I dated a guy who fertilized me

 

Harry was a wonderful guy. Sweet, attendant and friendly to one and all Harry was. I think he was the president of the Chess Club? We got along fine. He took me to the Junior Prom. We went to a friends house for a gathering afterwards. Everyone was drinking alcohol. Harry got a bit handy in the backseat of his father’s Buick. What is a girl to do?

Hank was a swell guy. He was just a fun guy to be with. When he joined the table at lunch everyone welcomed him. I had a chemistry class with him. We shared slicing a living frog apart. He invited me to the movies. I didn’t know what Hank was doing in the dark. The popcorn wasn’t the only thing buttered.

Henry was a bookworm. He helped me through history with our study group at the library. He seemed to have all the answers to my questions thought they were all in whispers. Henry also knew his way through the stacks.

Harvey used to come by my parent’s house and cut the grass. Dad seemed to like him but he was a little goofy for me. He was always polite to my parents but was always giving me a leering look. He also seemed interested in my younger sister. Sometimes Harvey would drive me home from school.

Harrison was on the football team. He carried my books. All the girls were jealous. I got to wear his team jacket. After the game, we’d meet behind the bleachers. He was faster than he was on the field and became a bore.

Harold was the one. He was sensitive and listened to me. We could sit for hours and just talk. We’d take long walks and laugh about our classmates. He was a bit older. One day we kissed.

Sorry mom but I didn’t listen to you. I couldn’t restrain myself when the buttons were popping and the zippers zipped and the hickies were badges of passion.

I listened to your lectures but I thought you were talking about Popeye’s girlfriend. The church told me to keep my knees together, but how do you hop around all night?

Poppa I’m sorry I couldn’t find Mister Right that you could take on your fishing trips and tell drinking tales to. It doesn’t look like you will walk me down the aisle and I can’t wear white.

Don’t think I can get a job anywhere with this bulge in my tummy and I can’t find any place to stay because I have no money.

When the day comes, who’s name do I put down as the father?

Planned Obsolesces

 

A policy of producing consumer goods that rapidly become obsolete and so require replacing, achieved by frequent changes in design, termination of the supply of spare parts, and the use of nondurable materials.

Did you ever look at the back of your birth certificate?

That blue or pink piece of paper that stated the moment you arrived and started breathing. The official notice of who your mother is and who your father might be. That record of where you were dropped and what medical professional caught you.

Some have footprints on them but you’ll grow out of that. A photo ID won’t work because your eyes are closed.

Well if you can find it in your family ancestry paper and look on the back, there is an expiration date. Who knew?

Did you ever turn over your wedding certificate (yet another official recording of an event that you pay for)? It tells you when you will get divorce. I’m not sure if there are multiple dates, but you get the idea.

So you come into this world and here you are. You are sucking in the air, gobbling down the plants and animals, extricating the unusable waste, propagating and then wasting away until someone puts you in the ground.

It sounds so simple.

It is.

It was all preplanned.

You didn’t think you could live forever?

You had your chances.

You were a kid. Kids get to do whatever they want. They run and jump and make noise. They explore and learn, until some big person put requirements on them to behave.

You were a student. You had prime time to learn whatever knowledge available and when you could remember what you saw or heard or read you got a gold star. You were given the opportunity to adventure into knowledge. What you did with it was your choice.

You were a grown up. You got to make your own decisions. You got to apply yourself for monitory rewards. You got to choose a partner. You got to the age where you could drive, fight, vote and drink until arrested. You could pay taxes, get insurance, accumulate debt, invest, purchase property and come home at night to a boring television show and too much alcohol. You can be stressed.

You can grow old. You now can look back. You can bargain with the kids to take care of you when you can’t make it to the bathroom in time. You can delight in the grandchildren who mess up everything and you wish you could be them again. You can spend more time horizontal than vertical and wonder why your knees hurt.

Then the expiration date arrives and there will be flowers and tears and condolences and prayers and thoughts. People will bring your family food. Maybe people can’t cook when someone dies? You get put in a box (unless you prefer the oven) and put in a hole in the ground and covered up with dirt and given a headstone that states your name, date of arrival and departure. That’s about it.

Enjoy your journey until the bell rings. Times up.

Assimilate or Disincarnate?

 

Fit in or segregate. Be them or us.

To migrate is to leave where you have grown up, settled, had property, was comfortable with family, neighbors, life and move to an unknown area with new customs, religions, living conditions, requirements and strangers.

When you are a kid, you live with your family. They are your whole world. They make the rules and you abide by them. You know how they eat. You know how they sleep. You share your toys with them. You have your fights with them.

Then you migrate to school.

You have now been put in a different world with a new leader than a parent. This is authority #101. You are assigned a seat. You are bullied by strangers. You make friends with strangers. You are told what to respond and if you correctly regurgitate the words or numbers, you move on as a reward. If you do not, you are a failure.

When you travel or vacation in a different area, you can wonder at the differences but you go back home.

When you migrate to a different area there is a different language. There are different cultures. There are different foods. There are different living arrangements. There are different transportation options.

Can you assimilate?

The global commerce requires interaction between different areas of our planet. We can sample each other’s taste and cultures. We can enjoy music, poetry, exquisite architecture and historical concepts. We can share each other’s trash.

Since we sheltered in caves, we’ve grown to trust some and fear others. We formed our groups with names of religion, politics, military prowess and even sexual identification. Throughout history ‘our’ group can always find fault with ‘the other’ group to the point of murder.

Where do you feel comfortable?

There are areas in this township where I feel relaxed but aware I’m on one side of the line. There are other areas in this township where I’m at unease and wish to get back to ‘my’ side.

Home is the most comfortable space. Home has all your chattel that gives you comfort of familiarity. Home is where you sleep.

Some people don’t have that option. They have to decide do they cross that line?

A Person of Colour

 

Seems to be terminology now. A black person or a white person is our choice.

Blend it into a rough interpretation of ‘a person of colour’ indicating Asian, Latino, Africana vs. European decent. Where do we draw the hue line?

I’ve written about this before. My crayon box has many colors, so which one do I choose?

I know the Smurfs down the street are indigo and those little leprechauns running around in the backyard do seem to have a bluish/yellowish tinge to them but I’d not likely call them green.

Most of the people I see are similar to me. Some are darker or have better tans and some haven’t been in the sun for a while. They all seem to have two arms and two legs and eyes and faces and lips. I believe they all bleed red.

If we truly want to categorize people by their skin color shouldn’t we reference them as porcelain, ivory, warm ivory, sand, beige, warm beige, natural, honey, golden, almond, chestnut or espresso.

I don’t use the term ‘person of colour’ because I don’t know what you prefer. I also don’t use ‘black’ or ‘white’ for I haven’t seen anyone who is all colors or none at all, with the exception of albinos.

Social Culture

 

It is interesting how much I don’t know. Since I stopped watching television I’m not exposed to social culture.

Television was my babysitter. Black and white fuzzy images with crackly sound kept me entertained for hours. I didn’t have to read and comprehend, I just sat back and it was thrown at me, melding my brain into cowboys, musketeers and religious movies. Then vinyl music came out and I could turn down the sound but still had to stare at familiar faces playing doctors or spacemen or cops while the new English covers of Delta blues battled for my identity.

My wife used to have the television on all day. Her regulars were the Today show, Live with Regis and Kathy Lee, General Hospital… I tried to get home to see the Evening News, then M.A.S.H. and whatever silly sitcom like Quincy ME or Friends. She would tell me stories of people and I would wonder which of the neighbors did these fantastic things. The television characters were her friends. They were the only ones she talked to, but they never talked back.

So now I see names and faces of people on Social Media and wonder who are these people? The ancient names of movie stars are gone and I don’t know the new lot. They are but the latest generation of celebrities with smiling faces, young bodies and good teeth until a certain age will make them invisible so a new batch can take their place.

Am I missing something?

Do I need to know how much some corporation is spending on a cutie to sing and shake her booty until she loses favor? How many cars does that movie star have until they are reprocessed? How many shoes does the latest hot talk show host wear?

I don’t recognize any of the birthday wishes to the stars. I don’t know (or care) who won an award for a film I’ll never see. Should I be wanton to watch another space movie or fast cars and explosions? Should I envy actors who perform as if they are royalty or even the faux royalty left over from another era?

Go for the golden ring and hang on. If you introduce yourself to me, I will most likely say, “Who are you?”

Are We TOO Sensitive?

 

 

Over and over I hear the news that what was commonplace is now offensive, hurtful and wrong.

I get it. I understand. I even adder to the pain and suffering that has gone on for so many years unnoticed in our daily lives. The acceptance of degradation of another now appears in the forefront of the conversation.

There seems that enough social media voicing’s and conflict can bring our attention to what we have looked away from for so many years.

We all have issues. We all have opinions. We all can state our views because we have ‘freedom of speech’.

Yet, I wonder if we’ve become TOO sensitive?

Over the years, we have also divided and sub-divided and categorized each of us into ever reducing tribes of emotional out lash.

I am sick and weak and poor and old and feeble and off-white and Baptist and member of the Masons and abused and misunderstood and…. you get the point. We all got something that makes us different.

And life is not easy.

Not preaching, but I’m not tall and blonde (though I do have blue eyes). I’m not rich or have a fancy car or a yacht but I do own property. So where does that put me in the complaint line?

If my folks who arrived here long ago didn’t get a square deal on a plot of land, do I get reparations? If my great grandfather had not stopped poking his woman, wouldn’t I get a better share of the will? If my parents hadn’t been drinking that hooch, wouldn’t I’ve been immune to the temptation of the evil fallacy of the human soul? If I’d been born with a different color skin or plumbing, would life had treated me better?

Everyday I will listen to another complaint of why the plumbing isn’t better or who is going to take care of these potholes or why are my pants so tight or isn’t there a pill to solve my woes or it wasn’t like this in the past and wonder…

Where were these comments flooding the social media yesterday? If you thought the roads needed fixin’ why didn’t you contact the community leaders you pay your taxes to for a fix? If they couldn’t do it, why didn’t you get some tar and patch it yourself? Too many weeds along the road? A weekend of neighbors will solve the eyesore and give everyone a sense of accomplishment.

I’ll listen to your gripes and moans.

I don’t have the cure.

Skylines

 

It is interesting that when someone asks where you live, you give the name of the city. You don’t give the state or the street or the zip code, but the name of the city on your mailing list.

If you Google the name of the city, you get a picture of a skyline. A skyline is a bunch of tall buildings. Cities are an accumulation of cement, iron, concrete, glass and steel. Society grouped closely together and reaching for the sky.

A city has roads and rooms and people and parking and lives, but you don’t see it in the skyline.

If your city has a recognizable monument like the space needle or the gateway arch or golden gate bridge or the empire state building or the Washington monument, the skyline stands out from the others. Otherwise your cities skyline looks just like a bunch of tall buildings.

How did that city skyline get there?

Cities are nothing more than huts that grow into villages to towns to communities to cities. They usually start on a pathway of water for transportation until an animal trail can be turned into a road. Then the railroads linked the north and south then out west to increase commerce and communication. Then the automobile and the highway connected the cities together.

Cities are nothing more a town that outgrows itself. It has to spread out or up. Cites are built and then torn down and rebuilt and then torn down and built again. The skyline of today does not match the skyline of 100 years ago.

People will say life was simpler then. This is a true statement. Cities had no paved roads. Traffic was animal drawn carts and their waste. Indoor plumbing was a dream and water ran from a bucket. Cooling meant opening windows without screens and warming meant stocking a coal furnace or stove. Telephones, electricity, Wi-Fi had never been thought of.

Cities usually started with the church. The church was nothing more than a big building that could be used by whichever popular religion was prominent to use on Sunday to give thanks, pass out information, share food and fellowship and become a town hall meeting place. It was usually built on the high ground for protection and was surrounded with the graves of the dead.

Then pubs and brothels sprouted to give diversion from family home life and an attraction to passerby travelers. Hotels provided way stations for those passing through. Merchants saw the opportunity of selling wares provided by the commerce traffic and required by the town’s citizens who couldn’t grow, barter or manufacture their own.

People living in rural areas found cities had employment opportunities with factories, construction, services and banks. Cities also offered the thrill of theatre, dances and music.

Skylines of cities on or near a river, lake or ocean offered reflection doubling the size. Skylines from above only looked like ribbons of roads weaving in and out of these spikes in the earth.

On the ground the skyline is only gigantic behemoths blocking the sky. The roads and the sidewalks offer the citizen glass and concrete until they enter and find a lift.

There are other skylines that overwhelm the man-made buildings. These offices, apartments, bathrooms, hallways, hospitals, governmental locations, courtrooms, jails, fire stations, insurance companies, newspapers, restaurants, movie houses, lodging and all the rest look very busing from sunup to sundown. Some maintain activity while the others stand vacant. All require electricity, water, communication and waste disposal. An industry of people will wash and sweep and vacuum and change light bulbs while another population goes home for dinner and television with the family. Others will run the wires, clean the streets, dig the holes, patch the pipes, remove the wrecks, water the fires, rescue the cats, feed the homeless, bury the dead.

Driving into a skyline is vision of human production, if seen through the haze of necessity. Once engulfed in a skyline is being lost in a canyon. 

LOOPHOLES

 

A loophole is an ambiguity or inadequacy in the law or a set of rules.

Evasion/avoidance, means of escape, escape clause, escape route, ambiguity, omission, inadequacy, flaw, fault, defect, crack, inconsistency, discrepancy, shortcoming, slip, let-out, let-out clause, dodge are all loopholes.

We (as a society) make rules for all to follow for the good of community. Don’t drive too fast. Don’t steal other people’s stuff. Don’t cross against the light.

With every rule, there are exceptions.

If you get paid $ much money, you pay $ much tax, except.

If you get caught for a crime, you are sentenced to, except.

If you get fired from your job, you lose your pay, except.

Everything has a loophole.

Lawyers job is to find loopholes in laws. Doctors job is to find loopholes in illness. Preachers job is to find loopholes in emotion. Scientists job is to find loopholes in reality. Politicians job is to find loopholes in common sense.

The latest mass murder has again brought up ‘gun control’ as a solution to bad behavior. There are all sorts of laws, restrictions and licenses for gun ownership and usage. Some debaters will tout our age-old Constitutional right to bear arms. Some debaters will question the need for everyone to have a weapon when there are organizations like the police and military established to protect us from ourselves. Some debaters will reference the Bible with ‘an eye for an eye’ or ‘thou shall not kill’, but the exception is when the Bible was written (and re-written) they didn’t know about gunpowder and bullets.

After they pick up the bodies and wash the floors and have the opinion shows trying (again) to create a reason for the murders and dissecting the person who was holding the gun and hearing the police give consolations and the press offer their prayers and the bodies are identified and the marches and speeches, someone will come up with a new idea on how to change the human emotion.

Then we will all feel better and go back to our lives until the next slaughter.

If you fall in love and vow eternal bliss but find another more attractive, there is a loophole.

Cat Covid

 

Everyone is stressing about getting a jab to help their immune system fight off the Covid-19 Virus that came from Chinese bats. We were all happy with that scenario until.

The little spiky virus that we are all breathing and coughing and sneezing around is mutating. It is changing and spreading faster.

Will your shot or shots shield you from this new variation? Will you have to get another shot? Is there another shot?

How will it affect the kids? How will it affect the new borns? Will the quarantine every end?

It is easy to blame the bats. Bats are disgusting. They hang around in caves upside down all day and only come out at night to eat bugs. They are feared at being vampire. There is only one super hero as a bat.

Then there are reports that minks have the virus. Minks are cute but there are not that many of them. Solution is extermination. It is not social acceptable to wear mink anyway.

Then there is a report of the virus found in monkeys. Monkeys!! The ape family is just distant cousins. Most of the monkeys in this nation are behind cages (except for the ones driving on the highways) and can be studied by scientist with some scrutiny. However they got infected, they are locked up and away from human visitors (except handlers).

Then the thought of if this virus can infect a monkey in a cage, where else can it go?

While we all have been shuttered inside, we have found new ways to coop with loneliness and isolation. We find space in our closets for an office. We wire our kids to screens and rationalize it as educational time. We never get dressed. We never comb our hair. We watch hours of boring television and eat snacks all day. We cuddle with our pets.

Wait, cuddle with our pets? Is that safe?

You might not have a monkey for a pet or a mink still with its coat, but what about the rest of the animal kingdom?

We can’t kiss our grandma, but still enjoy getting slobbered all over by Fido or getting licks from Fluffy or Mister Boots. They might give comfort curled up on your lap, but (speculation) if they carry the deadly virus?

Sweet dreams.

Diagnosis

 

You know the drill. You don’t feel good. You go to the doctor. The doctor takes some liquids then asks some questions. The doctor has some test done. The doctor writes down the results, and then walks up to you with the diagnosis.

Like any investigation, these are the judge’s verdicts.

 You might want to have a second opinion or find another judge, but the answer is called the diagnosis.

When you go to school and you listen and learn and take the test, your grade is your diagnosis. When you work hard and the end of the year comes around, your review is your diagnosis. When you hand out a ring and ask the question, the answer is your diagnosis.

If you medical diagnosis is ‘this’ is what is your problem and ‘this’ is what you have to do to get rid of your problem, might be a relief or a burden. If the cure is to take a few pills, then it is not so bad.

If the diagnosis is life threatening, even if there is a pill or potion that might delay the inevitable outcome, the thought will still be there.

You are going to die.

In this time when the wind carries little invisible particles we might breathe in that could cause us to stop breathing, then we should be aware of what the doctor says?

If…. the diagnosis is you are completely well and fit and will live a thousand year, do you feel any better?

Do you shake the doctor’s hand and walk outside and look up and enjoy the clouds and the birds singing and be glad you are alive, for another day?

They don’t tell you in the birthing manual that live is finite. No medical pinprick or blood sample or digital scan can give you a timeline.

 

 

What’s Up Doc?

Deepfakes

 

Did you see that? Do you believe it?

It may seem funny now, but pranking us is getting harder to tell.

Technology is getting better to the point of real vs. fake on our screen is more difficult to discern.

In the movies a body double would stand in if a stunt were required. Then technology provided a green screen to put an actor in the middle of space. If a thousand zombies were needed, it was easier to copy and repeat digital images than hire and make-up extras.

Was that really the president selling soap on television? Did the queen of England endorse your automotive insurance? How did Thomas Jefferson walk you through Monticello or Abraham Lincoln tour Ford’s Theatre?

Was that you in that porn video?

We are so concerned about our privacy, but post all our profile information and tons of selfies out on the web; someone with unkind intentions could easily apply your image in harmful methods.

With our face recognition or fingerprint passwords to our digital information, it is not a stretch to see how content could be used without our consent.

Am I writing this?

Been Thinking About Rural America

 

I’m a city boy. Grown up in the cement sidewalks and can’t walk far without running into a tall building. The city has lots of traffic and smog and noise, but what about the rest of America.

Sure, I’ve gone out of the city limits into the vast unknown and appreciate those who instead of worshipping the almighty dollar feel the dirt and grit of the land with wilderness to explore like the founding fathers before.

These folks are just like me folks, but they just live in a different land. Animals and trees and rivers and lakes and big blue skies with black ribbons to drive on just a different world surround them. They get sick and pray and fall in love and find a hideaway spot to explore before telling your grandmother you messed up. They get haircuts. They have a volunteer fire department. The teller knows your name. There are backyard cookouts on the weekends. Everyone parks the car or truck on the lawn instead of the curb. Satellite service is crappy but there are lots of landlines from the 50s. There are school marching bands and only one movie theatre.

We, I mean us city folk, aren’t any different. We got cute girls in prom dresses. We got warm beer on a hot summer night. We lie on the rocks by the river staring at the moon and talk about becoming an astronaut but really want to work the land like you. We cut our lawns and pretend to be a farmer. We plant our little gardens but do not deliver to the grocery store. We park in a shed called a garage.

When I come through your town, I’ll enjoy the site of the Dairy Freeze and take a breath of your fresh air. Antique barns may be falling down but are better than old Confederate general statues. If you allow me to join in, I’d love to play along at the square dance. If you allow me, I’ll take away the innocence of your country girls.

So this song caught my ear today. The visuals reminded me of what goes on outside the city limits. What the rest of America is about. What my fake forest can only imagine. I also hear the trains in the distance.

 

Souvenirs

 

Step away from your screen. Stand up. Shake your arms and wipe your eyes. Take a deep breath and then look around.

Look at all the stuff that is on your desk or table. Look at the stuff on the shelves.

No, don’t look back at the screen. Pay attention.

Now take a walk around the house/apartment and take a look at what is in the bedroom, the kitchen, the bathroom, and the garage.

Look at all the kids’ toys, the trinkets, the knickknacks, the animal toys, the tools and appliances. These are all things you purchase (or were gifted) and you had to find a place to store them.

Maybe you have a liking for chicken artwork or maybe teapots. If you follow a band you probably have some of their merchandise. If you have a hankering for Americana there are probably painting, photos, wall hanging, and rugs or maybe the entire space is decorated to your taste. You like trains?

When you walk into someone else’s home, these decorative items are what you notice first. These are things the other person likes to have around them.

Where does all this stuff come from?

All this stuff is what you have accumulated through the years. Now they are your clutter.

Ever wonder why your suitcase is so hard to shut when you are ready to go back home from a week at the beach? It is all those shells you picked up and those towels you didn’t expect to buy and those funky, flowered shirts you’ll never wear again but they will remind you of this trip of drunken nights and sunburned days.

Look at all the shoes you have. Where are you planning on walking? That beautiful wedding dress is a one-of-a-kind purchase but will you be buried in it (if you could squeeze into it)? Are hats still in season?

When you kids start going through all this chattel to box up things that don’t smell too bad or pass down heirlooms to another generation, it all become trash. You life will wind up in a landfill, just like you.

Travel down any road and see the leftover dreams of teenager’s first rides rusting in piles. Antique shops are full of pass dreams and memories. Museums are nothing more than displays of generations gone past with whatever people have dug up after years of weather washed it all away. Don’t forget to stop at the Gift Shop.

Before you sit back down in front of the glowing screen and lose yourself in today’s fantasy, look at all the stuff that will be boxed up when you are no longer here.

These are the souvenirs of life. These are the treasures you wished to keep.

You might want to throw away that stack of dirty magazines your grandchildren fill find and remember you by?

Did They Say That?

 

Listening to radio is interesting, like someone else in the room talking that you are trying to ignore, until they say something in a language you don’t understand. What did they say?

There was a time when some newscaster read a piece of script telling you the news, weather and sports in the same verbiage you understood from your schoolteacher. If something happened in a foreign land or even a different state, he or she wouldn’t try to fake an accent or speak in another tongue to relay the information.

It was pretty straightforward. The people in China are saying or the Prime Minster in a speech said was explained for someone else was there and heard the words and translated (and edited) and sent the transcription to the newscaster to tell you in plan words.

Now we have people recording the actual events and posting on news media. Not only are there music interludes (like a podcast)

There was a problem downtown and people started gathering. Our reporter asked a person ‘what was going on?’

The answer was “Žmonės bando rasti vietą automobiliui”

Our reporter, with the help of a local interpreter said, “These people are protesting the parking situation downtown.”

In another part of the world, there are sounds of gunshots and bombs bursting when our report ask a local information.

“Niekto robí frat párty a vymklo sa im to z rúk” but we are told that the army is invading the city square and killing all the citizens.

When asked a local Chinese resident about the virus the response is “这炒面好吗”

We all know what that means.

Do we believe what we are being told or what we are seeing anymore?

Ask anyone about this age and they have all been to Woodstock. Everyone has a story or an interpretation of reality and is more than willing to tell the camera or microphone.

Remember this..

Вы видите то, что хотите видеть, и слышите то, что хотите услышать

Money

Have you checked your wallet recently? Probably not with all the methods of cyber coins used now, but it you did… what would you find?

Paper bills. Green backs. These are printed pieces of paper with some old dead president on it and a big number that indicates its value to another. Some call this cash.

Take a look…

A dollar is six inches by two and a half inches, printed on both sides with a green tinge to it. Pay used to be waiting for the boss to hand out these bills for a week’s work or a day’s pay. Then you got a piece of paper you had to take to the bank to get some of this money you could trade to the market for dinner or the bartender for a pint.

Once direct deposit was created, all those with bank accounts just asked the teller if their pay had arrived yet.

Money, as it is called, is an intricate design with swirls and crosshatching all carved in metal to withstand the amount of bills to be printed.

The first dollars were simple black on white paper but as soon as they started getting counterfeited, different designs and colors were added. The weave of the paper was changed and through the years little quirks were added to elude the best copy.

Green seemed the most popular color, but like military script, the colors could be changed every so often to avoid the enemy from robbing the bank and buying more bullets.

Still the same old presidents are on the same old bills and that is not keeping up with our cultural change.

Why not add some new faces to our money?

How about changing Ole George on the buck for the King? Would you collect more dollars if they had your idol on it? Thank you.. Thank you very much. Instead of the George sawbuck, it could be the Elvis hound dog.

How about a two-fer for Dolly? She is an American legend and more good ole boys will be stuffing their pockets while singing Jolene. The new bill could be the Dolly double.

Why should Lincoln be on the five spot? He’s got a monument. He’s got a highway. What about those other presidents that people have forgotten? We got plenty. How about Tricky Dickey? We got plenty of memories about him. Maybe the Crooked Kroner could value a dollar less so you always need more than one?

One of the most popular bills is the ten. Since nothing cost less than $8.79, carrying a Jefferson will get you some more change. It is adequate tip money but two are more impressive. Here again, Jefferson is on the quarter. He’s got a monument. He’s got Monticello. He’s got the Declaration of Independence. I even went to his high school, so let’s find another find American face to put on the money. Jimi is a true American icon and probably wouldn’t mind having the advertising. Maybe it should be in day-glo? Can you roll it and smoke it?

Jay makes us laugh. Let’s slap his big mug on a twenty. Maybe we can change the name to a Jayroll? He even looks like Jackson and who wants to keep that guy around any more?

Why do the images on our money have to be depictions of people? Why can’t they be the almost national bird if Ben Franklin had his way? If we put a cartoon on the money maybe more kids would want them. If we tell our next generation they have to work to earn this turkey, production may increase? Maybe just an outline they can color in crayon?

Dolly might break the glass ceiling, but we need to have a woman who really knows how to make money. This would also cross the color barrier (in case you hadn’t noticed). If you earn enough Opra’s you can give away cars.

Why does the image on the paper money have to be a person? How about a brand? Think how much a company would pay to have their logo printed on money? They would become coupons you have to spend at their store. How many iBucks does that cost?

If commercialism is getting too far a field, lets get back to patriotism. The red, white and blue. American eagle. 1776. Old glory. Put a symbol on the paper we can all be proud of. Lady Liberty dollars would make you proud to spend your money, unless you are opposed to immigration or the Planet of the Apes.

 Even though he too has a monument and a speech and even a holiday, we should show some respect for another king. A bit pricey but, something to aspire to.

I think this is the largest denomination of cold hard cash there is, but I could be wrong. Maybe there is a million dollar bill with Trumps face on it? The way the government prints money (they are the only ones allowed to) and the way they spend the bucks, we may need a trillion dollar bill soon?

 

There are also coins but unless you don’t have your smart phone or credit card, the jingle jangle of change just weighed you down and never came up even.

Maybe the change is happening?