

Ending its metaphorical reign of savagery.

After 150 years, fueled by political myopia, no longer

Shall it wave its toxic message across our  U.S. Utopia.

Challengers of fate’s perplexing test

Now have a chance to be politically  the best.

Too unpatriotic to endure, the prejudicial gambol

Has trapped  such ruthless aspirations in a bramble.

Never knowing your true potential

Doesn’t mean you’re inconsequential.

Even evildoers who’ve survived on sheer luck,

Their bullyrag has finally become mired in the muck.

 

Boots LeBaron —

LEOPARD EYES PULCHRITUDE AT A ‘JUNGLE’ WATERING HOLE

THE HUMAN RACE

 

A DARK LIQUID OASIS WHERE YOUNG AND OLD CATS MINGLE

The old leopard

sits in the shade at a

jungle watering hole

known by local natives in

the Manhattan Beach Village

as The Coffee Bean.

Waiting and watching,

he crouches stealthily

sipping on his mocha latte.

He’s seen better days.

His vision is waning.

His quickness is gone.

The fangs are yellowing,

loose and brittle.

The muscles no longer

ripple beneath taut skin.

He’s losing fur

that once was coarse,

ocher, and speckled with

myriad shaped black jots.

He watches morsels

parade by innocently

slurping the magic liquid

that makes life

so socially grand.

But the memories of

his wild predator days

still linger in his heart.

Ancient and pumping,

it’s still

the heart

of a leopard.

 

Boot LeBaron

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