The Carcass Poem

The Carcass Poem

By:  Clyde Mitchell

Look deep into my eyes of Pine-Sol yellow

You'll see that I'm an earnest fellow

My addiction holds me strong and tight

Carcass loving is my plight

There they lay twisted, cold and mangy

All that putrid meat, on my tongue, quite tangy

My nose, the prime offender

My brain to fight is no contender

Good manners "Take a hike!" I growl

"Go now, rotted flesh, go now into my bowel"

I feast until I wretch

Tummy bloated
Lovely stench

BFF's

Oh boy, oh boy did my pulse quicken when I saw that I had three new comments overnight on a past entry.   Sure, their advice was squirrelly but their intentions were most certainly pure.  Here is what my spammer friends posted in response...

Lawyer Internet Marketing said...

"Congratulations. I hope the Lord bless you and guide you every passing minute of your life."

Well, thank you Lawyer Internet Marketing!  I am sure that if I ever needed my money wired, probably through PayPal into your account, I will let you know.  I, too, hope that the Lord blesses me and guides me through every passing minute of my life.  Thanks for throwing religious sentiments into your spamming message.  I am sure God approves.  May cholera cripple your livestock. 

And now for my good friends over at Chicago Bankrupcy:

"The love of true friends is more than just yourself, if you have true friends go through any problems you should protect your friend. All have trials and the trials she felt it should be instructions in order to solve the problem."

Dear Chicago Bankruptcy,

Como? 

BB

And finally, my friends at Alaska Fishing Trips said...

Give appreciation friends and turned around you. And do not emotionally attached to the decision to consider several times before decisions in life.

I could not have said it better myself. Honestly.

Silence is Golden, Duct Tape is Silver*

It's been awhile.  I have missed you.  Blogspot has a feature called "stats" that displays the number of blog hits that I get on day to day basis and where these hits originate from.  Apparently, some bored souls from Russia, Mexico, Iceland and a few other countries I probably could not locate on a map read my ramblings.  Neat, ay?  I think so.  To them I say "Zdra-stvu-eetee", "Hola" and "Komið þið sæl".

An update of my day includes my bosses dog, otherwise referred to as Clyde Mitchell, spotted down on busy Rt 12 in a ditch eating deer carcass, happy as a clam.  Excellent.  Curiously enough, once he was brought back, he wanted to spend quality time in my office and strongly desired to lick my hand.  Sweet boy... not today. 

This just in:  Clyde is now outside and rummaging through our garbage pails.

So, what has been going on in your world?

*Random and unrelated to post, yet funny

Post Christmas Partings

We all* know Christmas is very over.  However, do not tell that to my tree standing tall, dried out and dusty in my living room.  I just cannot part ways with it quite yet.  And more over, I do not like the idea of tossing it in the garbage to be smothered in dirty diapers in the dump.  It is simply too pretty to be disposed of that way.  So my plan is to take it out the back door (a midnight operation no doubt) and drag it up hill (aka my backyard) to lay it to rest in peace and decay amongst its brethren.

A co-worker told me she names her Christmas tree every year.  I thought it was quite strange that she would name an inanimate object like that.  Cheryl and I had a good laugh about that on our way home yesterday.

*some

Disclaimer Shame

While blog-browsing today, I came across this nifty disclaimer. I found it curious that she felt called to post this because she was markedly, well, normal and completely boring.  As I grazed through her work where no revolutionary subjects were discussed or Polaroid's of Big-foot caught water skiing, my first thought was "Who does she think she is?" But, it got me thinking. Maybe you don't have to have to be Bill Shakespeare to warrant this disclaimer. And frankly, posting this makes me feel very official and authorishy. 


So, yeah, everyone take note: 


"Unless otherwise noted all images and writing on this blog were created by me and as such are my property. Please ask for permission to use any images or to quote writing."


The next time you desire to plagiarize my fine literary works and call them your own, remember, I would be delighted, err, I mean, you need to ask my permission.  And you probably need to seek better council, honestly.  Why?  A statistical analysis would find that 78% of this blog pertains to animals (67% of those references are of deceased animals whose post-mortem plans include their osteoporotic bones being fashioned into wind-chimes), 24% is of complete and utter tomfoolery, 13% is about personal reflections that you may care to read about, and the remaining 2% is spent placing human emotions on vehicles.  For those who counted up those percentages and got 117% as well as a confused mind, I salute you.  You, Sir or Madam, would never need to plagiarize my words. You are bright enough to realize that some things are better left up to the professionals. 

New Year's Ramblings...

It has been brought to my attention that perhaps my one and only friend died quasi-peacefully on the kitchen floor roughly 6 months ago.  His name?  Bentley Eugene of Circle Drive.  Do you know why I consider him to be my only friend?  Upon him reading my plea for submissions for my advice column, he may have responded with the following and in doing so made my day.

Bare Bonsey,

I'm partially blind with a wonky eye that goo's.  I have a peg leg turned inward, halitosis, I am crack-fiend skinny, genderless and have a terrible disposition.  But, I'm a lady killer.  I don't ever plan on changing my ways.  Not even sure what you should do with this information.

I need extra food in my bowl 'cause Prisscilla is coming over for dinner. 

Bentley Eugene

Even from the grave, he speaks.  I realize that I am completely odd and unworthy of your following.  Does it help that my sister's trust me with their children?  No.  Okay then.

It shouldn't.

Fa-la-te-da.

My brother told me an interesting story yesterday.  It's twisted, but honestly why else do you come here?

A buddy of his hunts from his Mississippi-based back porch. Klassy, I know. One day he spotted what turned out to be a 13 point buck in his backyard.  His friend got out his bow and arrow and from the comfort of his Lay-Z-Boy, got a nice clean shot.  The deer took off towards the woods leaving a trail of blood that he and a few of his friends tracked for over 5 hours.  They had almost given up until they went searching through an upscale neighborhood and spotted the coveted rack and body...  in a child's sandbox, replete with plastic toys.  Bled out. "Right in view of the kitchen sink!" he reported.  Merry Christmas, little Timmy!

Happy New Year to you!

Dear Bonsey, Part Thrice

Is "thrice" even used correctly?  No matter, I love the word.  You know what other word is fun to write and say?  Delicatessen.  Do you know what is not fun at all?  Birds.

But seriously, it's that time again when I cordially invite you to write to me, Bare Bonsey, about your problems, issues, conundrums, malaise's, etc, etc.  In other words, I want to be your personal Santa, but not with tangible gifts under your tree, just advice giving.

My helpful suggestions are merely swirling in cerebral quarantine until you start screwing up your life or someone else's and need me to bail you out.

So, do tell...