The x-ray came back negative. She didn't believe it. She wanted them to take another picture. She knew something was wrong. But the doctors talked her out of it. We are the professionals, they said. We know your body best. We will tell you if you're sick. You're not, they said. It's psychosomatic, they continued. You're making this up in your head, they added. Now, get out, we are very busy saving real sick people and you are wasting our precious time.She cursed them. She called them quacks; they called her a hypochondriac; she walked out of the clinic determined to find herself another doctor, one who would be invested in her welfare and not theirs. Evidently a rarity in this modern world.
September 2, 2025
He was strutting down the street proudly singing Onward Christian Soldiers. Like a Pied Piper, other pious folks were following him. Our town has a public piano outside that is free for anyone to play. When the person that was currently noodling the 88 heard the well known song, he joined right in. The troubadour marched right up to the side of the piano, the crowd gathered 'round and the singing never stopped. They sounded good together until the piano player tired of the dirge-like pace and started to jazz the song up. He sped the tempo, started riffing on the black keys and eventually turned it into a free form jazz piece. He lost the singer along the way. The followers however were incensed, outraged, yelled Blasphemer! and Butcher! and made noises about storming the sacrilegious piano player but didn't cause most were over 75 and lucky to be able to still open a jar of pickles. Leaning against the piano like Dean Martini waiting for a martini, the singer was casually paralyzed. Why would Jesus let this duplicitous stranger hijack his song? Why?! Why! The piano player, now tickling the keys to Whiskey River, urged the throng not to hate his irreverent self and instead, turn the other cheek and love him like Jesus says to. Fuck that! someone yelled, and if it weren't for the puppy that wandered into the crowd and had all the old folks oohing and awing and forgetting all about Christian soldiers, who knows what might have happened?
September 3, 2025
Tennis ball still life.
September 4, 2025
Streamed a movie last night that was all about aliens and their gritty ways. Went to bed and got abducted. What are the odds? The spaceship was, I dunno, I guess you could call it nice, but their outfits were out of this world! This was Space Fashion Splendor with a capital S, F and S. And poor me! I mean, here I am in my bedclothes - sweat pants, ratty Grateful Dead T-shirt, barefoot - and am now surrounded by all these well heeled aliens. Didn't I feel like an outsider! This guy in an awesome ensemble tells me that I had been brought to the ship not for experiments or DNA extraction but because they couldn't figure out some of the stuff I said in KeithSpeak.
-- You read me?
-- We read everything. Including instructions and technical manuals. We just don't get some of the things you've said. Your ideas are...well, you need to explain them to us.
I had leverage! First, I demanded the alien equivalent of wine, women and song, but the room grew cold, the mood darkened. It seems they didn't like the abductees telling them what to do so they decided that medical experiments might just be the ticket instead. Thinking fast, I told them I could write a movie about them, the well dressed aliens. No one's done anything like that before!
-- You mean like Star Wars?
-- Oh, you've seen that.
-- Padmé's outfits were to die for.
-- Ok, but Star Wars has humans playing aliens. That's racial appropriation! Our movie would have real aliens playing real aliens.
-- You mean we could be in it?
-- Why not? If the studio doesn't agree, abduct them.
They liked that idea. I told them I would get started on the screenplay as soon as they could put me back in my bedroom. Which they did. But now my agent is pissed because we didn't talk money. He says he wants to be abducted so he can complete the deal. He asked me if I had any leverage. Sigh.
September 5, 2025
We are completely reconfiguring our network. New computers, peripherals and external drives. This will most likely take a couple of days to a week. The site will be up but we might be offline with new data and posts until it's all working seamlessly. Please bear with us, my pretties.
September 6, 2025
We have started the rebuild but it's treacherous. I already got a blood blister! Where is the pundit who said, Hey kids! Computing is fun! Bald-faced liar! Computing is work.
September 7, 2025
I’m sure no one is interested in this but I need to say it in case our absence is prolonged. Ahem, tomorrow, we move all the current and archived data over to the new solid-state drives. This will take forever because there are terabytes of the stuff going all the way back to the C/PM system of our very first Kaypro II computer whose data was eventually ported to the Windows 95 computers which was again moved en masse over to the Windows 7 computers and now, we’re sending the whole schmear to the Windows 11 computers. To those of you saying I’m hoarding data – a pox on you. See you tomorrow, maybe.
September 8, 2025
Overheard two guys next to each other at the gas pumps.
-- Hey, are you Larry?
-- Yeah. Do I know you?
-- Nah.
-- How do you know my name?
-- I didn’t.
-- You guessed my name?
-- Yup.
-- That’s preposterous. You don’t expect me to believe that out of all the names in the world you guessed Larry first off.
-- What can I say, it’s a gift. You guess my name now.
-- No thanks.
-- Come on!
-- Asshole.
-- People call me that, but it’s not my name. Come on, guess again.
-- What’s wrong with you, buddy? I’m not playing your game.
-- Guess!
-- …Toby.
-- Toby! That’s a stupid name! Nobody’s named Toby. You made that up. Do I look like a Toby? What the hell’s wrong with you? Toby, my ass. You’re crazy.
-- Oh, I’m the crazy one.
-- Yeah, well, screw you, Larry.
-- Right back at ya, Tobe.
-- You’re lucky I’m done pumping my gas or we might be scrapping.
-- Anytime, Tobe.
-- Stop calling me, Toby!
September 9, 2025
In your quiet moments do you ever think, What the hell is going on? How am I living a life? How is my heart beating without conscious input or knowledge? Why do I breathe air and why is air everywhere. Isn’t living a life an awful lot of effort if it’s a one off? How can I meet someone for the first time and feel like I’ve known them forever? Why do we all have intuition but few seem to use it? If our brains are all roughly the same size, how come there is such disparity between smart and dumb humans? Why does everyone sleep? Just what the hell is going on? I dunno, ever give any of this stuff thought?
September 12, 2025
His name was Sam Smackass. He wanted to run for Congress but the Party said his name didn’t test well and he should reconsider public office. He ran anyway, as an independent, miraculously winning his seat with a series of billboards that showed Sam holding a legal Change Of Name form. Underneath the picture it said,
Everyone wanted me to change my name.
So I did.
It’s now Kickass. Sam Kickass and I will do just that for you in Congress.
Much love,
The former Sam Smackass
September 13, 2025
A father took his young son fishing for the first time. He showed the boy how to put a worm on a hook. The boy was shocked.
-- Dad, you just stuck a live animal on a hook! That’s horrible! Look at him writhe. You don't think he’s in pain?!
The father didn’t know what to say as there was no way to justify the worm’s awful circumstance. So he ignored it and after baiting both hooks showed his son how to cast. Within minutes the boy got a hit. His father showed him how to reel the fish in but when it broke water and the boy could see the hook embedded in its mouth, he dropped the rod and ran back to their car screaming at his father the whole way.
-- Fishing is a nightmare for the animals! What if I put a hook in your mouth? You don’t think that hurts them? You don’t think that’s torture?! Those poor animals! What if that was done to you?! I want to go home.
The father released the fish back into the pond, gathered their equipment and joined his boy.
-- Sweetie, I’m sorry. This was not the father-son bonding moment I’d hoped for. I wasn’t thinking. I know you love animals and are sensitive to their plight. Again, I’m sorry.
-- Can we just go?
-- Maybe we should try a sport or something. You like baseball?
