Holiday Play Time

Holiday Nappy Time

Christmas Carols

I come from a psychiatrically challenged family. Allow me to share a few of our own special carols.

SCHIZOPHRENIAC CHRISTMAS: Do You Hear What I Hear?
MULTIPLE PERSONALITY DISORDER CHRISTMAS: We Three Kings Disoriented Are
DEMENTIA CHRISTMAS: I Think I'll Be Home For Christmas, Who Are You To Me?
NARCISSISTIC CHRISTMAS: Hark, the Herald Angels Sing About Me Me Me Me Me
MANIC CHRISTMAS: Deck the Halls and Walls and House and Lawn and Streets and Stores and Office and Town and Cars and Busses and Trucks and Trees and Fire Hydrants and .......
PARANOID CHRISTMAS: Santa Claus Is Coming To Get Me
PERSONALITY DISORDER CHRISTMAS: You Better Watch Out, I'm Gonna Cry, I'm Gonna Pout, Maybe I'll Tell You Why
DEPRESSION CHRISTMAS: Silent Despair, Holy Despair, All Is Lonely, All Is Sad
OBSESSIVE-COMPULSIVE DISORDER CHRISTMAS: Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell
Rock, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell Rock, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell Rock, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell Rock, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell Rock, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell Rock, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell Rock, Jingle Bell, JingleBell, Jingle Bell Rock, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell Rock, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell Rock, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell Rock, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell Rock, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell Rock, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell Rock, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell Rock, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell Rock, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell Rock, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell Rock, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell Rock, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell Rock, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell Rock, ........
(better start again)
PASSIVE-AGGRESSIVE PERSONALITY CHRISTMAS: On The First Day of Christmas My True Love Said to Me, I Never Meant to Buy You A Gift
BORDERLINE PERSONALITY DISORDER CHRISTMAS: Thoughts of Roasting on an Open Fire

You're welcome to share our family's carols.
Pick one. Any one.
Okay, well you can have two. But just two.
All right. Take them all. Why don't you just take everything? Why don't you just... (deep breath, deep breath).
Excuse me.
May you and yours embrace all that this season has to offer, with xanax, wellbutrin, valium and paxil for all, and to all a good night.

Word Nazis

I quake at the notion of the very typing of the word "Nazi." The word police are everywhere. The N word? This time it's Nazi.
A very bright, articulate, well educated, successful local businessman in Astoria - each being extraordinary for its uniqueness - described the participants of a recent movie's spelling bee as "word Nazis." I felt such relief.
Before "spellcheck", I was a constant dictionary looker-upper. Sometimes I had trouble finding the word at all, so unsure about its spelling was I. Does it start with an "e" or an "i"? By the time I found it, I wondered, "Is this really worth the effort?"
It's interesting that I am intolerant (is that an "ant" or an "ent"?) of an analogous lack of precision in mathematics. As most women are, I am a terrible estimator. Whether a number is 10, 100, 1000, or 10000 sometimes escapes me, as I am also decimally crippled. But, with paper and pencil (or HP-12C), I'll get the answer, with six decimal places.
About 10 means absolutely nothing to me. What do you mean by about? Under? Close to? Closer to 10 than 5? Than 8? If the number is an exponent (is that an "ent" or an "ant"?), that makes a BIG difference.
Conversely, is my meaning changed by intolerence or exponant? You knew what I meant!
My step-father once told my mother that he was bringing home some people for dinner that week-end. "How many?" she asked. "Five or ten couples."
I burst out laughing, and both of them looked at me quizzically (originally typed with one "z"). "What's so funny?"
Mom looked panicked. I could see that "Please don't piss him off" look in her eyes, and said, "Nothing."
Silently, my mother made plans for seating and feeding ten or twenty people, while I was giggling to myself. He's a ROCKET SCIENTIST. Precise calculations are critical to success in his missions that cost taxpayers millions and millions of dollars a pop. And his best estimate for a dinner party has a 50% variance (ence?)?
So here's the deal. I'm a number Nazi, not a word Nazi, and if you wonder why I write notes to you having no big words, it's because I think you're a word Nazi.
And I think it's a far better thing to be a number Nazi, because meaning isn't lost when a word is spelled incorrectly, but meaning is demolished when a number is wrong.
Ask Count von Count.
Tell him Countess Spella O'Badlee sent you.

PETA SCHMETA

Minks are mean little critters when they aren't allowed to serve their true purpose - being my new coat!

Only 291 Shopping Days Left!!!

In a mere 292 days, I'll be 20,000 days old.
As a December baby, ten days older than some little Hispanic kid named Jesus (who has managed to create the miracle of winter shopping frenzy throughout the Christian world), I stood little chance of much birthday celebration. I grew to detest the phrase, "This is your birthday AND Christmas present."
Hint to Christians...don't conceive in March, or your kid will grow to resent the Messiah. Ask my brother, born December 28. It's a drag.
So, recognizing that religious resentment is causing more than a few worldwide problems, I prayed to the Hispanic baby, and came up with this divinely inspired resolution. On September 17, 2007, I will be 20,000 days old. Think of the possibilities!
No more 9/11, and all the horrific connotations it drags along with it. Now we have 9/17, a glorious day on which you can stop going batshit wondering whether the gift you bought will be the one I love the most!
September 17 is the birthday of fothermucker #2 (see August 11 for gory details). Now you need not worry whether his abandonment caused me permanent psychological damage! It is MY birthday obliterating his. Neener, neener, neener...
It is eleven days before a REALLY BIG birthday of Paul's! Unlike Jesus, I'd LOVE sharing the fabulous gifts and trips you're considering with Paul. (Need some hints? Look at October 5).
You can take advantage of all the after Christmas sales, and I won't even know it! I'll think you paid full retail price for that little three carat bauble, and won't you feel smart!
So, sit back and relax. You're off the hook this year. But next year...mark your calendars. September 17.
It's the new Christmas.

Santa Baby

She's a Ho Ho Ho

Santa baby, just slip a sable under the tree, for me.
Been an awful good girl,
Santa baby. So hurry down the chimney tonight.

Santa baby, a fully loaded Ferrari too (light blue)
I'll wait up for you, dear.
Santa baby, so hurry down the chimney tonight.

Think of all the fun I've missed.
Think of all the fellows that I haven't kissed.
Next year I could be just as good
If you check off my Christmas list.

Santa baby, I want a yacht and really that's not a lot.
Been an angel all year.
Santa baby, so hurry down the chimney tonight.

Santa honey, one little thing I really need, the deed
To a platinum mine,
Santa baby, so hurry down the chimney tonight.

Santa cutie, and fill my stocking with a duplex and checks,
(Sign your x on the line).
Santa cutie, and hurry down the chimney tonight.

Come and trim my Christmas tree,
With some decorations bought at Tiffany's.
I really do believe in you,
Let's see if you believe in me.

Santa baby, forgot to mention one little thing, a ring,
(I don't mean on the phone.)
Santa baby, so hurry down the chimney tonight.

Hurry down the chimney tonight
Hurry, tonight.

I Don't Need No Stinkin Turkey Braces

Bird Beak OrthoDontic Pliers

Turkey Braces for Pope's Visit

This crawl slithered under an unnamed newscast, daring interpretation.
First, I pictured orthodontia constructed from Thanksgiving leftovers, then nixed the idea when considering that braces derived from such easily digested material would surely be coaxed off the teeth by the tongue then digested. That can't be it.
Perhaps the wild turkeys in the vicinity of the Pope's visit suffered from CBS (crooked beak syndrome). Surely it would be upsetting to Heir Pope to see God's warm blooded egg laying creatures which, after having escaped slaughter during the recent American holiday celebrating obesity and obliteration of the Native American culture, find themselves with an unsightly overbite.
Because the process of beak-straightening is a lengthy one, and the Pope's vist is imminent, I offer this closing from the turkeys, who expect to have their braces removed and beaks Pope-appropriate, should His Holiness deign to repeat his visit in the future:
"Prostrate at the feet of Your Holiness and imploring the favor of its apostolic benediction, we have the honor to be, Very Holy Father, with the deepest veneration of Your Holiness, the most humble and most obedient servant turkeys."
Damned crooked-beak turkeys stole this from the Emily Post Institute "proper closing for a letter to the Pope" but I promised to deliver the message, so there it is.
Damned crooked-beak turkeys.

Ghede

The Fifth Commandment, if you're Catholic

Yesterday, while posting Lord Buckley's weekly service ("Murder") from the Church of the Living Swing, I was proud that I knew that the sermon was about the fifth commandment. I looked it up in my Bible, and there it was. I'm soooooo smart.
If you're Catholic.
Jews and Protestants will disagree with me. It's THEIR sixth commandment, lower on their totem pole. Well, they really aren't supposed to have totem poles. In the Protestant first commandment, they can have NO other gods before HIM. The Jews have an additional commandment explaining in detail that HE'S the one, and don't start with your images or likenesses or bla bla bla with any other gods.
Catholics, we just can't have STRANGE gods before HIM. Perfectly reasonable.
Keeps the Star Wars crazies out of church, with their costumes and weird language and confessions that bore the priests to distraction. All their sins are in their imaginations, you see, and Father wants the real deal, if he's going to sit for hours and forgive sins.
Anyhow, neither Jews nor Protestants rank murder as high on the commandment list as Catholics, so if you ARE going to be stabbed by a jealous lover, it's less likely to be one of us.
In the spirit of full disclosure, and with my assurance that I won't murder you if you don't agree with me, I provide for you the NOT strange gods I have before HIM.
Baron Samedi - Also known as Banguele, Ghede, Gede, Papa Ghede, Eleggue, Baron Samedi is a major ancestral inter-ethnic god of the Gorovodoun linked to historical/mythical persons. He is the death aspect of Ghede, guardian of the grave, protector of children, god of sexuality, eroticism and libido: the eternal figure in black who controls the crossroad through which everyone must cross. He controls access to the dead: he is to the afterlife what Legba is to life.
Baron Samedi is history. He has intimate contact with the dead. He is dearly loved; his presence brings laughter, joy, singing and dancing. Neither good nor evil, he reminds us that understanding of death and life is beyond our comprehension. His obscenity in sexual matters is thought to be an affirmation of life in the midst of death.
He is generally portrayed as tall, slim and pale in formal attire - black hat, undertaker’s coat and cane. He wears a pair of dark glasses with right lens knocked out to watch those present, lest they steal his food.
Thanks to Bill for the great image of Baron Samedi. He's never looked better.
Erzulie - Erzulie is Dahomean in nature, from the family of sea spirits. The Creole incantation of Ezilie, she is the goddess of love, earth mother, and the female energy of Papa Legba. Represented by the moon, Erzulie is a powerful spiritual deity who is feared as much as she is loved. Erzulie is married to Ogun (Deity of Iron), Agwe (Deity of the Sea) and Damballah (Serpent Deity).
Goddess of the word, help, goodwill, health, beauty, and fortune, as well as jealousy, vengeance and discord in some of her aspects, Erzulie is the differentiating force between humans and other creation. She is not elemental, but the ideal - she conceptualizes, hopes, dreams, has creative artistry and ideality.
Erzulie is the most beautiful and sensuous woman in Vodou pantheon, respected, fabulously rich, jealous, mistrustful of women, worldly, graceful, fond of sweet drinks, eats/drinks with great delicacy and loves to dance.
Ultimately, Erzulie is a tragic presence. Sometimes she weeps uncontrollably because it is she who suffers the sorrows of the world. It is this suffering that allows woman to love her despite her haughty ways.
In the sense that her love transcends the earth, Erzulie is a virgin, the complete antithesis of the crude sexuality of Baron Samedi.

See? This is why Catholics can be Vodouissants, too. When they get bored with the Bible, they can spend time with some very interesting cats and kitties, and it's no sin because they're not strange. Strange is a man with three wives.
Not strange is a woman with three husbands.
Go in peace.

Murder!

After Thanksgiving Sunday Services

Murder
Richard "Lord" Buckley, 1906-1960
M'Lords and M'Ladies of the Royal Court,
we should like to do for you a portrait
on the wildest most fantastic emotion
since the first turn of the wheel on the axle.

Ah, this emotion is so frantic and so crazy
and so insane and such a narcotic
that they get huge groups of people
to play this game together.
An emotion so strong, so wild --
this whole thing is a portrait of Man's
inability to completely control . . .
WOMAN.

This wild, wild, crazy, insane, far-out mother,
non-stop, screamin' crazy mad emotion --
and this emotion is... Murder!
MURDER!!

Murder...very expensive...murder.

For there is no man --
no man --
who has lived who has not said to himself
at one time or another:
"That woman. That woman. What is she doing to me?
Lying to me. I know it. I know it. Cheating on me.
Yes, yes, yes...
Talking while I'm talking.
Leading me around by my nose...
SPENDING MY MONEY!!!

"Ohhhh, I'll murder her."

The scene is a walk-up flat in Greenwich Village.
There are two characters in the scene.
One is a man...and the other...a woman.

The woman's head...ohhh, ahhh...is not on her body.

In the man's hand is a long, lean, mean, keen...bloody knife...
with the blood -- ahhhh, ahh, ahh, ah -- not yet congealed --
ohhhhh ahhhh ohhhhh --
just dripping, dripping, dripping, ripping...
lightly...lightly...lightly...lightly...

The man's conscience speaks first:
"Ahhh! Hoo! Hay! Oh! Oh! Ah, you brilliant mind!
You great super-egotist genius.
Look what you have done!
Look at her lying there.
Her head cut from her beautiful body.
I know what you're thinking.
You have plans. You have money.
Run! Run! Run! Run! Run! Run! Run! Run! Run! Run!
They'll pursue you. They'll bring you back.
They'll put you under those hot lights.
They will ask of you: the motive.
And you best have the motive.
The police want the motive.
The papers want the motive.
What is the motive?"

The man, himself, speaks:
"So, they'll want a motive, eh?
Well, I'll give them a motive.
And I swear to you that I can see the look
on their stupid, sweaty, sadistic faces
staring down into mine when I tell them
that I killed her because . . .
I LOVED HER.
Oh! Oh! Ohhh! Oh God help me I loved her.
Everything she did.
The way she walked.
The way she talked -- everything.
I loved her so much I could think of nothing else.
Day in day out. Year in year out.
Oh God I loved her.
Oh! When I tried to seek escape in sleep
she'd come into my subconscious mind
like she had a secret trap door.
Come in like a little girl --
like a tall one, like a thin girl.
Oh God.

"And the...and the...and the...
and the rotten, vicious, monstrous things
she did were to me...beautiful.
Beautiful! Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful. . .

"I loved her. I loved her.
I loved her so -- ahh ahh ahh ahh ...
I can still feel the -- ahh ahh --
exquisite pressure on my wrist
when I grabbed her beautiful neck
with a knife and the blood --
Ohhh! Woah! Woah! Woah!
Ha ha ha ha ha -- the rich, red blood.
Oh God! I did it! I did it. I'd do it again.
I'd do it a thousand times.
I told her. . .she wouldn't listen. . .I did it.

"Cut her up. Slice her up into little pieces.
Cut her up. Slice her up -- chop up her fingers.
Ship her away. Ship her away. Ship her out.
Put her in the car.
Ship her, ship her, ship her.
Cut her up.
I told her...I'll do it a thousand times.
Not he, not they -- Me! Me! Me!
I'll do it again. I'll do it again.
I'll fix her. She can't show me.
I'll show her -- you bet your life.
I'll do it again. . ."

"Henry?"

"I'll do it again."

"Henry?"

"Yes, yes, yes . . ."

"Henry."

"Huh?"

"Henry, I want you to go out out to the hen house
and feed the hens before breakfast dear."

"Ah, oh, ahh yes dear...I was just taking five."



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From Parabolic REVELATIONS of the Late Lord Buckley: A Collection of Six Lessons by the "Hip Messiah", Pye Records/Nonesuch, 1963