Posts Tagged With: prompts

Random Thoughts of Five

Having A Random Time

Five Zombies on a park bench.

Absence of reason > evidence in slough of flesh > vacancy of eye.

Five stars that fell from heaven.

Dullness of existence > lure of streaking glory > light-years to wonder.

Five Jennifer Aniston films I’d rather not see.

Absence of talent > flicker of mane > time better spent elsewhere.

Five guys with “I work @Boeing branded to their foreheads.

Mindless fairy tales > wealth and grandeur > ultimate fallacy to security.

Five songs that never made top twenty.

Oldies but goodies> found only in the mind> of those with better taste.

Five Fingered Death Punch

Heavy metal > twisted sister > cruel intent > wrenching gut > IBS withdrawals.

Five below zero.

Relationships gone south > plummeting fall  >head spinning>mind reeling> leaves one speechless.

Five star banks that robbed you blind.

Sanctioned theft  > disguised as wisdom > integrity varnished > credibility tarnished.

Five pillars of Islam in scythes of yellow and red.

Visions of greatness > vestal virgins > nothing more than a horny man’s dream.

Five myths of Obama Care that rattle the brain.

Each camp ugly >clamoring for attention > neither listening > greed disguised as concern > trillions undisclosed.

Five Year Itch.

Time without satisfaction > questions without answers >  peace without mind.

Five and Furious > Five and Fast.

Speeding cars > nubical girls >ab–stract adolescent men.

Five star book reviews I know lied.

Lack of brilliance > false identity > lack of reason > searching for home.

Five hotels that promise comfort without bedbugs.

Fumigated > saturated > ecologically proven to shrink whatever ails ya.

Five restaurants’ that guarantee a fine cuisine.

Regardless of flavor > ignorance of calorie count > disregard for cholesterol levels > msg.

Five minutes of euphoria.

Bottom of glass > shape of donut > center of that chocolate éclair.

Five weeks of bliss.

Mindless pleasure > warmth of sun > caressing tropical breeze.

Five months of doubt.

Self-degradation > turmoil  >analyzing > patronizing > scrutinizing > paralyzing.

Five years of misery.

Wanting to leave >held captive > gossamer strings of imagination.

Five easy listening stations.

Sound without significance>wings of Calgon>Riesling>and scented candles.

Five ‘Hi’s’

High five > high low > hi sweetheart > hi Mr. Sandusky >  hi-by  > hey You!

Five Miami Dolphin’s

Men in tights > muscles flexed > testosterone inflamed pecks  > a feast for any eye.

Five Denver Cowboys.

Peers and compatriots > like father’s before > like  men who lost the Alamo.

Five shades of red.

Shades of blue > tints of yellow > flags of glory > deathbeds of despair.

Five things said that you wish you could take back.

Words blurted in anger  > thoughts left to run amuck > spleens vented without thought > injustice won but lost.

Five individuals you’re pretty sure you could do without.

First to break your heart > defame your name > burst your bubble > to catch your lie > to leave you breathless without shame.


Categories: Spjut | Tags: , , , , , | Leave a comment


On some level Hershel knew that what he was about to do was wrong.

For more times than he cared to remember, Rhonda had grilled him on the rules of the neighborhood; no sniffing Mr. Crenshaw’s butt        (the cat had two and half inch claws and was not afraid to use them), no eating out of Mrs. Clubiskys trash cans (her spaghetti and meatballs were known to produce uncontrollable flatulence),  no lifting or squatting of legs on or around Mrs. Bolton’s flower gardens; particularly her prize roses (canine urine has been linked to several forms of rose bush fungus) and definitely, absolutely  no chasing Big Billy Bilabob, the neighborhood paper boy.

Unless of course it can be proved, beyond a shadow of a doubt, the he did with malicious intent, aim for and did hit your head when throwing the newspaper.

Being the obedient and copasetic dog that he was, Hershel did his best to abide by these rules whenever and wherever possible. And to the best of his knowledge (except for that time when he was having a very realistic dream in which he, not Milou’ the fox terrier, was Tin Tin’s true companion Snowy, and Big Billy Bilabob intentionally hit him on the head with the newspaper, and he’d woken up thinking he and Tintin were under attack and it was Hershel’s job to defend them against Nazi invaders), he had.

Yet today,  in the course of his afternoon stroll through the neighborhood, he found himself faced with the agonizing responsibility of whether or not he could, or even should,  break the greatest rule of them all; never, never, ever go into another dogs yard and …… you know…… evacuate your….., even the word made Hershel shake in his boots (if he’d had any, which, if little Melissa Pettigrew had her way, he’d be wearing by the end of the week).

You see Hershel’s human grandparents had come to stay for awhile and in the course of doing his best to make Mr. and Mrs. Lubosky feel right at home, he’d made an exception to his personal rule to never accept food scrapes from strangers.  But you know how it is; a dog is doing their best to look stoic, even regal, and along comes a person of distinction – and bam! You’ve got fresh made lasagna with real mozzarella cheese (not that artificial stuff Connie’s humans use on their big box store, fake style pasta) and fresh grated  Parmigiano-Reggiano (the one that Rachael Ray always talks about), with little bits of black olive peaking out and…….what’s a dog to do?

So this is Hershel’s dilemma; all that Italiano food had to go somewhere and according to Hershel’s digestive signal’s, it needed to go somewhere now, and Hershel was four blocks away from his own yard. And it wouldn’t matter if he flew as straight as an arrow towards his home because there were at least three; no make it four fences that were too darn tall for an English bulldog such as himself to make it over.

No, on many levels Hershel knew what he was about to do was wrong, but hey……a dog has gotta go when a dog has gotta go.

From the laptop of an uncensored dreamer


Categories: Spjut, Uncategorized | Tags: , , | Leave a comment

Blog at

%d bloggers like this: