A Poem For Everyone and No one

by Karen Remus (c) 2020

Put it on the backlog heap

And I'll get to it later

Let me get some extra sleep

And call me Couch Potater

Put it off till Sunday comes

For that's the day of rest

Based upon my ciphered sums

It all works for the best

Half of me was a tadpole once

The other half a planet

The tadpole came from a drunken dunce

And I popped out of Janet

Half of life is a miracle

The other half a mess

This message is empirical

Just ask my sister Bess

Spanish is my second language

English is my first

My Spanish is peor at best

And muy mal at worst

Line up for a broken heart

And spend your shiny token

Words can rip your world apart

When not a word is spoken 

Art Project: Making a Bust of Trump

1. Make a fist-sized lump of kitchen clay.  Set aside two white globs.  Add yellow and red food coloring. Drink alcohol as needed, because it's going to get gross.

2. Mix well to evenly distribute color.  See what I meant about gross?  Looks like a tumor.

3. Form orange clay into a blob. 

4. Pinch to form ridges, use a butter knife to make furrows, and add white clay as needed 

until you achieve a ballpark, repulsive likeness of Donald J. Trump.

"Bust of Trump" by Karen K. Remus (c) 2020

I could have gotten the likeness way more accurate and hideous, but at this point, it was close enough, and I didn't want to spend any more time on it (or throw up).

5.  If you feel like it, punch it hard repeatedly.  I felt like it.

666. Re-shape into the Circus Peanut of the Apocalypse.

"Circus Peanut of the Apocalypse" by Karen K. Remus (c) 2020

DO NOT EAT!

Half Sister

"Half Sister," by Karen K. Remus (c) 2018
Ink on Paper

One Cliche Too Far

A New Poem by Karen Kay Remus

One Cliche Too Far

by Karen Remus (c) 2018

I cut off my nose to spite my face

But sewed it back on in time

A stitch in time saves nine, you know

So my nose and my face were fine

I counted my chickens before they were hatched

And put all my eggs in one basket

Then I loosened my lips

And sank all the ships

And now, I'm laid out in a casket

Literary Quote of the Day, Good Books, and Other Thoughts

"She understood the world and her place in it.  She understood nothing.  The world and her place in it were nothing and she understood that."
--Joseph Fink and Jeffrey Cranor, from Welcome to Night Vale (Harper Collins, 2015, p. 5)

While reading "Welcome to Night Vale," I was struck by the three-sentence paragraph above with simultaneous mirth and depression.  It was clever, well-written, and ringing with ominous truth.

I highly recommend "Welcome to Night Vale," if you haven't already read it or heard the original pod cast upon which it is based.  My dear friend and colleague whose birthday is the same day as mine bought it for me, suspecting that I would LOVE it, and she was right!  I bought her "The Passage," by Justin Cronin.  I hope she relishes it (and the other two books of the trilogy) as much as I. For you Trekkies/Trekkers out there, you know where that last expression comes from.

Anyway, living in a country being torn apart by an insane president and in a world being torn apart by a climate crisis, it is easy to feel small, helpless, and depressed.  That is why I am trying hard to maintain a positive attitude and do good works in my small corner of the world. 

For me, part of maintaining a positive attitude includes laughing out loud, and "Welcome To Night Vale" makes me do that.  Authors David Sedaris and Augustin Burroughs also make me do that--and a long time ago, Douglas Adams made me do that with his "Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy."  I remember when reading Adam's book for the first time, I was absolutely shocked at how funny it was, and now, I am getting that same feeling again, over 30 years later, from "...Night Vale!"

Who's the Boss?

Or: "Oh We Will Have Such Fun."

"When I Am No Longer Your Boss." Pen on ruled paper
By Karen Kay Remus (c) 2018

One of my readers said that he didn't "get" the "comic" above.  That's because there's nothing to "get." It's just a weird drawing with a  non-sequitur caption. 

However, considering the improbable positioning of the street lights together with the caption might lead one to mildly amusing thoughts.    For example, if one light is addressing the other, which one is "speaking?"  

I've asked  some people, and they are divided.  Some think that the one on the right is the boss, because it's "looking" over the other one's shoulder, "observing" its work. Others say the one on the left is the boss, because it's "leading" the way.

Either scenario is absurd, because the lights are bolted to the ground.  How would one "boss" the other, and how would they "have fun" once their business relationship was dissolved?  Would they flash on and off?

If there truly are an infinite number of universes, then this is just one possible scene from one of the placidly bizarre ones.

Devil Sauce!

"Devil Sauce," 4.5" x 4.5," pen and colored pencil on paper
by Karen Kay Remus (c) 2018

It's hot

It's mean

It's unclean

It's a hot mess

It's ketchup that fell from grace

It's...Devil Sauce!

one squirt, and you'll hurt. TM

100% All-Noxious Ingredients!

Including but not limited to: Fire Ant Venom, Thorns, Pits

The Colonel's "11th Secret Spice," Bat Piss, Naturally Shed Tarantula Exoskeleton, 

Blood Wort Extract, Lava, Crocodile Egg-Yolk Puree, Irradiated Beet Juice, Burn Barrel Extract, Industrial Smoker Station Concentrate, Sun-dried Black Widow Egg Sack Remnant, Fungal Char, Recycled Organic Clot Wads, Liquid Pain, Red Dye #666

(warning: prepared in facility that also processes peanuts and fish balls)

Guaranteed to make anything taste like Hell

or your money back!

$1.00 per gallon while supplies last!

Enlightenment For Sale!

"Enlightenment for Sale!" by Karen Kay Remus (c) 2018
Gouache and Charcoal on paper, 11" x 15."

Seeking enlightenment?  You've come to the right blog!  I'm running a special on enlightenment for just ONE DOLLAR!  That's right, folks.  Hurry, while supplies last (batteries not included, consult your inner doctor, do not send cash, side effects may include: kindness, wisdom, inner calm, love, smiling, generosity, empathy, good karma, and world peace)!

Darth's Wife, Ella

"Darth's Wife, Ella"
Pastel Pencil on Paper, 5" x 7.5"
Pun & Portrait by Karen Kay Remus

Get it?  Hint:  Sometimes, she's very uplifting.  Sometimes, she's a real downer.

A friend added, "Sometimes she gets stuck, and Darth has to come to her rescue."  That got me thinking...

Ella "gets stuck" purposely by pushing the wrong buttons on her suit simultaneously--just to get Darth's attention.  Darth is so busy running The Dark Side, that he often forgets she exists.  He rarely makes it home for dinner.  Night after night, Ella waits up, playing Parcheesi with her servant Wookie into the wee hours, waiting for Darth's return-- to no avail.  It's tragic.

Corny Punners Anonymous

"Corny Punners Anonymous Meeting"
Pencil on Paper, 3.5" x 8"
 by Karen Kay Remus, Copyright 2014

My Friend Pesh (Frames 5 & 6)

Go here and here for earlier installments.

Hep Hep the Fisherman

After an early meeting this morning, my friend Amie and I went out for breakfast and then for a stroll along the river.  We hadn't been to the river-walk since the city blew up the dam, so we wanted to see if there were truly "white water rapids" as planned.  There were.

The mighty Chattahoochee was running higher and wider than ever before, and both sides were lined with fishing birds and men.  For several fascinating minutes we watched six great herons on our side of the river, chomping down fat, silver minnows, and jockeying for the "alpha heron" position.  The largest one stood about 4 feet tall, and when he squawked, the others listened. We were in a glorious bubble of natural beauty.  That is, until Hep Hep the Fisherman arrived on the scene.

About 100 paces down the walk to our right, a sunburned old fisherman with wild white hair was walking toward us with his fishing rod and line over the railing--with a "big one" apparently on the hook.  It was sort of like he was walking a large aquatic dog, though we couldn't see the catch.  We could definitely see the strain on the line and the man's face however, and as he came ever nearer, he started yelling, "HEP! HEP!"

We weren't sure to whom he was directing his plea.  There were fisherman on the other side of us, so we hoped it was to them.  Hep was the kind of guy who, when he yells "Hep! Hep!" really loud in a frantic manner, looks as if he might be crazy, dangerous, or both.  We stepped back from the railing to let him and his "big one" pass.

A beef cakey younger fisherman (I'll call him Josh) who had been on our left called out to him, "You said you needed Help?"

"Yeah, I got a big one!" cried Hep.

Josh had descended the large concrete steps along the edge of the river walk and was standing at water level.  He had a 5 gallon pail, and was preparing to assist Hep.

"DON'T TOUCH THE LINE!" screamed Hep.

"Yes, I know not to touch the line, Jed, we've been through this before," said Josh.

"DON'T TOUCH THE LINE!" screamed Hep again.

Amie and I watched the action from a safe distance, anticipating the appearance of a Hep's gigantic haul.

Suddenly, I saw a silver minnow, like the kind the herons had been eating, on the end of Hep's line.

"Is that the fish?" I asked Amie incredulously.

"No, I think that's the bait," she replied.

"DON'T TOUCH THE -- DAMN IT GOT OFF!!!" screamed Hep.

Amie and I quickly left the scene.  Something told us we didn't want to be around Hep when he was angry.

"Dad's Teeth" or "Find the Bone"

CRRUNCH! / CRRACK!

I remember my dad at the dinner table when I was in early elementary school.  You could have cut the tension with a knife, but you'd better have worn rubber gloves to avoid electrocution.  That's when our nuclear family (both parents & two sibs) still ate dinner together--before the core melted.

To say that Dad chewed REALLY HARD is an understatement.  The muscles of his jaw and temples flexed and bulged as if he were competing for the Mr. Universe title with his face.  His teeth chomped with piston-like action with a force of, say, 200 psi.  His expression, intense.  Somber.  He took little pills before dinner with "R's" stamped on them, which at the time, I thought stood for Remus, but later (in pharmacology) realized was the drug manufacturer's ID.  The drug was for--not surprisingly--treating ulcers.

No matter what he ate, his chewing was LOUD, like a slow jackhammer on granite.  Or perhaps "repeated blasting to destroy an old dam" would be a more accurate simile.  He sat at the head of the table, and I sat on his immediate right, between him and Mom.  Like the Son sitting at the right hand of an angry, hard-chewing God.  Come to think of it, I was often placed between my dad and mom--including on long car trips.  I WAS A HUMAN BUFFER!  I absorbed countless megawatts of electricity this way as a child.  Maybe that's why my nerves are now shot.

Anyway, what I'm building up to is this:  Dad would ALWAYS FIND THE BONE--EVEN IN FOODS THAT DON'T NORMALLY CONTAIN BONES.  Hamburger, for instance.  Maybe one out of 400 hamburgers will contain a bone chip.  His odds were more like one out of 40, and if one of us Remus's was gonna get that one in 40, it would be HIM.  ALWAYS. It was as if his teeth could bite into another dimension.  A dimension where everything--including pudding--contained bones.  He'd be chomping and grinding along happily (though expressing "happiness" more like an alligator than a human), and suddenly, you'd hear a huge CRACK from deep inside his skull.  It resonated like a gun shot.

Then, for a moment, silence.  The tension built as he mentally rose up out of alligator consciousness to figure out what had just happened.  Then he would spit out a grey lump, and finger his molar.  

"$%*@!" He grumbled, hauling the cracked tooth from his maw.  "WELL, OF ALL THE...(anger mounting)...$@#%..." his tongue exploring the new molar landscape.  He held up and examined the tooth.  "THAT'S A #%$ OF A..." or was that a bone fragment?  It was hard to say.  And he stomped off to further examine things with the aid of a mirror and flash light. 

Dessert, anyone?

Dream Poem (Warning: contains poop)

Dream Poem
by Karen Kay Remus, Copyright 2013

I gave myself the gift of chance
The chance to know my poop
'Twas at the doctor's office
As I stood upon the stoop

"You've got to go, so do it, Joe!"
Declared my inner child
So do, I did, and out it slid
As if 't'were in the wild

"Scatologists have stupid work!"
I screamed, as one approached
"What kind of 'work' is this, you jerk?"
He winced, as if reproached

"No seeds or hair, it can't be bear...
It's oblong and it's brown...
I'd say that scat is human...
Also sir, your pants are down."

The (stinking) End

Weigh in, people!  What do you think of this blog's first "movement?"
PS:  I love you!

"Irreconcilable Differences," Drawing by Karen Kay Remus, Copyright 2011

Find the poop in this drawing, and win a prize!