Connecticut Town to Build Country’s First Cell Tower Museum


Earlier today anchor Blitz Wolfer of the Crap News Network sat down with Mayor Ragu Macaroni to talk about the Mayor’s plan to build a Cell Tower Museum in Ridgeburyville’s scenic tourist district. This is a transcript of the interview.


Mayor Macaroni, thank you for taking time to speak with me. I hope you stay awake until the end of the interview. Some viewers fall asleep from the sound of my voice.


Thank you, Blitz. I just had four cups of coffee and a Red Bull. I’ve got a catheter bag in my pocket, and I’m good to go. I never miss an opportunity to be on TV. And please call me Ragu. Continue reading

I Am a Danger to My Blog


Scream Cropped

Scream Cropped (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Danger WordPress! Lauren has entered the admin dashboard!

Over the past four years, I’ve made many blogging blunders, from blowing a deal with a content syndication service by writing a post about Polish Spam, to breaking the footer on my blog. But of all the blogging blunders I’ve made throughout the years, I think I’ve outdone myself this time.

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Something Dark for Halloween


Searching for Heaven

The wind blew Rita’s hair into her eyes and mouth as she stood facing gray hanging sky that blended with the asphalt parking lot below. Misguided dreams and hopes of infinite possibilities would end here on the roof, with her shoes firmly planted on the edge of the precipice. No more dress rehearsals. She had plenty of those. It was time to say goodbye. With her prized Gucci purse slung over her shoulder and a card stapled to the strap that said “Rita Minerva’s purse” prevented any doubts of ownership.

Harold would be upset, of course. More than upset. He would be apoplectic, but he would get over it just as got over his addiction to cigarettes. Maybe that’s all she was, an addiction.  She smiled. How ironic that a bottle of Valiums lay inside her purse beside a beautifully penned note she wrote on a personal card left over from her wedding. She used the cards sparingly over the years in order to save them for special occasions.

She drew in a breath of frigid air, checked her watch and then the parking lot five stories below. The others would break for lunch soon. Again, she smiled. She loved irony. “Oh, well,” she said, closed her eyes, leaned forward, and allowed gravity to grab hold of her, dragging her down with the wind, and cold, and red tinted shadows that streamed against her inner eyelids until she met a formidable, unyielding force. A wallop of pain, like shards of shattered glass, splintered her skin and reverberated throughout her body, hurtling her into an endless drift of darkness.


My Photo Op Addiction


Most days I slip behind the wheel at 9:30 a.m. and head to work, long after rush hour has lost its zip. During my twenty-minute drive, I usually spot a photo op or two. Yesterday, there were five, Yes, FIVE! Just five minutes into the trip. Kind of ironic, I know.

9:35 – Photo Op #1

On the dashboard, the song, “Fruitcakes,” suddenly appeared on the screen. I wanted to take the shot … had to take the shot, but the adult in my head said, “No! Don’t do it!”

“But, but … It’s a funny picture.”

“If you take it, you’ll be late!”

“You’re right,” I said, as sweat dripped down my face; I white-knuckled the wheel and continued on my way. All the while, “Fruitcakes” stared at me from the dashboard and then disappeared a few minutes later.

My adult high-fived me. Somehow I found that elusive, fly-by-night trait, known as self-control, and didn’t give in to a quick photo op fix.

But my Zen moment didn’t last long.

I was tested again at a four-way stop.

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Don’t Be A Writer’s Blockhead!


Type Until You Write!





No words … Nothing!

Writer's BlockheadI don’t know why I can’t write. I’ve got a head full of ideas. They trample each other on their way to the processing center of my brain. Few make it there alive. Some are captured and locked away in the file dungeon on my desktop.

“How ‘bout a post about . . . Yeah, that could work,” I mutter to Microsoft Word.

He dismisses me and hits the delete key.

“That’s great,” is what he types then adds “sarcastically” in all caps.

“Great for my ego. Thanks!”

Then Microsoft Word crashes before I save half the sentence that trails off into empty spaces on the page.

Maybe I shouldn’t revive the draft. It’s more dead than it is alive, attached to the faux paper screen that stands vertically, rather than horizontally – the correct position for a piece of paper.

“Forget you!”

I click on the Google Chrome icon on my computer, instead, and get lost in a virtual html storm. One site and then another gets stuffed into history along with cookies and spam. Snacks for the weary cyberspace traveler, bleary eyed in an awake REM daydream.

Flitting around in an intangible world that floats above earth like a balloon caught in a jet stream tantrum, courtesy of El Nino and La Nina, Mother Nature’s bratty kids.

For Christ sake, discipline them! Don’t scream “Shut up!” at them in a thunderous clap, then enable their bad behavior by rewarding them with a whirly ride in a hurricane.

Give them a time out. Stick them in a corner of California. The west coast is dry and lacks an invigorating tropical punch.

Denying them treats will temper their bad weather pattern that produces stormy outbursts consistent with the terrible two ninos.

Otherwise, a desktop, weather drama queen will popup from your taskbar and scream, “Hurricane alert! Shut down your computer and hide under your desk. Don’t worry about that half-assed draft lying in a coma. The words sound like gibberish anyway, but in fact may be Yiddish, because your words “are goat droppings” or as my people say, “bupkes.”

 What’s your cure for writer’s block?

I Don’t Care


July MoonThe sun shines down on my hair,

But I don’t care.

The blue behind the clouds

Is darker than allowed,

In the sky swiftly drifting by

Without a whisper for me,

Planted on my knees in the weeds,

Ripping roots from the dirt.

Toils of desperation

Smears sweat across the hurt

Of nothing to show from the extraction of a menace

That knows no limitations,

Exponentially grows faster than I can purge from the ground.

One down, fifty more plus turns the grass brown.

In the quiet tired of late day introspection,

Lost in the sacrosanct moment of regrettable decisions,

Where murky thoughts float through air

Into shadows, then nothing is there,

Slipping into dark, in a quickly ebbing day.

But I don’t care.


Help A Naked Poster Today! Frame It and Save It!


Do your walls draw a blank when they stare back at you? Does the white bright hurt your eyes?

Well, your eyes are trying to tell you something you already know. It’s time to fill in that glaring space on your wall with that naked poster that’s hiding behind a trunk in the attic.

Rescue it from the dusty darkness, dress it up and then put it in its proper place – in a snazzy poster frame on the wall, looking framed and fabulous. Now you can show your friends the poster you bought at the Rolling Stones Concert in ’65 instead of just talking about it.

Finding a perfect poster frame is too much work, you say.

I say it’s easy peasy. No effort at all. In fact, you can find a perfect poster frame that’s Rolling Stones worthy while sitting on your couch potato cushion watching MTV. Just pick up your iPhone, laptop or iPad and let your browser do the work.

Yeah, that’s right. Your browser. It’s a beast of burden and you’re the brains behind the beast.

Say what? You don’t have a Rolling Stones poster. Well, what’s stopping you? Rock your dull white walls with a retro psychedelic ’60s poster. It’s music to your decibel battered eardrums because it’s easy on the eyes and ears. It will save you the embarrassment of using the wondering “What?” too many times, which leads to too many dropped calls.

Don’t like music? Film aficionado instead? That works, too. A frame can dress up any naked poster or picture from your collection.

Yes, I believe a poster should enjoy some R&R time, unrestricted and flapping in the wind. But let’s be real! A free range poster will get ripped and tattered if not tucked safely inside a frame.

That’s why I dress up my posters in a frame. I don’t want them to get yellow poster jaundice.

Please, save a naked poster today!

Set it free from the dusty darkness and let it sing on your wall beneath the lights.

Do your posters have yellow poster jaundice?