haiku for the day: stories

Every car has a story. Or maybe many stories. There’s the story of the car itself. How the car came to be in the possession of the driver. Then there’s the story of the driver and what the heck are they doing next to you in traffic. If there’s passengers, there are more stories.

Perhaps the driver turns to the passenger next to him and says, “So, you’re not going to marry me?” She might say, “You bet your sweet booty I won’t marry you.” “Then why are we still dating?” “I thought you might win the lottery.” The car is thinking, “Ha. Him win the lottery. He’s got worse luck than Louis XVI.” In case, you didn’t know. Louis XVI was Marie Antoinette’s cake-eating husband.

man in the next car
stopped at an intersection
it’s his turn to go

Oh, Get Over It

“I tried to stop. Honest I did,” the woman said.

“My car. My beautiful car.” The man was crying. “Look what you did to my beautiful car.”

Then she turned on him. “Oh, get over.” At that, she walked back to her Chevy. She was tired of men crying every time they got a little scratch. She waited for the police.

“She hit me,” the man said when the police arrived.

The cop said, “Oh, get over it. I hate it when men cry. Grow up.” He finished taking the man’s statement. The man’s name was Phillip Mason. The cop then rubbed the scratch on the man’s car. “Nice Porsche.”

“Not anymore.” He passed his insurance card over to the cop. “Give it to her. I don’t even want to get close to her.” He walked the card over to Jane Hughes, gave it to her and took her information. The cop walked her card back over to Phillip. Then he said to Phillip,” I’m going to have to write you a ticket.”

“What? But my car,” Phillip wanted to scream. Instead he cried the words.

“Seems it’s your car that caused the accident.” The cop pointed to all the people standing around. Then he passed the ticket over to Phillip and had him sign the paper. “Next time be more careful. You could hurt somebody with that thing.” He pointed to the Porsche.

The cop went back to his cruiser, then drove away.

As the crowd dispersed, Phillip got in his Porsche and cried out to God, “Why me?”

God whispered back, “Oh, get over. At least, you get to drive around in a Porsche. I’m still driving an Edsel.”

It’s raining in America

It’s raining in America,
or at least it’s raining on my town,
water splashing the windshield,
wipers setting a beat for the music on the radio,
headlights from the oncoming cars
falling like Christmas lights onto the city streets,
travelling their passages to love and glory,
passengers ridding waves of time and space.
It’s night time in the city,
And angels walk the clouds above, waiting for the daylight.

Soon.

Ads I would love to see on TV

Ad #1. Jeff is sitting in his kitchen, eating a bowl of cereal. He picks up the bowl and walks to the front door. Opens the front door, looks out. The birds are singing. The grass is green. The cocker spaniel lies on the front porch, dreaming his doggie dream. Jeff looks at his brand new car. It is a beautiful work of art. Then he sees his neighbor get in his car. The driver’s door falls off his neighbor’s Chevy. Jeff smiles, then calls out, “Hey, Bart. Doors don’t fall off my new Puchie.”

Ad #2. “Need a new car. It’s on your bucket list. Why not come on down and make that final deal a hearse? We have them in seven gorgeous colors: red, yellow, blue, orange, pink, turquoise, and, of course, our most popular color, your basic black tie. If you want to go in style, this is the way to go.”

Ad #3. “Come on over to Brady’s Super Sports Store to get all your football supplies. Down here at Brady’s, we really know how to deflate a football.”