October Time!

Happy ghost and ghoul time my pretties! I will do my best to post a daily Hallow photo or video to keep you in the spirit of spook.

But be on your toes, you never never if you'll get a trick, or a treat!



- DM

A Lunch-A-Might

I sat down to eat today, a thing coerced and not necessarily a planned task. Mr. Morgan does his best to find items I won't scowl at and decline, so he seeks mini portions of anything in his reach. He knows I enjoy lunchables, and brought home the most laughable product I've ever seen. Midget food! I have no idea if he was looking out for my nutrition or making a mockery of my clear hand disfigurements.

My dogs eat shit cut this size. What was I supposed to do with it? Seriously, this wasn't pulling off being a cracker sandwich on it's best day and he knows I have much trouble handling things. So do my dogs, and they are incredibly keen on when I feed myself.


Does that look like a meal? It took me more time than I'll admit just to balance that idiot square of turkey between two tiny crackers. Dare to guess how close my dogs were watching this silliness and knowing a free treat was bound to slip to the floor and happen? Giant cheese on tiny crackers with a chunk of "meat" smaller than their kibble. And what the fuck is oven roasted white turkey - cured? It's oven roasted then needed a second cycle? Don't cure my birds unless they are sick, and if they are, please do not feed them to me.

I had a fit of giggles looking at this tray while feeling as though I'd been sold scraps. Duped! Mr. Morgan took somewhat offense that I found it something to stare at with the look of a child at the circus. I am not sorry, it is THAT silly of a thing unless you have the mentioned dogpile gazing at you hopefully for a snack.

Halloween upon us guys, daily videos to come. /cackle.

- DM

Toot your horn

In passing, I asked Mr. Morgan what was the first instrument I ever played. He looked at me rather oddly and asked if it mattered since all kids played something at some point. No, not anymore, so let me sound old and fucking tell a story. I wa sonly able to tell half of what I'm about to before he fled.

His answer to my question was a sincere exclamation of Violin! /beat. Really? Anyone heard me play that fucking thing? It's less than grade six, no matter my attempts. I asked if he wanted to know and he said yes because I suspect he knew I was fitting to tell it either way.

I played french horn. Not a very shy instrument and mine came in a clumsy large case weighing more than myself and had no handle. It had a string to tote it. I did not have to walk far and that fucking thing served as weaponry when I was attacked by dogs one afternoon on my way home. They came at me hoping to eat my horn or my legs, I didn't ask them and I was found swirling in circles swinging this contraption of a giant box of french horn and screaming my ass off. A do gooder pulled over and yelled at the dogs. "You get on home now!" and they scattered. THAT was all it took? Fuck. I scrambled home, in tears and never touched a french horn again.

I took up trumpet. Better weapon! And I was damn good at it. It also sat me next to a nerdy slice of delicious that in later years I'd realize was very not into ladies. He was a french horn player himself, very distant, and very interested in his spit trap. I can understand that in brass instruments.

My third year of trumpet I was given the lead role to belt out Wind Beneath My Wings. Lead trumpet??? Holy fucking shit ass of a gimme! Condition - I had to hit a high G. For the unknowing..... you have to stretch your face backwards three miles for your lips to perform that particular move. Ever seen Louis Armstrong? There ya go, he look unstressed? I had that note down flat, much to the annoyance of my family.

Concert night. Little pain in the ass flute and clarinet section acting rich and whatever obnoxious people do, chatting about how great they are and how shitty my clothes were, I don't exactly recall when middle school and high school changed, short of dates, but I went from shit to oooo HI!!!!! seemingly overnight but I never forgot being deemed as a pile. Did I get pretty or something? Piss.

So, the song started and the conductor was waving a shitty wand fiendishly, my note - feel free to listen to the song, it's not hidden, came and I faltered my fucking ass off. I didn't hit the one note I had practiced for months. And I was very, very picked on it afterward, that had I not given my trumpet back I might have hurt someone with it. It was extremely embarrassing in front of so many parents and whatevers. I do not know why but that lingers with me. In a shruggish way, but more so because I KNEW that note and just didn't pull it off. I also remember each girl who made me feel like slime and hope they are fat divorced and bankrupt. Bad Dm, but all the same. Hope that answers Misters' misconception.

- DM

Highwayman

Here is my newest piece. Mr. Morgan has been giving me grief both for not drawing, and when I did, for it having no color. Sometimes I think he has not met or understood me, I lack color most of the times so the viewer can mentally create their own idea of shades. But ok, I AM capable of coloring a piece.

This piece is Highwayman. Please listen to the song of it below when viewing, it's the lore of a tragic story of a girl waiting for her love and they kill both she and him as she waited for him in the dark to come for her, light came and nothing good had happened. My take on looking on an aftermath version of a brave young woman who kills herself to alarm her lover of the danger he was returning to. That is what this fragment hope of art is about.





- DM

Ribbit, Let's Play Leap Frog

It isn't early to me, but Halloween must be upon us as we had a visitor this evening. I was in the works of carefully selecting my short list of the Halloween Pack 2009 recipients... who was a good ghoul this year, that sort of business and something scurried across my path to the kitchen - and froze at about the same time I did. Me looking at it looking at me. I thought MOUSE! and began hysterically screaming, not because I'm scared of mice (I do however think they are highly infested disease carrying animals), no I was screaming because I was barefoot and while I wasn't sure exactly what it was, I knew it was not one of my dogs.

Mr. Morgan came running and I, still moronically screeching, but on a lesser pitch to my voice said "Don't move fast, I'm serious. It's... right.... there...."

Then it hopped towards the kitchen, for a bite to eat, and we both looked at each other in slow motion. A frog? Mr. Morgan said "Why is there a giant frog in our kitchen." It was not a question, it was most definitely a what the fuck moment. That I agreed with.

How did this frog get in and for the more immediate time, how do we get it out? We don't live in the boons, frogs don't just walk in and out as though it's Sunday breakfast time saying "Hey Frank, how's the family?" I won't exaggerate for the sake of it, because the wow moment really speaks for itself with no need for fluff. In the slow motion meeting of the eyes we wondered how much we'd had to drink. Did we seriously just see a frog? The sober puppy lunging forward gave us a good idea that we had not been slipped anything untoward.

Instantly I thought of having been making my Halloween packs and checked the memory rolodex.... and no, no I'd not turned any little children into frogs this week.

Yet.

That Kermit made the best wrong turn of his life by hopping into this house. There must be a white flag on our property that says "FRIENDLIES LIVE HERE" because we get a lot of stray shit, but the frog was quite a surprise as far as strays go. Little Kermit (for all Mr. Morgan's spout, it was not a huge frog but how much frog is too much when it's skittering across your bare feet).

So here we are, with this trespassing amphibian who made a dash for the dish washer. Oh silly frog, nothing good comes from under there and we caught him, defeated and clothed solidly in dirt, dust and possibly other dead frogs. I am extremely glad he was captured because nothing like running my dishes everyday knowing a frog corpse is under there.

Mr. Morgan and I are ... fucking idiots. Most people call it bleeding heart animal lovers. What were supposed to do with this Kermit? Let it get all gross and hungry just because it got lost? If that's the case, god knows I'd be in the grave many years ago lest some poor person took pity and fed me. Mr. Morgan swore it was the remains of the frogs we had before and I had to remind him that we had TURTLES, never a frog and trust me my darling husband, they did in fact finally die, this was not a descendant. Spry Frogger:

Which brought us to the retarded solution of driving the wayward frog to a pond where he could live out his life (this is late night, and less than sober). I think we both frankly felt guilty that he was so coated in dish washer grime - you can see it above if ya look - that we were forced to drive him. In a bowl, covered with a paper plate to freedom. Most people would have either made friends with Kermit, or killed him. No, we had to get retarded and return him to the wild and neither of us even questioned it, good match, even if .... still.... generally retarded. It's not like we have a kid losing it's brain over killing a frog, we just trap and release I suppose. He does the same shit to spiders, which I don't agree with. Kill them. On sight like a sniper then laugh at their leggy remains.

We do not know how Frogger got in. It is truly bizarre and speculating would just fuck with us. When the phone rang and I told caller about the frog, Mr. Morgan was mad. I had stolen his thunder. Well piss on that, I found the frog, it was half mine.

Just remember that your Labor Day weekend didn't kick off with driving down the road - still barefoot - holding a bowl of criminal frog and hoping to god it didn't get loose and have to search the car, looking more and more like drug addicts who dropped a pipe. "Honest officer, we were transporting a frog."

Click, you have the right to.....

- DM

Goodbye hello...

Smartly tardy. What that means, you'll have to ask me. I've been otherwise detained of my own confinement these last few days. Writing something I've no idea how to use if ever, even if it's getting rave reviews, it's either from polite people or family.... either way none of these people are paying customers, and I'm fine with it. I know it's funny. I know it's well written and highly articulate against some that my lessor fans might think, but that is likely because they think too highly of themselves first. /tilts head and knows is right. It must be silly as hell to think you are better than everyone else, and will bite ya.

Who knew I can actually write without cussing? Me, assholes. Do you think I order a Happy Meal with a side of fucking BBQ sauce and don't fuck it up or I'm fucking coming in there? Right. If you want to read what I've written and really, it's damn good, just hit me up. No freebies to the bus throwers and shoe havers.

So, in theme with what I'm working on, it's a piece about work and lack of ... it's quite in point.



- DM