Tag Archives: creative writing

Deja Vu… Sarah Palin: I Can See Egypt from Alaska!


As the crisis in Egypt comes undone at the seams, with people refusing to step down and the Morsi regime slowly losing ground, on March 28 10, 2013, Barak Obama summons all of the greatest minds in US media, finance and politics, of past and present, in hopes that such a non-partisan/private sector committee can solve the issue once and for all, in the very familiar and distinct Deja Vu fashion of US Foreign Politics:

Obama: Okay, before we start, let’s have a breakfast prayer, asking God to help us come to a solid solution.

Dick Cheney: SHOOT ’em!

G W Bush: Cheney, now, relax and hold on to your pace maker. First of all, we gotta figure out why all those people are protesting in Indiana.

Condoleezza: Sir, nothing’s happening in Indiana.

G W Bush: Conde, I think that Gheri Curl cream’s straightened your hair, and tangled up your head. There’s some BIG ASS protesters in some square down there in Cairo.

Conde: Cairo, EGYPT… not Cairo, Indiana, Sir.

G W Bush: Damn. Is that right? Then why all them people in Indiana pissed off?

Conde: Sir, that’s because we screwed them over economically. Indiana, along with the whole country’s pretty miffed about it.

G W Bush: (Giggling) Oh ya. Greenspan, man. Did you fuck up on that one.

Greenspan: Well, we could always set off the Weapons of Mass Destruction we found in Iraq and annihilate the Morsi regime once and for all. Wait- we can’t use them CAUSE THEY DON’T EXIST.

G W Bush: (Giggling) Oh ya. Man, did I fuck up that one.

Sarah Palin: I can see Egypt from Alaska, and everything looks just hunky dory there.

Colin Powell: No, you can see Russia from Alaska. Egypt is in North Africa.

Palin: Uh, HE-LLO. I can see Egypt from Alaska. On SATELLITE TV. DUH!

Katy Courek: Sarah, then how could you not see the mass protests all over CNN, BBC and FOX News?! What the hell do you watch?

Palin: Well, I watch ALL stations, you know… YouTube… and uh, ALL the… other ones.

Cheney: Shoot ‘em!

Powell: Listen, Cheney- take a beta blocker and chill the fuck out. This isn’t a weekend quail hunt.

Dan Quayle: (Jumps up and screams)

Bush Senior: (Taking Dan Quayle on his lap and stroking his hair) There, there, READ MY LIPS—you just woke up from having a bad dream.

G W Bush: Pussy.

Hillary: GOD DAMN IT. Can you people focus. I’m menopausal, having hot flashes and besides laying the laws, my husband lays every other woman in America but me! I don’t have time for this crap.

Biden: (Looking at Obama) HA! I win! Pay up Barak! Told ya Hillary was a woman!

Obama: (paying Biden) Gosh darn it! Michelle’s going to go bonkers at me for losing money on another bet.

Bill Clinton: (Doobey in hand, puffing but not inhaling) It’s sad Michelle wears the pants in the family. If she wore a skirt, you could give her a little action more often and she wouldn’t be so tight.

(White House Press Secretary, Jay Carney, enters)

Carney: Mr. President, the press is really up my butt to get some statements regarding the Egypt situation. They are especially curious to know what our stand is regarding the increased tyranny of the Muslim Brotherhood regime.

G W Bush: Barak, you gotta be tough with those Muhamedians. Just like I did with Sad Ham Who Sane in Eye Rack.

Obama: Perhaps I should make a statement myself. Hold on guys. Be right back.

(Exit Obama to Press Briefing Room).

Obama (to the press): We believe that Egypt is stable—the only thing that is unstable is the country. Therefore, we would encourage Morsi to resign, but not leave; to not use violent means, but to use force; to spread democracy, but to restrain opposing factions; Egypt has always been our ally, and will always remain our bitch. That’s all I can confirm right now. Thank You.

(Obama goes back to the committee).

Hillary: So, what happened?

Obama: Took a firm stand on spreading democracy. This administration DEFINITELY believes in democracy. Democracy is the very reason WE ARE HERE RIGHT NOW AS LEADERS OF THE PEOPLE.

Bill Clinton: (Doobey still in hand, giggling): Damn, imagine if Democracy REALLY WORKED? Everyone in this room would be so screweddddddddddd…

Colin Powell: Back to Egypt—how are we going to deal with this.

Alan Greenspan: If it were me there, I’d have just fucked up their economy and we’d have them by the balls.

Obama: Actually, we’re already accomplishing that through the IMF. By the way Christine Lagarde, as head of the IMF, we never did thank you for your efforts to break the country.

Lagarde: Well, I can’t take all the credit. The IMF is structured to screw them over.

Biden: Well, hey, if we nip Egypt—all that’s really left is Bashar and Syria and we’ll own the Aye-rabs, all of them…’Syria-ously’.

Conde: Hardy har har… ‘Syria-ously’…that is a good one, Joe.

GW Bush: Huh?

Hillary: (sweating buckets of water) GOD DAMN IT! It’s more humid in here than under Monica Lewinski’s dress! Someone turn on the GOD DAMN air conditioning!

Conde: Hillary, the humidity is really coming from Lewinski’s dress. Your husband’s been under it for the last 5 minutes.

Hillary: GOD DAMN IT, BILL! It’s like walking a poodle in heat that humps every lamp post he meets!

Cheney: JUST shoot ‘em! Just shoot ‘em! Just- (Cheney drops dead on the ground).

G W Bush: Well, lookee there. Cheney died…again.

Powell: I really think we have to handle this thing in Egypt very carefully.


Palin: Oh! I’m a Hockey Mom! A pit bull with lipstick! I can give you some really really neat tips from Home and Garden Magazine on how to handle it with care!

GW Bush: I still don’t get it. ‘Syria-ously’?

Bush Senior: For Christ’s sake nitwit, it’s a pun!

GW Bush: Really? Is that so? Like a buttermilk or more like a Kaiser?

Lagarde (to Bush Senior):  How many times did you drop him on his head when he was a kid?

Bush Senior: Once just once. He dropped himself a few times after that.

Obama: Great then. We know what to do. HANDLE WITH CARE. Now, let’s end this meeting with a group prayer.

(All together): “God, please grant us the financial power to corrupt the countries we can, and to oppress the ones we can’t. And please grant us the wisdom to know the difference.” Amen.”

Obama: Okay! Now a group hug! (They all gather and hug).

Conde: We’re missing Bill.

Hillary: (Totally relaxed and happy): No we’re not… FOR ONCE… he’s under MY SKIRT.



I don’t get jealous. If a girl wants to take my man and he’s that stupid to contemplate it, she can have him and I’ll even get ordained just to perform the ceremony.

BUT, THIS MADE ME MADLY JEALOUS. INSANELY JEALOUS. Don’t know who wrote this ad, but it won a coveted Cannes years back and is abso-freakin-lutely FANTASTIC! It’s out of Argentina, and it’s called ‘The Truth’.

Daily Prompt Challenge: Mad Max (Mara)


Men think we women get all gussied up to impress them.

Alas, though they’d like to believe it’s all about Steve, hate to break it to you, guys…

We love you, but we’re in the middle of a serious game.

The players: other women.

The finish line: it doesn’t finish.

The goal: envy.

Fashion doesn’t clothe, it guises. Every outfit is a role, corresponding to a play, each play with its own actresses. Many times, these plays do overlap, are staged simultaneous and the characters collide.

Think about it– men, due to their neurological makeup, are better at recognizing color and shape. Common male phrases, hence, such as, ‘the one in the tight dress’, ‘with short hair’, or ‘red dress’, are the summation of describing women.

If we were only taking one for the boys, we wouldn’t need our Chanels, Diors, Max Maras, or 15 pairs of black heels, the difference between each one unnoticed by the average male. We wouldn’t need a mocha, a light brown, a camel AND a dirty beige belt.


We need it, cause they’re our weapons. We maim self-esteems, decapitate egos, slaughter securities, kill confidences.


And it’s going on, right under your nose, everyday. It begins with a woman entering a room. Let me present an example…

Mary walks into a party with Tom, a good looking guy. Notice the first instinct is for the other females to scan Mary north-south, south-north.

This is ‘the size up’– it connotes a very important beginning from which the rest of the game will be determined.

First, ‘is she prettier than me?’

If the answer is yes, the gut response is A. ‘bitch’, followed by B. closer scanning of Mary in hopes of finding a less obvious fatal flaw. If one is not found, the next move is for the other women to approach Mary and manipulating her into fucking up, therefore giving them a flaw.

If the answer is no, the initial reaction is ‘How did she land him?’, immediately eliciting the women in unison to scan Tom. If Tom appears to have no flaws, the women will huddle and implicitly console one another, establishing a bond of commiseration. It would be something more like this:

‘They so don’t look like a couple,’ said Jane.

‘Maybe they’re just friends,’ Gina answers.

‘Of course! FRIENDS!’ they chide in unison.

Going back to the scenario of Mary having no evident flaw upon scan two, the wagons circle. Smiles, over-exaggerated, as if having slept with hangers in their mouths, the women begin cornering Mary.

‘LOVE your dress,’ Anna exclaims.

‘Great figure, you must work out!’ Jane jumps in.

‘Don’t really get a chance to with work and all,’ Mary explains, grabbing a piece of cake.

THIS GESTURE, the cake-grabbing, has now transformed the pack from observing the prey to pouncing on it.

‘You’re so lucky to be able to eat like that and be so thin,’ Lila seethes.

‘So what do you do?’ Anna asks, nudging Mary’s arm, motivated by subconscious hate.


At this moment, the pack will move one of two ways- retreat, but only if her job reflects her being an idiot, in which case, she’s ‘just another pretty face’; or…



‘I’m a rocket scientist.’ Mary says.

Though it seems the annihilation of Mary is impending, we cannot assume Mary to fall victim, as a very imperative factor should be highlighted…

Mary is very aware, is Mary.

That’s why Mary wins.

You men play to win.

We women, well…

We win to play.


My soul’s too old

To have Poetry.

The Ink don’t write no more.

Got a dictionary to find meaning,

But ain’t sure how to use the words.

I try to put it down on paper,

End up using the eraser.

But the feeling is still there.

Life gave me a story,

Don’t want to publish it.

It got nothing good enough to sell.

Borrowed my brother’s life,

Threw it in a blender with my papa marrying many wives.

Salted it with Rockwell,

Ain’t nothing misspelled,

Just doesn’t look like the truth.

Ripped it up,

Turned me into third person,

Made HER bio mine,

Spoke to a sage,

He gave me wisdom,

Didn’t listen at all,

Just transcribed.

Another girl,

Another life,

Another philosophy.


They’ll buy.

When it’s fiction,

They forgive the lie.

It Doesn’t


Does it end?

It can’t—

It never begins.

There’s nothing, and it’s all something—

But it’s not everything.

That’s what makes it so sad.

I shed sometime tears,

Between all-the-time smiles.

Every time.

I substitute an inane laugh

For an indispensable cry.

That’s what makes it so sad.

My skin has shrunk—

Or my soul has gotten a little too fat—

I don’t fit into myself anymore.

I feel tight around the chest,

I’m choked up at the neck,

My lids don’t close.

Being barefoot hurts too—

I could wear shoes—

What good would that do?

Covering what’s bare doesn’t make it less bare—

It just makes it barely visible.

I already am.

Someone once told me to just breathe—

(As if he didn’t, I would have not done it on my own).

It’s advice like that which makes for stupid holiday cards.

But it’s not Christmas, and I don’t celebrate Easter—

Don’t bother to tell me to ‘Get Well’—

Cause that’s a really imbecilic prescription.

I won’t ever stop wondering ‘Why?’

Even if I had the answers.

I always look for ‘Where?’

Even if it’s in front of me.

I seem to never get enough of ‘When?’

Even though I don’t have time.

I often think ‘What?’

Even though it replies before I ask.

I am always aware of ‘How?’

Even so—I prefer to kid myself.

It’s a vicious circle, or a pleasant oval—

Maybe an indifferent square, perhaps a careless rectangle.

The shape of it doesn’t matter.

It starts.

It doesn’t begin.

It finishes.

It doesn’t end.

The Pulpit


Bless’d is me,

I cry for you,

Misery is thy nature,

Bliss is mine,

I am water,

You are wine.

I give-

Thou take.

I love-

Thou hate.

Fool, riding

 Atop a carousel you cannot control.

The secret’s with me,

It I do hold.

Which makes me the winner-

And thou the sinner.

So pluck thy heart out from its haven,

I know it is stone, the slivers unshaven.

I shall hover above thy grave- you buried underneath,

Beside your tomb, I shall lay a black wreath,

Posies of poisons and thorns, laced with ale.

I offered you truth to drink from the Grail,

but you ate the lie,

How my wisdom could have kept you alive.

Alas, chosen is thy end,

Woe is you,

The devil He sends.

Flaming June


Flaming June,

Riper than May,

Whose fruit is plucked

in anticipation of

sweet flesh;

Only half-eaten,

thrown to the ground.

Lying in a sheet of fire,

An angel,



from heaven;

No, no- not Rossetti’s Jenny,

sleeping between the

sheets of sin;

You are TOO awakened.

The peace of your face,

the spun silk of honey


And your velvet hands folded

beneath your breasts-

No, no- not pink-nosed from

the dried tears of guilt,

Wept by Fetti’s Sleeping Girl-

Not a Magdalene;

But a dove, whose wing is clipped,

looking with lament to the

skies from whence she came,

Only to return by way of dream.

Summer’s June, instinct presses to prey

upon the virgin flesh,

Feeding man’s insatiable appetite;

Flaming June,

not as sultry as July;

Bitten by December’s frost,

Melting upon the pillow;

The stung seeds of a spring flower

can never be sewn again.