Cathy Christa Connolly

Cathy Christa Connolly

Loves caterpillars most

She can take or leave a slimy snail

Convinced they’re just too gross

She’s not concerned with beetles

Nor noisy flying bugs

When confronted by a centipede

Cathy Christa merely shrugs

She camps out in the garden

In an old cuffed pair of jeans

With cousin Courtney’s looking glass

She crawls on hands and knees

She searches under turnips

Under beets and celery

She’ll leave no fragile leaf unturned

‘Neath the carrot’s canopy

She’ll get down in the clover

Where the creepy crawlers crawl

But she’s never met a crawling thing

That gave her creeps at all

She probes the blocks of cinder

By the creek around the bend

Where spiders like to build their webs

To dine on all her friends

They hide in cracks and hollows

Seeking crunchy insect snacks

Traps of sturdy silk they spin

For crickets they must catch

Please hurry home for dinner

Her mother loudly called

Your father’s coming up the drive

Let creepy crawlers crawl

I’m giving you this warning

Don’t pretend that you don’t hear

If any bugs come through that door

You won’t sit down for a year

-© 2015 Kenneth Goorabian

Howard, Brian and Me

Wash four distinct and separate times, using lots of

lather each time from individual bars of soap.

-Howard Hughes

The only reason I'd ever get a sex change operation is

to see what it's like to be right all the time.

-Brian Wilson

It just amazes me that in this day and age one can live

virtually (pun intended) free of any interference from the outside world.

Modern technology is so cool.

-K. Goorabian

Got a new computer today. The old one was getting too slow and as a writer or porn star, you’re only as good as your tools. Am I right? I also deposited a check from my iPhone for the first time today. I consider it fortunate that I hadn’t discovered these modern conveniences earlier.  Having an itty-bitty (my wife is shaking her head) problem with anxiety, had I been brave enough to explore these new technological marvels on my own I surely would still be hiding in my man-cave, shades drawn, marathon binging America’s Next Top Model with a Little Caesar’s pepperoni pizza (ordered on-line of course) perched precariously on my chubby little belly.

Ah, but fate in the form of a lovey lassie (wife, not the dog) intervened, which is a good thing. My therapist said I was about a year away from becoming a less rich and infinitely less interesting Howard Hughes. I disagreed. After all, I cut my nails and hair on a regular basis and had never made a bad B-Movie. In fact, I considered myself more of a better looking, though not even close to as talented and slightly less crazy Brian Wilson kinda guy. I even briefly flirted with the idea of having artificial grass installed under my computer desk. Sand is way too messy and eventually ends up in the most irritating and embarrassing places. Maybe this is what drove Brian crazy. Just a thought.

Anxiety isn’t so bad though. Through the years it’s kept me from doing a lot of stupid things; like buying a new BMW I probably wouldn’t drive with my first royalty check. Although, having a vintage Beemer with no miles on it might fetch a few dollars. I have enough things I don’t use in the garage already.

I am, thanks to my wife, coming around. I now have a part-time job. I’ve also said goodbye to my therapist, but cling doggedly to my psychiatrist due to the fact she has my best interests at heart and is in control of the prescription pad. She’s a pretty good doctor. Well, except for making me take a drug test because of my incessant use of the word “eat” when talking about my meds. Doesn’t everyone eat their pills? Oh well, I am a product of the ‘60s. I blame the culture. I still get misty eyed when I see a pair of bell bottoms.

Life is good. My waistline is way less than my age, and I have a fabulous wife. All in all, I’m grateful to just be alive and not playing in a country band.

Yet.

K.G.

Leaping Larry Leoni

Larry Luigi Leoni

A leaper extraordinaire

Discovered he loved playing leap-frog

On a leap from his Grandma’s stairs

He launched himself off of ladders

Building his leaping strength

Then constructed a lovely launching pad

To increase his leaping length

He‘d warm up leaping fences

Then strike a handsome pose

While leisurely licking a lollipop

Before landing on his toes

He mastered leaping autos

Then leapt a Greyhound bus

Before too long Luigi

Was causing a local fuss

One day a man called Lewis

A jumper from way out west

Challenged young Larry Luigi

To determine whose leaping was best

They started by leaping four houses

Then a lopsided circus tent

They leapt over rivers, streams and lakes

Lifting higher with ever ascent

They leapt over ten locomotives

Then on to a forest of pines

They leapt over fields of white daisies

Then acres of lemons and limes

They leapt over mountains and valleys

Hurdled a large flock of geese

The leaping was getting out of control

They both knew the leaping must cease

But Larry had never been lazy

And Leoni’s weren’t known to fail

His long-jumping title in jeopardy

He refused to let Lewis prevail

Larry took three long steps backwards

Gave Lewis a lavish bow

Not one for long-winded, drawn-out goodbyes

He lastly saluted the crowd

Larry ran like a leopard

Then let out a warrior’s cry

With a lick and a promise he leapt from the ground

In the air Leaping Larry did fly

Higher and higher went Larry

Passed a lavender hot air balloon

An orbiting satellite he left behind

Soon Larry was passing the moon

The folks left below began cheering

Jumper Lewis was merely forlorn

Streaking ‘cross the heavens with a long tail of light

A comet named Larry was born

© 2015 Kenneth Goorabian

Hello… Hello… Hello… Is There Anybody Out There?

Scientists say they’ve found water on Mars? Well, not water per se. More like a briny liquid. Now I know why aliens are described as little green men.  
#pickle people

You might think that’s totally ridiculous, but I’ve been studying UFO flight patterns. There’ve been dozens of sightings around Imlay City, Michigan. What’s in Imlay City besides Parks Show Cattle Online Steer & Heifer Sale, Lucky’s Steak House and 3,589 bored Imalayins? Ah, my ET lovin’ amigos, that would be the Vlasic Pickle factory.  No, I’m not gherkin your chain.

  
I’ve always been a bit suspicious of any food that needs to be preserved in a vinegary substance. Perhaps they’re hiding something. Could life actually exist out there in space, and aside from being friendly, also be quite tasty?

I’ve seen pictures of Mars. Totally barren. Have we, like some super-race of Peter Pipers, been pickin’ more than a peck of pickled Martian peppers? Are we now on a quest to find new worlds to enslave, jar and serve next to a pastrami on rye with a smear of deli Dijon?

According to the guy with the weird hair on Ancient Aliens, space beings have been visiting us pretty much forever.  After a bit of archaeological Internet digging I have uncovered the truth. This pickling process goes back as far as 2400 B.C. Coincidence? Maybe the little green guys have good reason to avoid us.

So the next time you’re tempted to top your salad off with a few artichoke hearts (ever wonder why they call them hearts?), stop and consider the possibility you might be cannibalizing some inferior, though delectable race of beings who want nothing more than to share in the American dream. This more than likely doesn’t involve becoming a garnish for your Dodger dog.

Relish their friendship.  

K.G

Rambling Roger Rukowski

Rambling Roger Rukowski

Was a ragtag man indeed

He rode the rails, telling tall, tall tales

From Rhode Island to Tennessee

He hailed from Reno, Nevada

But had relatives as far as Quebec

A cousin named Dolly who lived up in Raleigh

The rest he just can’t recollect

Now, Roger always relished adventure

And the rails represented a chance

So before the spring rain, he hopped on a train

With a rucksack and not a dime in his pants

Some called him a rag tag Tom Sawyer

A penniless Renaissance man

‘Cause he traveled the road by a personal code

Don’t return to where you first began

He loved to recount the old stories

He was known for his clever retorts

Though he’ll rarely retract, what he swears are the facts

But to laughter he’ll often resort

He’d said he’d been a rodeo cowboy

Rode the back of a reluctant horse

But he fooled more than one, so the best rule of thumb

Don’t believe ‘ol Rukowski of course

So if he says he was a reindeer wrangler

Taught Elvis to rock and to roll

Invented the refrigerator

Roller skated to the North and South Poles

Repaired a few heads at Mount Rushmore

Or taught the first Rottweiler to howl

Remember to wink, or despite what you think

He might rent you the Panama Canal

© 2015 Kenneth Goorabian

Hair Today, Gone To Maui

Dear Abby,

I have women issues. Can’t seem to have any long-term relationships. There are never any red flags, no odd behavior, no “it’s not you, it’s me” speeches, just an unannounced vanishing act. What’s a guy to do?

Signed,

Frustrated in Fullerton

Unfortunately, I once again (heavy sigh) find myself alone. I’ve never been one to mope, but I’m starting to think I’ll never find (and keep) “the one.” And try as I might to be a desirable partner, I can’t seem to keep a relationship with a woman going. Oh, I briefly flirted with the idea of “switching teams.” This was quickly dismissed.  Sharing my innermost thoughts and dreams with another man just don’t float my boat. So here I am, sitting in the dark at the keyboard trying to self-analyze just what went wrong for the umpteenth time. 

Was I really doing my best to be a desirable partner? I thought so. I was generous with my time and money, never cheated and showered her with praise her every time we met. I wasn’t jealous when she spent time with other guys, waited patiently when I showed up and she wasn’t ready, and always tried to keep the conversations intelligent and current, but also wouldn’t avoid the deep subjects. I made a point never to bash or compare her to my ex’s, and when I called and said I was coming I always kept my word. I encouraged her to be herself and if she wanted to experiment a bit, well, hey, I was all in.  So what gives?

I guess in the end we just wanted different things. She wanted bigger and better and I was happy with the status quo. I’m sure the age difference was a factor. I couldn’t really expect a 21-year-old to hang with a 61-year-old man for long. She wanted to climb mountains, I was into naps. Pipe dream at most. But when we were together I felt so special, like I was the only guy in her world.  

I miss her a lot. The thought of having to find a woman to replace her sends my anxiety levels through the roof. But in the end I will. I always do.

My wife is always supportive when I go through a crisis like this. And I love her for it. But she says I am starting to look shaggy so I’d better find a new hairdresser.

New relationships are always so challenging. It’s all a matter of trust.

K.G.

No Vain, No Gain

Disrobing in front of a full-length mirror is like slowing down at the scene of an accident. No matter how hideous it is… you just have to look.  -K.G.

It’s one in the afternoon, 89 degrees outside, I just finished a six-and-a-half mile run over the rolling hills of Fullerton, California, and I’m sweating like a gray-haired pig in a sauna. Crazy you say. I would give you a high-five if I could catch my breath long enough.

I absolutely hate exercising. There, I said it. It sucks bugs. I would be much happier laying on the couch in my Sponge Bob undies with a tub of Rocky Road balanced on my stomach and a slightly stale (like ‘em with a little snap) box of Red Vines clutched between my chubby little fingers while binge watching Project Runway.

Why do I torture myself, you ask? After all, Walmart sells clothes in larger sizes and black compression socks are kinda in. I often ask myself this same question. It’s all vanity. There. I said it again. I plan to be buried in a pair of skinny jeans and a slim-fit V-neck tee. If you don’t see my feet, know that I’ll be rockin’ some righteous Chucks when I hit the pearly gates.

I’ve been reading about a new pill that tricks your muscles into thinking they just worked out; burns fat without leaving the couch. Can I get an Amen for that? And if you exercise while taking these miracle pills the effect is amplified. So if you go to the fridge for a beer, and to the bathroom say, twice an hour, before you know it you’d look like that guy with the abs who’s shacking up with Sophia Vergara.

Science is so much fun. Way more fun than exercising. I assume cloned new bodies won’t be far off. Think I’ll stretch out on the sofa with a gallon of Ben & Jerry’s Boom Chocolatta and watch Invasion of the Body Snatchers.

K.G.