Billable Hours

---

I can't say I like lawyers; that would be gross perjury.
The reason is the hours billed so they collect a fee.
When they pass the bar exam I don't think it entails
basing all their practice on a pace that's set by snails.
The longer that they work a case the more they can get paid,
and when the client gets the bill he feels he's been waylaid.
The plumber does not spend a year to fix a faucet leak.
A taxi takes the shortest route (okay, that one is weak).
I think the best-paid lawyers ought to be ones who work quick
and not those with the mindset of your foot-dragging goldbrick.
In fact I hope the day soon comes when lawyers, short and tall,
are only paid whey they are not out practicing at all!

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IMPARTING SOME SHAME

---

I haven't blushed in many years.
I'm not sure I know how.
But if I were this Madoff
I think I'd have a cow.
My blushes would glow like a light
that shines far out to sea,
warning sailors of shipwreck
on some shore hard a-lee.
My cheeks would burn like sulfur
and the heat would be intense.
My lowered eyes would tell the world
that I have no defense.
But Mr. Madoff does not blush,
and maybe he is right;
a blush is rather useless
when your soul is dark midnight.
 

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Bagram

Bagram isn't quite the Ritz for captured Taliban.
Still, it is three squares a day in lean Afghanistan.
Plans are in the offing to put in a few more mill,
expand the infrastructure and upgrade their daily swill.
Since most of these jihadists won't get out for just a while,
why not cook the food they eat in truly gourmet style?
Then when they get out in, say, another twenty years
to heart attack they will be prone and we will have no fears.
They will drop like chubby flies and very soon forsake
bin Laden and his minions for a piece of coffee cake!

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Hot Air

---

Everybody gives advice
but help is something rare.
Most people are willing
to contribute just hot air.
Armchair saints are numerous;
they piously exclaim
they have a cure for everyone
who might be halt or lame.
Just pull upon your bootstraps
they advise the barefoot crowd.
Think positive, be happy,
and no frowning is allowed.
But ask them to contribute
any money or their time
to help a fellow being
and they act like it's a crime.
They shuffle and they waffle
and they mutter their regret
that they are going out of town
or have an ailing pet.
Never trust a person that
will boast what they will do
once they are done praying
and get off their wooden pew.

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Busywork

---

In offices around the land
the busywork is growing
as clients stow their cash away
and cash cows cease their lowing.
Cyberloafing is the norm
because the phone's not ringing;
store clerks take up macrame,
no registers ka-chinging.
People grow more frantic
as there's less real work to do.
They put in extra hours
hoping pink slips they won't view.
The existential anguish
of refiling old receipts,
counting yellow pencils,
and restacking time card sheets,
is worse than unemployment
so sit back and just relax;
when you get unhired
you are through with paying tax.

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FW: I never did tell you that I did get your Christmas Cards....

---

Date: Sun, 25 Jan 2009 14:04:36 -0700
Subject: I never did tell you that I did get your Christmas Cards....
From: nathandraper@gmail.com
To: tork49@hotmail.com

I've attached these here is if you want to put them on your blog...

pretty funny stuff!!

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HELPFUL HINTS

---

To stretch a dollar nowadays
is not too hard to do.
A little thought and planning
will see you cheaply through.
First, have all your teeth pulled out
to save on wear and waste;
you'll never have to brush again
or purchase new toothpaste.
Don't drink coffee in the morn;
your breath will be so sweet.
Instead boil up your credit cards.
With sugar it's a treat!
Try to do home cooking --
use some beef stock and some roux.
Like Chaplin in The Gold Rush
you can feast on hard-boiled shoe.
Hitch hike into work today,
no matter that the breeze
will turn you into ice cream
from the local Tastee Freeze.
Get rid of cable TV
and computer games as well.
Throw away your cell phone,
disconnect the front doorbell.
Live a simple life, my friend,
and you will be elated
how quickly everything in life
seems pretty constipated.
 

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Middle Muddle

---

My youth is gone; old age delays.
I'm in that middle-muddle phase.
The girls look cute, but I don't chase.
With my looks they'd use some Mace.
A steak and fries sounds really great;
but I won't eat 'em after eight.
The hair is thin but it ain't gone,
though gray is rising like the dawn.
Computers do not scare me much;
a Blackberry I will not touch.
The good old days don't blaze at all.
The present, though, seems awful small.
More roomy pants prevent all rips;
my belt is still around my hips.
I'm not afraid of getting tan.
My muffins now are made of bran.
A marathon I still could run;
perhaps a heart attack is fun.
A sweater vest is not so bad,
but you won't catch me wearing plaid.
In church I always wear a tie.
That Buddha was a real cool guy.
Surprises are no awful crime
if I am told ahead of time.
And so I'm neither old nor young,
I only know my spring is sprung

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EXCELSIOR?

Saint Francis didn't pray it,
says the Vatican today;
that prayer that asks serenity
has not had a long stay.
It dates back just a century
to journals out of France,
which kinda puts the kibosh
on its mystical romance.
Instead some scholars now believe
the sainted Francis said:
"I never saw a purple cow"
or "Excelsior!" instead.

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Zeal or Heal?

---

The tender nurture of the Lord
does not mean child neglect,
does not mean solid science
is a sin we must reject.
The Lord inspires research
just as well as Bible-thumping.
I'd rather see a doctor
than a Holy Roller jumping.
Faith can move a mountain
but then so can TNT.
Angels may attend us,
let the doctors get the fee.
Oh Lord, protect the children
from our ignorance and zeal.
Give us faith in science
when it tries to help us heal.
 

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Homework

---

 
 
Teachers must lead crummy lives,
so that is why they shirk
feelings of humanity
when they assign homework.
Every day another page
or two of history;
memorize state capitols
and multiples of three.
Write an essay, underline,
answer practice questions --
where to stuff this Mickey Mouse,
I had a few suggestions.
My parents, they were in cahoots
with every teach I had.
Red Skelton might be on TV,
but that was too darn bad.
Hit the books, they would command,
and don't throw any fits --
then Gomer Pyle they'd sit and watch.
Those awful hypocrites!
So I would slink up to my room
to read a dry textbook,
draw a pie chart, do some math,
and snarl like Captain Hook.
I'd show 'em, when I ran away,
that homework was a crock,
when I came back with pirate gold
and they went into shock.
Or on a rocket to the moon,
I'd tell 'em with a smirk,
that guts and courage got me there,
not any dumb homework.
Now that I am older
without any pirate gold
or any trips out to the moon
I am the one to scold
and tell the kids to hustle,
get their homework done, unless
they'd rather lose their Xbox,
while I watch NCIS.

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Digital or Analog

---

Digital or analog,
what difference does it make?
I'll get the same lame programs
that cannot keep me awake.
The picture may be crisper
but the content is still dull,
providing me with nothing more
than mindless rerun lull.
To make my TV better
just forget technology;
invent some better programs
with some creativity.

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After School Drool

---

Shrinking budgets mean our schools
must cut activities
or else make parents pony up
with large and hefty fees.
If your child plays hockey
the equipment isn't cheap.
A band trip costs a fortune,
not to mention lack of sleep.
When the game's away from home
your darling little tyke
still can go by school bus
but to come back he'll hitch hike.
The free lunch program will remain
but free sports face extinction.
So get your kid a part-time job
for after-school distinction.
 

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THE AGE OF OBAMA (A Nonsense Poem)

The kangaroo is out of jump.
The dog is out of bark.
The wheel is out of squeaking
and car is out of park.
The tree is out of branches
and the song is out of tune.
The bomb is out of ticking
and the lakes are out of loon.
The banjo's out of practice
and the moon is out of shine.
Perfume is out of nostrils
and the paper's out of line.
School is out of study.
Analog is out of sync.
Sparrows lack a lobbyist.
The sunset has no pink.
The snow is out of kindness
and the pumpkin's out of frost.
The bread is out of butter
and good manners have been lost.
The bulls are out of Wall Street
and the chair is out of ease
and the IRS has never had
a modicum of "Please".
The bees are out of honey
and in hockey there's no puck.
The purple has no color
and Detroit no fire truck.
Laurel's out of Hardy.
Jimmy Dean is out of fat.
The church is out to get you
and the belfry has no bat.
The smoke is out of fire
and the pencil's out of lead.
The clown is out of comfort
and the pillow has no bed.
The scholar has no inkling
and the tire has no track.
Everyone is out of touch
and nearly out of knack.
The light is out of lamp shades.
CNN is out of news.
The clouds are out of number
and the union's out of dues.
The tic is out of tac
and the tac is out of toe
and the stick is out of stack
and the baker's out of dough.
The judge has lost his marbles
and the soldier's out of heart.
The phone is out of minutes
and the Simpsons have lost Bart.
The TV's out the window
and the milk is out of cow.
The summer's out of picnics
and silk purse is out of sow.
The wine is out of boxes
and the dead are out of danger.
The echo does not answer
and there is no more Lone Ranger.
The gods are out of patience
and the ocean's out of bounds.
The fish is out of water
and the mime is out of sounds.
The gurgle's out of gargle
and the hoi has no polloi.
Easter's out of bunnies
and the girls are out of boy.
Ying is out of yang
and the market's out of meat.
Russia's out of countenance,
Hershey's out of sweet.
Love is out of fashion
and balloons are out of air.
The jelly's out of pectin
and the barber's out of hair.
The salt is out of savor
and the tea is out of bags.
The ulcer's out of stomach
and the tail is out of wags.
The pirate's out of earrings
and the book is out of sight.
The thumb is out of fingers
and the birds are out of flight.
The kangaroo is out of jump.
McGruff is out of crime.
Jack and Jill are out of hill,
and poets have no rhyme.
 
(save this one for your grandkids.)

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GRACE BEFORE MEAT

---

A BLESSING
 
My feet are flat
my stomach's not
so for the food
Lord thanks a lot.
If we were meant
to fast and starve
this roast would not
be here to carve.
But since it is
what can it hurt
to help myself
and have dessert?
The fatness of
the earth is Thine;
I pray to thin
I can incline.

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CONSUMER PRICE INDEX

---

Sweets are up by ten percent
and fats are up fourteen.
The CPI may tumble down
but price drops won't be seen.
What goes up must sure come down
in science may be right;
but your grocer knows when eggs
are up they just take flight.
The only thing that's coming down
in this economy
is the value of my house,
and then my salary.
 

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YOUR FRIENDLY NEIGHBORHOOD BANKER

---

Take your banker out to lunch
and treat him with respect.
Is it his fault that our lives
are nearly all shipwrecked?
Our many friends and neighbors
floated loans from him before
by fibbing on their income,
jacking up their credit score.
With Madoff and with Petters
he played golf and took long trips,
looking for bonanzas
and a few investment tips.
He got a year-end bonus
that was wicked, it is true;
but how else could his trophy wife
buy cars that were brand-new?
He trusted us; we trusted him;
the money came in torrents.
But now instead of income
he is deluged with bench warrants.
This man who took the widow's mite
and ran it to six figures
is blamed for losing all of it
by helping out bid riggers.
He's just a friendly fellow
with his hand stuck in the till,
while all the paper wealth he made
is now a deep landfill.

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Kethcup

---

Ketchup is a symbol
of our culinary art;
there is hardly one good meal
without it you can start.
Tomatoes, salt, and vinegar,
with sugar for good measure --
mix it all together;
it is Uncle Sam's sweet treasure.
Who could chew a hamburger
without it and a pickle?
Refusing French fries that had none
is not considered fickle.
Serving up a meatloaf
without some right on the side
would be like getting married
when there isn't any bride.
We put it in our chili sauce
and no hotdog existing
would advertise its presence
without ketchup's tangy listing.
You can have your salsa
and your fish sauce by the bottle.
Ketchup is the only thing
that makes a meal full-throttle!

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seed catalogues

---

Nothing makes me go whole-hog
better than seed catalogue.
When I get one in the mail
winter soon begins to fail.
I get positively chirpy
when I hear from Mr. Burpee.
Carrots, peas, and Brussel sprout,
luscious photos gaily tout.
Maybe this spring I will try
a patch of oyster salsify.
Already I have plumb forgot
the bugs and weeds I vainly fought
during last year's growing season
which was pretty much the reason
I swore off all garden folly.
Now I'm back, in spades, by golly!

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A NONSENSE POEM

HOW TO BALANCE THE BUDGET: A NONSENSE POEM
 
 
Why not tax the air we breathe,
the flowers that we smell?
The smile on every baby
and each plea at wishing well?
Why not tax the sunshine
and the rainbow's iridescence?
Every snowflake on our lawn
and half our birthday presents?
Raise a tax on porch swings
that don't creak when lovers kiss.
Tax old men of certain wealth
for every time they piss.
Tax the tears of homeless folk,
the stones in cemeteries.
Double-tax the gifts that men
will buy their secretaries.
Tax the word "fantastic"
when it's uttered on TV.
Democrats deserve a tax
upon their victory.
Tax the gold and silver
megachurchs charge for cant.
Tax the lowly hedgehog
and the mighty elephant.
Tax the schoolkid's daydreams
and the kelvins in Thai curry.
Tax the young, the old, the bald,
the bearded and the furry.
Tax the smoke from chimneys
and Godzilla's ugly spawn.
Tax the teeth that show up
at each weary midnight yawn.
(Tax the pins and needles
that the taxpayer is on.)
Tax the dove of peace
and tax the eagle that brings war.
Tax each stupid golfer
every time he hollers "Fore!"
Tax all socks with holes in them
and don't forget nail clippers.
Tax the crumbs from bagels
and those lousy cheapskate tippers.
Tax the East, the North, The South,
then tax them once again.
How about a sales tax
on the local cub scout den?
Tax each flake of dandruff
but exempt albino gays.
Tax the panes in windows,
marriage vows and corset stays.
(But never tax the profits
of our future MBA's.)
A tax on all Brazil nuts
would for certain stop inflation;
but every other nut will get
a free ride in our nation.

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My New Monopoly Game

---

I like to play Monopoly
to sooth my shattered nerves.
It helps to keep me cool and calm
at vanishing reserves.
When the wolf is at the door
he might as well come in
to join me in a game or two;
he's practically my kin.
Instead of Baltic Avenue
our Skid Row is Wall Street,
where brokers and their cronies
drink their Lysol cold and neat.
The railroads now are airlines,
and you buy them at your peril,
since customers are flying high
in nothing but a barrel.
All the houses that you buy
go quickly to foreclosure
and your bank account is dry,
a victim of exposure.
Utilities are worthless
but you buy them anyway,
repackage them with sea shells
and then offer on eBay.
Take all the risks you want to
with the new game and no doubt
you'll still come out a winner
cuz Barack will bail you out!
 

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HOW I GOT THIS BODY

---

 
 
How I got my body
is a tale that should be told;
as a work of wonderment
it's worth its weight in gold.
I started very early
stoking it with fats and salt,
with starchy stuff and sugar
and a sprinkling of malt.
I put in many hours
watching television shows;
I sat so still that lichen
grew upon my face and toes.
I never walked when riding
was an option I could use.
In fact for this past decade
I have not worn out my shoes.
My undeveloped muscles
are as flabby as wet rags;
my stomach is an avalanche
that on my beltway lags.
As I approach my sixties
you may think that I am daft --
but I just want to emulate
old William Howard Taft!

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Sunday Thoughts

---

I've broken some commandments
and invented quite a few.
If I did not repent so fast
I'd sure be in the stew.
I've not much room for dogma
or uncharitable views.
I figure we are all aboard
the same uncertain cruise.
I'm guessing that 'most anyone
can tumble overboard;
so keep the life lines handy --
they are not a thing to hoard.
And when the Captain calls the roll
I doubt that I'll be spotless.
I only hope I lack all pride
that's smug and oh so thoughtless!

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Be Happy!

---

Always have a happy thought
before you leave your bed
to chase away the clouds of gloom
that gather 'round your head.
Think of pretty kittens
or some puppies in a box.
Think of old man Madoff
behind bars and many locks.
Think of frost designing lace
upon your window pane.
Think of winter wind chills
that drive polar bears insane.
Think of gorgeous sunsets
on the beach of Waikiki
or batteries that will not crank
in cars decidedly.
Think of eggs and sausage
and some French toast on the side.
Think of your new diet
as you chew on cold rawhide.
Think of birds upon the wing
with their melodious calls.
Think of empty spaces
in the biggest shopping malls.
Think of dolphins in the sea
cavorting in the sun.
Think of traffic all backed up
from here to Bloomington.
Think of all the good deeds done
by quiet, humble, folk.
Think of all the stock options
that soon will make you broke.
Yes, happy thoughts are just the thing
to greet each pearly dawn.
They help you realize that life
is sure a big fat con.
 

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NEVER OUT OF WORK

---

If you want a job that's foolproof,
that you cannot ever lose,
you will find one at the tavern,
wiping glasses, pouring booze.
There's no fear of any buyout
or a cutback in the hours.
As master of the spigot
you have super-human powers.
When times are good, or when they're bad,
bartenders stay real busy
helping king and commoner
get happy and quite dizzy.
Never mind if it's a gin mill
or a swanky cocktail lounge,
whey you dispense the liquor
you will never have to scrounge.
 

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Fly Ash

---

Have you tasted fly ash
in your scrambled eggs today?
Unregulated fly ash
is in everything to stay.
Heavy metals cause you
to spit blood and lose your hair
but coal plants have good reason
to ignore the public glare.
Their smokestacks are much cleaner
than they were in the dark past
and native coal will be here
while the foreign oil won't last.
So give three cheers for coal ash
and the arsenic it contains;
next Christmas we will have it
wrapped around our candy canes.

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Man vs Machine

---

While munching on a donut
I noticed that my gut
was giving me the look of
that thing, Jabba the Hut.
Deciding on the moment
of fat I'd had my fill
I went out and I purchased
an exercise treadmill.
I placed it in the basement
with pardonable pride,
for soon I would be skinny
and fatties could deride.
I plugged it in for action.
"Fast Forward!" was my creed.
But first all the instructions
I certainly must read.
The dinner bell was ringing
when I at last was done.
Tomorrow would be D Day;
I'd greet the morning sun.
But D Day never happened.
I woke up with a cramp.
And suddenly the basement
seemed awful cold and damp.
My schedule is busy.
No time for exercise.
I'll do a couple knee bends
while snacking on French fries.

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STEALTH WEALTH

---

Luxury goods are like porn --
to show off in public breeds scorn.
The Midwest despises
all flash enterprises;
with brown paper bag are we born.
 

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The Little White Lie

---

I've tried the world sober.
I've tried the world drunk.
I've tried the world happy.
I've tried the world sunk.
And this much I tell you
as fact, not surmise:
You'll get along better
on little white lies.
Your boss wants to hear
what he's done right today
and not that his fly
has come open half way.
Your spouse needn't know
of a notable gain
in weight, simply state
you're in awe of her brain.
The children of neighbors,
though ugly as sin,
can be praised for clothes
that are neat as a pin.
Always tell Rabbi
and cleric and priest,
their sermon, though long,
was a heavenly feast.
The garbage man praise
for the shine on his shoes,
ignoring the smell
like an infected bruise.
Teachers, professors,
meander -- oh well --
tell 'em you're sorry
when you hear the bell.
When grandparents call
to complain of neglect,
just tell 'em you've joined
a religious mime sect.
You will be coddled
and loved 'til you die
if you will but practice
the little white lie.

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Back Seat Brouhaha

---

Driving in the car with kids
is my idea of torture.
It leads to mental illness
and language that's a scorcher.
The little ones get car sick
and upholster the back seat
with half-digested French fries
that resemble Cream of Wheat.
Their bellowing is non-stop
and their feet kick like a mule --
they've never even heard of
something called the Golden Rule.
You threaten and cajole them
'til your veins begin to pop,
and in return they mumble
they could sure use a rest stop.
They throw things out the window
and complain the trip's a drag.
They criticize your driving
and ask why you have to lag.
I've learned from many car trips
that when dealing with a punk
the best thing you can do is
lock them up inside the trunk.

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Non Fiction Friction

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Nothing makes the sales go flat
like memoirs from H. Rosenblat;
in Florida he has confessed
that with the truth he really messed,
so books based on his false romance
are not worth lint from ragged pants.
To keep from being sued or shunned
his publishers all cry: "Refund!"
Perhaps I'll write a book some day
that's got more corn than Frito-Lay.
I'll plug it on the Oprah show,
grab my advance, then quickly blow
to some sweet private tropic isle
where I can slowly spend my pile.
Non fiction doesn't do much good
unless you're playing Robin Hood.
 

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