Saturday, July 2, 2016

20160702 (money)

Somebody in the House of Representatives is a big backer of these sharks














Scrapping paid for haircuts for

Some time when I went through

My retirement check on the first

Paying all the bills and not wanting

To ask for four dollars. It wasn’t

Lucrative, nor sustaining, but it

Filled a gap, and was relatively 

Easy. Mostly, when walking 

Loki, if I’d see an aluminum

Can on the ground I’d bag it.

Every six weeks when I could

Stand a trim, I would have received

Enough from the recycler (the

Scrapyard) to shell out maybe 

Even tip a dollar. These were

Student cuts at the barber college

On Lorain. I’d always get prompt

Service because my cuts were

Bare bones beginners’ trims

And were completed quickly.

Almost certain somebody thought

“They’re taking the white guy

First.” But they weren’t. They 

Were taking anybody who had

Basic cuts they could throw to

The newest students, that’s all.

The quicker they made their

Four bucks the happier they 

Were. That they made me as

Happy was beer foam on the

Pickle. I never had the same 

Student twice because in six

Weeks they may have rotated

All that class out. I’d just say

To the barber-to-be (man or

Woman as the times had it),

“Just slap a number three on

And zip it all over, but taper 

The back.” Usually he/she 

Had a look of relief hearing 

The order and knew this was

Good practice even though

The supervisor had to check 

Their work. Then, depending 

On whether either one of us

Wanted to talk, we’d settle on

A topic and exchange ideas 

For the while. Start with weather,

How busy the shop was, why

I knew nothing about sports,

By then it’s over. Check the 

Mirror for the taper, yep, fine.

I’d always say they did well

And wished them luck. At first

I didn’t tip, then later thought,

It’s only a dollar, I wasn’t

Buying their eternal devotion.

The other customers generally

Presented far better than I.

I’d be wearing my scuzzies

Often enough worn through 

At the knees (not trendy jeans,

More like threadbare Dockers)

With grass or dirt stains or

Tinged with recent sawdust.

I wasn’t trying to play poor

I just didn’t need to primp

For a haircut like some guys

Do (the ones who get styled

At a salon and pay close to

Thirty, more if they get a 

Shave). Overheard conversation

Was much like I heard on the

Other great leveler, the bus.

A woman on her phone was 

Explaining she had to come 

By fifty dollars to pay some 

Fine at the jail or they’d pick

Her up again, but her job

Wasn’t going to pay until

Friday and she needed the 

Money by Wednesday. Now

That probably wasn’t my kind

Of difficulty, coming up with 

Half a hundred overnight. I

Wondered if she were one of

Those who’d end up with 

Payday lenders, those scumbags

Who charged poor people

Upwards of three hundred per

Cent interest. It turned out I

Had recently read about the 

Chairperson of the Democratic

National Committee, Ms. Debbie

Wasserman Schultz, being a

Leading advocate for the payday

Loan industry. I knew all along

There was something I didn’t

Like about that woman which

Had nothing to do with her 

Screwing Sanders by limiting

The debates and scheduling them

When few would see them. Ah,

The shit you can learn at the barber’s.








c. J.S.Manista, 2016

Friday, July 1, 2016

20160701 (recruiting)



































Your future lookin’ bleak, Punkie?

Howdja like to go straight to that

Heavenly reward, no questions

Asked? Just think about it. Seventy-

Two lovely, innocent virgins

Lining up to receive your pump—

Every one of them will be so 

Impressed! With no knowledge

Of any other man what else could

They think? No more lonely 

Whacking the monkey all by

Yourself in a dark room. With

Any kind of luck after you’ve

Pricked their putz who says

They won’t want to suck your

Knob for a taste of your powerful

Man-gob. But wait, there’s more!

You’ll be joining a highly select

Company of heroes. Your family

Will remember you not just as

Some worthless scumbag who

Couldn’t hold a job, who got

Rejected by the army (and we 

Know they’ll take anybody

Who’s got a round warm

Asshole—I said “has one”

Not “is one”), but as a freedom 

Fighter, a slayer of infidels,

A bulwark (temporary, for

Sure, but a bulwark, nonetheless) 

Against the western devils,

Allies of the hated Jew. There’ll

Be flags with your picture 

On them so your buddies can

March in the streets waving 

Your banner in celebration.

Your pals will be licking their

Lips just thinking about you

And your seventy-two new 

Girlfriends. Can you visualize

Their envy? Little kids will

Happily join in your parade. 

Grandmothers, mothers,

Especially your own, will weep

Profusely for your brave deed 

And your steadfast courage.

They won’t ever again be thinking,

“Ahmed, he’s such a schmuck.

He’ll come to nothing, if you ask

Me.” Sadly though, there are some

Physical requirements. Can you

Carry another thirty-five pounds

And walk maybe fifty yards

Without falling over? And in

The right direction? Can your

Finger push a button when we tell

You? We could rig you up with

A remote detonator, but it’s so

Much simpler if you do it yourself.

This is all the Caliph asks of 

You—just one simple act of

Courage. Your likelihood of 

Becoming a big success on your

Own is, well, a little unrealistic.

The best indicator of future 

Performance is past performance, 

And let’s just admit there 

Are few medals dangling from 

Your mantle. We need a few

Men, not particularly good men,

So you’re our type. Put your X

On the dotted line and we’ll get 

Flags with your face on them

Printed right away. Don’t forget

The new vest is free and will be

Tailored to your measurements

(Plus packs of C4). Last of

All—unlike other war injuries—

There's no pain whatsoever.

(So far we've had no complaints.)

You won’t even hear the boom

Because your head will be flying

Faster than nerve signals travel.

Imagine that—war hero, no 

Suffering. This is an equal 

(Temporary) employment opportunity.

Ladies, young ladies, widowed

Or too ugly ever to get a man? 

We guarantee seventy-two o

The hunkiest beards who ever

Raised a shaft. But further, sisters

You’ll break that glass ceiling-- 

Actually any ceiling really--your

Parts will be like cannon balls

As the rest of you becomes a

Steamy soup. It’s got everything:

Glory, recognition, an act of

Religious devotion (if that’s how

You swing) and a free fitted bra

For as long as you need it.









c. J.S.Manista, 2016