Wild Irish Rose


She is Irish, a beauty with red hair.  I say, “You are the prettiest flower in this garden,” as I look around the clinic with 20 more women milling about.

“Thank you, that was nice.”

Last week she told me that she was going through a nasty separation.  I think she might be rich. I have a girlfriend, but I always keep my options open.  I am not the man I once was, but I am as good once as I ever was.


Having It All


In the sixties all you needed was love.

In 2018 I need love, medicine, money, cell phone, more money, and a weapon.  I have all of these.  True love from Louie, my dog.  Medicine from various healers.  I don’t work anymore but love to spend money.  My love life and my cell phone need a charge.  My weapons are a BB gun, a shovel and a frying pan.

I have it all for now.

Love and Marriage


We are not yet married but she has already assumed the role of one who must be obeyed.  I cringe when she talks of pain in her back and my world spirals down like a Netflix horror movie.  As we lie in bed, the sheets move and bad smells happen.  She does sometimes say excuse me in a creepy voice. 

We speak.  She says, “the dog is peeing on the coat you left on the floor. You are a slob.”

We are looking forward to marriage.

Your Purpose in Life


Doctor, sometimes I just want to go ahead and kick the bucket.  I have no purpose.  I don’t even feel like making whoopee anymore, not with my girlfriend anyway.

Stephen, you are too much.  You are eating too much.  And not exercising too much.  Your purpose in life for at least the next two years is to get in shape for your kidney transplant.  Sure, the last two years have been tough, and you have to be tougher.  Get in shape.  Take your meds.  Fight for your life. 

Thank you, Doctor, how much do I owe you?  Somebody call 911– I’m having a heart attack.

Good company


My father’s assisted living home smells like poop.  My father has been fading for five years. He now says very little.   He will have a chocolate, a piece of fruit, a stiff Vodka Tonic.  After his first sip he will say “this tastes good.”  I have to keep the conversation going, and I talk about my girlfriend or my health issues.  He does laugh and make expressions.  He thinks I am a little nutty, like my mother and her Mother.  He enjoys my visits.

Out of the Frying Pan


“Hello Mr. Lebherz, follow me.  I am Dr. Ping Pyong.”  I shook his hand, entered his office.  My girlfriend came behind me which made me worry that I might have to take my clothes off with the lights on. 

“I am chief of Kidney Transplant surgery. Could you loosen your pants and lie back on the examining table?  Do you have diabetes?” he asked.  Yes, for 25 years, for many years, my blood sugar was out of control.  I still eat cookies.

He said he needed to check the pulse in my pelvis.  He stuck his hand in my pants and lay it flat right next to my special parts.  I told my girlfriend to close her eyes, which the doctor found amusing.  I made another astute comment that I thought my pulse was in my wrist.  I looked at my girlfriend and rolled my eyes as if I was enjoying this.  Unfortunately my body is big, my special part is not.  If he moved his hand just slightly to the right he would feel this.  I broke out into a sweat.  He removed his hand and with a frown said your pulse is weak.  Strangely, my girlfriend said she already knew this.  She was frowning too.  I just can’t win these days.

Spider Crickets


Two years back I went through the trap door to our ancient basement.  I wanted to check on the oil, being aware of snakes and mice that live down there.  Lining the wall near the furnace was a group of large creepy bugs possibly from the dinosaur era.  I turned to run when one of them jumped onto my shoulder.  I had not felt fear like this since I shit my pants on Thanksgiving.  I stumbled up the creaky steps, smacking at the creature and screaming. Slamming the trap door, I sprayed some Raid bug spray through the crack in the door.  I hoped this would be the end of these carnivorous, hairy eight-legged spider crickets.

Last night to my horror, two of these freaky jumpers casually walked across my kitchen floor during dinner.  My girlfriend made short work of them with a frying pan while I watched standing on a chair.  Later that night I felt a tickle near my groin inside my sweatpants which I had picked up off the floor and put on.  I dropped my pants with amazing speed.  The largest spider cricket yet fell onto the floor.  Once again I screamed.  The thought that these man-eating creatures every bit as big as a nickel were now upstairs and in the underwear region of my pants was too much for me.  Even after taking two strong sleep medications I lay eyes wide open with my flashlight, a baseball bat and garlic bulbs by my side.