Easter Poem

I sought advice
From the Pagan Christ
Who told me not to fear:
"The Bible's fine
But seek the vine
That grows from your own ear

And pray for those
Who pray for you
And all the other lost
Who went astray
But found a way
Beyond the Pentecost

Beyond all imitation
Of saintliness or sin
There lies a path
Untamed by math
Where you and I fit in

On Easter morn
The angel's horn
Sounds throughout the land,
But few are those
In earthly cloths
Who truly understand

My death was nothing personal
More of an accident,
Though earth did shake
And tablets break
And temple veils were rent

It isn't true
I died for you
Despite the priestly gloss
Amazingly
Through history
The message came across

That everything you're looking for
Was with you all along
'Be a light unto thyself'
Is hid in every song

And heaven is upon the Earth
For you to see or not
So live, forgive
And love enough
That you don't get caught"

With that, the Master vanished
And I was left alone
To gather all the candy eggs
Scattered through my home.

True Faith

Who can say what drives the day
Or how the eagle flies
Or what deep dark
Ignites the spark
That lives behind your eyes?

Regard for the philosopher
Will not eclipse your fame
You can't outrun
The mighty sun
That shines upon your name

Songs abound with joyful sound
That deaden every ear
Until you find
An awkward rhyme
To make the signal clear

For those who know above/below
The inside from the out
There's no guess
Like experience
To fortify one's doubt

But in the end you can't pretend
The answer has a face
Except the one
That's just begun
Your disguise to erase

foggy

Mr. T's 10 Commandments

1. IT DON'T MEAN A THING IF IT AIN'T GOT THAT BLING

2. I PITY THE FOOL THAT STEP ON MY DUCT TAPE

3. MURDOCK IS CRAZY

4. BAD GUYS ALWAYS HANG OUT IN ABANDONED WAREHOUSES

5. IT'S OK TO BLOW THEM UP

6. NEVER SHARE HAIR CLIPPERS

7. HANNIBAL'S CIGARS STINK

8. LEG WARMERS AIN'T SISSY

9. SOMEDAY, I'M GOING TO RE-ARRANGE FACE'S FACE

10. FEEL THE LOVE Y'ALL!

Tales from the Frontier

The posse gathered at twilight, on the outskirts of town, to consider the alien invasion and what was to be done.

"I say we keel haul 'em!" Forbes shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

"But we ain't pirates, we're cowpokes!" Gaines spoke with authority, being eldest.

"And I's a B-boy!" Fingers added. He looked ridiculous with his "colours" tucked up underneath his ten gallon hat.

Squint, the one-eyed calf wrangler, cleared his throat, causing the rest of the group to fall silent. He barely looked up from the teal pullover he had been knitting for the better part of the summer,

"I says we dice 'em, and preserve 'em in Mason jars."

The sun was slipping behind the western horizon. Come night, the aliens would be out again in force, methodically dismantling the clapboard structures of the town in search of materials with which to repair their spacecraft.

"Good idea, Squint"

"Yeah, nice thinkin"

"My old lady's got some empty jars in the cellar."

"What we need's a Cuisinart or somethin."

"Not a blender! We's don't want alien puree, just some nice chunks to add to soups 'n stuff."

"Ok, so's we need a chopper of some kind."

"How about Hank's riding mower?"

The gang fell silent again, as if deep in collective thought. The only sound came from the rhythmic "click-clack" of Squint's sewing needles. They said he could even knit in his sleep.

"Mower'll do."

"Yup."

"So it's the mower then."

"Who'll ride the thing?"

"I nominate Fingers."

"Why me?--it was Gaines' idear."

"That's why youse gonna ride it."

"Dog!"

"It's settled then," Squint re-wound the extraneous wool onto his ball of yarn, folded the pullover and placed it in his satchel. "Fingers'll ride Hanks mower over the aliens, and the rest of us will stick 'em in Mason jars with a little herbs and vinegar. Shouldn't take long. Trick is taking them by surprise."

Suddenly, the air was pierced by a high pitch whining, causing the assembled cowboys to clamp their hands over their ears. A group of thin, glowing humanoids materialized not twenty feet from the posse and started a slow, shambling advance towards the group.

"Dang! Teleportation. We didn't thinka that!"

"Quick boys! There's no time to loose--retreat to the old Milkbone factory. Maybe we can outflank 'em!"

"We're sitting ducks out here in the open!"

"I could really use some chewin' tabacca 'bout now."

"Hey, maybe they're peaceful!"

That's when the time machine arrived....

Martian Hop

If there's one thing galactic invaders can't resist, it's one of those K-tel compilations of silly songs from the seventies. I've had a landing party camped out in the front yard all night, just waiting for me to let out the cat or go for the mail, so they can suck out my brain and replace it with marzipan. But when I put on the "Witchdoctor Song", the aliens dropped their laser guns, came out from behind the bushes, and did this little line dance:


oo-ee-oo-ah-ah!

Amazing, the power of music to bridge the gap between life forms! But I guess we all should have learned that lesson from "Close Encounters of the Third Kind".

Life on Saturn's Moon?

Here at Fakiegrind, we've been well aware, for some time, of the existence of an intelligent race of beings living below the frozen surface of Enceladus, one of Saturn's thirty moons. In fact, this blog is actually part of a pan-national effort to protect Earth citizens from information that could throw global economies and infrastructures into a state of panic and anarchy.

The idea is to keep people distracted with the largely irrelevant minutiae of stranger's lives so that citizens will be less likely to notice the flickering lights hovering just at the periphery of your field of vision, or the translucent, glowing skin of certain people on the subway.



Our effort has had the desired effect. With over twenty hits a day, Fakiegrind, and millions of other blogs like it, are keeping people's attention diverted from the ongoing colonization of our planet by extra-terrestrial beings.

However, just today, some fool scientists went and leaked the Enceladus story to the media. We told the government that sending research probes to Saturn was a bad idea. Of course, we couldn't tell them why it was a bad idea, because that would breach the integrity of our entire mission. Needless to say, our warnings went unheeded.

As a result, we can now expect an invasion of massive scale within the next thirty-six hours. This should be just enough time to stockpile food, water, toiletries, and to barricade your home in an effective matter. Hint: the Saturnine invaders are highly allergic to mint jelly. Spreading this substance on the outer walls, windows and doors of your house should provide a good measure of protection--at least until the aliens hose it off with their "scrubber-bots". Once this happens, you can expect to have your brain sucked out of your head and replaced with a synthetic, streamlined replica within a matter of minutes.

The operation is quick, safe, and virtually painless. Some people experience a twitching in their left foot. Afterwards you will feel much better, and you will no longer be troubled by whatever it is in life that generally bothers you. You will likely feel compelled to spend half of your day searching for the rare forest fungi that the aliens seem to love to smear over their bodies, but, apart from that, your time will be your own to squander as is your wont.

We just wanted to give readers the heads up. Now that the cat is out of the bag, we will return to our regularly scheduled inanities.

It's the Fakiegrind End of Blog Open Link Party!

Ok, maybe it's not really the end of the blog,
but let's celebrate anyways!

Cookie's Big Adventure

Having escaped the Children's Television Network studios after suffering several weeks of the new "healthy lifestyle diet" (all in the name of entertainment), Cookie Monster goes on a desparate quest for the foodstuff which is his namesake.


Zen-like focus.


He has to outrun several large, poorly rendered vegetables...


...and almost becomes part of a "soft art" installation.


Go Cookie!


He discovers a dimensional portal just in the nick of time!


But pan-dimensional tourism has its perils...


Suddenly--paydirt!


Mmmmm...Now that's what I call a work of art!