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On Angels and Messengers

Friday, April 8, 2016

An 8-Step Solution to the Syrian Refugee Crisis ... and more

1. Close the prison at GTMO
2. Replace it with a refugee camp (the entire base is 46 square miles) named in honor of President Obama.
3. Open a casino (for training purposes).
4. Train the refugees for jobs in restaurants, hotels and casini ... perhaps through UNLV Cooperative Extension.
(There are many restaurants already on the base, including: McDonalds, Pizza Hut. Baskin-Robbins, etc.)
5. Pay them $15 per hour, but get it all back by charging for Room & Board and tuition.
6. When the refugees complete 8 weeks of training, cut off their food supply and supply them with facsimiles of Cuban credentials .
7. On moonless nights, open the gates to Cuba to allow the refuges to disperse and find jobs in burgeoning tourism industry.
8. Reopen the restaurants and bring in another group of refugees.

Note: When the refugee crisis is over, deport illegal immigrants now in the US and turn the base into a resort and amusement park, perhaps called "ObamaLand"

Some Ideas for My Epitaph

  • Oops !
  • Still don't have a clue
  • 'Tis a far, far better something-or--other
  • DC al Fine
  • Lift-off, we have Lift-off !
  • 42, it IS 42 !
  • Gone Fishing (with the worms)
  • LOL
  • Would someone please feed my cats
  • Pickle Me Elmo
  • Vacancy
  • Ungrateful
  • My name is Ozymandius ... Oh, wait ...
  • God Almighty, I'm free at last
  • Still thinking outside the box
  • I'm right behind you
  • Error 404 -- File not Found
  • At least I'm not hungry
  • This, too, shall pass
  • Do you want to dance?
  • I have to pee real bad !
  • Life and Death:  a dream within a dream ... but which is which?
  • Fuck the flowers -- go get a shovel !
Seriously, how about "Perchance to Dream"

Saturday, April 2, 2016

As a Rainy Day Dawns

Note:  This would make a better song than a poem.  Thus, it is a Work in Progress. 
Suggestions are welcome

As a rainy day dawns,
a weak old man yawns.
His legs and hands ache,
so he knows he's awake.

With groans and with moans
and creaky old bones,
with grunts and with sighs,
the man tries to arise.

His vision is blurred.
He can't hear a word.
With each wheezy breath
he's closer to death.

Accepting his pain,
he smiles at the rain.

When his feet touch the floor
he thanks God once more
for the gift of the dawn
and  the strength to go on,.