Machine Works or Machine Nation

 

               I wanted a birthday party.  I got my own balloons and wanted to fill them with gas and have them floating around.  But, I couldn’t fill them with helium.  I found It was cheaper if I just filled them with hydrogen.  And then it became even cheaper because I got oxygen for free. 

               Oh, Mister who would elect a man like Spiral Agnew Again?

               And I got told to

 

                              Don’t have not Democratic States

Everyone who works gets taked

GOP our old Lost One is GAMAGREAT

And Again those are fakes

 

               When you feel good to abuse, you’re a hood who meanders!

              

               Then my wife starts singing:

 

Hate, Hate, Hate that husband who worked

Hate, Hate, Hate him while I treat him like a jerk

Until he’s again asleep

And once the time he’s awake

Fill, Fill, Fill his life with hate

              

               That caused me to join in:

 

Hate that guy for all his money you take

My wife hates me causing this marriage to pause

And I worked the jobs for this Mamma Claws

I’m sure not the sleaze that this marriage gnaws

 

It’s just easy to blame me and this marriage cause

And since I’m not allowed to have access to my wyfy

I have to live in the hive with the wifey

I hive ant anything

And I’m bad if I try to do any think

My life is commanded by Carolying Klink.

 

Now I want to share some Words to the Wise:

 

               I stand behind my word.  It protects me.  People stab at me and their knives stick in my word.  My word hides me.  My word disguises me.

              

               I sure stand by my word.  It is next to me.  My word is not me.  My word is my cane.  It is my prop.  It holds me up.  It robs me.  It does what it is Able.

 

               I am just a man of my word.  That means I am nothing.  I am owned by something.  I am owned by hot air.  I am owned by empty echoes.

 

               I give my word.  I don’t give anything worthwhile.  I don’t give money.  I don’t give food.  I don’t give a damn.  I don’t give my breath.  My word took my breath away. 

 

               This proves that Cigarettes Are Bad For Your Health

 

               And I just could not do it.  I tried.  I could not do it myself.

               I was holding up my end of that vending machine.  I tried to walk it.  You know, lift one corner up, arc it to your right, or to your left, which ever way to bring it further away from the corridor wall.  Then I had to go to the other set of corners.  I bent, grabbed, and lifted again.  See, I try to move that side away from the wall.  And I try to arc it again so I can continue in the direction of the steps from my original side.

               Now, I am not an old man, but, also, I am not an athletic type.  I have to move this machine!  This cigarette vending machine.  I have to move it into this corridor, this outside entryway to this restaurant.  The building’s owners are changing the walkway rug.  That carpet rolls inward from the outside entrance to the greeting seating area inside the restaurant.

               Here we are, in springtime going towards summer.  This walkway rug they are replacing is the fall and essentially winter rug.  It is thicker and sturdier.  It has to be sturdier because of all the slush and wet and harsh treatment from people cleaning off their boots as they step inside.  Both the current rug and its replacement are waterproof, but that winter rug have a thick rubber base and sturdy curled knitted fabric to wipe and adsorb your feet, your shoes on.  This rug that they are replacing it with is lighter in weight and lighter in color.  The topping is almost comparable to yarn.  That is a topping which I will vacuum clean at least a weekly basis.  Yes, I am the one who vacuums it.  As I am the one who will roll up that seasonal snow slush rug and send it to the cleaner.  As I am the one who will unroll the summer, cheery, leisure looking rug welcoming those guests, our guests, my guests.  That rug will be welcoming them to cooked meals.

               In reality, they are not really guests, since I, they, we expect them to pay for their meals.  Yes, I expect them to pay.  I am the manager of this restaurant.  No, I am not the owner.  Sometimes I am very glad that I am not the owner.  I am too young to think that this is what I want to be stuck with doing the rest of my life.   

               As I said, I expect them to pay.  Now if you are in your living room and you just brought out a platter of pot roast for your neighbor and his girlfriend to join you and your wife for the evening meal before watching the Hawks play on the television set in your living room.  Do you collect money from them and hand them a receipt?  And then grumble to yourself about the cheapness of the tip that they left you?  And your cook doesn’t even get a tip.  No tip at all.  But they are your guests.  You do not charge your guests. 

               So, the people eating in my restaurant are not guests.  They are customers.  Unless I am feeling like helping a poor homeless family stay alive for another day.  But that day was yesterday and today I need to move this cigarette machine.  The guy that we hired to wash our dishes thankfully offered to help me.  He took the one corner and I took the other.  We lifted.  We staccottically stepped down the hall with the target of setting it down on a non rugged area that was close to the cashier and next to the restaurant’s wall.

               Unfortunately, as we were sliding this cigarette machine closer to the wall so we don’t block or dismay the possible paying customers trying to enter my restaurant, I had let my head bent down as the dish washer and I arced the machine, feet side first and then top, closer to the wall.  That was when my head got cracked from the swaying metal dispenser slamming against the bricks holding up the restaurant.

               To finish, and I do mean finish, I died.

               I am amused.  I died because of cigarettes.  I ask myself how many other people died from puffing on cigarettes.  And I was so weak that I was puffing at that time.

               And something is fishy.

                              Like a Sturgeon

I was Caught for the fifth or sixth time

Like that Cheese Man

Cutting Cheese all those times after times

And you know, Oh those Beans been mine!

I hope you like my writing                                                                                                                    I've got more WRITTEN